Authors: A London Season
"Jane.” It was David's voice calling her from the bedroom and without waiting for an answer to her question Jane went unhesitatingly toward the door on the right that led, she knew, to David's bedroom.
He was dressed in a white shirt and buckskins, lying quietly on top of his made-up bed. There was a plaster patch on the back of his head and he was pale, but otherwise he looked normal. She stood at the foot of the bed, staring at him like a tiger whose only cub has been threatened. “Are you all right?"
He smiled at her expression. “Yes."
She took a few steps forward so that she stood beside him. “What happened, David?” she asked tensely.
In a perfectly calm, expressionless tone, he told her. When he finished, Jane frowned at him. “But David, if the intruder wanted to harm the horses, why didn't he just wait until after you had finished your rounds? Why did he attack you?"
"He must have feared I would discover him."
"He was safe if he was hiding in the tack room. You had no reason to go in there."
"No, but our friend couldn't know that."
Jane continued to stare at him, worry making her eyes look more green than blue. David held a hand out to her. “Don't upset yourself so, love,” he said in a deep, quiet voice. “It was an unpleasant thing to happen, but the horses are all right, and all I've got is a bump on my head. There's no cause for you to worry."
She held his hand tightly between her own for a brief moment, her eyes on his face. A spark of something that was not worry awoke in their blue-green depths and she was raising his hand to her lips when Mrs. Copley came to the door of the room. Jane stayed on for a few more minutes before David sent her away.
O villainy! Ho! let the door be lock'd:
Treachery! Seek it out
.
—William Shakespeare
On the last day of the Newmarket Meet, Laura Rivingdale sought out David. She had not seen him since the previous spring and had resolved to put him out of her mind. She had met Julian Wrexham, however, and was anxious to see how the looming probability of Jane's engagement to him had affected David.
David was standing watching one of the grooms walk Minette, a lovely Arab mare who had just taken a second place, when Laura found him. His eyes were slightly narrowed against the sun, his hands thrust casually into the pockets of his buckskin breeches. The day was warm and he had removed his jacket. His immaculate white shirt fit comfortably across the breadth of his shoulders and contrasted sharply with the golden brown column of his neck.
"David,” she said softly.
He turned at the sound of his name and at the sight of her, surprise flickered in his eyes. “Mrs. Rivingdale,” he said steadily.
Her own eyes narrowed, but she continued pleasantly, “How have you been?"
"Very well, thank you.” He glanced at the discreetly interested grooms and walked over to stand beside her. “Are you enjoying the races?” he asked courteously. “Let me show you around the stable area."
Without waiting for her reply, he began to walk away from the Rayleigh area; she followed without protest. When they were out of the sight of his men, David halted. “What is the matter with you, Laura?” he demanded angrily. “What would your husband say if he knew you were wandering around alone like this?"
She shrugged. “I don't care and to be perfectly honest, neither does George. I wanted to see you."
"Why?” he asked abruptly.
She stared at him for a minute, wishing he were not so beautiful, that her desire for him was not such a burden upon her. “I understand Jane is soon to be married,” she said finally.
A look of faint amusement came across David's bronzed, faintly remote face. “Yes,” he said. “So I believe."
She bit her lip. “I told you how it would be."
"Yes,” he agreed politely, “you told me.” The anguish her words had brought him seemed very far off now and he could regard her with more compassion than he had previously. “You should not have sought me out, Laura. Your husband may be somewhat complaisant, but he would not tolerate his wife having an
affaire
with a stableboy. No one knows about us. Let us keep it that way.” He looked at her seriously. “You know what I say is true."
She did, but it didn't seem important. Jealousy stabbed her. “You don't believe Jane will marry him,” she accused.
There was a brief silence, then David spoke and his deep, quiet voice held a distinct note of danger. “This is not a subject I will discuss with you, Laura. Now or ever. Do I make myself clear?"
Her eyes dropped before the look in his. “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Quite clear."
"Good. I will leave you to find your own way back. I must prepare Pericles for the next race.” He looked at her steadily. “Goodbye, Laura."
She turned and walked away, her head high and her back straight. But her cheeks were burning and suspicion smoldered in her heart.
She and her husband were guests at Heathfield for dinner that evening and Laura was keenly aware of Jane. Jane wore one of her new gowns, an almond-green cambric muslin that was surprisingly elegant. Her behavior during dinner was impeccable. She discussed the day's racing with Julian Wrexham and George Rivingdale, who sat on either side of her, and both men attended to what she said with unfeigned interest. She appeared to be on perfectly comfortable terms with Wrexham, but there was no special warmth in the clear, clipped tones of her voice when she addressed him.
When the ladies withdrew to leave the gentlemen to their wine, Laura tried to draw Jane out upon the subject of Wrexham. Mrs. Rivingdale prided herself upon her social finesse and inquired in an entirely unexceptional manner. Anne flushed, conscious that Laura only assumed what all the world must, that there would shortly be an engagement announcement appearing in the
Times.
She hesitated, trying to find a tactful way of replying. Jane, to whom tact was a foreign language, merely looked with raised eyebrows at Laura Rivingdale. “When I get engaged or married, I shall be sure to inform all the proper authorities, Mrs. Rivingdale,” she said flatly. “At present I am neither and I do not at all care to speculate on the future."
"Jane!” Anne said in some distress.
Jane shrugged. “I'm sure Mrs. Rivingdale isn't in the least interested in my activities, Anne. She was merely trying to be polite. Are you returning to London or do you make a stay at Hailsham Lodge?” she asked Laura determinedly.
Laura handled very well the rapier thrust of conversation in a curious and malicious society; Jane's weapon, however, was not the rapier but the battle ax. “We return to London, Lady Jane,” she replied faintly, tacitly relinquishing the field. When she left Heathfield a few hours later, she was still in ignorance as to the true state of Jane's feelings.
David and Jane planned to elope two weeks after Newmarket's Race Week. David was quietly withdrawing what money he had from the bank and inquiring into the possibilities of selling the cottage. He also spent a good deal of time in mapping out the route they would take to Scotland. He wanted to avoid the main roads in order to cut down on their chances of being overtaken.
A week before they were due to leave, Jane was cutting through the Home Woods on her way to the cottage. It was six o'clock and she wanted a few minutes alone with David before she had to return to Heathfield and dress for dinner. Jane usually slipped out the side door at about this time every evening; the servants were at dinner and no one saw her go or return.
She was moving swiftly along a narrow path through the trees when she came around a turn and saw David on the path some forty yards before her. He was walking quickly, bent on the same destination as she, and as she watched he slowed down suddenly. She was about to call to him when two things happened simultaneously. He bent his head to look at something on the ground and a shot rang out. David dropped to the path. Jane screamed and ran toward him. Dimly she was aware of the sound of someone moving through the trees on her right. “Don't shoot!” she shouted. “There are people here!"
David rose as she reached him and as she began to say his name he grabbed her and threw her to the ground, covering her body with his own.
Jane's heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her head. She lay on her stomach, her cheek against the dirt path. She didn't move. At last David lifted himself off of her and cautiously looked around. “It's all right now, Jane,” he said in a voice he strove to make normal. “You can get up. I'm sorry if I hurt you."
Jane allowed him to help her to her feet and brush some of the dirt off her jacket. He apologized again, and again asked if he had hurt her. When she didn't respond, he had to finally look up and meet her eyes. They were enormous, dilated with fear. “If you hadn't bent to look at something on the path he would have hit you,” she said in a very tight voice.
"It was a stupid poacher.” He shrugged. “There's no harm done, luckily."
Jane's eyes never moved from his face. “There are never any poachers in these woods. They are too close to the house.” He started to say something, but she shook her head. “It wasn't a poacher, was it, David?” There was a white line around her mouth. Her cheek was scratched from where it had been pressed upon the ground. He reached out and touched it gently.
"No,” he said finally. “It wasn't a poacher."
"Then who?"
"I don't know.” He looked at her somberly. “Until now, I wasn't really sure, but I'm very much afraid someone is trying to kill me."
What little color there was in her face drained away, making the scratch on her cheek more prominent. “The night you were attacked outside Pericles's stall?” she asked breathlessly.
"That. And when I was out on the heath the other day, someone loosened my girth strap. As soon as I got into full gallop, it would have given."
She clasped her hands together tensely. “How did you discover it?"
He smiled wryly. “Good habits pay off. I always run my hand under the girth before I mount. It's an automatic gesture; I never even think about it. I had saddled the horse only fifteen minutes before. I went to mount, ran my hand under the saddle, and the girth was loose."
"What else?” she asked tersely.
"When I was in Newmarket the other day, a piece of stone fell from the top of a building and just missed landing on my head."
"Jesus Christ,” Jane said, her eyes huge, frightened pools in her ashen face. “And now this. But why, David? And who?"
His mouth set. “I've asked myself that question every day for the last week. I don't know! What possible reason could anyone have to want me dead?"
Jane swallowed. “Oh David, oh David,” she whispered, and he stepped forward to take her in his arms.
"I didn't want you to know,” he said. “I didn't want to frighten you.” He felt her shiver and held her even closer.
"What can we do?” she asked against his shoulder.
"I don't know, love,” he replied soberly.
She was still for a minute, acutely conscious of the warm strength of his body, the steady reassuring beat of his heart.
"I'll tell Uncle Edward,” She said with determination.
"No, Jane.” He held her away from him. “There is no evidence. He would never believe it.” He grimaced. “I can hardly believe it myself. If it wasn't for this feeling I have...."
"What feeling,” she prompted when his words trailed off.
"A feeling of danger,” he said slowly. “I can sense it. I'm not imagining things; it's there, all right.” He looked down at her strained face. “We can't go to your uncle on my feelings, Jane."
"We have to do
something!"
she cried.
"I will be very vigilant, I promise you. Whoever he is must be getting frustrated. He will come out into the open before long, of that I'm sure. When he does, I'll deal with him."
"Let's elope now,” she urged. “If you're away from here, he won't know where to find you."
"We would have to return,” he said patiently. “And then perhaps you too would be exposed to this—madman. There will be no marriage until I can find out who is responsible for these attacks."
She argued with him for ten minutes, but nothing she could say would change his mind.
A little more than kin, and less than kind.
—William Shakespeare
For the three days following the incident in the wood, Jane attached herself to David with grim determination. Her resolution of concealing her love vanished in the face of this threat to his life. Wherever David went, there went Jane. She met him at the stables at six in the morning and rode out with him on all the training gallops. She accompanied him home for lunch and left him, with great reluctance, only to return to Heathfield House for her own dinner at eight.
David expostulated with her in vain. She stared at him with the eyes of a wild thing whose young are in danger, and refused to budge. For the first time he had a taste of the will that Lord Rayleigh. knew all too well.
The Marquis tried to reason with her as well. “What is the matter with you, Jane?” he asked her irritably. It was the second day of Jane's self-imposed surveillance, and he had taken her into his study after dinner to try to talk some sense into her.
She had refused meet his eyes. “There is nothing wrong with me, Uncle Edward,” she said tonelessly.
"You have completely neglected Mr. Wrexham these last two days. I understand you have been following David around like a puppy. Well, I won't have it, Jane. Do you hear me?” He was genuinely angry.
Jane looked at him as if she did not know him. “There is nothing you can do about it,” she said in the same toneless voice as before.
"I can lock you in your room,” the Marquis snapped at her. Jane's eyes narrowed and the Marquis suddenly felt himself outside the bounds of civilization. She looked quite startlingly dangerous.
"If you do that,” she said in a voice that was ominously quiet, “you will regret it."
For a perceptible space of time, Lord Rayleigh stared at the fierce, beautiful face of his niece. “Something has happened,” he said. “What is it, Jane?"