The Highwayman (9 page)

A glance towards the bed told her that Jon was studying one of the account books again, so she quickly knelt, gathered the pebbles, and shoved them into her pocket as she stood again. Then, not wishing to discuss the question of his guilt in the matter of the highwayman’s most recent escapade, she walked to the bed and said, “I must leave you now. I am afraid that even bribery will not keep Alice long at that book.”

He looked up at her, and she saw complete understanding in his eyes. “And you are afraid that she will come looking for you and discover that you are harbouring a criminal in your house.”

She smiled, hoping he could not see how forced it was. “Well, you must admit that it would create quite a scandal, and you know that I am not nearly so brave about such things as you.”

The look of concern deepened in his eyes, and he said, “Jane, things are not always as they seem. I fear I have misled you concerning certain facts, but I can explain, I hope, if you will allow me.”

“No, no!” she insisted. “There is no need. I understand perfectly, but in any event, there is no time now. I really must go.”

“Very well,” he conceded, sounding almost relieved. “But I shall hope to see you later, after that young minx has been put to bed. In the meantime, my dear, try not to worry so. Everything will come out right, I promise you.”

Jane left his chamber wishing with all her heart that she could be as certain of that as he.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Oh, what a tangled web we weave, thought Jon after Jane had left his chamber. He was not sure if he were glad or sorry that she had prevented his confession. On the whole, he decided, he was relieved. He could not imagine that it would ease her mind to know that she had been harbouring a notorious rake rather than a highwayman. Still, he knew that the inevitable had merely been postponed.

In any event, he had a great deal else with which to occupy his mind just now.

He glanced at the account books, strewn round him on the bed, and his frown deepened. He had guessed, before ever looking at them, that Jane was living in fairly straitened circumstances. For one thing, there was the rather shabby-genteel nature of the furnishings in his chamber. It was clear that no refurbishing had been done in a very long time. Then, too, from the very first, it had been Melrose who had taken on the chore of seeing to Jon’s more personal needs, rather than some lesser servant such as a footman.

At first the butler had remained cool and aloof, adroitly fending off all of his charge’s efforts to draw information from him. But gradually the man had been won over, and had begun talking more easily with Jon, finally admitting that Miss Lockwood employed no footmen.

In fact
,
it was Melrose who had given Jon his first clue that all was not as it should be here at Meadowbrook. Although the man was quick to defend his mistress, laying the blame, as she had done, on the present hard times, he had spoken regretfully of how much everything had changed for the worse since the late master’s death.

Jon lifted one of the account books, absent-mindedly testing its weight, as if that might give him the answers he sought, then laid it down again.

It was true that, on the surface, all the accounts appeared to be in order. It was also true that times were difficult and Meadowbrook was a small estate. Although it was unlikely that it would generate a vast amount of wealth for its owner, it should certainly be doing better than it was.

If his suspicions were correct, Phillips was cheating Jane and lining his own pockets by skimming off some of the profits from the estate. A clever man bent on thievery would have no difficulty in doctoring the accounts. Nor would it be any great feat to fool a trusting female who was unfamiliar with estate management. But it would take time to prove all this, and it appeared, now, that he would not have that time.

The advent of Alice Brant made it imperative that his charade be ended and that he leave Meadowbrook without further delay. With that young chit here, he knew it would be impossible to keep his presence in this house a secret.

Neither would he be able to continue to keep his arrival in the district quiet, he realized grimly. He could not remain incognito forever, however, and perhaps his fears that Lydia Cathcart would discover his whereabouts and follow him to Yorkshire were groundless. In any event, that was another matter entirely, to be faced if and when it became necessary.

For now, he must decide how best to remove himself from Jane’s home. But first be must reveal his true identity to her. His dilemma was, how the devil was he going to accomplish both objectives without losing Jane’s friendship and goodwill? And—equally important—do it without damaging her reputation beyond repair?

Until now, he had not worried about that aspect of the situation. Melrose had discreetly let it be known that everyone at Meadowbrook would sooner have their tongues cut out than speak of anything that might hurt Miss Jane’s good name. But he could not depend upon such loyalty from Alice or her maid.

Damnation! When he had begun this game of playing highwayman, he had not meant it to go on for so long. But, aside from the entertainment it had afforded him, it had become more and more difficult to extricate himself. It was not without irony that he realized the main reason for this. For the first time in many years, he cared about another person’s opinion of him.

His thoughts continued in this vein for some time. After studying the problem from all angles, Jon finally reached an unavoidable conclusion. If he knew anything of the world, neither he nor Jane would be able to conceal this fiasco, no matter what he did. Even if he were to sneak out in the dead of night, which he was unwilling to do, sooner or later someone was bound to discover the truth. And, that being so, perhaps it would be best to handle the matter boldly, relying on Jane’s consequence and her reputation as a healer to see them through.

Having decided upon a course of action, Jon lay back to await Melrose’s usual mid-afternoon visit. As he did so, his thoughts returned to Lydia Cathcart.

Were he not so averse to becoming a tenant-for-life, marriage to her would ensure his acceptance by even the highest sticklers of the ton. But he could not conceive of spending a lifetime with Lydia. If he were ever to wed at all, he would prefer someone like Jane. For one thing, she was a great deal more amusing and interesting than Lydia. Moreover, she was a kind and caring woman. And, while Lydia was a diamond of the first water, Jane—well, he suddenly realized he found her looks infinitely more appealing than Lydia’s perfection.

However, he told himself with a sudden frown, all this was wasted conjecture since he had no intention of marrying anyone.

Melrose arrived just then and listened to Jon’s requests without turning a hair. He even entered into the spirit of the thing by making one or two modest suggestions of his own. When next he entered the room, shortly before the dinner hour, he carried one of his late master’s canes and a fresh roll of lint, in addition to the requested articles of clothing. His only show of surprise came when he heard the message he was to deliver to his mistress. His eyes widened slightly upon being given the name he was to use when relaying that message.

* * * *

Jane, Agatha and Alice were gathered in the drawing-room, where Jane had been trying to teach Alice the art of pre-dinner conversation. But she had found it rather heavy going, since the girl could not seem to grasp the fact that it was impolite to push herself forward and dominate every discussion. When Melrose entered the room, Jane rose from her chair with alacrity, expecting him to announce that dinner was ready to be served.

But what he said, without so much as a blink, was “Miss Jane, Lord St. Clair has asked me to inform you that he will be joining you for dinner tonight.’’

To say that Jane was shocked would have been the grossest understatement. She was struck speechless and her mind was thrown into confusion. All she could think was
St. Clair?
What in heaven’s name was Jon up to now?

Fortunately Agatha stepped into the breach after scarcely a moment of stunned silence. She said, “Oh, St. Clair! But do you think that is wise, Jane?”

“What?” said Jane blankly.

Agatha frowned, and with a tiny movement of her head, indicated Alice, who was listening with avid interest. She said brightly, “Well, you know how ill the poor man has been. I was just wondering if it would be wise for him to make such an effort when he is not yet fully recovered.”

Before Jane could answer, Alice cried, “St. Clair? Viscount St. Clair?”

Ignoring her, Jane turned to the butler, saying, “Please inform his lordship that I should not dream of having him go to such trouble when he is still so unwell.”

“I fear, miss,” said Melrose with only a hint of regret, “that Lord St. Clair was quite insistent.”

“Oh,” crowed Alice, with unbecoming glee, “I cannot wait to tell my friend Clarissa! She will be positively green with envy when she hears that I have actually met him.”

While Jane fought to hide her dismay, Agatha again came to her rescue. She turned to Alice and said sharply, “Sit down, child, and try, if you can, to behave like a lady, or you shall be sent to your room and never meet him.” Then, turning back to the butler, she said, “Please tell Lord St. Clair that we shall, of course, welcome his company.”

As Melrose bowed and left the room, Alice said a trifle sullenly, “Well, I was only curious, and I don’t see how you can blame me for that! I have been hearing about St. Clair forever, but no one has ever heard that you are on such friendly terms with him.’’

Not even herself, Jane thought ruefully. By now, however, she had collected herself, and she replied, with what she trusted was just the right touch of amusement in her voice, “I am afraid that it is not the sort of connection one feels inclined to broadcast. And in truth, I am not all that well acquainted with him. His presence here came about as the result of an unfortunate accident.”

“Indeed,” agreed Agatha cheerfully. “Nor can you be blamed for taking him in when he was so dreadfully injured. Besides, I do not believe above half the stories which are told of him. And we have found him to be a perfect gentleman, have we not, Jane?”

Despite a strong urge to strangle her companion, Jane managed to smile thinly and nod her agreement, but her thoughts were not at all agreeable. She was thinking that between Jon and Agatha she was becoming more and more embroiled in this ridiculous deception. And there did not seem to be a thing she could do about it.

Devil take the two of them,
she suddenly thought. She was a little shocked at how easily the words had popped into her head. Before meeting Jon, she would never have dreamed of using such an expression—at least, not often. Still, she had to admit that it was a much more satisfying way of expressing one’s true feelings than any of the pallid exclamations considered suitable for females.

But for the life of her, she could not think what Jon was about. Only for the briefest moment did she entertain the notion that he might, indeed, be St. Clair.

The idea was too absurd. No, this was merely a smoke screen which Jon had raised to hide the fact that she had been harbouring a highwayman. It warmed her heart to think that he should be trying to shield her, but of all the names he might have chosen,
that
one was the worst.

She knew that Alice was positively burning with curiosity, and dreaded having to devise answers to any more of the girl’s questions. She was given a temporary reprieve, however, for just then Jon entered the drawing-room, escorted by Melrose. And all the consternation she had been feeling was swept aside... at least for the moment.

He was using one of her father’s canes and was attired in the clothing he had been wearing when he was shot. His garments had, of course, been cleaned, pressed, and patched, and he looked incredibly handsome.

For a moment, that part of her which was interested in all things of a medical nature wondered how he had managed to get into those tight breeches. She decided that he must have re-dressed his wound with a less bulky bandage, before she banished such inappropriate speculation.

While he apologized for his unsuitable attire—for he was, after all, wearing riding clothes—Jane simply stared at him. She suddenly knew that she would willingly tell any number of lies, enter into any number of deceptions, in order to protect him. And, along with that knowledge came another, even more stunning revelation. Dear God, she was falling in love with this impossible man... her highwayman, who was just as forbidden to her as the real St. Clair could ever be.

Despite her willing, if rather imprudent, resolve to sanction whatever fabrication he might be weaving, Jane took little part in the dinner-table conversation. For one thing, she was still somewhat dazed from the realization of her feelings for Jon. But, aside from that, she thought it safer to say as little as possible. She could scarcely wait, however, to be alone with him, to discover just what demon had caused him to appropriate St. Clair’s identity.

Although she was on edge the whole of the time, expecting disaster to strike at any minute, everything actually went much better than she had feared. Of course Alice began by displaying a vulgar curiosity, bombarding Jon with all manner of questions. But, for once, Jane felt no urge to restrain the girl, for she was as anxious to hear the answers as Alice.

During the course of the next two hours, they learned that “St. Clair” had come into Yorkshire to look over his inheritance and had become incapacitated due to an injury. Since he had found Ethridge Hall to be uninhabitable, he had been kindly taken in and cared for by Miss Jane and her lovely companion, Miss Wedmore.

At the end of his explanation, he gazed at Jane innocently and said, “Actually, Miss Jane, I have been studying the matter and I believe we may be distantly related through my mother. So perhaps I should call you cousin.”

Jane nearly choked before uttering a denial. “I think that very unlikely,” she managed in a rather strangled voice.