Lady Jayne Disappears

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  “My father told me that story years ago, and I still find use for it so often.” With the rush of memories, heat pooled in my chest. I shouldn’t say more, but Silas’s unchallenging calm released something in me. The pent-up truth poured out. “For years, I prayed for a rescue from Shepton Mallet. For myself and for Papa. It never seemed to come, and maybe that was best. Because now I find myself asking him for a rescue from my rescue.”

  “Sometimes it’s a wonder God knows what to do with all our requests.”

  How true. I’d certainly made a mess of things with my own. “I think I know the perfect prayer.” I twirled a dandelion before my face and closed my eyes. “God, give me exactly what I would ask for if I knew everything you know.”

  His eyes sparkled in response. “Brilliant.”

  “And perhaps God is already answering my request by carving out a spot for me in this house where I once did not belong. I’ve found friends and even a purpose. And slowly, I’m beginning to understand how to walk among my peers and to be what I ought.”

  “Is it really your dearest goal to belong here?”

  I shrugged, neck warming. “Somewhere, at least. To someone.”

  He studied me, assessing my answer.

  “You feel that way too, don’t you?” I continued. “Like you don’t belong here.”

  “Yes, but with one simple difference. I’ve no desire to. My visit here is purely practical, with no need to make friends and fit in. Soon I will return home.”

  “And do you feel that you ‘belong’ at home?”

  “Depends on which room I find myself in.” His soft smile expressed much. “But either way, I have plenty of books at home, which makes all the difference. I can slip into their pages, spark my mind, and not remember whether or not I belong to anyone or anything.”

  “That sounds like bandaging a splinter.”

  He shrugged, and comfortable silence settled between us, punctuated with sweet bird voices and wind in the trees.

  I looked toward the towers of the great house. “I much prefer to attempt a friendship, try to fit in, rather than avoid everyone altogether.”

  He hesitated a moment before speaking. “Must you do such a thing? You were quite unusual, just as you were. I much prefer that to you becoming a duplicate of everyone else.”

  His words passed over me like a gentle breeze, holding me speechless.

  “And now, since I’ve stolen your time with God, perhaps we should approach him together. Would you care to?” He rose to his knees and extended a hand.

  I laid my hand in his, heart fluttering, and bowed my head. With a deep, somber voice, he spoke to God, asking him to keep and protect the heart of his “little friend” from the rest of the world. Then when his voice silenced, I prayed for the family. He picked up the trail with fervent words for the future of Lynhurst. Back and forth, as if we were slowly joining into one unit, we spoke to God in words that swirled easily between us and rose to heaven.

  And my heart was full to overflowing with unnamable thoughts.

  I knew the service and lunch had ended when Nelle breezed by on the path. Silas had long since departed, but I hadn’t been able to focus. Pushing up and brushing dirt and grass off my clothes, I ran to catch up with my friend. “Have you posted the last installment?”

  “Days ago.” Nelle slowed with a glowing smile. “I read it myself that night, and posted it the very next day. Now I’m dying to know what comes next.”

  “So am I.”

  “Has Mr. Droll told you the ending yet?” Nelle looked at me expectantly. “Walk with me and tell me. It’s time I went home and relieved the underhousemaid who is keeping Dahlia.”

  “I’ve come to the conclusion that the fictional girl was in service, and that’s why the family would not let her stay at Lynhurst. It makes the most sense. And of course, she couldn’t marry Charles Sterling Clavey, because he was aristocracy, and she a maid.”

  Nelle frowned. “I’ve read that story a time or two. Droll wouldn’t make it that simple.”

  “But it’s happened so many times to everyday people. Wouldn’t that make it interesting to read? People can see themselves in the story.”

  “I’d bet Lady Jayne has a more remarkable reason for disappearing. Something more worthy of Nathaniel Droll.” We rounded the corner toward Florin cottage in silence. Nelle gazed thoughtfully toward the light clouds above us. “Did you know even Silas Rotherham reads serial fiction?”

  I lowered my head, mixed emotions rushing through me again at the sound of his name on Nelle’s lips. “We’ve spoken of it.”

  “Mary, thank you again.” Nelle stepped through the door and offered the young underhousemaid a brief squeeze before the girl scurried out the door. She shut the door behind us and leaned against it. “I wish you wouldn’t hate him, dear friend. He is not so objectionable, once you really talk to him.”

  Dahlia whisked away a sheet hanging around the bed and rushed to us, her little voice trailing after her, and crashed into her mother’s legs. “You were gone so long, Mum.”

  “You’ve been wonderful.” Nelle laid a hand on the girl’s head, drawing her close.

  “You highly approve of Mr. Rotherham’s character now, do you?” Even asking the question tightened a band around my ribs.

  “Very dearly. Oh Aurelie, please do give up your hatred of him, as I have. You needn’t adore him, but if you only hated him a little less. Will you do it for my sake?” Leading the girl, Nelle crossed the room and perched on a squatty stool at the table.

  “I suppose.” I sank into a seat across from the pair.

  “I’ve been so wrong about him. He is wonderful and genuine and sweet, even with Dahlia. And I’m a judgmental, backward woman with no sense about men.”

  I laid a hand on Nelle’s across the table, forcing a smile. “You’re a mother trying to protect her little girl.”

  “Will you do it, then? As my dear friend?”

  “Accept Mr. Rotherham?”

  “I’m merely asking you to remain agreeable and try not to hate him.”

  And what would she ask in the future—for me to host their wedding?

  Sunday afternoon spread the family throughout Lynhurst and its grounds, allowing for a deep quiet over the house as Silas entered the patio doors into the morning room.

  “Digory, you wished to speak with me?”

  “Nothing urgent, Mr. Rotherham. You have a letter on the hall table, and I wanted to be sure you saw it, since you are not in the habit of digging through the household mail.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Dropping his riding whip into the canister at the patio door, Silas strode into the hall and lifted the envelope from the marble-topped table. This one wore the seal of his parents’ household. With a frown, he slit the top and extracted the single page to skim the precise writing. His father’s business interests had increased and he needed Silas home before the end of summer. Reading the unspoken words surrounding the few items written about his mother, it seemed their marriage was not faring any better than when he’d left. Drama unfolded around him, whether he remained at Lynhurst or returned home, but the mysteries of the manor proved far more intriguing than any involving his own family.

  “Thank you, Digory.”

  “Good news from home, I trust?”

  With a tiny smile, he looked at the old servant. “If there was good news forthcoming from home, I’d hardly choose to summer here.”

  The old servant bowed his head with silent understanding.

  Pocketing the letter, Silas strode toward the stairs and shifted. The tight riding clothes irritated his skin. A bath would help. But at the base of the stairs, one boot on the bottom step, his attention was drawn by a slight movement in the room directly across the great hall. A new idea dawned, and he crossed to the open door.

  The gold-and-yellow room held only one occupant—Lady Eudora Eustice Pochard. Little trinkets littered the surfaces and open books lay facedown on tables, indicating it was a well-used spa
ce. The room seemed to be her sanctuary when she’d had her fill of people, which likely happened often. At least a dozen clocks pinged and plunked out the seconds of passing time in the dusty old parlor untouched by maids.

  “Well, don’t stand in the hall gawking at me, Mr. Rotherham.”

  “Might I ring for some tea for you, my lady?” He slid one foot inside the room, testing.

  “I’m capable of ringing for my own tea.” The high back of her wheeled chair hid all but her silhouette from him. In the extreme glow of sunlight, her parched skin looked nearly white.

  “Would you care for a little company?”

  “Do I ever?” She rapped her crooked knuckles on the arm of her chair. “But you may come in anyway. Curiosity has brought you here, and obviously you will not leave until it is satisfied. You might as well come and gape at the worn old woman whom no one loves.”

  The self-pity curled his insides, but he approached quietly.

  “I suppose in this day a woman of my age is a spectacle. She would have been venerated at one time, but now I’m a sort of sideshow.” Her hard eyes reflected in the window she faced.

  “Forgive me for being so bold, Lady Pochard, but perhaps people are only respecting your wishes by avoiding your company. You’ve made your feelings plain.”

  After several clock ticks across the room, the face that was twisted with a generalized irritation turned to him. “What is it you want here, Mr. Rotherham? We both know it isn’t the company of my shallow grandson or my vapid granddaughter. Are you perhaps trying to gain a financial advantage for yourself?”

  “I want nothing from you or your bank account, Lady Pochard. Kendrick is a wonderful rider, and he is refreshing my equestrian skill. As for the vap . . . Juliette, she is not as unpleasant as you insinuate. She covers up an awful lot of intelligence with her attitudes.”

  The too-long lips curled into a smile of devilish amusement. “I do believe you could find the good in a reptile, Mr. Rotherham. What do you have to say about me, then?”

  Silas compressed his lips between his teeth, mentally shuffling for exactly the right words. “You have a highly acute perception, stemming from a combination of the sharp wit you were born with and trials that would shock your family.”

  “A wise answer. You might even be smarter than the man who had the good sense to choose me for a wife.”

  “I am merely intentional about recognizing the good in people. A little something to combat all the critics in the world.”

  Her amused “huh” bounced her in her chair. “I’m not sure whether to call that foolish or brilliant.”

  “I’d settle for obedient. It was God’s idea, not mine.”

  Rubbing her thumb across the edge of her chair arm, she held his gaze with her glistening eyes. “My acute perception senses you have evaded my question. Why, Mr. Rotherham, are you here?” She laid each word out carefully in the dusty air between them.

  Silas tensed under her scrutiny. He had no desire to tell her, but maybe she could help. Yes, he could tell her at least a piece of it. “I’m wondering about Jayne Windham. And all the scandal linked to her name.”

  “It seems you’ve been snooping about the affairs of this house already, if you’ve uncovered that name. There’s nothing worth knowing about her.”

  “Then satisfy me—please. Curiosity will eat me alive.”

  Disapproval shot from her eyes as she examined Silas, as if deciding how much he might be worthy to know.

  Before she could deny him again, he encouraged her. “Secrets are so much less powerful out in the open. Besides, I believe I have a secret you’d like to know as well. Perhaps we can trade. That is, if you are interested in knowing who has been watching your home.”

  Her slow grin seemed almost evil. “I thought you might know something about this Nathaniel Droll business. You’re smarter than my pitiful family. And yes, I would deem that a fair bargain. My secret for yours.”

  “I haven’t uncovered the whole story just yet, but I can tell you what I know for certain.”

  “In that case, I will offer you the answer to one specific question of your choosing in exchange for the piece you do know.”

  “All right.” He crossed his arms. “How is Jayne Windham connected to Aurelie?”

  “Ah, a wise use of your question.” She inhaled, her taffeta dress crinkling around her ribs. “Lady Jayne was Aurelie’s mother.”

  “So she is dead?”

  “Did I say she was dead?”

  “You said was. She was her mother.”

  “Only because she does not deserve that title any longer. No, she is most certainly not dead. That is two questions, by the way. And now, Mr. Rotherham, your secret. Who is Nathaniel Droll?”

  22

  Sometimes plans have the wonderful benefit of backfiring you to exactly where you needed to be in the first place.

  ~Nathaniel Droll, Lady Jayne Disappears

  A bang on my bedchamber door yanked me from a deep sleep Thursday morning. While I tried to lift my heavy head from my cloud of a pillow, the door burst open and Juliette charged in, the hue of her bright blue dress hurting my eyes. Anger radiated from her face.

  “Get out of bed, you coward.” She slung the covers back, and cold struck my body just before the girl dragged me from the bed by my sleeve.

  I tumbled and thumped onto the floor on my side, batting hair out of my face. Pain surged up my hip. My ire spiked with the pain. With my limbs tangled in my loose nightdress, I struggled to stand before my cousin.

  “You are a part of this hateful Nathaniel Droll business, aren’t you?” Juliette swung a periodical at my arm, but I ducked, crumpling back to the floor. “He wrote about Jasper, and everything I told you is in here. Are you him? The one who’s been spying on this house?”

  Now I was fully awake, brain clear as ice water. The thin strand of our friendship had snapped. Juliette clutched the familiar green book containing the next Nathaniel Droll installment, which had released that day. I scrambled to retrieve the pieces. “Nathaniel Droll has been writing about Lynhurst far longer than I have been here.” I fumbled toward restoration with my words, whatever the cost.

  “Don’t be clever. You know who the real man is, don’t you? How else would Nathaniel Droll know my private affairs if it was not for you telling him?”

  I held up my palms. “As I live, I’ve not met a single man since coming here that you do not know about. Nor have I spoken to anyone. When would I have had the chance? I am at Lynhurst nearly all the time.” Dishonest. That’s what I was. Not outright, but still dishonest. My stomach twisted, but I held my gaze steady. It was necessary—vital, really—to keep the truth quiet. Besides, I needed to keep the communication between myself and Juliette open if I was to protect her from the impending danger.

  Anger contorted the girl’s face, but pain etched itself in her eyes. “You were the only one I trusted with that secret. How else could it have gotten out?”

  “Clem? He saw you as clear as I did on Saturday. If he did, there were likely others.” I’d only written in the secret trysts, hadn’t I? Nothing specific Juliette had told me. Nothing of the girl’s feelings or thoughts.

  Right?

  Juliette hid her face behind her trembling hands, pressing her fingertips into her forehead.

  I laid a tentative hand on the girl’s arm. How could I help at this point? All the vindication I’d felt writing that issue faded against my desire to calm Juliette. “What will you do?”

  “It’s too late to do anything. Everything’s been printed. Has Mother seen it yet? She mustn’t. If you truly wish to help me . . .” She paced, releasing her wild curls.

  “I cannot take it from her room. She’ll lay hold of it eventually. But we can—”

  “No! We have to get it out of her room before she sees it. I’ll work out the rest later.”

  A thump and then a screech lifted up to us from below. “JULIETTE!” We froze.

  Scrambling to her feet, Juliett
e ran out the door, tossing her copy of the troublesome issue at my feet. Landing in a whoosh on the fallen blankets, I prayed for the situation currently unfolding. No, exploding. Guilt swelled from an annoying prickle to overwhelming waves. I’d made another mess of things with my oh-so-brilliant solution. What had seemed so obvious and easy was, in reality, a complicated and tangled mess.

  I flung my dressing gown around my body and tied it as I strode out the door with the installment in my hand. Only pieces of the heated conversation floated up to me as I hung over the third-story railing. Finally I snuck down to the second floor, just down the hall from the suite of rooms hosting the drama.

  “I don’t believe a word of it. No girl hides it if it’s innocent.”

  How could anyone sustain that high of a pitch?

  “There were other reasons.”

  “I do not care to hear them. Not a single one. Excuses!”

  “Why won’t you even give him a chance? Simply because we do not know his family background, it doesn’t mean—”

  “It means everything! You are forbidden to have anything more to do with him. Ever. No gentleman asks a lady to sneak around, dangling her reputation by a thread. I’ll not have it. Not for my daughter.”

  “Would you listen—”

  “I will not!” A thump against wood. “This conversation is over. I will not allow you to continue so foolishly.”

  A shuffle, then Glenna banged out of the room, open robe barely covering her nightdress. “My child. My child.” Her plump bare feet paced across the hall. She pivoted and spotted me, and I shot up from the third step.

  “I’m sorry, I was—”

  “You!” One long finger shot out at me and I quaked on my step. “I want you with her everywhere she goes from now on. You hear me? Everywhere!” She balled her fists and stalked back into the bedroom. My body instantly sagged against the railing. She turned at the door. “Never allow them to be alone together. Not for a minute. And if I find you’ve failed, I’ll personally remove you from this house, no matter what my fool mother says.”