She was still standing on the path when another figure entered by the stone gates, but this lady had a warm smile on her face. “Jessica?” she said. “Jessica Hayward? Ellie said that you were here. Oh, forgive me, my dear. I’m Rosemary Wilde, Lucas’s mother.”
Jessica’s heartbeat picked up speed. This beautiful lady was Lucas’s mother? It didn’t seem possible. She was too young. There wasn’t a thread of silver in the glossy brown hair that peeped from her bonnet. Her figure was as lithe as a girl’s. The lines on her face were laugh lines and added expression to a lovely complexion.
“Lucas’s mother,” repeated the beautiful lady, but slowly this time.
Jessica willed herself to say something, but all she could manage was a breathless, “Oh!”
“You must forgive Ellie,” said Lucas’s mother, ignoring Jessica’s frozen state. “She should have brought you to me, but I suppose she was overcome with grief.” She gestured to the gravestone they were standing beside. “Ellie’s whole family is buried here, except for her brother, Philip. You remember …” She shook her head. “What am I saying! Of course you don’t remember the Bragges. They had a house on Waterside Street. Poor Philip died at Waterloo. He and Lucas were very close. The first thing Ellie
does, whenever we return to Chalford, is to come here and pay her respects.”
Jessica’s brain was beginning to thaw. “How sad,” she said, and looked down at the white roses that had been arranged in a stone vase.
Mrs. Wilde looked past Jessica, to her parents’ grave. “I knew you, of all people, would understand.” She smiled at Jessica. “But this isn’t the place to have a conversation.” She slipped her arm through Jessica’s and began to lead her through the gates. “We arrived yesterday evening and Lucas has told us so much about the good work you and the nuns are doing. You must tell me when is the best time to call, or better yet, you must come up to the Lodge.”
She went on in this vein as they came out onto the road, and Jessica realized gratefully that Lucas’s mother was trying to smooth over the awkwardness of their first meeting.
Ellie was sitting in an open carriage. Her eyes were no longer hostile, but they weren’t friendly, either.
“May we drive you home, Jessica?” asked Mrs. Wilde.
Jessica pointed to the wagon with Joseph sitting up front holding the reins. “We still have some errands to run,” she said. She didn’t add that she was on her way to call on the constable to probe for clues to her father’s murder.
Rosemary Wilde waited until the carriage had turned onto the main thoroughfare before she spoke to Ellie. “What did you say to Jessica, Ellie?”
“I didn’t say anything, Aunt Rosemary.”
Rosemary smiled. “What? No word of greeting when you came face-to-face in the churchyard?”
“No. I … I was close to tears and didn’t want to speak to … to anyone. Why do you ask?”
She wasn’t quite sure that she believed Ellie. For one thing, she looked guilty, and for another, Ellie was jealous.
She was at a difficult age, having just turned sixteen, and couldn’t make up her mind whether she was a child or a woman.
It was Lucas who, in all ignorance, had set Ellie off.
Last night over dinner, he’d talked a great deal about Jessica and Hawkshill and the fine work the nuns had started there. This had put poor Ellie’s nose out of joint. Ellie was in the throes of first love, and Lucas was the man she was smitten with.
Ellie wasn’t the only one suspicious of Lucas’s interest in Jessica Hayward. So was his mother. Rosemary thought back to when Jessica was a girl. Lucas had paid attention to Jessica, but it hadn’t been a lover’s attention. He’d been more like an older brother. She herself had always been fond of Jessica. The girl had a way with her. She was tenderhearted. And when she gave her loyalty, she never faltered. Though Lucas wouldn’t agree with her, she’d found Jessica’s devotion to her father quite touching. And her devotion to Lucas had been understandable. He must have seemed like a knight in shining armor to a girl who was used to fending for herself.
Then Bella Clifford had moved into the area, and Lucas had fallen for her. Jessica had not liked Bella, and neither had she—Bella was completely self-centered; no one’s feelings mattered but her own; her servants were afraid of her. But no one could tell Lucas any of this, least of all his mother. But she’d known it was only a matter of time before Lucas saw through Bella’s lovely façade. If he hadn’t gone off to war—things might have turned out very differently.
“Aunt Rosemary?”
“Yes, Ellie?”
“Don’t you think that Hayward woman should know she’s not wanted here and leave? After all the harm she’s done?”
“What harm did she do?”
Ellie said indignantly, “She told lies about Lucas! He lost Bella, and he’d loved her for years.”
“Did he? I’m not sure now that he did love Bella.”
Ellie was shocked. “Then why did he get engaged to her when he came home from the war?”
She’d said too much. Ellie was too young to understand that love was rarely the driving force in a man’s life. With some men, it was money. With others, it was prestige. With Lucas, it was honor. Bella had waited for him for four years. He would never go back on his word. In fact, his most scathing contempt was reserved for anyone who broke a promise or a vow.
She felt as though someone had just walked over her grave, and she shivered.
“Aunt Rosemary, what’s wrong?”
She cleared her expression. “Nothing, dear. I was just thinking of what Lucas told us: we’re to put the past behind us and accept Jessica as we find her. So be careful of what you say to her.”
“Whatever Lucas says, I can never forget the past!”
Mrs. Wilde did not reply to this passionate outburst. The carriage had come to a stop outside the circulating library on Waterside Street. She glanced out the window, then her gaze became riveted. A distinguished-looking gentleman in his late forties had just exited with a book in his hand. He didn’t look up or notice her carriage, but turned on his heel and struck out along Waterside Street.
Her heart turned over. He shouldn’t be here. She would never have come down to Chalford if she’d known that he was here. They had an understanding. Chalford was hers for the summer months. He came down for the hunting season. Then what was he doing here?
Ellie said, “Who is that gentleman, Aunt Rosemary?”
“Sir Matthew Paige,” she murmured, and just saying the name out loud brought her to her senses. “I haven’t seen him in years.” She went on brightly. “Now let’s see if we can find Mr. Scott’s latest novel.”
• • •
Jessica was in a towering temper when she left the constable’s office, not so much by what she’d learned but because the constable wouldn’t take her seriously.
As soon as she was seated in the wagon, she turned to Joseph and said scathingly, “I’m rapidly coming to the conclusion that my father must have shot himself. According to Constable Clay, there is no one in Chalford who would stoop to such a cowardly act. The people here are all saints. Oh no, the malefactor must have come from a neighboring town, or even London, you know, one of my father’s gambling cronies. It wouldn’t surprise me if the murderer turned out to be the man in the moon.”
Joseph looked sympathetic and flicked the reins. Tulip started forward.
Many minutes later, she said, “Lucas found my father’s body. Can you believe that? Lucas found the body, and he said nothing to me.”
“Stands to reason he would have found it.”
Jessica looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”
“The bridle path. How else would his lordship get home?”
This deflated her anger somewhat. “All the same,” she said, “there’s something here that’s not right. No one has anything to hide or so Constable Clay would have me believe, but in the next breath, he tells me not to stir things up. There’s something he’s keeping from me, yes, both he and Lucas, and I haven’t a clue what it is.”
“Mayhap it has nowt to do with you or your father.”
She gave him an “et tu Brute” look and pressed her lips together. Her pique did not last long. Joseph had a way of putting things into perspective. She was getting worked up about nothing. And the information she had managed to pry out of the constable wasn’t all bad.
“No one seriously suspected me of murdering my father,” she said at length. “In fact, they feared something had happened to me, too. The whole town turned out to
search for me.” She looked down at her hands. “I hadn’t realized … that is … people can be so kind.”
“Even his lordship?” asked Joseph with a sly smile.
Her brows flew together. “It was his lordship,” she said tartly, “who gave me the impression that I was suspected of murdering my father.”
“But you knew you were innocent.”
“Well, of course I did. I knew all along it was—”
“What?”
She’d known it was her Voice. “Impossible,” she said.
When they turned into the drive to Hawkshill, her eye was caught by some movement high up on the ridge that ran along Lucas’s property. Two riders had emerged from the trees, a man and a woman. She recognized Lucas at once but not his companion. They drew rein and Lucas dismounted. When he went to help the lady, she slid from the saddle and seemed to stumble. Lucas’s arms went around her.
Then they kissed. Full on the lips.
Jessica dragged her eyes away and glanced at Joseph. He had seen it, too. She wasn’t going to say anything. She was determined not to say anything, but the words came out of her mouth anyway.
“Who is she, Joseph? Do you know?”
But Joseph either did not know or he wasn’t telling.
It was the smell of smoke that awakened her. She sat up, momentarily dazed, then she jumped out of bed. Down below in the farmyard, their wagon was blazing like a pitch torch. Calling for Joseph and the sisters, she covered herself with a shawl and went tearing down the stairs.
Joseph was already there. He grabbed for her as she raced to the wagon. “There’s nowt to be done, lass. It’s beyond saving.”
“How did it happen?” she cried out.
“Someone did it on purpose.”
“Someone did it on purpose?” she said faintly. “How can you be sure?”
He went down on his haunches and pointed. “They set the fire under the wagon, see? And I can smell the pitch.” He straightened and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I should have locked the wagon away, but I never reckoned on anything like this.”
Her eyes darted around the farmyard. The chickens were squawking; the mare was whinnying and the cows lowing. “Tulip,” she cried, and took a step toward the barn but Joseph held her back.
“Barn’s as tight as a tollbooth,” he said. “They couldn’t do no harm there.”
The sisters joined them moments later, but when they heard the boys calling out from upstairs, Sister Brigid was sent back to calm them.
“It could be worse,” said Sister Dolores. “It could have been the barn or even the house.”
Still, the thought that someone wanted to hurt them was appalling.
As the nuns conversed in hushed tones, Joseph went off to patrol the area. Jessica was hugging herself, numb in spite of the scorching heat from the wagon. This was meant for her, not for the nuns, not for the orphanage boys, but for her, Jessica Hayward. She could sense it in every pore in her body.
When Joseph came back, his expression was somber. “They’ve wrung a chicken’s neck,” he said, “and hung it over the front door. Damn ruffians, if you’ll pardon the expression, Sisters. Boys from the village, I’d say. If I catches up to ’em, I’ll wring
their
necks.”
“Lord Dundas will have to be told,” said Sister Elvira. “He’ll know what to do.”
“Shouldn’t we send for the constable?” asked Jessica quickly. Maybe
now
he would take her seriously.
Sister Elvira turned to Joseph. “What do you think, Joseph?”
After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “Why not? A night or two in the tollbooth is just what them rascals deserves.”
They stood around the yard until the wagon was reduced to a smoldering, blackened skeleton. Joseph wouldn’t go back to his bed, but set up a pallet in the barn with his blunderbuss for company. If the ruffians came back, he would be ready for them.
The moment Jessica was back in her own room, she threw herself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She was remembering the constable’s warning not to stir things up. It was the same warning Lucas had given her.
CHAPTER
10
S
he had a mutiny on her hands, and the little monsters had chosen the wrong moment to get her back up. She had a headache. It had been a terrible day. She’d had words with the constable again when he’d arrived this morning to investigate the burning of their wagon. She was running late. She was at the end of her tether. And the boys were taking advantage.
“You will eat the food I have prepared for you,” she declared, “or you will sit at that table till doomsday.”
Knowing that she had just made a blunder did nothing to improve her headache. “Never make empty threats,” was one of the cardinal rules Sister Elvira had laid down.
The boys glared at the food on their plates. The ringleader, Pip, a scrawny little brat of eight, folded his arms across his chest. It was the signal for the others to follow suit, and now six horrid little wretches sat around her kitchen table with folded arms and mutinous expressions darkening their small faces.
Jessica changed tactics. “Now come along, boys,” she
said coaxingly, “eat your dinner. It will make you strong like … like Joseph.”
“I ain’t eating no toads,” said Pip. “They’re slimy.”
Jessica was ready to tear out her hair. “They are not toads! How many times do I have to tell you. They’re sausages. You like sausages, don’t you? That’s all they are. Sausages cooked in a pudding.”
“Then why d’you say, ‘toad in the ’ole’?” This was Martin, Pip’s younger brother.
“Because ‘toad in the hole’ is the name of the dish.” And she wished she’d never mentioned it.
“Well, they don’t looks like sausages to me!” piped up another voice.
“That’s because I cut them into slices.” When there was no response, Jessica retreated a little. “All right,” she said brightly, “let’s forget about the toad … the sausages in batter. Drink your milk and eat plenty of bread and butter, then you can go and join your friends.”