by Anne Herries
Jack nodded, but did not reply, merely giving her an odd look as they went out to the waiting phaeton. She guessed that his own mama was of a similar disposition, for she had heard the ladies talking together and wondered if her chance remark had stirred old memories. Sometimes it might be that the irritating memories might be more firmly fixed than pleasurable ones.
They went out to where the stylish high-perch phaeton was waiting behind a team of mettlesome black horses. Charlotte admired their noble heads, clean lines and spirited manner as they pawed at the ground, clearly impatient to be off. Remembering something her father had taught her as a child, she went up to the horses and stroked their soft noses, whispering a greeting. She would have liked to feed them a sugar lump, but thought Jack might not appreciate it, though had she thought to bring a piece of apple he could not have objected.
‘Come, Charlotte,’ he commanded and held out his hand. ‘I trust you did not feed them sugar? They are fresh and will be difficult enough to handle as it is.’
‘Would I dare?’ she asked, dimpling up at him. ‘I always give my own darling a lump of sugar. She expects it and would be most disgruntled if I forgot.’
‘Your Brown Velvet? I remember I thought you spoiled her when you told me that before.’
‘You remember the name of my horse?’ Charlotte stared at him hopefully. ‘Has it all come back, just like that?’
Jack wrinkled his brow in thought. ‘I seem to recall we had been riding together in the park that morning. You wore a blue habit...and you gave your horse sugar and told me that your own mare expected it. I thought the name unusual.’
‘Oh, Jack,’ Charlotte said, turning to him eagerly as he climbed up beside her on the driving box. ‘I was wearing a blue habit and I did give the horse you hired for me a lump of sugar... Does this mean...is your memory coming back?’
‘Some things...just vague wisps...’ He shook his head as he took up the reins. ‘Do not look so anxious, Charlie. I am sure it will happen... At least bits seem to come when I least expect it, but I am resigned to the fact that it may never be a complete return.’
He gave a little flick of the reins and the magnificent horses set off. His steady hand kept them to a modest trot until they reached the main road and then gradually let them have their way, so for a while Charlotte felt like clinging to the side of the seat, half-fearing they would bolt and she would be thrown. However, having given the horses a chance to use up some of their restless energy, he slowed the pace and then turned to her with a lift of his brow.
‘Do you want to try them?’
‘Yes, please,’ she said, responding instantly to the challenge she saw in his eyes. ‘Just tell me how I should hold the reins, for I do not want to damage their mouths.’
‘I should not let you,’ he said. ‘Just remember to be steady and not jab at them. A firm gentle hand is all they need, because once they know you mean to be obeyed they will accept your mastery of them.’
Charlotte listened as he explained what she ought to do, then took the reins into her own hands. The horses immediately pulled, as if they sensed the change and meant to test her, but she held them firmly without jabbing and they responded to the voice of command.
‘They have beautiful manners,’ Jack murmured softly. ‘I broke them to it myself.’
Charlotte was concentrating on driving the spirited team and did not respond to his remark—after all, it was as Jack said, things came to him like tiny wisps of mist that he plucked from nowhere. It was best to ignore it and behave as if it were natural, for to be always calling attention to a chance remark might harm his chance of making a full recovery.
It was such a beautiful afternoon and Charlotte was conscious of feeling happy as they bowled along the exceptionally good country road, which unlike many was smooth rather than plagued with deep ruts. It was as they approached the entrance to what was clearly a large estate that Jack took them back in hand and they turned in through a pair of magnificent wrought-iron gates.
At first there were open fields to either side, some with sheep grazing, others with horses who stood watching as they cropped the rich grass, but then they entered a tree-lined avenue and at the end she saw a large country house built of faded red brick. Not as large or magnificent as the marquis’s residence, it had a gentle elegance that she found very appealing.
Jack brought the horses to a halt outside the front door and within seconds two grooms came running to attend them. One helped Charlotte down and the other spoke with Jack for a moment before leading the horses away. A shout from the house alerted Charlotte and she looked round. Seeing that two men of about Jack’s age were coming to meet them, she told him that his friend Phipps was the man on the left dressed in a blue coat.
‘Forgive me, I do not know the other gentleman,’ she whispered as they came up to greet the new arrivals.
‘Miss Stevens,’ Phipps said and took the hand she offered, bowing over it. He turned to Jack with a mock scowl. ‘Where the hell have you been? I was expecting an invitation to join you at Ellingham.’
‘Forgive me, old friend,’ Jack murmured and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Things have been difficult. I shall explain later...’ He hesitated, looking at the second gentleman uncertainly.
‘Oh, of course, you don’t know my second cousin Harold Peckham do you? He’s in the Third Rifles and on leave. Pecks, this is Jack Delsey, of whom you’ve heard me speak often—and his betrothed, Miss Charlotte Stevens.’
‘Sir, Miss Stevens, delighted to meet you,’ the young man replied, looking slightly hesitant and a little in awe of a man he had no doubt heard much about. ‘Phipps was concerned that you did not return to town as arranged.’
Jack inclined his head, nothing in his manner giving away the dismay he felt on realising that he had clearly broken a promise to an old friend. Clearly, he must tell Phipps at least a part of the truth.
‘I met with an accident,’ he said. ‘Someone took a pot shot at me and I might have died had not a good friend come along and helped me. I dare say my promise to you went out of my head, Phipps. Indeed, the knock on my head has made me a little forgetful. You must forgive me if I seem not to remember things... I am sure this condition will clear soon enough, but bear with me if I seem slow in certain areas.’
Jack did not wish to offend his friend by letting him guess that he had no memory of their long acquaintance and hoped a slight loss of memory might account for any lapses on his part.
‘Good grief!’ Phipps was clearly concerned. ‘Well, you may rely on me to fill in any gaps, dear fellow. Do you know who it was that shot at you—not Harding? Pecks has been telling me something you might be interested to know, concerning a young officer. The poor fellow was tricked into signing away his estate and ended up putting a ball through his brain...’ Seeing Charlotte’s look of distress, Phipps apologised. ‘Forgive me—not suitable conversation for a lady. Please, both of you, come in and I shall send for refreshments.’
* * *
An hour later, they took their leave, having secured a promise from the young men that they would dine at Ellingham on the following evening. Charlotte had been taken upstairs to refresh herself before joining the gentlemen in the parlour for tea, so she did not know just what Jack had told his friend or the full story concerning Lieutenant Peckham’s friend who had been driven to suicide because of a card game.
They had been driving in silence for a while before Jack turned to her, looking thoughtful. ‘I did not tell Phipps that I had completely lost my memory, for it might have made him awkward with me. We touched briefly on old times, but I had only to agree with him. As you said, I felt at home with him and it will become easier as time passes.’
‘You do not think that he could help you to remember so much more?’
‘Perhaps...yet it seems as if...’
Charlotte was never t
o learn what was on Jack’s mind for the peace of the afternoon was shattered by a gunshot. The ball whistled past her and nestled in Jack’s shoulder, making him cry out and for a moment the reins went lax as he slumped against her.
‘Jack!’ she cried, but the horses had been spooked and she had no time to worry about his injury for it was imperative that she take over the driving before they bolted. ‘Steady, steady—’ she said in as firm a voice as she could manage.
The reins in her hands, she was fully occupied by holding the spirited pair, but did not attempt to bring them to a hasty halt, doing as she was sure Jack would if he were conscious and letting them run until the worst of their panic was over. She must in any case avoid coming to an immediate halt lest the assassin was still close by. Only when she judged enough time and distance had been covered did she bring the horses to a gradual halt and turn to look at Jack. He was bleeding copiously, but when she touched his face, his eyes flickered open; it seemed that he was holding on if only by a thread.
‘Jack!’ she cried, uncertain of what to do for the best. ‘You’ve been hit!’
‘Get me home, Charlie,’ he murmured. ‘Just get me home...’
Charlotte pulled off her shawl and hurriedly tied it around his shoulder as tight as she could, then took up the reins again. It took all her will not to give into tears, but she could only think that she must do as he’d told her and get Jack home as quickly as she could.
Driving at a sensible pace, she set the horses off again, conscious that Jack was leaning against her, barely conscious and still bleeding. Her heart was beating fast and she felt numb with fright, but something kept her going as they covered the remaining distance. She must get him home because otherwise he could bleed to death.
She screamed for help as soon as they stopped at the front of the house and within seconds several men had come rushing to help her. A groom held and calmed the horses, while servants from the house reached out for Jack and bore him inside. Charlotte jumped down without waiting for assistance and ran after them, her throat choking on the tears she’d held back all this time.
‘He was shot as he drove home,’ she cried. ‘I held the horses, but could do little for him. Please, you must fetch the doctor. Someone...quickly!’
‘Don’t you worry, miss,’ a footman said comfortingly. ‘Beedle will look after him. This isn’t the first time Master Jack has come home with a ball in him.’
‘Charlotte, where do you think you are going?’ Her mama’s voice stopped her as she started up the stairs after them.
‘Jack has been shot. I must help him.’
‘Come back here this instant,’ Mama said. ‘Look at you—your gown is soaked with blood. You must change immediately and then you may come to the parlour and tell us what has happened.’
‘But, Mama, Jack is hurt. I must go to him.’
‘Charlotte, do as your mother bids you.’ Her father had come out into the hall and lent his voice to Mama’s. ‘Delsey’s people will look after him. Come and drink a glass of brandy, it will settle your nerves.’
Faced with her parents’ combined opposition, Charlotte was forced to follow him to the parlour. He poured a small measure of brandy into a glass and bade her drink it. She sipped it twice and put the glass down, but he pushed it back into her hand and made her swallow it all.
‘Now,’ he said when the glass was empty. ‘Take a moment and tell us what happened, my dear.’
‘We visited Jack’s friends and were coming home...’ she said, tucking trembling hands into the folds of her skirt. ‘On the way there Jack let me drive so when the horses took fright at the shot and I saw he was hurt, I took over and let them go until they calmed, then I stopped and bound my shawl around Jack’s shoulder. He told me to get him home and so I did.’
‘You were a good, brave girl,’ her father said. ‘I’m proud of you, Charlie. Most young women would have gone into hysterics.’
‘What I ask is what Delsey has done to make someone so determined to kill him?’ Mama said coldly. ‘I am not at all sure that you should continue with this engagement.’
‘How could you, Mama?’ Charlotte stared at her in distress. ‘Even now he may be dying...’ She gave a sob and tears welled in her eyes again.
‘Do not fear, my love,’ her father said and touched a hand to her shoulder. ‘I think Delsey has been through worse on the battlefield. You should go and change your gown now. I will discover how he is and come and tell you.’
Charlotte could only obey, though she was close to rebelling. Had it not been that she feared she might get in the way, she would have defied both her parents and gone to his room. What did propriety matter when Jack might be dying?
Chapter Thirteen
Charlotte had changed into a simple afternoon dress of pale-blue silk when her father knocked at the door and asked if he might enter. She gave permission and her maid curtsied as he entered, leaving them together. Charlotte moved towards him urgently.
‘How is he, Papa?’
‘Sleeping, I imagine. Beedle said the ball scraped his flesh, but did not penetrate the muscle and must have passed right through the thick seam at the shoulder of his coat. Although he bled a great deal, and will doubtless feel under the weather for a few days, he is in no danger of dying—providing he does not contract a fever, of course.’
‘Has a doctor been sent for?’
‘At once, but Beedle knows his job and I doubt the physician will do more than nod his head and offer some foul healing draught.’ Papa smiled at her. ‘Of course, had it not been for your cool head, it might have been much worse, Charlie. This is the second time our assassin has tried to dispose of Jack. We must assume that given the chance of a second shot he would have made sure of him this time.’
Charlotte shivered, her hands twisting in her lap. ‘That is why I did not dare to stop for more than a few moments to tie my shawl about his shoulder. I could not bear that...’ She shook her head and could not continue.
‘You cannot tell me why this is happening?’ Papa gave her a look of interrogation.
‘No, Papa. Jack has told me that the attempt on his life had nothing to do with what happened in London. He says it is an old story that is rooted in the past, but he will not tell me anything more.’
‘It is all very well, but you were with him this time, and you might have been badly hurt—or even killed. Your mama thinks we should go home at once and postpone both the ball and the wedding.’
‘No!’ Charlotte cried. ‘I shall not desert Jack. You cannot expect me to leave him when he needs me the most. I will not do it. Mama must stay. Please persuade her. She is in no danger and nor am I—it is Jack this wicked man wants to kill.’
‘I have told her this, but she is severely displeased.’ Papa sighed. ‘I shall do what I can to appease her, Charlie—but this must stop. I cannot allow you to be exposed to constant danger.’
‘I am sure I am in no danger,’ she replied, as calmly as she could, though her nerves were stretched. ‘Please, Papa. I love Jack and I need to be with him.’
‘Well, we shall not run away this time, but if it happens again...’
‘God forbid! Jack will do something about it when he is well enough,’ Charlotte said.
‘Yes, I dare say. Well, I have calmed Mama down for now, but please think twice before leaving the estate in an open carriage again, my dear. I really do not want to lose my daughter.’
Charlotte went to him and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you, Father. I do love you very much.’
‘And I you, my child.’
He went away and left her. Charlotte waited for a few minutes and then walked down the landing and into the wing where Jack’s apartments were housed. She felt guilty as she approached the door of his room, but surely no harm could come from simply asking.
Beedle answered
her knock. He smiled broadly as he saw her and opened the door wider, admitting her to the small sitting room that fronted the connecting bedchamber.
‘Come in, miss. I expected you would come. Captain Delsey is sleeping at the moment, but I shall tell him when he wakes that you came to enquire.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘Why, bless your sweet face, miss. There’s nothing he needs just now, though he’ll be pleased to see you when he’s allowed up in a chair, I dare say.’
‘Yes. He will get better, won’t he?’
‘The captain has seen worse than this, miss. I recall after the Battle of Waterloo, he was in a lot of pain with his leg then. We thought he might lose it, but he came through. He’ll see this off and be as right as rain.’
Charlotte cried, a sob in her voice, ‘But he was wounded only a few weeks ago. He was only just recovering.’
‘Aye, but he’s a strong man, miss. Don’t you go worrying. He’ll be up and ready for the ball next week, you see if I’m not right.’
Charlotte thanked him and left, going back to her own part of the house and then to the top of the main staircase. Her mother was coming along the landing and called to her. She waited obediently for Mama to come up to her.
‘I went to your room, Charlotte. You were not there?’
‘I enquired of Mr Beedle if Jack was all right.’
‘Surely your father had told you so?’
‘Yes, but I wanted to ask.’
Her mother made a tutting noise, then, ‘I shall not have you visiting him in his room. You must wait until he is able to come down. I am relying on you to behave properly, Charlotte—otherwise I shall wash my hands of you.’
Charlotte was tempted, but the unkind words remained unuttered. Her mama was quite right to remind her of what was proper, even though she longed to be with Jack this moment, sitting by his bed...waiting for him to open his eyes and look at her.