Lady Jayne Disappears

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  Her eyes rounded like those of a cornered animal, and two desires surged through him—the desire to assure her and the need to follow this lead and find the answers.

  In a flick of movement, the curtains yanked back and a child’s face peered out the window—also not what he expected. She followed his gaze, then threw herself at the window, covering it with her slender body. “Please, oh please, she needs to stay with me. She isn’t any trouble. And I need the work here. I’ve never stolen, never lied, always worked my hardest. She isn’t any trouble.”

  Tears shone in her eyes, and he held up his hands, palms out. “It’s all right, really. I’ve no reason to hurt either of you.”

  “Please go away.”

  “I mean you no trouble. I’m a guest at Lynhurst.”

  “I know exactly who you are, Mr. Rotherham. That’s what makes me afraid—that you’re a friend of the family.” Her body, still plastered against the window, shuddered. “If they find out she’s here . . .”

  He held up a hand. “No one will ever find out from me. I promise. I’m not fond of most of them anyway.” A head-jerk toward the house indicated the manor family. “All I ask is a conversation with you. May I please come in? I’ve already learned your secret. There’s nothing more I can hurt by sitting at your table for a few moments. Just a few questions, and I’ll be on my way. Promise.”

  With slow slides toward the door, she turned the knob behind her and backed in. Silas followed at a comfortable distance, afraid to send her sprinting through the woods.

  Inside the dim but fresh-smelling cottage, he blinked to adjust his vision. The first thing he saw was small windows on the other side of the house, sunlight peeking around the edges of elaborate curtains. Next, the tiniest little person approached from her spot at the window, looking up at him with a soulful face that mirrored that of the woman who’d opened the door. When her delicate face dissolved into a sunny smile with two missing teeth, everything inside him melted into a helpless puddle. He lowered his frame to a squatty stool as the girl climbed onto another with a chipped teacup in one hand, bright blue eyes taking him in with childish acceptance.

  “I’m Silas.” He held out a hand, and she took his last two fingers and shook them with a timid grip.

  “I’m Dahlia. Mum, it’s all right to say it now, isn’t it?”

  “It’s all right, love.” The woman slid up behind the girl, cradling her blonde head. The affection between the two melted him even more. The mother reminded him of Aurelie, only softer, more pliable around the edges. Definitely a good sort.

  “This is my daughter, Mr. Rotherham.”

  “Is the girl’s father dead? That’s nothing to—”

  The quick dip of her head stopped him. How foolish. Of course her father was not dead. Not if she needed to hide the girl.

  “Whoever he is, that man is the one at a loss right now. I, a mere stranger, have an advantage over him just sitting here with the two of you.”

  A timid smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “Thank you.”

  Questions floated to the surface, but the girl, little Dahlia, captured his attention and scattered his thoughts. With every glance he sent her direction, she smiled back with her entire face. What of her mother? Would her face light up that way when she fully smiled? It would be a personal goal to find out.

  He cleared his throat. Only a few questions needed to be asked, but they seemed so invasive right now, sitting at her tiny table with her daughter. She still appeared skittish, ready to bolt or bound away with one wrong move from him.

  He smiled at the child, where warm acceptance already radiated. “Might I try some tea?” The teacup she’d carried now lay abandoned on the table. She snatched it and poured invisible tea from her imaginary pot. “Of course you may. But you must dress like a lady.”

  Silas froze. The mother’s horrified expression made it worse. Clearing his throat and yanking on his cravat, he forced an awkward smile. “Suppose I let your mother dress as a lady and I dress as a gentleman come to call on you both.”

  “That’ll do nicely.” The girl’s blonde head gave one emphatic nod.

  He lifted the tiny cup, his overly large fingers at awkward angles about the handle, and sipped the make-believe tea. When Dahlia dissolved in wonderful giggles, he never wanted to return to the business matters for fear of breaking this spell.

  But eventually the invisible tea ran out, and the woman had relaxed onto a third stool, waiting for him to state his purpose. Unable to plunge into the straightforward questions that needed to be asked about Nathaniel Droll, Silas instead decided to lay before her his own carefully guarded information first.

  “I am on the estate in search of someone, and it is important that I find him. I know little about the place or who lives here, since I haven’t returned myself in many years.” Or in the words of the man himself, a hundred thousand stories’ worth of time ago.

  “I’ve not been here many years, Mr. Rotherham. I probably cannot help you.”

  “Please. Tell me what you know about the true identity of Nathaniel Droll.”

  His host’s lips pinched and her eyes widened at the name. “I definitely cannot help you, Mr. Rotherham. I’m sorry. I will not lie and say I know nothing, but I’ve made a solemn promise to keep certain facts secret.”

  He looked at the simply dressed woman with new respect. “By the way, I don’t believe we finished the introductions. You already know who I am.”

  “I am Nelle. Nelle Wicke.”

  He took her soft hand in his and considered the beautiful face etched with wisdom. “Pleased, Miss Wicke. And now, if I tell you who I am, and what I’m about, will you consider helping me?”

  “I’ll agree to hearing you out.”

  “Fair enough.”

  18

  Having experienced both poverty and wealth, Lady Jayne only wanted freedom from both.

  ~Nathaniel Droll, Lady Jayne Disappears

  It was Thursday. Publication day for Lady Jayne Disappears. Would the family have read it by now? What would they have guessed? I loosened the corset after the maid laced it up to cater to the sickness attacking my stomach. Lord, be with me. You always have—now I need you again. What was my plan if they ejected me?

  When I strode into the drawing room, the entire Gaffney family perched on chairs facing Garamond, who held the latest issue of Lady Jayne Disappears. He lingered over the final page, studying the words with a frown.

  His wife glared. “Maybe you’ll listen to me next time. You are sharp as custard, Mr. Gaffney, and I pray after this you’ll never forget it.”

  “Digory, I want every published installment written by Nathaniel Droll brought here as soon as possible.” Garamond didn’t even look up from the page as he issued the command with a shaking voice. His white face remained downcast.

  “But, sir, Mr. Droll has been writing for years. That would be hundreds of installments.”

  The dinner bell interrupted, and the couples paired off to go into the dining room. Clem assumed his spot beside me, and we walked in, a pregnant silence hovering beyond the swish of skirts and scraping of chair legs on the floor. The undiscussed awareness of the new installment overpowered the room like a thick fog. I stared at the back of my chair when I reached it, focusing on the smooth wood. Silas slid through the doors then, head down in light of his tardiness. At least he had missed the reading in the drawing room.

  Aunt Eudora strode in with her usual measured grace and motioned for everyone to be seated. “What a cheerful crowd,” she said with a humph. “Makes one glad to join the festivities.”

  Glenna glanced at the other diners in muted judgment. Stress pinched Kendrick’s usually carefree face. How impossible it suddenly seemed to swallow a bite of vegetables. I forced down one small bite of carrot and kept my gaze on my plate.

  No one spoke through the course. Miserable silence blanketed the entrée course as well.

  When a black-haired, clean-shaven server hovered behind Glenna
to refresh her tea, the woman swiveled to glance at him. With pursed lips she turned back to her husband, passing him a knowing look. He shrugged.

  “It could be any of the staff. Any of them.” Her whisper was audible around the table but ignored by the other diners.

  Aunt Eudora cleared her throat with a pointed look of warning toward her daughter. Garamond fiddled with his linen napkin.

  “Well, it isn’t one of us, is it?” Glenna stabbed her potato wedge, bursting the bubble of awkward secrecy as she finally addressed the whole table.

  “Of course not.” Kendrick downed his water and glanced around the table. “Juliette has nothing to do with books unless she’s forced. Mother hasn’t the time, and Father hasn’t the inclination. I’ve been away at school, and Grandmama can barely hold a pen.”

  “Rotherham’s only come recently, as well as Miss Harcourt,” added Garamond. “But Mr. Droll has been publishing novels for years now.”

  “Mr. Rotherham has visited Lynhurst before.” Juliette picked at an almond sliver with her fork as she spoke.

  “I’ve not been to Lynhurst in years, and I promise you, I have not the talent or the imagination to write such novels.” Silas’s words fell on the diners without rebuttal, and silence reigned again for several seconds. Vegetables crunched and flatware tinked off plates.

  Garamond studied me, his elfish face serious. Finally, he spoke the question hovering behind his guarded expression. “And you, child. Have you been here before?”

  “If I ever was, I was too young to remember.”

  Oh, please. Don’t ask more questions.

  His eyes watched me through the next few bites as he chewed. Would I be willing to lie outright? It would be for the greater good—protecting an important secret and maintaining my place in this family.

  But it would dishonor God, which would open me up to even more potential trouble. I bit down on my spoon, wishing desperately for a way to reverse time and rewrite that installment.

  After a metallic-tasting soup heavy with herbs, the family exited to the drawing room.

  “Shall I serve your tea in the billiards room, sir?” Digory broke through the heavy silence as he approached Garamond.

  “I don’t believe so, Digory. Most of us will be retiring to our chambers early.”

  Aunt Eudora disappeared, as usual, and Glenna and Garamond absorbed themselves in private conversation in the chairs by the windows. The surprising thing was that Juliette cornered Silas. Or Silas cornered her, one of the two. The pair had removed themselves to the unlit fireplace when I walked in, Silas leaning on the ivory mantel. He had discarded the apathy he usually wore when talking with Juliette, and instead he leaned close, head forward, hair tickling the collar of his jacket. Surely he couldn’t be as fascinated by what she was saying as he’d been when we’d . . .

  Stop. Jealousy had no place in my heart when it came to Silas.

  “What a lot of fuss over a book. A fictional one at that,” Clem whispered as he approached. “Have you read it, Miss Harcourt?”

  I looked down, twirling my finger in the fabric of my skirt.

  “Likely isn’t even worth your time. Look at this.” He waved toward the scattered family. “Wouldn’t Mr. Droll like to see the eruption his silly penny novel has caused in this house.”

  “I’m sure he’d be crushed to learn he was the cause of it.”

  Shaking his head, he departed from my side and strode out the door.

  I had ruined everything. My dreams of writing were foolish—a part of my childhood I’d have to release. Maybe I’d misunderstood God’s intent with my work, and he was not behind this at all. Had I thrown my own human desires and goals into it? Surely he wouldn’t have led me into such a mess.

  The possibility of removing everything regarding writing sifted through my thoughts. Life would be empty. As if 80 percent of me had been suddenly and painfully carved away, leaving only a remnant of who I was.

  Blessedly ignored for the moment, I perched on a flowered chair in an alcove and, with three deep breaths, sank away from the world and into God’s presence. You are sovereign, God. You have a plan, and I need to know what it is. At least, I need to know the next steps. I’ll give up writing, really I will, but I need to know it’s what you want of me. How do I make this right?

  For several moments I remained perfectly still, eyes closed, allowing strings of Scripture to wind through my mind. Be still and know that I am God . . . May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be pleasing to you . . . He which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ. Each line of truth embedded into the fibers of my muscles, relaxing them.

  And then the words came through, clear and warm.

  Keep working, child. This is the way I’ve chosen for you to serve me.

  After a closing “amen,” my eyes flicked open and my vision immediately filled with Juliette, still standing with Silas across the room. In that second, an idea flared, quick and sure. Yes! I could take this terrible situation and make it good. The wonderful idea bombarded my self-imposed writing ban, flooding me with purpose and intent.

  I made my escape while the rest of the family remained engrossed in private conversations. Ideas flooded my mind until a desire to write nearly overwhelmed me. In my chamber, I dug eager fingers into my hair, and pins tinked on the floor, my scalp experiencing the relief my heart was about to feel. I might leave Lynhurst next week, but I’d make full use of every last day spent there.

  Grabbing a fresh notebook and pen, I lay across the rug and began to write madly about a new character. If my relatives were going to absorb my books with a hunger to see what traces of themselves existed in its pages, I’d give them something valuable to read.

  As the scene spilled out from my heart, I prayed over and over.

  Make it clear, Lord. Give me every word. Empty me of my sinful self and fill me instead with your Spirit so these words are yours. Open their eyes as they read this. Use it in the way you desire.

  My pen completed the last word and then dropped onto the page, my head hitting the floor, cheek on the carpet. Mind buzzing, I lay there basking in the moment, exhausted and empty. Then I climbed into bed, fully ready for the coming day.

  “If you were to guess,” I asked Nelle the next morning, “what do you think will happen in the next installments?” I needed to begin planning the twist in the ending, but after pouring myself onto the page the night before, I had no steam left in my brain.

  “Well, I’d expect to see Lady Jayne and Charles Sterling Clavey admit their love for one another at some point. But I’m guessing it doesn’t go well, looking at the title of the novel.”

  “You don’t think Clavey murdered her, do you? He wouldn’t.”

  “Oh no, of course not. I’d guess someone who doesn’t want them together kills her, or scares her off.”

  “Why does no one want them together?” Images of my mother’s letters, and Papa’s lovelorn face, rose to my mind.

  “We know he’s a gentleman, but we know so little about her background.” She leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “It’s her secret that keeps them apart. I’d bet my wages on it.”

  I smiled, considering the wager. Little did she know how much control I had over the outcome. “Maybe. But I rather think Charles Sterling Clavey has secrets of his own. I’m beginning to think most men are that way.” I caught her gaze. “Do you know, I believe you were right about Silas Rotherham. He said a few things the other day that painted his character differently. Perhaps I only thought him valiant because of his kindness toward me, but that effort only masked his true self. I should have listened to you. I think he may fit into the secret villain category after all.”

  “He isn’t as bad as all that.” She squirmed, thumb running over the corners of the napkin in her hands. “He has more than one agreeable attribute, don’t you think?”

  I looked at my friend, who wouldn’t meet my gaze. “More than he had the last time we spoke?
”

  “Do you know, he is actually quite kind.”

  “Good, because he’s had no reason to be less than that to you.”

  “And he is honest and hardworking too. And sweet, once you get him talking.”

  Something uncomfortable, much like a warning flare, niggled me. “What are you saying, exactly?”

  Nelle shrugged, her downcast profile reddening into the scalp, and the truth shifted into clarity. What an odd twist. Shy little Abigail had grown attracted to Charles Sterling Clavey. It could complicate things delightfully in the book, but in real life? I smoothed my hair back and sighed. This would only muddle a situation that had already grown far too confusing.

  Certainly, it would just be a passing fancy, though. Just weeks ago she’d thought him horrible. Besides, the relationship would never be allowed. An esteemed guest who likely held a sizable fortune could never court a girl in service.

  And then the seed of an idea lodged in my mind, blossoming quickly into a workable, plausible plan for the ending.

  The minute Nelle closed the door behind herself a half hour later, I pulled a fresh notebook from the shelf and filled two and half pages with ideas. Lady Jayne Windham was no lady at all. She’d traveled from London with her domineering chaperone and flitted about society as a woman of high breeding, but what outsiders did not know—and Clavey’s family had only recently discovered—is that she was merely a maid in a London townhouse, traveling to the country while the family she served summered abroad. Clavey’s family was too genteel to reveal her secret, but they would never allow their dear son to marry such a girl.

  And perhaps Lady Jayne was not murdered. She simply returned to her life as little Jayne Windham the maid, and “Lady Jayne” ceased to exist. That’s certainly how it had seemed to happen in real life.

  My heart flooded with hope. Lady Jayne giving up her child seemed logical in this circumstance. And she did it out of love, not abandonment. Had she thought I’d be ashamed? That her low status would offer me a difficult life?

  If only I could express to her now, this minute, that the only piece that might complete my life was her presence. Simply that—not a title or notoriety, but a mother. Faults and all. Oh, to fly to her this very minute and throw my love about her like an embrace. She would never wonder if her daughter accepted her, and she’d have all the affection and comfort that had been hoarded away in my little-girl heart for nearly twenty years.