by Robb, J. D.
The major patted her on the arm. “Thank you for taking care of the sergeant, my dear. I will see to him now.”
Martha accepted the gentle dismissal. He bowed to her curtsy, which was very flattering, and then added one more thought as she left the room.
“I would not be surprised if the sergeant avoids you for a day or two.”
Martha gave him a nod that was a little uncertain but did not press for details. Their conversation had left her with a head full of questions to which she strongly suspected there were no certain answers. This last comment just added one more.
CHAPTER NINE
The major either counted mind reading as one of his unrevealed skills or he knew Jack Tresbere very well. The sergeant was not in his usual haunts for the next two days.
Martha and Ellen were polishing the brass wall sconces in rare silence, each lost in her own thoughts at first.
Martha rubbed the sconce vehemently. Was the sergeant embarrassed about his weakness after healing Edward? Was he afraid she would ask too many questions? Did he regret letting someone see him use his magic?
Finally Martha could not stand it any longer.
“Where could he be?”
“I am guessing you have looked in all his usual spots?”
“Yes, the bench outside the kitchen, in the north-facing window seat in the library. In the stables even. And I must say the groom thought it odd for a housemaid to be asking when the animals were fed.”
“When the animals were fed?” Ellen echoed with some confusion.
“I pretended the major sent me to ask.” She grimaced. “It was the only thing I could think of.”
“Yes, well, the fact the senior groom has run off with that buxom dairy maid will have made him forget your visit.”
Martha nodded. It had shocked them all, the senior groom having been engaged for two years to a girl from the village.
Perhaps it was not about her at all. It could be he was looking for work now that the major had chosen Hasbro as his new valet. The former footman had gone up to London to learn the finer details of his work from the earl’s valet. When Hasbro returned his would be the bed in the dressing room, the cot tucked under the window. It remained one of the few beds that Martha had not sampled.
“His tobacco is very distinctive,” Ellen suggested.
“Then he has given up smoking or left the castle because I have not been able to detect a hint of it.”
Any more discussion of the sergeant’s whereabouts was stopped by the sound of Mrs. Belweather making her way up the stairs, each step followed by a pause and a grunt. It was as ladylike as a grunt could be but a grunt nonetheless.
“Good girls. When you are done here, please go to the major’s suite and change the major’s bed linen and prepare the dressing room for Hasbro. That way it will be ready whenever he returns.”
Martha felt her heart lurch. “Has the sergeant left?”
“Without saying good-bye?” Ellen added. “He and John were such good friends.”
“He and the major have gone fishing today and will not be back until dark. After that the sergeant will be off.”
“Will we be giving him a proper farewell, then?” Ellen asked after a pleading look from Martha.
“The major said the sergeant wanted no fuss.”
Mrs. Belweather made her way down the passage, leaving Martha stunned and Ellen disappointed.
“Why?” Martha knew she sounded near tears. “I wish I could understand why he would leave so suddenly.” She knew why. He was afraid that once people found out about his healing skills he would either be shunned or, much more likely, called upon for every real or imagined hurt.
“He may come yet,” Ellen said with an encouraging pat on Martha’s back. “Let’s go on about our work. There is nothing we can do now but find a way to make the time go by.”
Martha could think of something she would rather do. Walk, or even run, down to the river, find the sergeant, and confront him. Why was he leaving so suddenly? Why was he leaving without saying good-bye? Where was he going? And the biggest question of all, and the hardest to ask, if things had been just a little different, would he have asked her to go with him?
“You do the dressing room, Martha. I’ll fetch the fresh linen.”
Ellen trotted off and Martha went through to the dressing room. The sergeant was a very tidy sort and there really was nothing to be done. She knelt on his bed and ran a dust cloth over the window ledge.
Tucked against the window as it was, this bed looked more like a window seat, and the curtains that were tied back at the side added to the effect.
She sat on the mattress and then lifted her legs to stretch out fully on the bed. There, she was sharing his bed, or as close as she would ever come. Ignoring the way her eyes watered, she concentrated on the mattress and closed her eyes. Oh. It was wonderful. Who would have thought that a little bed in a dressing room would be so perfect? The pad must be stuffed with down, she thought, and wondered who had judged a servant fine enough to warrant having the special mattress made for this space.
There was no doubt that it was the best of all the beds she had tried.
Martha did not really fall asleep but realized later that she must have been in that strange half-waking trance that could be as restful as a nap. She woke with a start as the door opened.
“It is in the dressing room.” It was Mrs. Belweather’s voice. Martha had no trouble recognizing it. The door opened and she came into the room, the butler right behind her.
“I am not sure whether it is a leak or—” She broke off when she saw Martha and her expression changed from practical to shock and then outrage.
“Martha Stepp! What are you doing in the sergeant’s bed?”
“He is not here, Mrs. Belweather. He and the major have gone fishing for the day. I fell asleep.”
“Or you are awaiting his return. When you should be about your duties.”
“Which is the least of your transgressions,” the majordomo added.
“Go to my rooms, Miss Stepp, and do not expect any sort of leniency, just because you are one of our best. You will be dismissed immediately and without a reference.”
“But, please, Mrs. Belweather, I only fell asleep. I was not waiting for anyone. Truly.”
At that very moment the worst possible thing happened. The sergeant himself came into the room, adding weight to the worst of the housekeeper’s suspicions.
The sergeant looked from one to the other and the rumpled window bed. He closed his eyes and actually moaned, “No, no,” sounding so much like a man caught in the throes of some terrible anguish that Martha forgot her own misfortune. Finally his gaze settled on Martha. “Not this way. This is not what I wished!”
“What you wished!” Mrs. Belweather grabbed Martha by the arm. “Out, out at once!” She paused at the door to the passageway and called back to the sergeant. “The major will hear of this.”
The major heard of it. Everyone in the household did before dinner was over. Sally Lipton saw to that. Martha was sent off that very day with a month’s pay and fare for the post to London.
John was given permission to take her to the village in the cart the staff used to transport goods. Only Ellen came to say good-bye. It was as though they feared her supposed depravity was contagious.
“Write me, write me,” Martha begged, “and tell me if it is a boy or girl.”
Ellen nodded, unable to speak through her tears. Martha was still too much in shock for any sensibility but confusion. How could her whole life have changed so quickly? To be sent away without a reference was not the worst thing in the world. It had happened before. She had enough other good references and she had been at Craig’s Castle less than a year—so perhaps that small gap would not be noticed. She could say she had been nursing her sick mother or dying father. Yes, that would work. All the way to town she sat silent next to John.
The worst of it was to leave with her reputation compromised for which
she truly could not blame Sally Lipton entirely. Martha had made the misguided choice to sample the sergeant’s bed when she should have heeded his warning.
By the time they reached the market town, five miles beyond the nearest village, Martha was outwardly composed, if pale. She bid John a fond farewell and sought out the inn that serviced the mail. Mr. Morris was known to Craig’s Castle and he knew them, but the news was not good.
“I’m sorry, Miss Stepp, but the post is delayed overnight. The driver took ill and the carriage was damaged when he could not control the horses. No one was injured but that’s because there weren’t but three passengers and all of them drunk as lords.”
It was not an auspicious beginning to the next chapter of her life. “Please tell me you have a room I can have for the night.”
“Of course, miss. We are at sixes and sevens what with the surgeon coming and going and the extra customers but I will insist two of the men share a room and give you the one that looks out the back. It be quieter.”
It was obvious that Craig’s Castle gossip had not reached the inn yet, for which Martha muttered a prayer of thanks to God, Saint Peter, or whoever was listening today.
The room was as nice as a room at an inn could be. Mrs. Morris had been a housekeeper herself until her late-in-life marriage to Mr. Morris, and her skills had been put to good use here. It had been years since Martha had a bedchamber to herself and she thought she might actually enjoy the little adventure.
No sooner had she allowed that “enjoying this adventure” was an out and out lie even she did not believe, then sobs erupted from her throat and she buried her face in the pillow and cried for all that might have been.
JACK HOISTED HIS TRAVEL BAG FROM THE BED AND GAVE A last look around the room. It had never felt like home, but it was the most comfortable camp he’d ever had and probably the nicest for a long time to come.
He could hear one of the footmen in the other room, helping the major out of his riding clothes, and hoped that when the newly trained Hasbro returned he would have some understanding of the difference between a military uniform and the type of clothes most gentlemen wore. The day was moving on and tomorrow looked to be a good day for traveling. Now that his future was in the present it wasn’t as appealing as he’d thought it would be.
He’d done his best to redeem Martha’s good name. But Mrs. Belweather would have none of it. The truth was too clear to her and altogether wrong. Jack’s only hope was that he could track Martha down at the inn to which they were both headed and find a way to make amends for his poorly timed arrival and badly chosen words.
He made his good-byes to the major, who argued once again that he did not have to leave under such a shadow.
“No, sir, if Miss Stepp has been let go then I must find her and do my gentlemanly best to see that she is not without support.”
The major rubbed the smile off his mouth with one hand and gave Jack a hearty handshake with the other.
“Are you sure you will not make a wish, Jack?”
“Never ever again, Major. That coin has near ruined more than one life. I warn you, sir, to be careful who you share it with.”
The major nodded, his smile now completely gone. “God bless you, Jack. I have no doubt that your future is as blessed as you are.” It was a lovely thought if Jack had felt blessed. But at the moment he felt his gift was a burden beyond bearing.
At the Hare and Hound he found the place more resembled a camp after a battle than a quiet country inn.
He knew the coach west was not due in until the next morning and had planned on an overnight stay, mostly in hopes of finding Martha before she claimed a seat on the coach to London. At least that is what Ellen and John had told him she planned to do. He needed to make sure that she had resources and a plan.
The wife of the innkeeper handed him off to one of the maids, which showed him exactly how important his custom was now that he was not connected to an officer in his majesty’s service. “Take him to the room at the top of the second stairway. Mr. Morris moved a man out of that room and in with another gent.”
Jack trudged up the narrow stairs, watching the provocatively swaying hips in front of him. Not that he was even interested enough to wonder if she was. She showed him the door to the room and was about to open it for him when they both heard Mrs. Morris calling her back to the kitchen.
“Maybe later, sir,” the girl said with a wink, and Jack did not even bother to shake his head.
Pushing open the door to the dimly lit room, he was pleased that the hinges did not creak, an element of housekeeping that Martha Stepp had told him was a simple way to judge how well a house was kept.
He had second thoughts about that judgment when he saw what a jumble the bed was, as though someone had slept there and the bedding had not been changed or even smoothed. He was about to turn and leave when he realized who the person on the bed was.
Martha Stepp.
He almost laughed aloud at the sight of her snuggled under a blanket that must have been folded at the bottom of the bed.
Instead he tiptoed across the floor, with only one or two squeaks, and took the chair next to where she was so sound asleep. This bed must be to her liking, he thought. Or more realistically, the woman was probably exhausted. He watched her breathe, studying the way her eyelashes shadowed her cheeks, then noticed the tear tracks down the side of her face. Had she cried herself to sleep?
He could use his gift to ease her pain, but hesitated, sure it would be wrong to influence in any way someone whose feelings mattered so much to him.
There, he thought, I’ve at least admitted it to myself. I could have loved Martha Stepp. Her reaction to his gift of healing was as painful as any injury he had ever took on the field of battle. Her “How do you stand it?” made him realize how much of an outcast he was in the world beyond war.
Still, that punch to his heart had awakened him to the truth—that this woman meant something to him. That he had wanted to try to explain his gift and beg her to take a chance on making a life with him even if he was one of nature’s oddities. As he watched her sleeping he wondered if he was being given a second chance.
Martha opened her eyes.
“Jack Tresbere,” she said in a wondering tone that said she was still half asleep. “Am I dreaming?”
“No, you are testing my bed,” he said, smiling as he reached out to smooth her hair. He stayed his hand, deciding that touching her while she was in bed was much too intimate a gesture.
“It’s very comfortable,” she said. “But it is my bed. I paid for it and have it until the coach leaves tomorrow. You will have to find another bed, sir.”
“Do you really think there is another room to be had with the London coach so delayed?” He leaned back in the chair, and waking ever more, Martha pulled the blanket up to her chin.
“I will go sleep in the common room, Martha, but first I want to tell you how sorry I am for the way my wish was fulfilled.”
“But you told both the major and me that you had no need of wishes. That whatever you want you ask for directly.”
“That’s true. It’s what I believed then.” Jack felt for his pipe but did not take it out. “However,” he said, and paused before continuing. “I did think that if,” and he gave the word sharp emphasis, “if I was going to make a wish, I would hope to find a woman, a very specific woman, in my bed.”
“And you did,” Martha said with understanding. “Why do people refuse to heed me when I tell them that the coin has its own way of making a wish come true?”
“I am convinced now, and at great cost to you, for which I cannot apologize enough.” He leaned a bit closer. “I want to be sure that you are provided for and will have resources until you find a new position.”
Her smile disappeared and he knew he had said the wrong thing. Again.
The silence stretched and she looked away even as she spoke. “Thank you. I have enough money and friends in London who will help me.”
“Good,” he said, though convinced that somehow he was in her ill graces again. He had made so many mistakes with this woman. Clearly the direct approach did not work with her. He was beginning to wonder if that only worked with men. So he decided to try a different way.
“Tell me, Martha Stepp, what sort of adventure are you looking for next?”
Now Martha struggled to sit up in bed, to sit with her back against the headboard so that she looked like the queen receiving guests in her bedchamber as he had been told some royalty did.
“I only want another position so that I am not destined for the workhouse.”
“Your adventuring days are over?”
“I think passing the coin on to the major marks a change. It’s time for me to accept that my life is not destined to be one of adventure but rather one of refined service.”
Jack laughed and then bit his lip. “I am sorry to laugh, Martha, but the idea of you not seeking adventure wherever you land is quite beyond my imagination.”
WHY DID HE ALWAYS LAUGH AT HER? IT WAS A CROSS between annoying and endearing. Even though she was intrigued by the thought that he had “imagined” her adventures, she pushed the vain thought aside and asked a question of her own. “Why have you been avoiding me since Edward’s accident?”
Nothing for it but the truth, he decided. “Because I wanted you more than the sun, the moon, and the stars, and knew that after you learned of my healing skill you would want nothing to do with me.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you told the major you would run as far and as fast as you could from any other of nature’s oddities, and then when you saw me heal Edward you asked me how I could stand it. I did not take that as a ringing endorsement of my healing talent.”
Oh dear, she had said that; she recalled it as well as he did. But how to explain the first had been the statement of a woman with no imagination and the second was grounded in awe and not revulsion? “You wanted me more than the stars and you let that rash statement stop you?”