Jack (The Jaded Gentlemen Book 4) (17 page)

“You don’t think the money was stolen?”

Vicar set the empty poor box on the shelf and dropped the three pathetic coins inside. “Very odd sort of thief that moves a jar of coins from the
tavern to the church without taking a single penny. I’ve certainly never heard the like.”

“I think your mother was also warning you,” Jack said. “You can run a fine, hospitable, gracious establishment, and set a shining example
of charity for the rest of us, but lock up at night, hang a bell on the doors, and mind who has a key.”

“Aye,” Tavis said. “A bell is a fine idea. That’s quite a large jar.”

Jack thought of Theodosia Hennessey’s weak tea and stale bread, her sister’s fallow ewes and sagging gates.

“If your example inspires the entire contents to be placed at Vicar’s disposal for charitable purposes,” Jack said, “the Weasel
could start a holiday tradition that spreads to coaching inns throughout the realm. Your mother would be very proud to know that her good influence did so
much for so many.”

That was true, if a bit… ambitious.

“You’d be an inspiration,” Jeremy said. “I’ll certainly tell this tale to my bishop when I return to London. I’ve
witnessed a miracle right here in Oxfordshire.”

“I’ll tell our bishop as well,” Vicar said. “You’re a fine man, Bartholomew. Your own mother often said as much.”

Tavis’s sigh should have shook the rafters. “I was never one to argue with Ma. Nobody with any sense did. I’ll make the announcement at
the championship. I’d like to take the jar back to the Weasel though.”

“Of course,” Vicar said. “The better for all to admire the magnitude of your generosity and your good mother’s wonderful example.
Happy New Year, Bartholomew.”

Tavis looked anything but happy as he cradled the jar in his arms and left the church.

“That part about the beacon,” Jeremy said in the ensuing silence. “That was inspired. Perhaps you should consider a career in the Church,
Jack.”

“Somebody should,” Vicar muttered. “I mention charity as often as I dare in my sermons, but after having importuned the more fortunate
parishioners for a new roof last year, I dare not over-emphasize my pleas for the widows and orphans. The day Matilda Tavis earned her wings was not a good
day for the poor of the parish.”

Because feeding widows and orphans mattered less than putting a few buckets under the eaves?

“My team will agree to give up any winnings,” Jack said. “Belmont’s team will as well. That ought to get the momentum going.”

“The widows and orphans thank you,” Vicar said, “as do I.”

“I’m not the one who should be thanked,” Jack said, leading Jeremy to the door. “This is the most creative bit of thievery
I’ve seen on three continents.”

“Or the most creative miracle,” Jeremy said. “Happy New Year, Vicar, and may the best team win.”

They left the Vicar in the empty church, smiling despite his nearly-empty poor box.

“I caught him stealing her boots, bold as a pirate!” Mrs. Abernathy brandished Madeline’s boots under Sir Jack’s nose.

Pahdi stood before the library hearth, radiating indignation.

“Mrs. Abernathy, you will please lower your voice,” Sir Jack said, wresting the boots from her. “What use would Pahdi have for a pair of
lady’s boots?”

A pair of worn lady’s boots much in need of new heels. Madeline felt awful for the butler, and ashamed for herself too.

“Miss Hennessey’s boots have plenty of wear left in them,” Mrs. Abernathy said. “They can be sold in Oxford at any number of
shops.”

Madeline was under no delusions about why Sir Jack had asked her to vouch for Pahdi’s whereabouts earlier in the week. Bartholomew Tavis had
doubtless accused Pahdi of stealing the darts winnings. In what passed for Tavis’s reasoning, a man surrounded every day by expensive silver, spices,
crystal, and porcelain would of course tramp through deep snow on a winter night to steal money on public display.

“When was Pahdi to travel the more than ten miles to Oxford to negotiate this sale?” Sir Jack asked. “Half-day is not enough time for
such a journey in this weather, and the shops are closed on Sunday.”

Mrs. Abernathy looked to Madeline, apparently expecting support on the basis of gender—support that would not be forthcoming.

“He had the boots, sir,” Mrs. Abernathy insisted. “I saw him with my own eyes, sneaking down the corridor with the boots in his hand. If
you doubt my word, I will turn in my resignation this very day.”

Please let her turn in her resignation
. Madeline sent up that silent prayer on behalf of the entire household.

“I do not doubt your word,” Sir Jack said. “I doubt your judgment. Pahdi, what have you to say?”

Surely the blood of princes flowed through Pahdi’s veins. He shot such a glower at Mrs. Abernathy, she ought to have gone up in flames on the spot.
The glance he gave Madeline was apologetic.

“Miss Hennessey does not leave her boots out each night for the boot boy to clean, and yet, in this weather, footwear needs attention if it is to
keep the feet warm and dry. I thought to bring the boots to the kitchen for the boot boy, and have them back in Miss Hennessey’s room before she
noticed they were missing. In Teak House, we care for each other’s well-being, and Miss Hennessey is deserving of every kindness.”

He spoke with gentle deliberation, as if explaining basic concepts to somebody of limited understanding.

Mrs. Abernathy’s complexion turned nearly the same shade as the holiday ribbons festooning the tall candles on the library mantel.

“A fine and clever story,” she snapped. “Sir Jack won’t listen to that taradiddle if he wants me keeping house for him. You, Mr.
Pahdi, may take your lying, stealing, disrespectful—”

Sir Jack had cocked his head, as if curious to learn how badly Mrs. Abernathy had misjudged the situation.

“Tell him, Sir Jack,” Mrs. Abernathy said. “Tell him his kind aren’t welcome here. I don’t care what Bartholomew Tavis puts
about regarding angels and miracles, we’ve a thief in our midst, and I know who it is. You show these people an ounce of kindness, and they take
endless advantage. It’s not your fault you’ve a kind heart. Many a good man has gone out to India and come back addled.”

In Madeline’s opinion, Mrs. Abernathy was the one who was daft. But then, she mostly lurked below stairs. She’d never known Sir Jack to chop
wood for an old woman living alone, hadn’t seen him patiently partnering his mother at whist, didn’t know how conscientiously he took his
duties as magistrate.

And had no idea how deep his loyalties ran. Mrs. Abernathy took Sir Jack’s coin and bullied his maids, which she probably considered a fair exchange.

Jack set the boots on the desk blotter. They were pathetic, as boots went, though they didn’t give Madeline blisters anymore.

“Only a fool would steal boots such as these,” Sir Jack said, “and I know for a fact that Pahdi is not a fool. Mrs. Abernathy, I
understand that you are no longer comfortable with employment at Teak House. I will regretfully accept your resignation and provide you with a character
suited to the service you’ve rendered. I’m sure you have family who would delight in your company. In the morning, you will be paid generous
severance and conveyed to the Weasel along with your effects.”

Like Pahdi, Jack did not raise his voice, and yet, Madeline wanted to cover her ears and run from the room. Mrs. Abernathy beat her to the door, after an
enormous sniff, and the merest twitch of a curtsey.

The housekeeper slammed the library door closed just as Sir Jack murmured, “Happy New Year, Mrs. Abernathy.”

“Miss Hennessey, I apologize.” Pahdi bowed to Madeline. “I should have asked your permission before appropriating your boots.”

“No, you should not,” Sir Jack replied. “Permission would have been denied, as we all know. You were being thoughtful, and Mrs. Abernathy
is a disgrace. I am in your debt, in fact, because I should have let her go long ago.”

The two men exchanged a look, one communicating volumes of resignation, understanding, and—if Madeline wasn’t mistaken—some humor.

“I will see to my own boots,” Madeline said, “though I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Pahdi.”

She reached for her boots, but Sir Jack stopped her with a hand around her wrist.

“Pahdi, if you’d excuse us?”

Madeline slipped her hand free of Sir Jack’s. Pahdi bowed and withdrew.

The boots sat on the desk blotter, the knotted laces and worn heels a testament to years in service, and more years of service to come.

“Teak House is without a housekeeper,” Jack said. “The holidays are barely behind us, we have company underfoot, and I’m sure Mrs.
Abernathy will not leave without sowing a few seeds of discord. I am trying without success to find a sense of alarm over these developments.”

Madeline was alarmed. She’d been a fool to kiss Jack Fanning before, but a lonely fool was allowed a few missteps. She had no excuses now, and yet
all she could think of was the mistletoe dangling a few feet away.

Jack Fanning was the very last man she ought to be alone with, and under no circumstances—

“Madeline?”

“Pahdi could not possibly have been stealing my boots,” she said. “Mrs. Abernathy was a lazy, mean-spirited, bigoted old fool.”

“A fool?”

“Anybody can see that Pahdi is devoted to you. He’s far from home, has no family, no mates, and he’s the butt of endless unkind
speculation. I would not remain by your side under such circumstances unless I loved you dearly. Even if Pahdi were stealing boots, you ought not to
dismiss him.”

Sir Jack set the boots on the floor. “If he was engaging in wrongful acts, I might not have a choice, my dear. I am the magistrate, and stealing is
stealing.”

And Jack Fanning was a former soldier, and a gentleman, and he was… right. Stealing was a crime, in the eyes of the idiot, damned, stupid, perishing
law.

“It’s fortunate I’m not stealing boots, then.”

“You ought to consider it, at least once,” he said, taking her by the hand and drawing her down beside him on the sofa. “Your footwear is
barely recognizable as such. Belmont should be ashamed.”

“Do not malign Axel Belmont in my hearing, Jack Fanning.”

He leveled the smile at her, the bashful, brash, mischievous, delicious smile. “Will you rescue me from my own folly, Madeline? I know you are here
on temporary assignment as a lady’s companion, and Mama has yet to express a single complaint regarding you. Now I have rendered us without a
housekeeper at a highly social time of year. This was not well done of me, when, as Mrs. Abernathy so helpfully pointed out, a thief is on the
loose.”

“You are intent on catching the thief—or thieves?”

Jack sat back, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Something about the purloined coal and the mysterious levitating coin jar smacks of the same
hand.”

“What about Mr. Cotton’s errant ram?”

“That might have been an innocent case of wandering livestock.”

Madeline rose, the topic far less interesting than kisses, though just as fraught. “It might not. In all three cases, somebody benefitted without
costing the victim much of anything.”

“True, and in the cases of McArdle and Tavis, one could even say the victims themselves benefitted from the thief’s visit. Cotton’s ram
is certainly none the worse for his outing either.”

The habits of service offered Madeline a distraction from watching Jack Fanning’s mouth form words. She wandered the room, straightening an afghan
over the sofa, tidying a stack of books on the reading table, closing the cover over the piano keys. She was arranging music in alphabetical order by
composer when a pair of strong arms encircled her waist from behind.

“Madeline Hennessey, you have been avoiding me.”

“Trying to.”

Jack dropped his arms and turned her by the shoulders. “Why?”

“You should marry Miss DeWitt.”

He took the music Madeline held—a piece by Clementi in F major that she’d spent a month memorizing when she’d been eleven—and set
it aside.

“I should marry Miss DeWitt? And here I thought you the sensible, observant type.”

“Miss DeWitt would be the perfect wife for a knight of the realm. She’s pretty and cheerful, and would never impose on you. She’d make a
good mother, and she’d know exactly how to seat a group of thirty, even if the numbers weren’t perfect.”

“Do you know how often I’ve entertained thirty people at dinner?”

He had the silver to seat twice that number, as well as the crystal and the china. “Not as often as you should.”

“Never, Madeline, nor do I intend to start now. I do, however, intend to kiss you.”

Jack’s thoughts were leaping about like March hares. One moment, he was grasping for the common thread connecting the thefts from Tavis and McArdle,
the next he was admiring the curve of Madeline Hennessey’s mouth. Then he’d recall that his household was without a housekeeper, and be
assailed by both relief and chagrin.

He ought to have turned Mrs. Abernathy off months ago.

And he ought to resolve his situation with Madeline Hennessey, though not when she was regarding him as if she’d like to flee straight out the
nearest window.

“Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t kiss you,” Jack said, stepping back. “The choice is yours.”

“The kissing isn’t the problem.”

Kissing wasn’t entirely a solution either.
Jack’s
problem was that after years of cordial indifference on the subject of the fairer
sex—or the next thing to it—his breeding organs had chosen
now
to recall their intended use.

Happy New Year, indeed.

On the one hand, the timing was awful. Miss Hennessey was arguably in Jack’s employ, and thus under his protection in the gentlemanly sense. He ought
to leave her in peace on that ground alone. Then too, his mother was underfoot, to say nothing of the dimpled Miss DeWitt, as well as Saint Jeremy.

And thieves were loose in the shire who would not surrender themselves to the king’s man without conscientious investigation on Jack’s part.