Jamintha (13 page)

“Did she search your rooms?” I interrupted.

“Not likely, she didn't. ‘You open that door, Madame, and I pack up here and now,' I said, and she knew I wasn't bluffing. Mister Charles heard all the commotion and came to see what was going on. ‘I'll not be called a thief!' Cook yelled, and Madame was almost hysterical herself by that time. Mister Charles had his hands full.”

She patted her long golden curls, a knowing look in those dark brown eyes. “I figure
he
knows well enough who took the money,” she said tartly. “Madame, too, but she wouldn't dare accuse Master Brence. ‘I'll replace the money, Helene,' Mister Charles said, looking grave, and then he apologized to Cook and me and led Madame away. Cook's been in a mood all day, poor dear, cut her finger slicing carrots and burned the chocolate cake she was making especially for you. Things've been upset all around.”

“I can well imagine.”

I felt better the next day. I even managed to get out of bed and dress myself, but by the time I had finished I was so exhausted that I sank into the large, overstuffed chair, completely depleted. Susie scolded me, and I realized I would have to wait a while longer before attempting anything that required the least exertion. Susie put fresh sheets on the bed and helped me undress and brought me some milk and a slice of chocolate cake. Cook was much calmer now, she informed me, and Madame was her old self, haughty as ever.

“Something else puzzles me, though,” she said, a slight frown creasing her brow.

“What's that?”

“You know the big wardrobe down the hall, the one we had so much trouble getting open when we stored your trunk? Well, I keep mops and all the extras there sometimes and I hadn't had any trouble opening it since that day. I went to get my spare mop this morning and the wardrobe was locked.”

“It's probably just stuck again,” I said.

“No, it's locked. I tried and
tried
to open it and it wouldn't budge. Then I got a knife and ran it along the seam, thinking I could pry the door open. The bolt was in place. Someone locked it. I can't figure it out, Miss Jane. Who'd want to lock that old wardrobe?”

“You probably locked it yourself accidentally,” I said. “The lock could have clicked in place the last time you closed the door.”

“Maybe so,” she replied, still frowning. “It's been two weeks since I stored the mop there and I hadn't needed it until this morning. Maybe I slammed the door too hard. I asked Madame for the key to the wardrobe, but she doesn't have it. I just used the old mop. Oh well, I suppose it isn't very important.” She shrugged her shoulders and began to put empty dishes on the tray.

In the next few days I regained some of my strength. I began to get out of bed for short periods of time. I walked around the room. I sat up and read. The afternoons were lost. I slept from noon until well after six every day, but in the mornings and late afternoons I was awake, weary but determined to overcome it. I longed to wander over the moors. It hadn't rained for some time, and the days were sun-spangled, the air crisp and invigorating as I stood at my opened window.

On Thursday I stayed awake all day long. I felt stronger, more rested than I had felt in some time. The preceding night I had slept soundly, for once undisturbed by nightmares. As the day wore on, I grew more and more restless. I felt confined, imprisoned, the room unbearable. The sun was just beginning to sink when I decided to take a walk. I couldn't go to the moors, but at least I could stroll in the gardens. I dressed slowly, trying not to tire myself too much, and, leaving my hair undone, I left the room.

I didn't want to go out the back way. Susie might see me, and I knew she would be outraged. If I went out by way of the main hall it was unlikely anyone would see me. Brence would be in the village, more than likely, and my guardian would be in the drawing room. Madame DuBois would be in her apartment or else in the kitchen giving instructions to Cook. I could slip out undetected and enjoy my stroll with no one being the wiser. I passed the west wing and went up the narrow flight of stairs and walked along the hallway on the second floor.

It was tiring. I had to stop once and lean against the wall, my head throbbing violently. I seemed to black out, and then the dizziness went away. It took me a long time to reach the head of the spiral staircase that led down to the main hall. Only a few minutes had passed, of course, but it seemed an hour ago that I had left my bedroom. I moved down the stairs, holding onto the smooth varnished railing. I was beginning to wonder if I should turn back when I heard the voices.

I was halfway down the staircase. Through the carved mahogany banisters I could see part of the main hall, much of the view obstructed by the curve of the staircase. Brence and his father were arguing. Their heads and shoulders were cut off by the angle, but I saw Brence's back and legs. He wore a tan silk shirt and clinging brown trousers. His back was stiff, his legs planted wide apart. His father was standing in front of him, and they seemed on the verge of exchanging blows.

“It's out of the question!” Charles Danver cried. “You've taken leave of your senses, man!”

“You're not going to stop me!” Brence retorted, his voice trembling with rage.

“No? We'll see about that. I've tolerated a great deal, Brence. I've paid off the seamstresses and the barmaids. I've let you have your bit of fun—you're a man, a man has to unwind now and then. Your conduct has been an open scandal, but I've said nothing. Let them talk. My son's a wild young stallion, very well. I was, too, at his age. But
this
—”

“I won't listen to any more!”

“—this
insanity
is altogether too much. Christ! I thought you knew your way around. You're acting like a naive adolescent. Have your way with her if you want, set her up in a cottage, I won't say nay, but put this stupid idea out of your head immediately. You can't
marry
the wench!”

“I intend to do just that!”

“You know nothing about her. She's a stranger. She's only been here a short time. Where did she come from? What's her background? She's no better than she should be, I'll tell you that! No respectable woman would let you pick her up the way you did. She's bound to be a—”

“Shut up!” Brence shouted.

“Not one penny will you get from me, not one
pen
ny if you pursue this wild course. Tell
her
that. See how eager she is to marry you then.”

“She's not eager! She's already
refused
me—”

“Toying with you, Son. She's toying with you!”

“I intend to persuade her. She'll say yes. She
has
to say yes! And when she does—”

“Enough of this nonsense! I forbid you to see her again!”

“Go to hell!” Brence yelled.

He stormed across the hall, flung open the front door and dashed outside, banging the door shut behind him with such impact that the windows on either side rattled violently in the frames. Charles Danver emitted a loud curse and stood with his hands clenched into tight fists. He trembled with fury, so angry he couldn't move for a moment, and then he banged his fist down on the hall table and strode briskly down the passage toward the drawing room. Another door slammed, the sound echoing through the house. An atmosphere of electric tension still crackled in the empty hall.

I stood on the staircase for a long time. So he had fallen in love at last. The man who took what he wanted and then strolled off without a backward glance had finally found someone he couldn't walk away from, and she had refused to marry him. He was suffering. The torment had been there in his voice, ringing sharp and clear with every word he spoke. I was glad. He had made me suffer. Now he was getting his own back.

I told myself that. I tried to believe it.

I went out into the gardens without being seen by anyone. I strolled in the direction of Dower House, my strength ebbing, some of the dizziness returning. The sky darkened, the last scarlet banners fading on the horizon, and the haze thickened, creating a dream-like effect, blurring details of leaf and stone. I felt very weak now. It had been a mistake to come out here. I should never have left my room.

I had to sit down. I found a flat white bench under an oak tree near Dower House. The marble was hard, and the oak boughs hung down, making a rustling black-green canopy. The ground was damp, scattered with acorns. I leaned against the trunk of the oak tree. I felt cold, but it was not a physical sensation. It came from inside.

You knew you could never have him. You knew he would never look at you. It was hopeless, hopeless, and you knew it from the first. He could never have fallen in love with you. He could never have fallen in love with prim Jane Danver. You knew that
.

It was dark now. Had I been asleep? My head felt clear, and the weakness was gone. I must have blacked out. How long had I been sitting here?

Someone was coming. I heard quiet footsteps and the rustle of skirts. It was probably Susie come to fetch me, but she didn't know I was out here. She thought I was still in my room.

“Jane?”

The voice was soft and beautiful and familiar. It seemed to materialize out of thin air. I couldn't believe it at first. I had dreamed of her so many times, but I was awake now, fully awake, and the voice was real. I stood up, my heart palpitating.

“Ja—Jamintha?”

“Didn't I promise to come?” she said.

She was wearing a lovely silk dress, the full skirt fluttering in the breeze. Her rich chestnut hair was windblown, and her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink. I was overcome with emotion, unable to believe she was actually here.

“I intended to slip up to your room,” she said blithely, “but then I saw you sitting out here.”

“Jamintha,” I whispered. “How did—”

“I came as soon as I got your letter,” she told me.

“I wrote?”

“You're in trouble. I intend to help. Something is going on, and I intend to find out what it is. That's why I didn't come to the house immediately. I don't want anyone to know of our connection.”

“I don't remember writing any letter,” I said, frowning. I hadn't remembered writing the thank you note to Johnny either.

“I was appalled, and, if you must know, rather
frightened
. I came as soon as I could.”

“You—you're staying in Danmoor?”

“I had a little money, not much, but enough to enable me to rent a small furnished cottage. I'm going to find out what's going on here, and I have already had a stroke of luck.”

“What?”

“I've met Brence Danver.”

“He's in love with
you
,” I said.

“He seems to think so.”

“You're the woman they were arguing about—”

“I met him in the village. It seemed a good idea to cultivate him. I may learn something important—Jane, you're shivering! You shouldn't be out here. You should be in bed.”

“I don't understand all this. I—”

“You must build up your strength. You must try to get well. You had a nasty blow.”

“Jamintha, I didn't fall. I
know
I didn't fall.”

She made no reply. Her eyes were grave, and when she spoke, her voice was full of tender concern.

“I don't want you to worry,” she said. “There are two of us now. I'm going to find out why Charles Danver brought you here. It may take a long time, it may even be dangerous, but—don't worry, Jane. I must go now. Someone might see me. No one must know—”

“Jamintha—”

“I'll be in touch with you. Dear Jane—”

She kissed me lightly on the cheek and hurried away. I saw her moving quickly through the moonlight and shadows, and then she was gone and there was nothing but the cold night air and the trembling leaves and the mournful voice of the wind as it swept over the moors.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jamintha had promised to be in touch, yet if no one was to know of our connection, how did she intend to go about it? Most of the time, I was closed up in my room, and she couldn't openly come to visit, not if she wished to keep our friendship a secret. I was deeply disturbed, bewildered by that meeting in the moonlit gardens. Had it really happened? I had missed her so much, dreamed of her so often. Had I wanted to see her so badly that I had imagined it all, my own mind projecting her image there before me, giving her substance and voice?

My excursion into the gardens had robbed me of strength. I had to stay in bed for the next two days, too weak to get up, sleeping for hours on end and awakening as weak and drained of energy as before. On Sunday morning I felt better. Sunlight streamed into the room in radiant profusion. In the gardens a bird warbled throatily, celebrating the glory of arching blue sky and crisp, clean air. I reached for the bell cord to summon Susie, and my hand was already touching the velvet when I saw the bulky envelope on the floor in front of the door. Someone must have slipped it under the door during the night.

My name was written across the envelope, nothing else. I tore it open with trembling hands. The pages had been folded tightly together, and they sprang open like leaves, spilling onto the floor. I gathered them up and climbed back into bed, too excited for a while to even examine the pages. The handwriting was light and airy, dancing over the paper in bright blue swaths, Jamintha personified, Jamintha speaking to me in her own merry voice:

Jane,

I was in a terrible dilemma, torn with indecision. How was I going to get this letter to you? I didn't dare send it through the regular mail, of course. Someone might intercept it—I wouldn't put it past Charles Danver or that French woman, either one. I thought perhaps I would give it to your maid, but she would be bound to ask questions and secrecy is
imperative
if we are to bring this off successfully. I finally decided to sneak into the house and slide the letter under your door. It will be rather fun, an adventure, like slipping out of the dormitory and climbing over the wall to meet Billy. Anyway, that's what I plan to do, and if you find the letter in the morning you'll know I've succeeded.