Jack (The Jaded Gentlemen Book 4) (29 page)

“Heavens, no! We ladies will be playing whist with Reverend Fanning, and we’ll have all the biscuits and shortbread we could wish for.”

We ladies
apparently did not include Madeline, which left… Mrs. Fanning, Theo, and Miss DeWitt.

“I’m glad to see you feeling so much better, but you must not overdo, Aunt.” Because this idyll among the memories and tea trays would
come to an end, and then Theo would be back on her smallholding, counting each egg and lump of coal.

Madeline’s embroidery project for the day was a summer nightgown. She was adding a border of forget-me-nots, though the decoration was pointless.
When the weather moderated, she’d be gone from Teak House, and nobody would see the delicate blue and cheerful yellow chasing about her hem.

“Hattie had a splendid idea,” Theo said, smoothing her hand over a velvet pillow. “When she heard I’d be accompanying dear Florrie
back to Town, she said she’d speak to Mrs. Belmont about a post at Candlewick. Nadine Turnbull is getting on, and Hattie knows how to run a
household. You could put in a good word for her, I’m sure.”

Theo’s delight at these developments nearly equaled Madeline’s incredulity.

“
What are you talking about?
If you go to London, who will feed your chickens? Who will plant your garden? You haven’t any proper
clothes for Town, haven’t even a portmanteau to put them in.” And if Nadine Turnbull was
getting on
, Hattie was getting on every bit
as much.

Theo set the pillow aside. “That tone is very unbecoming, Madeline Aphrodite. You should be happy for me. If you’d like to live at the farm,
I’m certainly willing to discuss it, but my mind is made up. Florrie has realized how the company of another lady can brighten her days, and
she’s offered that post to me, once I’m well. Hattie was delighted, and you should be too.”

“Damn.”

“My dear girl, if that’s your—”

“My French knot is off center,” Madeline said, fishing in her workbox for her embroidery scissors. “You have a position as a lady’s
companion to Mrs. Fanning?”

This was charity, plain and simple. Theodosia Hennessey Hickman had been from good family, long, long ago, but she was hardly the sort of self-effacing,
sweet, biddable creature who’d make a good lady’s companion.

But then, neither was Madeline. She was managing in the role of temporary companion because it meant significant coin in a short time. She was no more a
lady’s companion than Theo’s few acres could be called a farm.

“Florentia tires of all the young people, and the other ladies in London are a catty bunch. That will never change. I’m welcome to join her
household for as long as I please. Perhaps you should buy some spectacles, dear. Embroidery can be hard on the eyes.”

Family could be hard on the temper. If Madeline had spare coin for spectacles, she would have spent it on her aunts.

“If you will be happy in Mrs. Fanning’s household, then I’m happy for you. I am concerned though, that a tenant will not care for your
land as conscientiously as you do, and that as landlord, you will spend all of your salary making repairs and doing maintenance.” Because
Theo’s little property was in need of much maintenance, as was Hattie’s.

Theo patted Madeline’s knee. “That’s what a great-niece is for. With you here to keep an eye on the place, I’m sure the tenant will
maintain the property adequately—assuming you don’t want the cottage for yourself?”

Madeline set aside the nightgown, as any attempts to stitch a straight seam were doomed. Aunt had apparently left her common sense back among her biddies,
for Madeline’s ability to coerce work from a tenant or oversee repairs was non-existent.

And to think Madeline had committed crimes in the hopes her aunts’ lot would be bettered.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Aunt?”

“My memory is excellent, young lady.”

No, it was not. “If Hattie goes for a housekeeper at Candlewick, and you’re off to London with Mrs. Fanning, that leaves two vacant properties
in need of tenants and stewardship. At best I could occupy one, but I wasn’t raised on the land, Aunt Theo. I was raised in London, and then went
into service. What I know about running a smallholding is not sufficient for the challenge.”

And that assumed Madeline escaped arrest for theft—and stupidity.

Theo’s expression resembled one of her laying hens when a cat came calling at the chicken coop.

“Madeline, I cannot solve all of your problems. Hattie and I have done what we could for you, but it’s time you figured a few things out for
yourself. It’s not as if taking over one of the farms would be a sentence to imprisonment on the hulks. Spinsters have to live somewhere, and a
property of your own is a great improvement over a life in service. A fellow might marry you simply to get his hands on some good land.”

Good
land
? Madeline had devoted every half day—every half day for years—to assisting her aunts with their heavier chores. Every spare
penny she’d earned had gone to filling their larders or buying them seed. Every article of clothing she’d sewn late at night had been made with
her aunts in mind, and half the handsome, merry men whose overtures she’d rebuffed had been sent packing because those men would not have supported
Hattie and Theo.

“You’ve given me much to think about.” Madeline stuffed her embroidery into its box and latched the lid. “But service is all I
know, and I’m good at it. You’ll excuse me, please. I’m supposed to review menus with Cook.” And reorganize the linen closet with
the head maid, and plan the next wine purchase with Pahdi.

“Away with you,” Theo said, waving a casual hand. “I’ll have a little nap before luncheon, so I’ll be on my mettle for cards.
Reverend Fanning has the best stories, and he and Miss DeWitt are a formidable pair.”

Madeline left the parlor at a dignified walk when she wanted to sprint for the door.

This cheerful, selfish version of Aunt Theo was a stranger, and yet, Madeline could easily understand Theo’s determination to leave the shires. But
for Jack’s kindness, and the visit of a passing maid from Candlewick, Theo might be coughing her life away.

Did that mean Madeline must be interred in a miserable cottage with only chickens, sheep, and an old hound for company?

Assuming she wasn’t arrested for theft.

Had Jack not been battling the urge to pitch the doctor bodily from the premises, the whole situation might have been comical.

The precious medical bag turned out to be a battered black leather satchel of no particular value. Inside had been a scalpel, some patent remedies, a
cracked hand mirror, and a scent-bottle containing strong vinegar.

The thief’s motive had clearly not been greed.

“Do you have a spare bag?” Jack asked.

Higgans was examining a chased silver ink bottle, one of the matched pair that sat on the standish.

“Beg pardon?”

“Do you have a spare medical bag?”

“I do not. My father’s bag was dear to me, and the contents served me well for decades. I place great sentimental value on that bag.”

Oh, of course
. Jack was nearly certain the medical bag also contained a flask or two. “What do you suppose the thief will do with it?”

“Sell it, of course. Coin is all their kind thinks about, and how to get it without working for it.”

Jack tugged the bell-pull when he wanted to rip it from the ceiling. A triple tap sounded on the door a moment later, and Jack bid Pahdi enter.

“Pahdi, humor me for a moment,” Jack said. “Why do you borrow books from the lending library?”   

“Because, respected sir, I have read all of the books you have here in English, French, and Hindi. I also borrow books from the Candlewick library,
for myself and for James Smith, whose lack of hearing makes reading a treasured consolation.”

Pahdi’s tone was pleasantly deferential, but clearly, he understood that more accusations were in the air.

“What books did you borrow from the lending library earlier this week?” Jack asked.

“The library was closing as I arrived, because many patrons were more interested in the darts tournament in which you participated, esteemed sir. I
did not have time to choose new books, but returned an account of the life of Hannah Snell, an old tale, though interesting.”

“And what story was relayed in this interesting book?” Higgans snapped.

Pahdi bowed in Higgans’s direction. “Mrs. Snell, wearing man’s attire, joined His Majesty’s infantry in pursuit of her faithless
husband, and served under the name of James Gray. She subsequently enlisted in the marines, served in India, was wounded severally at the Battle of
Pondicherry, and made her way back to this most-enlightened realm, where she continued to wear her regimentals and other attire suited to men. I recommend
the book to you most sincerely, revered, honored, and esteemed sir.”

Three adjectives and a bow assured Jack that Pahdi was in a temper. The New Year at Teak House was off on a decidedly sore foot.

“Any other questions, Higgans?” Jack asked.

“This proves nothing.”

“Thank you, Pahdi,” Jack said. “You are excused.”

The butler withdrew after two more obsequiously graceful bows.

“He had every opportunity to help himself to my medical bag,” Higgans said. “The lending library register will verify that he was in
town, and there’s nothing you can say to it.”

“Higgans, before I summoned Pahdi,
I
verified that he’d been in town. Even you must admit the evening was dark, without enough moon to
reveal much of anything. I’ll come around your house later this week and examine the premises for signs of forcible entry. Until then, I bid you good
day.”

To emphasize this dismissal, Jack held open the library door, until Higgans had no choice but to leave.

“A conscientious magistrate would investigate now,” Higgans said, “not in his own good time.”

“I’ll begin my investigation this afternoon,” Jack said, “and start with interviewing those who attended the darts tournament.
While memories are fresh, somebody might recall a detail out of place, a snippet of conversation, and then my search of your household will be more
efficient.”

Higgans came to an abrupt halt in the front foyer. “Search of my household? The devil you say.”

James silently passed the physician his greatcoat, a lovely wool garment that would hold up to any winter weather.

“Do you want me to find that medical bag,” Jack said, “or shall I pronounce sentence on Pahdi without examination of the accused or
benefit of trial right now? Perhaps treat him to a pair of thumb screws? We can reinstitute the Dark Ages right here in our little corner of Oxfordshire,
and to hell with due process, the rule of law, and common decency.”

Over a damned medical bag, from one perspective. Over Higgans’s arrogance and indolence, from another.

Mama appeared at the top of the stairs, but she had the sense not to come down where Higgans might see her.

“You take your duties very lightly,” Higgans said, yanking on his gloves.

Jack could not resist. “You’ve probably misplaced an old leather bag, one carrying only the barest semblance of a doctor’s implements,
not the Koh-I-Noor diamond. Nonetheless, I shall begin my investigation within the hour. Perhaps my example will inspire you the next time an elderly
neighbor lies alone, cold, and at risk of going to her reward for want of medical care. Your puppy awaits you in the stable. We’ve named him
Hippocrates.”

Higgans jammed his hat onto his head and stormed out the door.

Slow clapping followed as the slamming of the door reverberated in the foyer. “What a disgraceful old bag of noise,” Mama said, coming down the
stairs. “Why did you allow him to trouble your day?”

“Because I’m the magistrate, and the rule of law matters.” Or some such tripe.

Mama patted Jack’s arm. “You should eat something. You get in a pet when you’re peckish. Why did Mr. Patty look so thunderous?”

“His name is Pahdi.” Jack had never seen Pahdi looking anything less than dignified, except perhaps when he’d failed to shoot that
tiger. 

“That’s what I said. Patty.”

“Dr. Higgans accused Pahdi of theft, the item in question has virtually no value, and Higgans has no evidence of wrongdoing other than his own
offended pride.”

“You’re worried though,” Mama said. “That awful man upset you.”

She’d always been a noticing sort, but when had she grown so small? “He is an awful man, and if he has his way, I’ll put Pahdi on the
next ship bound for India.”

“That would certainly be a relief to me.”

Whatever diplomatic skill Jack had once claimed, he’d not inherited it from his dam. “Mama, I would miss Pahdi dearly.” The thought of
life without Pahdi’s quiet presence, irreverence, and honesty left an ache in the pit of Jack’s belly.

Mama drew herself up, a fierce little hen of a woman. “You would
miss
him?
Miss him dearly
? You hopeless boy, how do you think I
felt when you ran off to the same jungles that seduced your father year after year? I waited months for your letters, and then that horrid colonel sent
word you were presumed dead. If Mr. Patty entices you back to India, I will simply have to go with you. I cannot bear the thought of you going so far away,
where you have no family, no friends, no
mama
… you—oh, drat you, you wretched, awful boy.”

The world had gone beyond daft to some level of disarray Jack couldn’t name. And yet, he knew his mother, his contrary, stubborn, proud mother, and
he knew he loved her.

Jack wrapped his mama in a careful hug, because he didn’t know what else to do.

He’d bungled, badly, and a court higher than the king’s bench demanded that he attempt reparation.

“Yours was the last familiar face I saw when the ship left Portsmouth, Mama, and the first I saw when I returned. I wasn’t home until I saw you
again. I’m home now. I’m home to stay.”

The mother who’d never before shed a tear in the presence of her prodigal son, who’d written lengthy lectures to him every month without fail,
who’d doubtless prayed for Jack every night of his life, wept. She was silent and shuddery in his arms, and all manner of emotions assailed Jack
while she cried.