Chapter Fifteen
I t was Bill Whitely and another man with the same shock of pale hair. “It’s a waste o’ time, Bill,” the other man was saying. “The bastard ain’t comin’ back ’ere. Why should ’e?”
“’Cause ’is old Granny’s ’ere, Lord Riese sez. In any case, Pete, the pay’s good and so’s the grub.”
“Can’t be a complete villain if he loves ’is Granny,” Pete mused. “But yer right about the grub. Dan and Mickey sez today we got meat pies, big ones.”
“This is the job for me,” Bill commented. “Nuffin’ to do but walk around all day and eat as much as we like.”
“Boring,” said the other. “But I could do with a bit of boring. Nothin’ to do and no one shootin’ at us. Come along, Bill. Best get to it. Pat and Vince’ll be wantin’ their turn.”
Their voices faded as they turned the corner toward the back of the house. Pol looked down to check his grandmother—she was still sleeping—and opened the panel again. The guards must be taking their dinner in shifts of two. Hopefully the other four were occupied at the lodges, but he would keep an eye out. “Walking around all day,” Bill had said.
He carried Gran to the steward’s house. The path was sheltered most of the way. A long walk bordered by rose-covered trellises took him half the distance. It ended at a maze, and the tall hedges of the maze hid him until he was within twenty-five paces of the cottage. Since he’d explored the maze for the first time sixteen years ago and knew it well, it was a quick and safe route to take Gran to safety.
Within a few minutes, he was at the door of the steward’s cottage—it opened before he could bend low enough to reach the handle while keeping his grandmother steady in his arms.
“You have her!” said the steward. “My dear lady, how are you?”
Gran stirred, and her eyes opened. “Edward,” she said. Her smile was tremulous, but it was still there.
The steward smiled back, but when he looked up and his gaze met Pol’s, his eyes held both horror and fury. Pol felt the same, but he was taken aback by the strength of the steward’s reaction. The man had himself well in hand, however. “Bring her ladyship this way, Apollo,” he said. “My lady, we shall soon have you comfortable.”
Pol followed him upstairs to a neat bedroom—the one that had been his when he lived here. “Mrs. Finch made up the bed for your grandson, my lady,” the steward was saying, “but I can soon make up another for him. You will be safe here.”
Gran smiled up at them both. “Safe,” she repeated.
“Yes,” Pol agreed. “You will be safe here, and tomorrow, I will take you to my new house, where Madame Haricot has agreed to look after you. You will remember her as Madame Le Blanc, the dressmaker.”
“The… dressmaker.” Gran sighed. “So… tired.”
“Sleep a little, Gran,” Pol suggested. “I need to go back now and get your bags. I put them outside by the door to the manor.”
“Sleep,” Gran agreed, and her eyes drifted shut.
Outside her room, the steward whispered, “What is wrong with her, Apollo? She looks as if she has not had a good meal in months!”
“She has been abused. I heard that disgrace of a nursemaid threatening her, and she has bruises everywhere. Leech marks, too. The doctor has bled her to within an inch of her life. I could not leave her there.”
The steward shook his head. “No. No, of course you could not. Go and get her bags, dear boy. You and she shall sleep here tonight, and in the morning, we shall take her to Madame Haricot.”
Pol had a narrow escape. He had just left the shelter of the roses when the side door of the manor, which was a bare ten yards away, began to open and Bill Whitely stepped out.
Throwing himself backward, Pol thanked his lucky stars that Bill had paused on the doorstep to look back over his shoulder. He and his brother emerged, talking about the pies they’d had and what might be for supper.
“Glad I’m not one of them Turners,” said Pete Whitely. “Workin’ all night. Gonna be a cold night, too. Wet.”
Bill scoffed. “Workin’! Them Turners don’t know what work is. Reckon they’ll drink half the night and sleep the rest.”
“Don’t make no difference,” Pete said. “Allegro ain’t coming back. I reckon…”
What he reckoned was muted by the wall of the house as the Whitely brothers turned the corner of the manor. Pol didn’t wait. He raced across the short distance separating himself from the shrubs either side of the door, grabbed the bags, and raced back. Safely out of sight again, he slowed down but kept to a swift walk until he had closed the steward’s door behind him and the bags.
*
After Pol left, Maman announced, “We have work to do, cherie , preparing the house for an invalid.” They washed the already-clean sheets for the dowager viscountess’s bed and put out all the other bedding to air. Jackie was not sure what else Maman thought they could do. The whole house sparkled from top to toe.
“We shall make up her room and set a nice chair for her in the parlor, for she might wish to sit there, Jacqueline.”
“I heard she was confined to her bed, Maman,” Jackie said.
“Poor lady. We shall have to see whether we can do better for her, for I tell you, Jacqueline, I do not trust any nursemaid that woman hired.” She stood up from the table. “Can I leave you to clear and do the dishes, mon ange ? I must look at my medicine chest and see if I have all the supplies I am likely to need.”
By early afternoon, Maman was happy with her preparations, though Jackie was sure she’d make further changes several times before their guest arrived. She was not so pleased with her medicine stores, however.
“I shall need to go into town to the apothecary,” she mused, looking at the list she’d made. “But I’ve done no sewing today, and there is the embroidery to be completed on the bodice you pintucked for the squire’s daughter. Jacqueline, if I explain exactly what I need, you could do the trip to the apothecary for me.”
Jackie nodded enthusiastically. Since Maman had learned about Jack Le Gume, and about the danger to her daughter, she had been reluctant to let Jackie out of her sight. Jackie understood. She even treasured the evidence that her mother, who was usually more inclined to a criticism than a compliment, was frightened for her.
But Jackie was accustomed to more freedom than most girls, and besides, to be in Maman’s company all day every day was oppressive. Jackie loved her mother, and she knew Maman loved her, though the lady had never been demonstrative. She sometimes watched other mothers and wished hers could be warmer, but she would settle for Maman trusting her more and criticizing her less. A trip to the nearby town, on her own, would be wonderful.
“It will be safe,” Maman muttered to herself. “That devil Riese does not know where we are.” She fixed Jackie with a glare. “You will go straight to the apothecary and back here. I shall worry every moment you are away.”
Jackie kissed her cheek. “I shall be careful, Maman,” she promised.
“ Hmmph .” Mama’s snort was disbelieving. “Be sure that you are.”
Of course she would be careful. She always was. She was still here, was she not? Sometimes more by good luck than good management, but there was no reason to believe she was about to be deserted by her good luck—or her holy angels, as Maman would have it.
Being out of the house without Maman at her elbow was as wonderful as she expected, even if she did have to wear a bonnet that prevented her from a clear view to each side unless she turned her head. However, she did not dare take it off. Quite apart from the fact that it provided a small measure of anonymity, someone might mention to her mother that she had been seen walking bareheaded.
She took her time walking to town, and went by the footpaths through the fields, rather than by the road. In the village, they had suggested the paths, because they were less dusty and less traveled, and so it proved to be.
As advised, she kept an eye out for riders, who also used the paths, but nobody was out and about but Jackie and the animals who lived in the fields. Sheep, cows, a gaggle of geese who contested her right-of-way but desisted when she flapped her skirts at them, hawks flying overhead, a cat that kept pace with her for a field or two when she passed close to a barn, a flock of swallows, an elderly cart horse who ambled over to see whether she was interesting and left after a scratch of his withers, which she could barely reach, he was so tall.
It was marvelous. She was sorry to see the town—first the spire of the church, then some taller houses, and finally the first few cottages as the path ended at a style that let into a lane. Her quiet walk was over, but she could look forward to returning the same way.
To reach the Main Street of the town took several more minutes, and was interesting in its own way, as cottages gave way to large houses in extensive grounds, then to townhouses, and then to the usual jumble of buildings typical in a town—rows of houses, many of which had shops on the ground floor, the occasional warehouse or larger shop, and workshops and manufactories of one kind or another.
Finally, she came out into the town square, with its market building, town hall, church, and more shops. One of them was a modiste, with a fashionable evening gown on display in the multi-paned bow window. Jackie was very tempted to go inside, to spy on the opposition. But she had promised to go straight to the apothecary, who had a shop, she had been told, in a small lane to the right of the town hall.
And there it was, tucked between a townhouse on one side and a bookshop on the other. Jackie walked slowly past the bookshop, wondering what kinds of books they sold, but the window was an old-fashioned one with multiple panes of crown glass that let in the light but distorted the view. “I promised. Straight to the apothecary and straight home,” she reminded herself.
She opened the door to the apothecary’s shop and set a bell tinkling, so that a man came through a door behind the tall counter and smiled a greeting. He was tall, thin, and slightly stooped, with a receding hairline and watery blue eyes.
“May I help you, Miss?”
“I have a list,” Jackie said. She had her head bent over her reticule, looking for the list, when the bell tinkled again. A man brushed past her. “Apothecary! My master needs one pint spirit of lavender, one half-pint double distilled cardamon, two bottles of Steers Elixir, two bottles of laudanum, and half a pound of arsenic trioxide.”
The apothecary looked at Jackie, saying, “This lady was first.” But Jackie had caught a glimpse of the man’s face and recognized him. He was from Tissingham and was the doctor’s servant. She waved a dismissive hand, lowered her head so that her bonnet hid her face, and turned away. Making her voice hoarse, she said, “Please serve the gentleman,” hoping that he would not behave like a gentleman and insist on her taking first turn.
He didn’t. Jackie bent to examine the shelves, which displayed bottles of various sizes with different colored liquids or lozenges. She occupied herself pretending to read the labels to keep her face hidden.
The apothecary must have begun making up the man’s order, for nothing further was said for a few minutes. “Did I not sell you arsenic trioxide just two months ago? What is your master using it for?”
“Face powder,” the man said, glibly. “But he spoiled a batch. Hurry up, can’t you? He expects me back, and I shall be blamed if I am late.”
Arsenic? Just a few months ago, the newspapers had been full of a case where people had died after eating sweets that had been made using arsenic by mistake for gypsum to mix with the sugar. Apparently the two substances looked the same, but one was a relatively harmless adulterant to make the expensive sugar go further and the other was poison! Jackie didn’t believe for a moment that the doctor was making cosmetics, but if the arsenic was for a legitimate use, why lie about it?
“Here you go, then,” said the apothecary. “That’ll be one pound, two shillings and six pence.”
A short time later, the bell tinkled again, and the door shut behind the doctor’s servant. Jackie gave her own list to the apothecary. She hoped the servant really was heading straight back to Tissingham. She certainly did not want to encounter him!