The Highwayman (17 page)

“Yes, I noticed that, too,” she said eagerly. “What do you make of it?”

“Well, to begin with, I thought it probable that his story was similar to the one you attributed to me when you thought I was the highwayman. And, in fact, I have learned since that at least a portion of it is.”

“Do you mean to say that he has actually talked to you? I could scarcely get a word out of him.”

“He
is
a trifle shy—which, again, is not what one would expect of a highwayman—but perhaps that condition is more apparent in the company of females.”

“Most likely,” she agreed, already beginning to fashion a history for Mr. Davies. “He seems very young, and perhaps his mother died at an early age, and he had no sisters, so is unused to...”

She stopped when she noticed a slow, knowing smile beginning to form on St. Clair’s lips, and said quickly, “But what did he tell you?”

“It seems that our highwayman, whom I think we should begin referring to as Mr. Davies, was born on the wrong side of the blanket. His father was a member of the gentry and quite wealthy, and to his credit, he acknowledged the boy, rearing him on his estate and having him educated along with his other children.

“Unfortunately, the other children were not so inclined to accept Mr. Davies, and when the father stuck his spoon in the wall, the heir gave our hero the boot. Mr. Davies then enlisted in the army and managed to survive to the end of the war. It is the remainder of the story which you will find familiar.

“Upon returning to England, he could not find gainful employment, and being a resourceful young man, he turned to the life of a highwayman.”

“Well,” said Jane, “as you once said, I am sure he preferred that to begging. In any event, I do not think we should turn him in.”

“No,” St. Clair agreed. “As a matter of fact, I believe I may have a much better solution for him.”

“Oh? What is that?”

But he smiled and shook his head, saying, “It is early days yet to speak of it. I shall need more information from Mr. Davies before I make a decision. And, of course, he must agree to the plan, too.”

“Very well,” said Jane. “I shall leave the problem of Mr. Davies to you, so long as I need not worry about him being hanged.” She paused and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “And since he is doing so well, I suppose I need not worry about him in a medical sense, either, which means it will not be necessary for me to look in on him every day.”

“How can you say so?” he asked. “It is quite possible that he may exhibit delayed symptoms of concussion. I have known such things to happen—in the army, you know.”

“Of course!” said Jane. “I had not thought of that. Well, then,” she added cheerfully, rising, “I shall see you again in the morning, if I am not needed sooner.”

“Oh, but you cannot leave yet,” he told her. “My chef has gone to a great deal of trouble preparing us an excellent nuncheon. And you know how I hate to eat alone.”

It did not take much to persuade her, for of course, she did not wish to offend St. Clair’s chef. And the repast was indeed excellent. Jane enjoyed it very much, but she enjoyed St. Clair’s company even more.

They spoke of all manner of things, from poor Beau Brummell’s flight from England to escape his creditors, to the odd Sioux custom of rubbing noses rather than kissing, which he had observed in America.

“However,” St. Clair informed her, “when I left, many of them had already accepted our custom in preference to theirs, and with great enthusiasm, I might add.”

Having drunk two glasses of wine with the meal, Jane shook her head at him and said with mock severity, “You are attempting to put me to the blush again, St. Clair.”

“How did you guess?’’ he asked with laughing eyes.

“Very easily,” she retorted. “I am beginning to know you quite well, you see.”

It was, perhaps, fortunate that, in the process of rising from the table, she did not notice the look he gave her.

As they moved towards the door together, she said, “I have enjoyed this very much, but now I really must go. Poor Agatha will think I have run away.”

“I doubt poor Agatha will worry overmuch,” he murmured, with just a touch of sarcasm. But she was several steps ahead of him, and when she asked him to repeat his words, he said blandly, “I doubt that Agatha will worry. After all, she knows where you are.”

“Yes, but I have stayed much longer than I meant to do. Sir Alfred called just before I left, and I fear that he and Agatha may come to blows if they are left alone too long. So, dear sir, I shall bid you farewell, until tomorrow.”

He did not attempt to dissuade her again, and Jane was soon riding home, filled with a remarkable sense of well-being. She was almost at her doorstep before she remembered that they had never got round to discussing Meadowbrook or Phillips.

But, after a moment, she shrugged that concern away. There was always tomorrow, she thought, and stepped lightly into the house.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The next morning, after a brief visit with her patient, Jane and St. Clair finally got round to discussing Meadowbrook and Phillips.

Jane was shocked and chagrined when she learned how Phillips had been cheating her for the past four years. But there could be no mistaking the matter. St. Clair showed her the vast difference between the account books kept while her father still lived and those after his death. And he explained just how the man had done it.

“I feel like such a ninny,” she said with a great deal of self-disgust. “I have always prided myself on my intelligence, but not to have seen what was happening!”

“How should you have seen it?” St. Clair asked. “Phillips is a very clever man—I’ll grant him that much. And, from all that I have heard about your father, I doubt that you received any training in estate management.”

“No,” she admitted. “What little I do know, I taught myself. But I see now that there is a great deal more to it than I thought.”

“Indeed, “said St. Clair.

“Well,” said Jane, “I shall simply have to learn more about the matter. I do not wish to impose, but would you help me? Perhaps you could lend me some books on the subject.”

“Gladly, but I shall do better than that,” he replied. “It is always good for an owner to be knowledgeable, but what you really need is another bailiff. This time, one who is both reliable and honest.”

“Yes,” agreed Jane slowly. She caught her lower lip in her teeth, wondering how she was going to accomplish that.

“I shall take care of it,” said St. Clair.

She immediately bristled. “I am perfectly capable of solving my own problems, St. Clair. I have been independent for four years.”

“I’ve no doubt of it,” he replied. “And I admire you tremendously, I promise you. But at the moment your plate is full, what with managing your household, caring for the ill of the district, and attempting to bring Alice up to snuff. Why should you go to the trouble when I am perfectly willing to do it for you? You must allow me to do this service for you as your... friend.”

“Well, when you put it that way...” said Jane. She wondered why his affirmation of their friendship should leave her feeling less than happy.

“Good girl!” he said, then added, “As a matter of fact, I already have someone in mind for the position.”

“Oh? Who?”

“I’d rather not say just now, in case it does not work out. But it does look very promising.”

“Very well,” said Jane. “I shall leave the matter to you.”

She strongly suspected what he had in mind, but decided to pretend ignorance and allow him to go about this in his own way. And, when he told her that Mr. Davies was his candidate for the job, she would act surprised and pleased. She had some trouble suppressing a smile, for the incongruity of the terms “reliable and honest” as applied to a retired highwayman did not escape her.

True to his word, St. Clair supplied Jane with several weighty tomes from his library, then laughed at her look of dismay. Fortunately, she was not required to wade through them at once, for he proposed to spend the succeeding days riding with her over both her land and his own in order to teach her the basics of estate management.

They began her instruction that same day. Even so tedious a business proved to be enjoyable, for St. Clair made it interesting by telling humorous anecdotes and fascinating bits of agricultural history.

“How is it that you know so much about all this?” she asked at one point. “I would not have thought a man such as you...” She stopped, realizing that she might be insulting him.

But he merely laughed. “You mean a rake such as I? As a matter of fact, I surprise myself, but I suppose I must have absorbed more than I knew while growing up.”

It was late afternoon when St. Clair called a halt to the day’s lesson. Jane was surprised at how quickly the hours had flown. She had so enjoyed herself that she hated to part from him, and she was delighted when he insisted upon escorting her back to Meadow-brook. She was even more pleased when he accepted her invitation to come in for tea.

They entered the house to hear a familiar booming voice. “If that ain’t exactly like a female! It just goes to show that you know nothing about the matter.”

Jane and St. Clair stopped in the drawing-room doorway as Agatha retorted, “I know that your fat friend will be the ruination of this country if he continues with his extravagance and his dissipated ways!”

“Fat friend!” cried Sir Alfred, clearly outraged. “Now you have gone too far, woman. ‘Twas those very words helped put the finishing touch to Brummell’s downfall.”

“Oh, good heavens, they are at it again,” murmured Jane, and she hurried into the room.

Catching sight of her. Sir Alfred beamed and said, “Ah, there you are, my dear. A sight for sore eyes, I must say.”

He was struggling to rise from his place on the sofa and, although his foot was less heavily bandaged today, Jane made haste to stop him. “Pray, do not try to get up. Sir Alfred. I know your gout must be paining you, so I shall excuse you from such gallantry.”

He sank back with obvious relief, but assured her, “Oh, the blasted thing is much better. Agatha has been using one of your miracle cures on me.”

He beamed at Jane again, then gestured towards St. Clair. “Glad to see you, my boy. Come here and see if you can set this hen-witted woman straight.”

Sauntering further into the room, St. Clair rested one arm along the mantle. “Now how am I to answer that, sir? In truth, I see no hen-witted woman here.”

“Oh, very well. I shall own that Agatha ain’t pea-brained, but she has some damned queer notions in that head of hers.”

“If you wish to stay for tea, Alfred,” warned Agatha, “you will watch your language.”

“Now what did I say?” he demanded.

Hoping to avert another quarrel between them, Jane asked, “What is it that you think Agatha does not understand. Sir Alfred?”

“She don’t understand that Prinny’s memorial to the Stuarts won’t cost the government a cent. You tell her, St. Clair.”

“Actually, he is right,” St. Clair admitted ruefully. “France will be paying for it.”

“Perhaps,” said Agatha doubtfully as she scowled at Sir Alfred. “But what about his endless renovations to Carlton House and that monstrosity in Brighton? You will not tell me
those
are not draining the treasury!”

Fortunately, Melrose entered the room just then with the tea tray.

Sir Alfred patted the place beside him on the sofa and said to Jane, “Come here and tell me what you have been up to, my dear. Agatha will pour for us.”

Jane missed St. Clair’s slight frown as she obligingly sat down next to the squire. Rather than telling him about her day, however, she looked round and asked, “Where is Alice?”

“Oh,” said Agatha, “she is spending the day with her friend Clarissa. I thought the break would do her no harm.”

Jane merely nodded, momentarily wondering if she should feel guilty for neglecting the girl when in fact she did not.

The conversation then turned to less controversial topics. A short time later Melrose again entered the room to say, “Pardon me, Miss Jane, but a message has just arrived for Lord St. Clair.”

Frowning again, St. Clair crossed the room and took the slip of paper from the butler.

“I hope it is not bad news,” said Jane.

“No, but I fear I must take my leave of you. It seems that I have acquired some unexpected guests.”

Jane did not know what to make of his expression.  She could not decide if the look in his eyes was one of anger or excitement.

She walked with him to the door, and they waited on the steps for his horse to be brought round. He seemed preoccupied. She supposed that his mind was on his visitors. She wondered who they might be, but he did not offer to tell her, and she could not bring herself to ask.

She was completely taken aback when he suddenly turned to her and demanded, “Is that damned fellow here every day?”

She blinked. “Who?”

“Sir Alfred.”

“Of course not. Besides, it has been but a few days since his return from Brighton.”

“And I’ll wager he has spent most of that time at Meadowbrook. Does he take his meals with you, too?”

“Well, sometimes,” she admitted, wondering what on earth all this was about. “But you must remember that it cannot be very comfortable at the Manor with so many of his servants away.”

“I saw how he fawned over you today. The man is dangling after you, Jane, and I do not think it wise to encourage him.”

Jane gaped at him before bursting into laughter. “Good God, St Clair! How can you be so absurd? That is just his way. In any case, if he is dangling after anyone, it is Agatha.”

“Now who is talking nonsense? You know as well as I that the two of them rub along together like a cat and a dog.”

“Yes,” she agreed, looking thoughtful, “but do you know, I am beginning to believe that they actually enjoy their bickering.”

Jackson appeared then with St. Clair’s horse, so their conversation was brought to a close. St. Clair swung into the saddle and said tersely, “I shall see you tomorrow.”

Jane watched him as he urged Achilles into a canter and disappeared down the drive. She wished their parting had been a trifle more amicable. Now that he had friends at the Hall, she doubted that he would have time to spend tutoring her. Nevertheless, he obviously expected her to continue her calls on her patient, and she breathed a sigh of relief.