Red Jack's Daughter (27 page)

“It is true,” she said sadly, and told him at last all that Anton had said—all of it, except what he had said of Tom’s own intentions.

When he remained silent after she had done, she said softly, “So, go, Tom, and I shall not mind. For there are so many females out in that wide world that can offer you more, and indeed, we both know you deserve more. Do not confuse your friendship with Red Jack for love of me.
”

She dared to reach out and smooth his flaxen hair tenderly and said again, “I shall not mind. We both know, after all, that I am not cut out for marriage. Go now, Tom, we’ll talk as old friends later and never mention this moment again.”

He got to his feet quietly, never taking his eyes from her. He opened his lips to say something and thought better of it. He backed to his horse and remounted, and then, with a sad smile to match her own, he turned the animal and rode off deep into the parklands.

He rode on mechanically, letting his mount choose its own way, for he was too wrapped in his own shocked thoughts to guide the beast. He rode on for a very long time until he recalled himself and stopped. And then he sat, head bowed like some glowing, drooping sunflower’s head in the darkness of the trees’ shadows, and thought again. At last, when the dappled light had faded from gold to gray, he straightened, and giving his horse an exultant prod, he galloped back toward Griffin Hall.

He had been right, he thought as the sound of his released laughter rose above the pounding of hooves, he was altogether right. For they were made for each other and had been destined for each other forever. Where else could he find such a female? Red Jack’s legacy be damned, he would marry her anyway. She was half a lad, but honest and brave as no female he had yet encountered.

And she had grown to be beautiful. He did not fool himself into thinking she desired him, but he could teach her that. She needed him, poor girl, as no other woman had, there was that too.

At last permitting himself to be acutely aware of the truth that he rode upon a borrowed horse, through another man’s land, he hastened to be with the one thing in the world that he could call his own, Jess.

Although twilight was coming on, he knew she would not yet have returned to the house; she would have waited for Anton to be gone. When he saw her slowly walking toward the Hall, he gave out a great cry, leaped down, and slapped the horse’s flank so that it would find its way back to the stables by itself.

“Jess, Jess,” he half-cried, half-laughed, catching her up and swinging her around, until her hair came loose from its moorings, “what fools we both are! The treasure be hanged. We’ll place it on the mantelpiece for our children to laugh over. It’s you I want, Jess.”

He put her down carefully and held her fast. She looked back at him levelly. So he spoke as honestly as he knew how.

“I haven’t a cent, Jess, and you know it. But neither have you, my girl. So we’re even, aren’t we? Ollie said as how he’d provide a dowry for you, but,” he added hastily, seeing her face cloud up, “we needn’t touch it at all. There’s nothing for us here, Jess, but there’s a whole world awaiting us. There’s America, where a smart fellow can make his own fortune. Or Australia ... or anywhere where an honest fellow and his honest wife can build a future. It won’t be easy, Jess, but you’re the sort of female who has the bottom to make it. You don’t give a hang for fashion or comforts. You think more like a man than a fine lady. What do you say, my girl? It’s what your father always wanted. It’s the sort of chance he’d jump at,” he added desperately, seeing how his words had failed to ignite her. There was something new in her aspect, a calm, a maturity that hadn’t been there only a few hours before.

“And as for the lovemaking part,” he said with embarrassment under her steady gaze, “that needn’t be a problem. You’ll come to it in time. Till then, be my own straight soldier, Jess. Answer me. Marry me.”

“Oh, Tom,” she whispered as though uttering those simple words were enough to break her heart.

“I’m your best friend, Jess,” he swore.

She reached up and linked her arms about his neck. “Yes, Tom, I know.” She smiled, though clearly she was weeping.

1
6

Although the employees of Peterson’s considered themselves members of a staff far too exclusive to hurry for any custom that walked into their jewelry shop, when the tall gentleman strolled into their establishment that morning, they could justly be said to scramble. His appearance caused the manager to fairly scuttle over to his side. Though there were others pricing rubies, or negotiating sapphire pendants, within moments of his entrance Lord Leith was snug within the proprietor’s private office being tempted with tea and being welcomed with bows and smiles. For he was known to be a man not only of taste and decision, but one who would come down heavily for any bauble that suited his purposes.

The proprietor contained himself from actually rubbing his hands together in anticipation of this day’s business, and only asked politely when the necessary greetings were done. “And how may we be of help to you today, my Lord?”

Lord Leith withdrew a worn velvet pouch from his pocket and placed it upon the smooth mahogany desk.

“You can appraise this piece for me,” he said laconically.

The jeweler eagerly withdrew his magnifying eyepiece and tenderly eased the silver comb from its confines. His initial look of delight faded as he gazed upon it, and soon he seemed insensible to his visitor as he minutely inspected the piece with his glass. At last he put the comb down and, recalling his customer, pasted a suitably mournful look upon his face.

“But, my Lord,” he said sorrowfully, “it is
w
orthless. It is cleverly done,
”
he hurried on,
“
and one can see how anyone might be deceived by it. But it is composed of several types of imitation gems. There is Strass glass,” he said, pointing as he spoke, “and Ravenscroft glass, and even Bristol diamond—that is rock crystal, my Lord. And the green stones are all different sorts of crystal, some with foil backings and some with slivers of real emerald affixed to their bottoms. In fact,” he said encouragingly, for he thought the usually astute nobleman had won the piece in a game of chance and wished to soften the blow of his estimate of it, “one might say that it has some worth simply because it is such a compendium of excellent forgeries. It is,” he mused, “a veritable museum of false gems and, as such, might have some value to a collector of such trifles. But not much,” he hastened to added.

“I thought as much,” his visitor replied calmly without batting a lash. “Would you say it was designed to be so?”

“Oh, no!” the proprietor said with shock. “It is clear that the comb itself was destined for higher purposes. In fact, I distinctly remember seeing such a piece many years ago, in France, being worn by the Comtesse de Lorraine, who was a great favorite of Louis himself. No, no, it is clear that it was once an item of great virtue. But the actual gems have long since been sold off.”

“All at once, would you say?” Lord Leith asked with a bit more interest.

“No, that is doubtful,” the other man said, picking up the piece and holding it to the light, “for each substitution is quite different from the others. I should hazard to say that it was done randomly, as the occasion demanded, at different times, and, indeed, perhaps even in different lands. This stone, for example, is of English construction, and this is decidedly of French devising. It is often so, my Lord,” he sighed, “for when a person comes down in the world, they often refuse to accept the truth, and only sell off their treasures piece by piece in denial of their true state. They attempt to cover their circumstances even from themselves by such substitutions.”

This the manager knew well enough, for he had often helped gentlepersons from Lord Leith’s own set to do precisely the same.

He began to replace the comb in its pouch when the nobleman’s next words caused his hands and very nearly his heart to freeze in excitement.

“Very well,” Lord Leith said, “then, if you please, put it back the way it was.”

“I beg your pardon, my Lord?” the jeweler said, not daring to believe his ears.

“I should like you, with all possible speed, to replace the false gems with true ones,” Lord Leith said patiently.

The proprietor had to wait a moment for his blood to begin to flow again. Then with admirable calm, he asked, “With what sort of gems, my Lord? That is to say, there are all grades of stones—”

But the cool gentleman had already risen to his feet and cut him off by saying, “With the best sort of gems, Mr. Peterson, the sort that belong in such a comb.
”

“Certainly, my Lord,” the other man agreed breathlessly. “And, oh, Mr. Peterson,” Lord Leith added as he reached the door, “by tomorrow evening, if you please.”

“Tomorrow evening?” the jeweler cried, so aghast that he forgot to add “my Lord.
”
“But that would be—”

“Possible, I do hope,” his customer said coldly. “Or, if it is not, I should have to patronize some other establishment in Regent Street.”

“Tomorrow evening,” the other man said thoughtfully. “I shall have to send runners throughout London, I shall have to call upon some favors owed, but it shall be done, my Lord. But it will be, I hesitate to say this—”

“Expensive,” Lord Leith provided. “I don’t expect it to come cheaply. But I do expect a fair reckoning, Peterson.” The jeweler nodded, for he knew well that this was a sharp gentleman, quite unlike the run of the nobility in his business acumen.

“And, of course,” Lord Leith said in parting, “it is to be carried out with utmost discretion.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Mr. Peterson agreed, though privately he was surprised, for it was usually in the dispensing of gems that his silence was called upon, not in the acquisition of them.

Lord. Leith sketched a bow and was gone, leaving the jeweler to a moment’s deep thought and then to hours of frantic activity.

Alexander, Lord Leith, took to the pavements with a light step and found himself in an unconscionably happy mood for one who had just contracted to part with a great deal of money. But how, he asked himself in justification of his pleasure with the deed, could he not have taken the course he had? If the girl had not been so ecstatic over the blasted piece, if it had not come to mean more to her than mere money, perhaps it would not have mattered so much. But he recalled her face when she had seen it and remembered the sheer glory that had shone from her countenance all that night as she celebrated her acquisition of it. It was hard to think of what her state might be had she discovered the truth.

Of course, he amended, it was not simply for her, for he was not Father Christmas, visiting gifts on every worthy child. It was for Ollie, of course, he corrected himself. So that Ollie would never know and thus could hold on to the belief that his dear old friend had been a worthy man, after all.

Damn Red Jack Eastwood, Lord Leith thought with unaccustomed vehemence as he strolled toward his club for luncheon. He had never laid eyes upon the man and he was long gone, but his shadow still rested upon all those who had loved him. What a feckless, dastardly fellow he must have been. No doubt he had been a delight to be with. But all such charming wretches always left chaos in their wake when they had gone on their brief sparkling way. See how he had left his only child, Lord Leith frowned, quite unintentionally decomposing the doorman at his club, penniless, portionless, and ill-equi
p
ped to deal with life.

But later, as the tall gentleman toyed with his luncheon, he thought that perhaps Captain Eastwood, all unknowing, had done the right thing, after all. For Jessica was unique. It was not at all a bad thing, he thought, grinning a little at the mere remembrance of her, for a female to value such masculine traits as valor and bravery. He lay his fork aside and left an excellent cut of beef to congeal on its plate as he contemplated the matter.

None of his mistresses had ever shown such traits, he mused. As pleasurable as their company always was, or indeed, as intelligent as some of them might have been (for he never had interest in mere vessels for his convenience, no matter how exotic they might appear to be), still none of them had ever dealt with him as an equal as Jessica always attempted to do. But how could they, he wondered now,
when he was, in effect, always in the position of being an employer they had to please?

All the correct young ladies of fortune or title whom he had met in his time always treated him with shy acquiescence and constant approval. They, in fact, behaved toward him as though he were a member of some superior species. While that was undoubtedly flattering, it was also undoubtedly flat. Which must be why, he thought all at once, he had never been tempted to offer for any of them. For though he had always thought it was because they valued his purse, it was now clear it was also because he had the sneaking suspicion that they were all as false toward him as the crystals in Jessica’s damned comb.

It seemed to be only the older women, who had no apparent designs upon his sex, whom he could be totally easy and honest with. Should he then have to wed a grandmother? he thought with amusement. For how could a man be willing to spend the remainder of his life with a mate who was in constant accord with him? Who took his every word for holy writ, his every desire as command? It would be intolerable. This was such a revolutionary thought that Lord Leith sat frozen at his table in such arrested fashion that his waiter feared he must have found a rodent hair in the butter.

It was with great relief that Lord Leith found himself hailed by some acquaintances from across the room. He was well-pleased to join them and catch up on all the tattle he had missed while out of town. He listened to tales of routs and wagers, indiscretions and mad romps, and assemblies and scandals. While his companions roared with glee and listened with delight, he found to his own perplexity that none of it was amusing in the least.