Page 167

T he night became a crazy kaleidoscope of sensations and scenes.

For awhile, Jane was conscious only of the gentle, rhythmic plodding of the horse accompanied by murmured words of endearment.

Later, she was transferred carefully to a carriage.

A warm lap robe wrapped about her, and a distasteful liquid forced between her lips.

She fell into a light, uneasy slumber from which she was often jolted awake as much from the poor carriage springs as from the fiery pictures that haunted her mind.

Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, the carriage rolled to a stop.

A swath of light pierced the night. Again she felt herself lifted, this time carried up steps into that light.

Around her, a murmur of voices rose and fell; but she paid them no more heed than she did to the sound of crickets in the night.

She was laid down, the warm arms that held her sliding away.

She murmured a protest. Gentle hands raised her head and coaxed more of the foul liquid past her lips.

Snatches of low-voiced conversations reverberated in her aching head, pounding viciously against the edges of her consciousness.

“It was a mercy ...”

"...prey upon her mind."

". . . laudanum. Let her sleep. It's the best . . .”

Jane tried to capture each wisp of murmured voice, but the words scampered nimbly away, teasingly beyond comprehension. The effort to hear and understand exhausted her. Finally, she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

When next she woke, there was brightness against her closed eyelids.

Sunlight? She moaned and stirred restlessly.

She was vaguely surprised to discover she lay on a soft mattress and was covered with cool, fresh, lavender-scented sheets.

Such comfort seemed wrong, out of place, though she couldn’t think why.

Jane tried to open her eyes, but they felt heavy. It was like lifting great weights.

Slowly her eyelids fluttered open. Everything was blurred and dizzyingly swirling.

She closed her eyes, then tried opening them again.

She blinked, and the world focused. She turned her head, gazing about.

Dispassionately she realized that she recognized the bed hangings.

They were from her room at Penwick. How did she get here?

Last night she’d been near Royal Tunbridge Wells, hadn’t she? Last night...

The vision of a blackened and blood-blistered body swam up to her consciousness.

“Aahh!" she softly wailed, the sound catching achingly in her throat. She bit her knuckle as sobs wracked her slender body. "I killed him,” she whimpered. "I killed him!”

“Hush, hush, Jane!” came an urgent, soothing voice from the side of her bed, the face indistinct yet comforting. A cool hand laid against her brow. "It could not be helped. No one faults you."

The blurred image with its gentle voice coalesced into Lady Elsbeth.

“I warned her. She dinna heed me warnin’s,” mourned an Irish voice from somewhere near the end of the bed.

“That’s enough, Mrs. O'Rourke,” snapped Lady Elsbeth over her shoulder.

Then she turned back to Jane, gently pushing fine strands of black hair away from her face.

"That woman—Sophie? She’s convinced it was a form of release for him.

She says Georgie couldn’t reconcile his rough and crude existence with the knowledge of his better blood.

He felt he should have naturally been refined and well-spoken.

It tore at him that he could not rise above the circumstances of his upbringing; that his mother, having all the advantages in the world, could give him away as easily as one would a cast-off dress or jacket.

I know he planned to present himself to his mother dressed and accoutered as befitted her station.

He believed dress made the man. In the end, he would have been bitterly disappointed.

I shudder to think what he might have done when that happened. ”

Jane nodded, then swallowed around the lump in her throat. "It is hard to believe he had all that in him when one considers the bluff, hearty gentleman he played.”

“Throughout history, it has always been the same. Those who would act the buffoon for others' enjoyment are generally people lacking joy in their own lives. Perhaps that’s what always gives the piquant flavor of truth to their antics, a sort of larger-than-life hopelessness that lessens our own.”

Jane nodded listlessly. "But that still doesn’t excuse his death. ‘Any man’s death diminishes me.’ He did not deserve to die.”

Lady Elsbeth leaned back, her hands folded in her lap. "Now that will be enough maudlin missishness. I beg you to remember he was not beyond doing violence to you to achieve his ends,” she said sternly.

“I suppose,” Jane conceded, absently plucking at the sheet. Her lips twisted as she thought over the events of yesterday. "What time is it?” she asked suddenly, her expression serious.

Lady Elsbeth looked down at the pendant watch pinned to her bodice. "Almost one-thirty. Why?”

“One-thirty? In the afternoon?” Jane threw off the bed covers.

"You must have been heavy-handed with the laudanum! Why did you give it to me? You know how I hate the stuff. And don’t try to deny that you did, for I won’t believe you!

I heard you last night. At least, I think I did,” she amended as she levered herself up to a sitting position.

Lady Elsbeth thought it wise to ignore Jane’s questions. "What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Getting up.” She swung her legs to the floor.

“Jane! I’m not convinced that is wise. You have been through a terrible ordeal!”

“Elsbeth, I cannot put off maudlin missishness, as you call it if I am relegated to this bed. Besides, I have business with the true author of this little fiasco."

Lady Elsbeth sighed and stood away from the bed to let Mrs. O'Rourke help Jane into her wrapper. "I’m afraid you’ll not get satisfaction there.

I don’t know how, but she feels entirely justified in her actions.

How can one chastise another if that other sees no wrong?

I have tried. All I get from her is how she wished to free me. ”

“Free you? I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” Lady Elsbeth said grimly. "But, if you insist on getting up, I’ll order you something to eat.”

“Fine, only I want coffee, not tea.”

“Now Jane, an herbal tea?—”

“No,” Jane said, laughing. "I know you swear by your herbals, but please, I’d prefer coffee.”

“All right, coffee,” her aunt grumbled, pursing her lips in displeasure. But she couldn’t keep the expression long. Her lips began to twitch, and soon she was laughing with her niece. "I cry craven! Mrs. O'Rourke, please order Jane something to eat with coffee!”

“Laugh if ye will, but know it is the devil’s oon work afoot. And that trickiest of tricksters, he’s not done yet, mark me words.”

They watched the Irish woman shuffle toward the door muttering words and curses.

“Seriously, what are we to do about Serena?” Elsbeth asked once Mrs. O’Rourke was safely out of the room.

“I don’t know, though I would very much like to know what is behind her little machinations.”

“I wouldn’t call kidnapping you and nearly forcing you into a distasteful marriage ‘little!’ But neither can I keep her locked in a storeroom indefinitely.”

Jane laughed. "Elsbeth! Is that where she is?”

“Yes. I locked her in yesterday. And it isn’t a storeroom.

I locked her upstairs in that disused antechamber at the end of the hall.

I understand from the servants who have taken her food that she has stripped the furniture of Holland covers and made herself comfortable, though she is calling down all manner of curses upon your head. ”

“My head?”

“As you would call her the author of this fiasco, so she would call you,” Elsbeth said dryly.

Jane sighed. "I suppose you’re correct.” She went to the wardrobe and pulled out a green spring muslin dress, ornamented with pale pumpkin braid and yellow embroidery.

She held it out in front of her, turning from side to side as she judged its effect in the tall mirror.

"I feel as if I should wear black. However, under the circumstances, I don’t wish to dress the Ice Witch part.

Spring is much more in keeping. What of Conisbrough and Royce? ”

“What of them?”

“Are they still here?”

“Gracious, yes. At a minimum, it would take an order from the regent to dislodge them! Between them, they have decided to be our protectorates, and no amount of argument will naysay them. Not even Lord Royce’s ankle will come in the way of what they see as their duty,” Lady Elsbeth said, laughing lightly.

“Lord Royce is situated, or I should say holding court, upon a settee in the parlor. I argued for his room and bed. He answered that it would be inappropriate for private discourse with yourself. Something he is anxious to pursue?” she suggested archly, an amused laugh hovering on her lips.

“I don’t know,” Jane said, startled at how that admission hurt, like an ill-timed blow to the stomach. Was she merely some duty he’d assumed—or something to relieve the tedium of the country? Either answer lowered her spirits further, though she was careful not to reveal that to Lady Elsbeth.

“His ankle is the worse for wear,” her aunt was saying, “but has not, thankfully, suffered a lasting injury. I have rebandaged it and instructed him not to pick up objects larger than his boot!”

Jane blushed, for she knew it was his arms that had caught her as she’d swooned. And it was toward his body that she had contentedly curled.

“Mr. Nagel has kindly offered the earl the use of his crutches for the day; his activities, being limited to his small apartment, do not demand extensive walking. His only request was that the boys come to visit him to regale him with the events of the past few days.”

“The old softie,” Jane murmured. "He just will not admit how much those boys mean to him.”