Whom To Trust
“There’s to be a fair this Saturday,” Claude told them over breakfast.
“What kind of fair?” Mrs. Blanshard asked as she placed preserves on her toast.
“One on the moor, near the abbey’s ruins,” Claude told her with a lift of his chin in apparent defiance.
“I shan’t wish to attend,” Mrs. Blanshard declared.
“I said nothing of escorting you,” the gentleman countered. “I’ll escort Miss Jocelyn.” He stood then. “I plan to travel into the village a bit later. Need some tobacco. Would you care to go, aunt?”
“I think not,” Mrs. Blanshard said, “and you know I’ll not tolerate tobacco in my house.”
“It’s my uncle’s house,” Mr. DuBois responded with an arched eyebrow. “Someday it will be mine.”
“Not until you are eight-and-twenty,” Mrs. Blanshard retorted. “Your uncle’s will is specific in that manner.”
“No need to remind me,” he said with a scowl.
Jocelyn said meekly, “I wouldn’t mind a chance to visit the shops. I’d like to find something special for Margaret. If such meets your approval, ma’am.”
“I am not your jailer,” Mrs. Blanchard declared.
Before Jocelyn could change her mind, Mr. DuBois said, “Then it’s settled. Three quarters of an hour.” He turned on his heels and exited in a huff.
*
They departed, but Mrs. Blanshard was nowhere about. Jocelyn worried about irritating her hostess, but Mr. DuBois told her that Mrs. Blanshard would be well after a bit. They traveled the same road as yesterday. He turned his head and smiled upon her. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“How peaceful this is. Nothing like London.”
“I don’t go down to London as often as I would like,” he admitted.
“London’s wonderful, but it has its vices,” she observed.
“You don’t consider Shard House boring? Too quiet?”
“There’s so much to enjoy that London doesn’t offer.”
“I’m happy you’re here. London’s loss is my gain. You’re my Shard House captive.”
Jocelyn thought his word choice more than a bit odd, and she shifted uncomfortably. “Captive?”
He laughed, but there was more hardness than joy in his tone. “None of us like being a captive. My aunt sometimes forgets that.”
They rode on in silence for several minutes. “Did I inadvertently frighten you?” he asked, at last.
“You appear to be a man of many moods,” she ventured.
He barked a laugh. “You know me too well, and here I wished to be a man offering a variety of faces.”
“I hope your aunt is not angry with our departing,” she said to change the mood.
“Leonora is always out of sorts about something. I adore her, but I tire of catering to her moods.”
“I don’t wish her angry with me,” she admitted.
“Nonsense. She will wish you to enjoy yourself.”
“She’s different from anyone I’ve ever met. I like her.” They were quiet for several minutes. “Is that the inn? I didn’t notice it when I was here yesterday.” A child chasing another stopped to wave. “Is she waving to you or me?”
Mr. DuBois slowed the carriage and turned to look where Jocelyn had pointed. She noted how he’d stiffened and both his stare and posture hardened. “We should return to Shard House,” he announced.
“I wanted…” she began.
“I said we’d return.”
Jocelyn wished an explanation, but none was forthcoming.
They sat in silence. Even the rest of the world appeared to seek the stillness.
Having turned, he set the horse at a faster pace, and Jocelyn caught the side of the seat to maintain her balance.
She watched the now familiar road for a third time in less than twenty hours.
They didn’t slow their pace until they neared the turn off for Shard House.
Only then did Mr. DuBois relax. “I suppose you wish to know my purpose in our return.”
“An explanation is not necessary.”
“You don’t mean to question me?”
“Why should I? You assuredly held your reasons.”
He guided the carriage between the brick-pillared entrance. “It would be best if you don’t go into the village alone.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but quickly snapped it closed again.
“Do you understand my orders?”
Jocelyn had come to Yorkshire to be free of her fears, but it appeared a different danger had been waiting for her here. She nodded her agreement.
Alone again.
*
Jocelyn couldn’t understand what was going on.
When they came together for the midday meal, Mr. DuBois was all charm, with no mention of his earlier odd behavior.
He again spoke of the upcoming fair, with Mrs. Blanshard now indicating she might also consider attending, though Claude now refused his escort.
“I thought to show you the family portraits,” Leonora announced, without preamble.
“Why?” Claude demanded with a deep frown.
“I’m proud of my family,” the woman countered.
“Is there a portrait of you?” Jocelyn asked.
“There was, but I had it removed since our recent return to the country. Needs to be restored.”
Though she had no desire to learn of the Blanshards, Jocelyn politely followed the woman to the gallery, but that was where the mood again changed.
“I don’t care about the gallery,” Mrs. Blanshard stated.
“I simply wanted a moment to warn you about Claude. He’s both a DuBois and a Blanshard, the worst mix.
It means he cannot be trusted. Will use you and desert you. ”
“I assure you, ma’am, I’m not interested in Mr. DuBois in that manner.”
“Good. Keep up your guard.” With that, the woman turned and marched away towards her quarters.
*
Jocelyn spent a long time staring out the window of her bedchamber.
This venture was assuredly not proving to be as relaxing as Margaret had promised.
A strange restlessness seemed to fill each room and followed her about.
It was as if everyone—even the house itself—was waiting for something to occur.
A curious stillness anticipating a storm—one heavy with foreboding.
“Is that what has everyone expecting something monumental? Uncalled for outbursts of temper and then instant regret? Obvious sadness? Why did Mr. DuBois turn around so suddenly? Something almost tangible covers this house with sadness,” she murmured.
Determined to escape, Jocelyn caught up her shawl and hurried outside.
She needed to be away from the house before she could understand it.
Unfortunately, as she expected, the stillness—the fear—followed her outside.
It was as if the house—the gardens—the stable—even the fallow-turned fields were all holding their breath.
She reached out to a nearby tree to steady her step, only to realize her breathing had turned shallow in alarm.
She opened her mouth to scream, simply to break the silence, but her throat was too closed, even to chirp.
“Why?” her mind demanded. She closed her eyes and commanded each of her muscles to respond. She could smell the turned earth in the fields and the last of the flowers in the garden, and peace, at last, returned.
“What are you doing here?” a harsh voice asked.
Jocelyn caught at her chest and squeaked her surprise. “I… I simply required some… some fresh air.”
Claude frowned his disproval. “I noticed several loose boards around the conservatory’s frame.”
“I did not mean to disturb you.”
“Go back to the house,” he ordered. “I will finish up and join you for supper.”
Jocelyn thought the work should be left to another, but as she nodded her agreement, she suddenly realized how few servants were about. She suspected there were less than a dozen and all seemed to be unsure of their duties. The girl serving as her maid also had cleaning and laundry duties.
“I thought you still in your room,” she said.
“Who died and made you my caretaker?” he asked sarcastically. “First, Leonora, and now…”
“I apologize. I did not mean to…”
“No, you would not. I forget how unsophisticated you are,” he said with a lift of his brows.
Jocelyn gathered her dignity about her. “I apologize again.” She rushed away quickly.
When she reached her room, she locked the door behind her.
“What is happening?” she asked. “This is different from the type of fear that I encountered in London. It is deeper. Is it because London’s fog changed me?
” She sat in a nearby chair. “I must make myself go down to supper or they will…” Jocelyn did not know what her housemates might do.
“The countryside is equally as dangerous as the City. Those below must not learn I am suspicious of it all.”
*
Though it was late, Jocelyn could not sleep.
Clouds drifted across the full moon, causing the same to fill first with silver light and then deep shadows.
“No sense in fighting the bed,” she mumbled as she rose to claim her robe before stepping out on the balcony.
Sucking in a cleansing breath, Jocelyn acted to clear her mind.
She glanced again at the moon, and, though there was darkness, a rift in the cloud permitted the misty silver of the moonlight to creep through.
There was much on her mind. “Margaret sent me to Shard House to keep me safe,” Jocelyn reasoned.
“Did she not realize the danger would follow me here? Was the man Claude saw in the village the same one who followed me in London? If so, is he in Yorkshire because of me or is it the Blanshards he seeks? But he could not have known I was set to come to this part of the country, unless, perhaps, he overheard it from someone who works for Desmond and Margaret. If it is I he seeks, what am I to do about it, when I do not know whom to trust?”