‘Our Jane should have been born a boy,’ her husband continued.
‘What does that mean, Hugh?’ she said in a watery voice as she spooned leaves into the teapot.
He shrugged. ‘Even at school she wanted to be better than the boys, didn’t she? She hated us sending her to a girls’ school. Jane’s tough, especially here,’ he said, tapping his temple.
‘Yeah, and you gave her the pretty genes too. It’s not fair that she gets to be the fearless daughter and ridiculously beautiful with it.’ Juliette mocked herself, trying to lighten the leaden conversation, but it didn’t work. Her observation sounded sour and she knew it as soon as she’d said it, shrugging at her parents’ surprised expressions. The self-mockery stopped and the truth emerged. ‘What? Looking the way she does, Jane could have anyone she likes. And then she snares Mr Amazing and when she should be at his side pulling him through, she’s off on a crazy adventure. This is typical Jane. Everything has to be on her terms.’
Hugh Granger frowned disapprovingly at his daughter and shook his head. ‘No, that’s not it, Juliette. Jane’s always been searching for something — maybe she hoped Will would provide it, but …’
‘But what?’ Catelyn demanded. ‘I hate us talking about her like this.’
‘I think she’s always been looking for a man who was stronger than she is,’ Hugh said, as though finally releasing a great secret. ‘But Will overwhelms her, takes away her control by making decisions for her.’ He sighed.
‘Oh, Dad, that’s ridiculous. Which right-thinking girl wouldn’t want Will Maxwell weak-kneed for them? Jane’s a nutter if she found that anything but charming. And Will’s a bit of a dreamer — that’s what made him so interesting. He has the attributes to be a womanising playboy, but from what I gather he’s the opposite.’
Hugh looked vaguely embarrassed at having revealed his thoughts. He cleared his throat, and in a more no-nonsense tone, took control of the conversation again. ‘Anyway … you heard that the Australian police won’t be calling it a disappearance until at least twenty-four hours have passed. It’s only been eight since she left the motel.’
‘You’re right. She’s going to arrive back at the motel and be livid with everyone for overreacting,’ Catelyn said, pouring water into the pot.
The phone rang, startling them. Jane’s mother gave a small shriek as her father grabbed the receiver after one ring.
‘Hugh Granger,’ he snapped, clearly apprehensive.
Juliette and her mother reached for each other and held hands, waiting, expecting him to grin at them as he heard Jane’s voice. He didn’t.
‘Oh, hello, John,’ he said, looking vaguely guilty. ‘Sorry. Er, yes, we were waiting to hear from Jane.’
He listened.
‘No, it’s hard to keep track of the times in Australia.’
Another pause. The women let go of each other, exchanging a look of disappointment. Catelyn returned to putting a cosy on the teapot.
‘Yes, well, I hope she gets over the bee in her bonnet soon too,’ he said, glowering for the sake of the women watching him. ‘We too would be far happier if she were here. How is Will? Any change?’ He waited. ‘Really? But that’s positive, surely?’ He nodded, listening, nodded again. ‘That’s marvellous. I know … yes, I know you did. All right. If she calls — I mean when she calls — I’ll certainly let her know. Yes, I’ll have her call you too, although it’s a bit difficult from Alice Springs.’ He waited. ‘Yes, from Sydney, then. Listen, John, that’s great to hear about Will. Thank you for letting us know. I will. Yes. Best to Diane too.’ He put the phone down and looked at them.
‘Has Will woken up?’ Juliette guessed.
He shook his head. ‘No, but John was ringing to say there are some encouraging signs.’
‘How encouraging?’ his wife asked.
‘Enough that John and Diane have agreed to hold off on taking him to America for a bit longer,’ he replied, rubbing his eyes as the women shared a look of relief. ‘They’ve postponed the trip until after New Year, as the doctors in London want to keep Will undisturbed in case he is surfacing. That’s the word John used — he didn’t say “waking up”.’ Hugh sighed. ‘They were hoping Jane might be on her way back.’
Jane’s mother nodded. ‘She should be with Will, especially if her presence might help him.’
‘I deliberately didn’t say anything about Jane being uncontactable at present. They’ve got enough on their plates.’
‘Why don’t we ring the motel ourselves?’ Juliette offered.
‘The police said they’d let us know.’
‘Mum, you’re so obedient! I’ll ring the motel. What’s that man’s name again?’
‘Let’s not muddy the water. We’ll give it a few more hours and if we haven’t heard by midnight, I agree, we’ll phone Alice Springs ourselves,’ her father said.
Jane became aware of a soft breeze against formerly numb cheeks, and she felt strangely weightless. As full consciousness returned, she realised she was being carried, and she blinked open her eyes to regard a dark blue gaze that belonged to the last person she could have expected to see.
‘Miss Granger?’
‘Lord Sackville!’ she croaked.
‘Be still a moment, if you please.’ He said this softly, but she also realised it was not a request. He carried her effortlessly and his hard body against hers sent warmth and security coursing through her. Although she felt vaguely ridiculous being carried, somewhere deep down there was a mingling of pleasure and relief that not only had she been saved from Wyatt’s attack, but also that it was Sackville who had saved her.
She raised a hand to her neck, which felt tender.
‘Do not test your voice, Miss Granger,’ he said, so tenderly that she smiled. And just for a heartbeat she was sure she saw a grin flicker in his expression, its effect — even after it had disappeared quickly — warming his coolish gaze. ‘I am glad you are safe,’ he murmured for her hearing alone.
‘Thank you, Lord Sackville,’ she whispered, impaled once again by the intensity of his gaze. She felt like a butterfly specimen, pinned and helpless, while an admirer drank in the beauty of his captured prize. ‘Is Cecilia safe?’
‘I am, dearest,’ came the familiar voice as her friend hove into view. She appeared dishevelled but smiling. ‘Lord Sackville came to my rescue before any damage could be done,’ she said, glancing with gratitude at the newcomer.
Sackville’s eyes, however, hadn’t left Winifred’s, and Jane felt a curious sense of affinity pass between her and her rescuer as he placed her gently down into the welcoming embrace of Cecilia and turned away. Jane swivelled her head to follow his movement and her gaze fell on Wyatt, who was kneeling on one leg, seemingly recovering from having been knocked out.
‘What happened?’ she rasped, still trying to find her voice again.
‘Lord Sackville clubbed him unconscious with a blow from his pistol. He’ll have a sore head,’ Cecilia whispered.
‘Less than he deserves,’ Jane murmured.
Julius Sackville unhurriedly checked his pistol before he took aim and pointed the barrel at the heart of Wyatt. ‘I’m a terribly good shot,’ he warned, his tone even, his expression untroubled. ‘One of your blackguard companions is dead. The younger has run away, suffering, I suspect, from a broken jaw — I certainly hope so. But I’ve had time to reload just for you.’ Wyatt threw his arms up hastily. Sackville shifted his stormy gaze to Winifred. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Miss Granger?’
Jane drew a steadying breath. ‘I’m fine; a bit bruised, perhaps.’ She realised she was in her petticoat and how transparent it must be due to her dampened behind.
‘Let’s get you dressed again, my dear,’ Cecilia muttered, but Jane was fully distracted by the conversation between the men.
‘No harm done, then?’ Tom tried, overly bright, but his voice shook and his eyes were fixed on the pistol. His gum had bled from the missing tooth and a trail of bloodied spittle ran down h
is rough, unshaven chin.
‘Really? Do you think so?’ Sackville asked wryly. ‘I’d suggest you start running and don’t look behind you.’
Jane turned to stare at their rescuer. ‘You’re not going to let him go, are you?’ She looked back at Wyatt, who was stumbling to his cart.
Sackville squinted and pressed the trigger and the flintlock discharged, terrifying two rabbits out of a nearby burrow. Both women shrank back at the explosion of flame and smoke while Wyatt yelped and leaped into the air. Sackville had deliberately missed, Jane thought, going by his amused expression. Wyatt couldn’t know that, but his confident sneer surprised her.
‘You’re not such a good shot after all, Master Sackville, and I can be gone before you reload.’
Sackville smiled humourlessly. ‘Just getting my eye in.’ He withdrew a second, matching, pocket pistol and pointed it at his no longer sneering, but genuinely frightened, target.
‘This one is already loaded. I won’t miss on my next shot, Mr Wyatt. I said start running. No cart. And remember this: I know your name. And when I have seen to these ladies, the constables of every parish will know it too and receive a description of you and your attack. Mark me well: you’ll have your day in front of the magistrate even if I have to hunt you down myself.’
Wyatt slipped and tripped, arms flailing, as he staggered out of firing range and finally disappeared from sight.
Sackville turned to Jane now, but declined to look directly at her. ‘Miss Granger, it is entirely unseemly to be kicking and flailing about in your petticoats, plus you will catch your death.’
‘Fetch my skirt and cloak, Cecilia,’ she pleaded. She addressed him again, refusing to be embarrassed. ‘Is the man who attacked Cecilia really dead?’ she asked, as her friend returned with her clothes and a handful of torn-off buttons.
‘I watched him drop dead from the pistol shot,’ Cecilia answered for him, ‘although I care not. If you hadn’t happened along …’ she said, turning to Sackville, but didn’t finish her thought.
‘You must not think on that, er, Miss …?’
‘Evans,’ she said.
‘Why did you happen along?’ Jane asked, reclothed, her skirt held together by its two remaining buttons. Her pulse had returned to something akin to normal and all her former adrenaline had leeched away, leaving her feeling vulnerable again. She hugged herself beneath her cloak. It was turning colder again, she was sure. ‘I thought you were bound for York.’
‘I was. I have come from there,’ he replied, walking away from them to begin unharnessing Wyatt’s horse from the cart.
She shivered. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’
Sackville didn’t look at her. ‘I came back for you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘For you and Miss Evans, that is.’ His gaze finally fixed on her again.
Jane blinked in astonishment. ‘Why?’
He straightened and looked slightly baffled as to the right answer. Jane found his obvious discomfort at being questioned like this to be disconcertingly attractive, particularly as it broke through his otherwise controlled bearing. ‘Because while those louts couldn’t tell the difference between a woman of high social standing and a peasant, I certainly can!’
‘So if I were a simple peasant, you would not have rushed to my aid?’ She was shocked by how terrible his rationale sounded, but reminded herself that she was not in an age of equality. Women would have to wait another century or more before any sort of reform began.
‘I did not say that.’ Her terse silence forced him to continue. ‘Let us not maintain this charade. I understand you are Lady Maxwell, Countess of Nithsdale, as you named yourself.’
Jane couldn’t hide the surprise in her expression but didn’t reply.
‘She is, My Lord,’ Cecilia took it upon herself to admit, and did not dare meet Winifred’s gaze. ‘And I am her companion and maid.’
He fixed Winifred with a fresh stare. ‘I could not in good conscience, My Lady, leave you to make this journey alone. Such travel is hard enough for a foolhardy man such as I, but …’ He trailed off. ‘It’s bad enough that you have had to make it this far without an escort. When I learned that my coach to London had been delayed, I thought I should come back and escort you to York.’ He seemed to gather confidence the more he rationalised; his control was firmly back in place. ‘Now, four miles down this road is a respectable inn, where I suggest we abide overnight. We shall be on a coach tomorrow if the weather holds.’
Jane was acutely aware of a man lying dead behind the hedgerow. ‘You seem to care more for a carthorse than a man, Lord Sackville,’ she said.
‘I don’t care about that man at all,’ he snapped. ‘I do care about this horse, which gave no harm to anyone. It deserves a stable of fresh hay and a feed. Its driver, I hazard, deserves nothing more than for the wild animals to pick at his crime-ridden carcass.’
‘I have to agree, Winifred. The man’s a sorry wretch who falls upon unwitting travellers. You know how William feels about highwaymen and reivers.’ Cecilia gave a satisfied sigh as Winifred nodded. ‘Lord Sackville is right too: you’ll catch your death if we stand here much longer. We all will.’
Jane could no longer feel her hands or toes. ‘So we just leave him?’
Cecilia looked at her as though she were losing her mind. ‘By my honour, Winnie! He attacked me! He would have taken you after that Wyatt fellow had! Lord Sackville killed the man in self-defence. You’ve witnessed him let the other two go. Don’t think on any of them again — each nothing more than a mindless, thieving cur.’
‘Well said, Miss Evans,’ returned Sackville.
It was shocking. Yet Jane allowed herself to be led back to her horse.
Sackville was suddenly at her side. ‘Here, let me help you,’ he offered, lifting up Winifred’s slim body easily, so Jane could once again seat herself in the side-saddle. His hand rested on her boot, and she could feel its warmth and its pressure through the soft leather. She was not imagining it. Sackville was communicating silently with her, passing her strength and encouragement. ‘Are you strong enough to ride, Lady Nithsdale?’ he asked aloud.
She nodded, disarmed by the concern in his expression and that dark, penetrating gaze of his, and perhaps by what he was not saying while he touched her with such tender familiarity. ‘Please, call me Winifred,’ she said. ‘In fact, call me Jane,’ she added, and when Cecilia threw her a frowning sidelong glance she shrugged. ‘It’s best we don’t bandy around my true identity. Jane Granger is easier to hide behind.’
‘Jane,’ he said, and bowed his head, but not before she felt another slight squeeze of her foot.
She swallowed, angry with herself but not entirely sure why, as she watched Julius Sackville mount easily. He’d tied the carthorse to his own and the party headed away, neither of her companions even vaguely interested in checking the contents of the cart they had abandoned on the roadside.
They covered the journey swiftly, with Sackville riding ahead in silence. Later, at the coaching inn, all the horses were safely stabled. While Cecilia supervised a copper bath being poured for her, Jane found herself alone with him over the remnants of a pigeon pie. The rhyme of ‘Four and Twenty Blackbirds’ was humming through her mind as she tried not to stare too hard at her dining companion.
‘Are you recovered … Jane? No delayed effect from today’s events?’
She snorted softly. ‘No, I am well, truly. If I could stop sneezing, I would say I was completely in fine health, although my rear is sore from where I fell.’ He nodded, but there was no lightness in his bearing. She barely knew him, but couldn’t imagine how he might sound if he laughed delightedly. She had to wonder if he ever had allowed himself such freedom. ‘So what do you do, Lord Sackville?’
‘Do? I do not do anything and yet I seem to keep busy with plenty of things,’ he answered, looking slightly perplexed by her enquiry. He shrugged. ‘For the most part, I live at the Martlets in the north and run my estate.’
‘Are you
married?’
‘No,’ he said brusquely, then softened, staring into his goblet. ‘I was.’ Jane blinked, held her tongue. ‘She died. We were very young when we met and were still far too young when she left me. And it was so painful to lose her that I choose not to put myself into that position again.’ His eyes had misted over, but suddenly he looked directly at her. ‘And here you are, hoping to shift a mountain in order to save your own husband an early death. I have heard of his probable fate.’ As he watched her expression crumple, he instinctively reached for her hand. When their skin touched, they both reacted as if burned and pulled away quickly, but his kindness remained. ‘Ah, forgive me. That was insensitive. I meant —’
‘I know what you meant. I am not offended,’ she assured him. ‘I was saddened at the thought of someone else I know who has turned to the mystical in order that she might save her husband an early death.’
He frowned. ‘What is wrong with him?’
‘He hit his head and has not regained consciousness.’
‘A stupor? Did he fall from a horse?’
‘Something like that,’ she said, feeling deeply sad for lying about Will. She wished she could tell Sackville the truth.
‘I am sorry for your friend. I have heard of this affliction; some name it apoplexy. Few understand it, although I have heard of people who have woken up a long time later, with no memory of the incident that prompted their sleep but no worse for it.’
She gave a small shrug, keen to move away from the topic. ‘I haven’t thanked you for what you did for us today.’
‘I should hope any gentleman would do the same,’ he said, swishing the sweet wine around the goblet he had been sipping from. He dropped his voice even though he was already speaking quietly. ‘I am no Catholic, but I consider Lord Derwentwater among my closest friends.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I am concerned for his wellbeing. I hope to bear witness for him — to speak up for him.’
Her attention had been riveted on his large, well-cared-for hands as they twirled the stem of the goblet. Now her gaze flew to his earnest expression. ‘What have you heard?’ Jane knew that the Earl of Derwentwater was one of the important captives who had been taken with Nithsdale.
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