Chapter 51: The Third of January
After Christmas the cold mitigated, the winds calmed, and most of the snow vanished from the roads. Boxing Day was a happy occasion. Jane, helped by Lucy, presented the servants with their gifts in the Great Hall. Jane wanted Moll and Rose to join in the festivities, and was grateful when the Bordons agreed to entertain the children for the duration. Jane wanted to see the servants' faces, if only to know she had judged rightly in their gifts.
She was not disappointed. Clothes, so expensive, so hard to come by, were very welcome. The young footmen could hardly wait to deck themselves out in their livery, the older servants were grateful for the warm cloaks. The maids whispered excitedly about how they would fashion their new gowns out of the fine cloth given them. Jane's own maidservants' liked their petticoats very much.
"Can't deny I've been feeling the chill. Saves me time and a heap of trouble, to have a fine quilted petticoat ready-made!" Moll wasted no time hauling hers on. "Heavy thing, ain't it?" she considered. "Just the thing to keep my knees warm, though. Looks good with my best gown."
Moll looked well indeed. The petticoat was a darker green than the gown, and showed below the gown's hem an inch or two. She had found a bit of green ribbon and had trimmed her best cap with it, and felt very fine, and ready to be married. Jane knew it, too, and taking a moment alone with Moll, talked over her plans for the next few months. She had discussed the matter at length with her husband and his brother, and knew that whatever was decided, she would not be perfectly pleased with the outcome. She was determined, however, to not be the sort of selfish domestic tyrant she had seen and despised elsewhere.
"Captain Bordon is going back to London tomorrow, Moll. He will be ordained on Twelfth Night and return directly. He will publish the banns for you and Young at his first church service. However," she shifted uneasily, seeing all the complications before her. "However, I wanted to tell you some things that may affect you sooner or later. First—and this is a great secret—Sir John may marry next year. In that case, his wife will be the lady of the house."
"Good for him!" Moll interjected. "I reckon he'll be a good husband, if he can keep away from the liquor."
"Yes—well—" Jane said, embarrassed, "that's as may be. The other issue involves the Colonel. His mother, as you know, is very ill. The house in London will be his after she is gone, and I plan to live there most of the year." Seeing Moll's brows knit, she hurried on. "We all have seen how much you like living here at Wargrave, and Sir John is very pleased with how Young has taken hold of things. He has a mind to make him the butler here permanently. The wages would be very good, and since he would be married, Sir John would allow him a cottage free of rent. I don't know if—" she paused, seeing the wild excitement in Moll's eyes, and felt a little aggrieved, knowing what was to come—" I don't know if you have noticed Ironsides Cottage—"
"Ironsides Cottage!" cried Moll, looking radiant. "'Tis as good as a gentleman's house!"
"It is a pretty cottage, is it not? I'm told it looks even better in the summer. At any rate, it would be yours for however long you and Young remain at Wargrave, and I'm sure it would be a comfortable home for you and any children—" she stopped, because Moll had burst into tears.
"Thank the Lord!" she positively bawled. "Thank the Lord! I wasn't sure how to break it to you—"
"Moll—are you—with child?"
She was seized in a pair of brawny arms and squeezed heartily. "That I am! I reckon it'll come in August!"
"How—wonderful!" Jane pulled herself together, and repeated, more sincerely, "How wonderful! I know this must make you very happy, to have a little one of your own again! No, don't cry, Moll, for I have more to discuss with you. The Colonel and I want you to be happy, but we were wondering if you could help us a little longer. You have already had the smallpox, but some of the servants at Mortimer Square have not. While we have been gone, Miss Penelope has arranged for them all to be inoculated. It will make the house in London much safer for William Francis—and my brothers, who will be living there, too. After I have gone to London, I have asked Sir John to have the inoculator come out to Wargrave, too, and see to the servants here. Rose has never had the disease, and I would like her to stay and be inoculated. She might need some time to recover, too. I know it's a bad time for you, since you will getting married in a few weeks, but could you come with us to London until Rose is ready to replace you?"
She gave a helpless shrug. "For that matter, Rose may not want to come to London at all!"
"No—she's proud to have her situation, and I know she wouldn't mind going to town—" Moll frowned, considering. "'Twould only be for a month or so—" She brightened. "Well, why not? I can get things settled a bit here, and then go to town, I reckon. That money their lordships gave me could come in mighty useful, setting up housekeeping, and you with three little boys to get settled— yes, ma'am. I'll come with you. I'll talk it over with Tom, and he'll see it's for the best."
The two of them walked to Ironsides Cottage that very day. It was furnished with plain and serviceable oak furniture that Moll ran her hands over lovingly. She walked all through the house, her stout boots clumping on the wooden floors and then up the narrow staircase. Jane followed, smiling at Moll's exclamations at the good size of one of the beds. The cottage had been locked up for some time, though, and would need cleaning. Without cups or plates, without bedclothes, without any but the crudest of cooking pots, Jane thought it would need much to make it habitable. Moll felt differently, and was undaunted by the challenge. Jane assessed the house, considering what would be the best wedding gifts.
Jane called that afternoon on the Porters, with a footman behind her carrying a large basket. John had not stopped here, as he was still angry with Porter for his dishonesty. Mrs. Porter greeted her, and when Jane disclosed the reason for the visit, she began to weep into a handkerchief. The eldest girl, Deborah, took charge in a way that touched Jane, showing Jane to a seat, and helping her mother to hers.
"We are very happy to see you today, ma'am," the child said earnestly, looking about with a blush.
The house was in confusion. It was generally rather well kept; but today papers were everywhere, and the children's toys were scattered about. Mrs. Porter appeared to be unwell and in low spirits. It was her ten-year-old daughter who asked Jane if she would take some tea, so earnestly that Jane felt it would be unkind if she did not. And it was the child who saw that the tea was prepared, and arrived, and was served with some decree of decorum.
Jane sighed to herself, looking at the girl. She was a gawky, plain child, with long, mouse-brown hair, sallow skin, and lashless brown eyes. Nonetheless, there was a certain energy and spirit about her that Jane liked very much. She thought it a pity that a little girl must have to do so much at home. The other children were so much younger, that everything must devolve on poor Deborah.
The children gathered round to receive Mrs. Tavington's bounty: oranges and sugared almonds, small toys and hair ribbons. She thought all the little Porters very nice children, and they upheld their reputation, bobbing gracefully and thanking her effusively. Porter arrived, hanging back, rather red-faced when Jane presented his wife with a bottle of good Madeira for their holiday cheer. While the children were charming, the older Porters made her feel somewhat unwelcome and uncomfortable.
Porter stammered, "My cousin is visiting. The poor fellow is quite ill. He's resting upstairs."
"I am sorry to hear it," Jane said. "Perhaps a glass of wine will do him good. I shall not make my usual call this Thursday, but I shall see you Thursday week. Happy Christmas to you."
Mrs. Porter's smile was strained, and Jane was glad to leave soon. No doubt the balance of their debt, due at Twelfth Night, lay heavy upon them.
-----
Jane expressed her own disappointment about Moll's marriage to Tavington that night. He was to go back to town with the others the next morning, but had promised to return to fetch Harriet to join her husband for the ordination on Epiphany, the sixth, which this year would fall on a Sunday. Afterwards, they would all return to Wargrave the following day for a belated Twelfth Night dinner. Sir John intended to introduce his new clergyman in style.
"I know it's unworthy and selfish of me to resent it, but I'm so sorry that Moll is leaving us. I suppose it's natural and all, but in South Carolina, if I had had a slave as a nursemaid, I wouldn't have had to worry about losing her to marriage. Won't she miss William Francis?"
Tavington had always had views on slavery, but now was not the time to trot them out. Besides, he was sorry himself that Moll would not be a permanent fixture at Mortimer Square. "Moll is not a slave, Jane. Wouldn't you rather have William Francis than look after than the children of other people? It is indeed natural. My dear, it's not as if we're losing her completely. She will work in the nursery whenever we are at Wargrave, and that will be often. We are fortunate that we are so close to London. We can come out frequently—you told me that there is still much to do before John's marriage. You will spend the summers here, most likely. Would you rather Moll grew old in service, never being a mother again herself?"
"Oh, when you put it that way—yes, I know I'm being selfish. I must overcome this. Help me think of something to get them for a wedding present. I shall have Pullen make them some bed linen, and we shall have a quilting party for Moll's benefit, but I should like to give her something very nice. I know! Ask Penelope to buy her a tea set—something bright and pretty—and a nice tea chest."
Tavington smiled indulgently at her chatter, and then stopped it with a kiss. He would not see her for over a week, and wanted to make some pleasant memories. Jane liked love-making best on her back, and so Tavington rolled over, and gently divested her of her soft linen shift. She was left wearing nothing but a ruffled white cap, which made him smile.
"You look very prim and proper, even when completely naked, Jane. When you suckle the babies, you remind me of a painting of the virtue of Charity."
"Only you would say something like that!" But she did not complain as his hands and lips ran lightly over her milk-swollen breasts. She stroked the long dark hair back from his face, and then shut her eyes, loving his touch. His clever fingers eased her thighs apart, teasing her gently.
"What's this?" he purred. "Already wet? What have you been thinking about, my dear?"
She gave his hair a tug. "About all I have to do for the next few days, and no William to reward me at night! And don't tease me! You know what I want."
"I live to serve."
-----
There were kisses and embraces, and Jane and Harriet were left in possession of the Hall. A trip to the vicarage was arranged, to accustom the Bordon children to the idea that they would be living there, and to prepare Ash for their coming separation. There were sulks: there were tantrums. Jane would have found it exhausting had she not had Harriet's support and Moll's encouragement. In the end, Harriet went to the vicarage with her children and their nursemaid. Jane decided to stay home and let them have their new house to themselves.
She applied herself to comforting Ash. He was brought down to Moll's room with his toys, at first rather grumpily stamping around the room, trailing Red Horse behind him. The babies, at least, seemed to have taken to one another. They were too small to play together, but they liked to sit close together on the nursery rug, each playing with his own toys. Ash grew bored with them and lay on the floor, kicking his feet. Jane came to play the tickle-fly game with him--the game he had loved as a baby. Blue eyes followed her hand, and grew wider as her finger came down to poke his belly. Shrieks of laughter ensued, and also, strangely, a curious look that Jane fancied was a kind of recognition. Perhaps Ash would learn to accept her, in time.
"Where's the Big Man?" he asked, out of the blue.
"The Colonel is in London, Ash."
"Is he comin' back?"
"In a few days." She drew him close and tried to help him understand his strange new world. "We have a house in London—the big city. You stayed there when you first came to England. Do you remember?"
He shrugged. Jane tried not to be discouraged. "That is our house," she explained, simplifying the situation to his level of understanding. "We came out here to the country for Christmas, but we'll also go to London sometimes. The nursery there is very nice, too. There is a rocking horse and a puppet theatre."
He did not understand what that was, so she took an old stocking, drew a face on it, and used it to tell him stories. He was very enamored of this new play—something he had never seen before—and was so well entertained that he did not ask a single time after Robin and Susan while they were gone. Of course, as soon as they returned, he was wild to show it to them, and Jane had to repeat the whole of her silly play—and silly voice. Then nothing would do but for each of the children to make a puppet. Jane groaned at the decimation of her supply of stockings, but at least she now had money to buy new ones when they returned to London. Harriet joined in, and quite a thrilling story was concocted, involving a princess, a soldier, and a rebel.
Susan asked of the rebel puppet, "Was the rebel like the high women who chased you when you were in your carriage?"
Jane was perplexed. "High women?"
Harriet was much amused. "She must have heard us talking. The word is highwayman, darling. That means a robber who attacks people on the highway. A man, not a woman. Yes, two highwaymen chased Mrs. Tavington, but she escaped."
Susan was a little disappointed that such glamorous characters were mere men, but she and the boys wanted to hear all about the adventure.
Moll was grinning, so Jane said, "Mrs. Royston there shot at them with her musket and frightened them away."
Moll was then the object of awe and admiration, and the three older children hung about her until she told them the story in her own words. The end of the story signaled a new puppet play entitled "Mrs. Royston Fights the Highwaymen." A very grand puppet was made to represent her, with red yarn hair and an enormous smile. The princess puppet was Jane, and the two boys' puppets the defeated villains.
Ash was thoughtful after the play, and asked, "Will the bad men come back?"
"No, of course, not Ash. They were so scared they ran away." She smiled and ruffled his hair, and the little boy seemed comforted.
After that, he began to deal better with the idea that Susan and Robin had a house of their own, and that when the Captain came back they would go there and Ash would visit.
"Even when we go to London, Ash, we will come back often, and you can play with them every time."
Time after time she had to reassure him that he would live with Jane and that he would not be taken away from her by someone else. She did not want to start with the complications that would ensue when Sir John married and introduced a strange little girl into the nursery.
One thing at a time. At least he seems to like me again.
-----
On Thursday, just after noon, Jane set out to pay her weekly call on Mrs. Porter and her children. Harriet had excused herself from the visit, pleading all that she needed to accomplish before Colonel arrived on Friday to take her to London. Jane considered a quarter-mile not worth the trouble of Jeffreys saddling a pony, and so she set off on foot alone, trudging through a grey crust of the remaining snow. If she walked fast, she could make the call and be back before the children had their dinner.
The softening whiteness was gone from the trees, leaving them naked and brown, branches lifted high as if pleading for a surcease from the cold. Jane walked under them, hood pulled low, wrapped in her cloak, watching her breath puff out before her in a cloud, her very nostrils becoming stiff with the chill. The lane curved gently past the church and a little farther on to the steward's house. Jane, her head down, was so intent on watching her feet that she did not see the man standing the middle of the lane, waiting for her.
"Mrs. Tavington, ain't it?"
Jane looked up, fearfully startled. He was no one she knew: a long-shanked man in shabby finery. A plain, square face, heavy-jawed. He was smiling at her, and sketched a little bow.
"Good day to you," Jane replied politely, and made to pass him by. She was just next to him when a tree-like arm shot out and barred her way. Jane flinched, and backed away. Perhaps the man was drunk.
Very quietly, she said, "I pray you, let me pass. Mrs. Porter is expecting me."
He was still smiling, the damnable smile of someone who hugs secret knowledge to himself. "I think you'll well where you are, ma'am. 'Tis uncivil to cut an old acquaintance."
Her eyes searched his face, see nothing there she knew. A creeping chill of unease made her knees tremble. It was time to get away.
"Truly, sir, I do not know you. If you will not let me pass, then I must go back."
She turned away, her heart beating faster. With shocking quickness, the massive arm was before her.
"Not friendly, are you, you fine ladies?"
"Please let me go. Come up to the Hall, and you will be given food and drink—and money," Jane whispered.
Her lips barely moved. He was coming closer. Jane turned away, and they began circling. Somehow, Jane felt safer with her back to the road leaving to Wargrave. She forced herself to keep on speaking.
"My husband, Colonel Tavington, will be very angry if he feels you have used me ill."
A casual grab, and Jane was lifted off her feet by two big, bruising hands grasping her upper arms. She gasped in fright and shock as she crashed to the ground. The stranger stood over her, still smiling.
"Your husband the Colonel is in London! D'you think I'm a fool?"
Jane scrambled back, wincing at the twinge where she had landed on her left elbow. The man seemed enormously tall, as she looked up at him in horror. He walked slowly after, not hurrying in the least.
"Colonel Tavington is in London," he said, slowly, as if to a stupid child. "'And Mrs. Tavington calls on the Porters every Thursday.' You weren't hard to find."
"Who are you?" she cried. "Why are you doing this?"
He grinned, and pulled his coat up to his chin. He called out in a deep, threatening voice, "Stand and deliver!" With another grin, he pointed his finger at her, miming a gun. "Boom!"
"You're one of those highwaymen—one of the Carver Brothers!"
In three strides he was upon her. "I'm the only Carver Brother now, you rotten little whore! My brother's dead, and it's your doing!" he bellowed. Spittle flew in Jane's face. "Dick Carver, me! You'll hang for murder, after I'm done with you!"
"Oh, my God!" Jane got her feet under her and bolted up like a rabbit. Carver pounced on her, seizing her against him, laughing. The world was full of his laughter, his horrible strength, his bad, rancid smell. Flailing wildly, Jane got in a lucky blow with the heel of her hand and smashed his nose. Carver reeled back, roaring in pain. Jane froze for a split-second and then ran.
I'll never see my baby again! I'll never see my baby again! Her breath came in quick gasps and she suddenly realized that screaming might be a good idea.
"Help me!" she shrieked, her thin scream trailing behind her.
"She want to play at a little tup-running, does she, the little vixen? Run all you like, your ladyship, you won't get away!" He jogged after her, laughing nastily.
Jane looked about her desperately, hoping to see a farmer, a servant, a washerwoman—anyone at all. The lane before her was empty, but she darted up it anyway, remembering that it was but a quarter mile to the Hall. The church loomed up, and she thought for a minute of running inside, but she could not hope to outrace him there, and had no keys to lock him out if she did. The vicar's house was clean and ready, awaiting its new master. Oh God! Why was Bordon not already back?
"Getting tired, milady? Ready to ride the three-legged nag?"
She glanced behind her, and whimpered with horror at the sight of the rope he pulled from within his coat: a rope with a noose at the end. Fear gave her wings. Her pace lengthened, her hands clutched up at her skirts, hiking them up out of her way. A spatter of cold water flecked her stockings as she splashed through a puddle.
Think, Jane! How to delay him? Money?
She had some in a pocket. Clumsily, she gathered her petticoats in one hand, rummaging frantically through her petticoat slit for the coins. There! She cast them behind her, heard the sweet clink of precious metal, and ran on. Was he stopping? His tread behind her slowed indeed—stopped—and then renewed.
"I can gather them up after you're dead, you ugly little doxy. After I've cut off your fingers for your rings."
He was getting closer. Jane spied a fallen tree branch, fairly straight. With hardly a thought, she snatched it up and turned to fight. Carver was not five yards away, and had not broken a sweat. He had been following her, mocking her, and now he found the sight of her grasping her makeshift weapon uproariously funny.
Eyes bulging in mock fear, he flung out his arms, and in a shrill falsetto, wailed, "Oh, don't hurt me, milady. I'm but a poor little tobyman, and you a great fierce lady! " He grinned, and lunged at her. "Huh!"
Jane swung, and missed, as he jumped back laughing. He paced back and forth, with another high-pitched squeal of fright. "Boo!" he shouted.
She swung again, more cautiously. Very slowly, she began to back away in the direction of Wargrave.
"Not much to look at up close, are you?" he sneered. "Plain as porridge, for all your finery and shinery!"
Jane narrowed her eyes, and shifted the grip on the branch. The bark was rough through her kid gloves. A few twigs poked helter-skelter from the end, making her ridiculous. She kept backing away, trying to picture in her mind exactly how the lane to Wargrave looked. Every foot, every yard gave her a better chance of escape.
She gave another weak swing, and Carver burst out laughing. "A handy thing to bash a lady's fucking head in!" He spread his arms wide again, eyes shut in triumphant bliss. "Come now, ma'am, try again."
Jane snarled, and with all her weight and strength instantly thrust the ragged end of the branch into his face.
Carver screamed, clutching at his head. Blood poured from his damaged right eye. He scrabbled at the branch, shoving it away. Jane dropped her end of the branch and froze again, shocked at what she had done.
Only for a moment. She then took her heels and ran for her life.
"I'll kill you, you damned bitch!" Carver screamed.
A gun shot roared behind her, and Jane screamed in response. He had not even bothered to threaten her with his gun, despising her, thinking she was alone and helpless. Footsteps thudded as he shambled in pursuit, howling in agony. She cried again as a sharp pain stabbed at her ribs. For a dreadful moment she thought had been shot, but then realized that it was a stitch in her side from running. She had never in her life run so fast or so far. Pressing her hand to her side, she ran on. A corner of Wargrave Hall appeared through the dead tree branches. Her ears were filled with her own sobbing gasps. If only she could cut across the pasture to the Hall—but she could not—she must stay on the path that would take her to the gate in the low wall protecting the lawn. An indistinct bellow followed her, a distant bull's challenge of rage.
Jane ran on. Her side hurt terribly. Black spots flashed across her vision. I won't faint! She shut every else out but the need to run, and did not at first hear the horses' hooves behind her, did not hear the carriage wheels, did not hear the coachman's shout. Dick Carver crashed into her like an avalanche, smashing her to the ground. Rough hands seized her by the throat, the ragged dirty nails digging into her skin. Darkness bloomed before her as she fought for air. She felt herself growing weaker, utterly powerless, and was swept away in a tide of anguished regret and despair. She did not even feel the pain of her head striking the rocky earth.
------
"Colonel! There's trouble up ahead!" Doggery shouted from his perch on the coachman's box. Not sure that his master had heard, he shouted again. "Colonel! Sir John! There's a fight! A man's chasing after a woman!"
Inside the coach, John chuckled. "A bit cold for that, wouldn't you say?"
Tavington smiled back and craned out of the window. A man was running along the road shouting. He did not recognize him from the back. The fellow was dressed in a tattered gentleman's coat. "He's not from the village, John, unless he's dressed for holiday sport!"
John leaned out of the other window, curious. They were drawing closer by the second, and heard a gunshot. Instantly the situation changed.
The two men exchanged a quick, shocked glance. Tavington leaned out of the window and saw the man in pursuit of a cloaked woman. I know that cloak…I know that cloak!
"Jane!"
He clawed for his sword. The coach was nearly level with the man and woman running along the road. Tavington slammed the door open and leaped to the ground: stumbling, his hand touching the ground. And then he was tearing after his wife's attacker. Who could it be? Who would dare harm Jane? He screamed aloud as the stranger caught up to Jane and bore her to the ground. Horrified, he saw the small figure struggle helplessly, saw the man's hands on her throat. He was only yards away—
John was shouting something, but Tavington was deaf to anything but the rushing blood in his ears. The brute was shaking Jane, and then looked up, his face a mask of blood and rage. He tossed Jane aside, and she fell limp as a broken doll. Tavington screamed again, his heart bursting in fear, and he was running, both hands gripping the sword hilt, lifting the blade.
Carver staggered to his feet, raising an arm to ward off this sudden attack. Tavington did not slow for an instant. He cut down with all his strength, like a butcher. There was a shriek and the meaty sound of steel rending flesh and bone. Blood splashed up. He glared into the shocked, agonized face, and pulled the blade free. Another slash, and another, and another; and then shrieks died to a gurgle, and the bulging eyes glazed. Distantly Tavington heard men's shouts and the horse's squeals as they were reined in, hard.
"Will!"
The coach had stopped. John jumped down, followed by the three servants.
Tavington dropped to the blood-stained earth, and gathered Jane up to him, resting her back against his bent knee. Her head lolled back on his thigh, exposing her throat, red and black with bruises. He pushed back the hood and the lopsided cap and the tangled hair from her face, searching desperately for any sign of life. He ripped off his bloody gloves, fumbling for a pulse.
"Is she dead?" whispered Pratt to Doggery.
The words broke something inside Tavington. A painful cry burst from him, and his shouted, "Breathe, Jane!" and pressed his mouth to hers, roughly tender, wanting her to take the very breath from him. Her lips were cold and dry under his, and he thought her dead. He pictured in an instant the horror of a world without Jane—no Jane again, ever- the children without a mother, himself alone. He clutched at her, squeezing her in his arms.
The sudden constriction made her gasp out. Jane was not quite conscious. Her eyes rolled back, and she mumbled an incoherent protest.
"Jane!" Tavington shouted in hope.
"--She's alive!"
"--Here, Will! Let's us get her into the carriage!"
"William!" she croaked out. Her vision was blurred. Her throat and head throbbed with excruciating pain. "—help…" She groped for her throat, still feeling the brutal hands choking her. Her head rolled, and the motion wrung a whimper from her.
"Jane," Tavington told her softly, "The man who attacked you is dead—no, don't look—he's dead. I'm going to carry you to the carriage and take you home." He slipped his arms underneath her and lifted her carefully. Her cloak and petticoat were thick with mud and slush, weighing her down.
"Don't—" she moaned, her head feeling like it would split open, "—hurts—"
"I know, my darling. I'm sorry."
Jane shut her eyes, unable to be completely quiet as she was laid on the floor of the carriage. She kept seeing the face of Dick Carver before her, smug and grinning, promising her horrors. She wondered if she were dying, and this was a last trick of the mind before her life was crushed out of her. Even if it were real, she felt as if she might die anyway. The wooden floor against her skull was unbearable, but moving it was unbearable, too. William was huddled next to her, and had lifted her head and rested it on the palm of his hand. That was a little better. From far away she heard John speaking to the servants.
"Pratt—stay here with the body. I'll be back as soon as we get Mrs. Tavington home. I'll bring some servants and we'll see if anyone knows this wretch. Here, Scoggins, I'll climb up there with you and Doggery. Try not to jostle her anymore than you can help."
The coach jolted, rolling up the lane to the Hall. Jane whimpered again. She opened her eyes and saw two Williams leaning over her. The double vision nearly caused her to vomit, and she shut her eyes tightly, whispering, "Don't let the children know." She licked her dry lips. "—too frightening. Promise?"
"I promise. We'll tell them you fell and hit your head. All right?'
It would be torture to nod. "Mmm," was her soft assent.
After a century of jolting in the carriage, they stopped, and the door opened. Servants crowded around, exclaiming and questioning. The noise made her head throb harder.
"Quiet!" Tavington commanded in the sort of low voice that cuts through a crowd. "Mrs. Tavington is hurt. I will carry her upstairs. Mrs. Carter—go up and tell Moll and Pullen that Mrs. Tavington has fallen and hurt her head. All of you! Please don't make so much noise—it pains her. Sir John will tell you the rest."
A hush fell over the servants, and eager hands reached out to help lift her petticoat out of the way as they climbed the staircase. Boots thumped hollowly on the oak staircase. John's rumbling voice faded as Jane felt herself traveling upstairs, carried without a jar.
Moll's voice, a blessed reassurance, made her relax a little more. "Don't sit her up!" Moll growled. "Twill make her puke! Hold her flat and we'll get the clothes off her."
Her cloak was unfastened and dropped away. Likewise her boots and stockings, and her cap, twisted to the side, the pins scratching her scalp. She recognized the sound of Pullen's soft breathing, and a hiss of sympathy when a tangle of hair caught. Very carefully, the sodden, filthy petticoat was untied and slipped over her feet.
"Reckon we can put her on the bed now."
The pillow was almost soft against the sore skin stretched, it seemed, too tightly over her skull.
"Mrs. Tavington, ma'am," Moll breathed, "you in there?"
Jane managed a feeble smile. "Umm."
Moll asked Tavington, "What happened?"
Jane tugged on her sleeve. Moll leaned over to listen.
"Carver…"
Moll had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from shouting. "Them Carvers! Was it them?"
Tavington looked at Moll in horrified understanding.
"Dick Carver," Jane whispered. "Brother's dead. So angry. Going to hang me. Had a rope. Don't tell the children…" Her throat hurt too much to speak more. She lay still, listening to bits of the conversation.
"That dirty son a bitch!" Moll snarled. "I should have blown his head off!"
"Shh!" Tavington warned her. "It's all right. I killed him."
The door opened, and Harriet came in, "I heard about the accident! What can I do to help?"
Tavington took her by the elbow and led her from the room, not wanting Jane to hear the story again.
"Please see to the children. Mrs. Tavington was attacked by one of the highwaymen who tried to rob her before. He tried to kill her, and choked her half to death. I came upon them and cut him down. She doesn't want the children to know and be frightened. Make certain that the nursemaids don't tell tales. Oh—and before you go to the nursery, find a manservant and send him after my brother. He is to tell him that the dead man's name is Dick Carver. Apparently the other robber died. The great question is how he came to be here on the estate, and why no one noticed him!"
Harriet nodded, wide-eyed, and hurried away. Tavington went back to the bedchamber to see to Jane.
----
Moll wanted her to rest, but not to sleep. Jane lay quiet under ministering hands that washed her face and bruised hands, that laid soothing poultices to her head and throat. Mrs. Carter brought up a cup of willow tea, and Moll agreed that Jane must drink it. It helped very much. An hour later, her head was sore but no longer throbbing. Jane begged Moll to see that the babies were all right, and insisted that she would suckle them at five o'clock, if they did not insist on it earlier.
"Are you sure, Jane?" Tavington asked softly. He was sitting on the bed beside her, holding her hand. "You don't have to do that anymore. We can find some village woman."
But that distressed her, and he stopped when he saw it was so.
"No, please. I need to be with them. I'm sure it will do me good. I thought I would never see my little Will again."
Tavington was silenced, fighting against the dreadful vision of Jane's pitiful dead body being cut down from an overhanging branch. So close, so close…
Too close. Jane had felt safe, and evidently had not been carrying her pistol. He had not liked it when he had learned of her weapon, but he would urge her to carry it whenever she left the house from now on. Thank God he had missed her and the boys and had talked John into leaving a day earlier. Had Carver been watching for his chance? How was it possible? There was no proper inn down in the village—only a tiny public house. Who would have taken such a wretch into their home?
Anyone who needed money, he admitted to himself. It likely had been done in good faith, thinking no harm.
It was a very quiet afternoon. Harriet looked in a few times to assure Jane that the children were happy and occupied and had had a good dinner, Tavington read some genial trifles from The Spectator. Broth was brought in for Jane and some sandwiches for Tavington. A little before five the babies grew hungry, and were brought in to be nursed. Rose carried William in, looking at her mistress with terrified sympathy.
Jane saw her face, and assured her, "I'm much better now, Rose. I shall be quite myself by tomorrow."
"But think of it, ma'am! That villain, right here under our noses! I'll hardly dare walk out alone!"
"He's dead," Tavington said firmly. "Let me help you with the children."
It was difficult, managing two active, squirming baby boys, and Jane suffered some unpleasant prodding and jostling, but the boys were kissed and fed, and Jane asked to see Ashbury.
The little boy came in shyly, and wanted to climb up on the bed to see Jane. Tavington picked him up and set him down, with a stern admonition not to be rough with his sister.
"Did you fal'down?" Ash asked, wanting to see under the bandage around her neck and the thicker one padding her head.
"Yes, Ash. I fell down and hurt myself, but I'll be better soon."
"You sood be ca'ful. Don't you run too fast, Sissah Jane."
"I'll be very careful. I'll try never to run that fast again."
"Sood I make it better?"
Jane smiled as Ash solemnly placed a soft kiss on each her bandages. She asked Tavington to find one of the children's books she had bought in Chelmsford, and read to Ash out of a book of La Fontaine's Fables, translated from the French. Ash liked the illustrations, and wanted more. Tavington held the little boy close on his knee and read to him a little longer, while Jane shut her eyes and rested. Then she kissed Ash again, and Rose led him upstairs to join the other children at play.
There was a soft knock at the door. A maid peeped in, whispering, "If you please, sir. Sir John has returned, and he wishes to speak with you in the library."
Tavington asked Jane, "Will you be all right if I go down to him?"
"Yes. I'm much better. Do go down. Perhaps your brother has news."
Tavington kissed her carefully, and nodded gravely to Moll. Now what has John found out?
It had grown dark, and shadows were pressing into the corners. The wind had picked up and rattled the windows as Tavington went to find his brother.
Sir John was standing in front of the fire, looking grave. In his hand was a crumpled piece of paper. He handed it to Tavington. "It was in the brute's pocket."
"But this—" Tavington looked again, and a cold chill rushed up the back of his neck. John nodded.
It was a crude map that showed the carriage lane from the Hall to the nearest buildings: the church, vicarage, the steward's house. Wargrave was shown as a floorplan with notes. Not surprising was the remark about the silver in the dining room. But there were others. A room was circled: "1st floor—nursery. " An arrow pointed the way to Jane's room. Why would a robber want to know how to find the nursery? He stood staring at the paper, imagining all sorts of things. The silence lengthened.
Then John said, "Look at the handwriting."
Tavington looked, and then screamed, "I'll kill him!"
"Will!" John gripped his brother's arm. "I went to Porter's house. The family hired a carriage to go visit the shops in Chelmsford early this morning. I questioned the servants. The man had been staying with them for some time. They knew him by another name, as the cousin of Mr. Porter. It seems to be a case of villains with a grievance plotting together. I sent Pratt and two others to Chelmsford to look for the Porters. They told the servants they would be back in the afternoon, but there is no sign of them. That is all that can be done for now."
"They said they were going to Chelmsford. Is it possible they did not know his plans?"
"Well—" John glanced uneasily at his brother. "A number of things are missing from the Porters' house. It's—possible—that they have fled."
Overwhelmed, Tavington sank into a chair, his head in his hands. "Oh, John."
"I'm more sorry than I can say, old fellow. You were right about them and I was wrong. I should never have given the fellow a second chance."
"I'll hunt them down."
"You'll do no such thing! You cannot leave your wife, and I must take Mrs. Bordon to London the day after tomorrow! We'll do what we can, but your first duty is here!"
Tavington nodded, miserably. The thought that Porter might actually get away with this vicious scheme made him physically ill. He swallowed, and smoothed out Porter's map. "At least we have evidence, if he is caught. What shall I say to Jane? That those people were planning to murder her while she was giving sweets to their children?"
John shook his head. "I find it hard to believe that Mrs. Porter was a party to this. Who knows how she and her children were threatened? Porter's disgrace was an open secret. Carver would have sought him out, and the two of them made use of each other: Carver, to have a place to stay and intelligence of your wife's movements, and Porter, to have the distraction of the attack to give him a chance of escape. I'm glad Carver is dead, but it's too bad we can never get the whole story from him. I told Pratt to send word as soon as he knew anything of the Porters' movements."
-----
Jane was up and about to a limited degree the following day, playing with the children and administering the household. It seemed especially important, since Harriet would be leaving the following day for her trip to London. Tavington told her he would stay, and Jane was very grateful. She made a show of fearlessness, but she felt unbalanced and frightened: a place she had thought safe was not so. The puppet plays, once so innocent, now seemed dark and ominous. A woman she had gone out of her way to treat with kindness had been involved in an attempt on her life. The feeling of betrayal cut deep. She wondered if she would ever again want to court the company of someone outside their circle of trusted family and friends. The high winds continued through the day, and she shrank from every creak and groan in the house. She confided her regrets to Moll.
"If I had even had Rambler with me, I might have fared better! I was a fool to go out without a pistol."
Moll did not dismiss these second thoughts, but pointed out that Carver was gone, and the Porters were gone, and there was no one else in England who could be described as an enemy.
"'Sides, folks will be careful for years after this! Closing the barn door after the horse gets away, of course, but they'll be looking out for you, and no mistake!"
Late that afternoon, a rider with a message from Pratt arrived, half blown in the door by the sharp north wind. John read it quickly, and slapped his thigh.
"They were in Chelmsford, right enough. The landlord of the King's Arms gave them a breakfast, and then a two-horse chaise arrived, and Porter drove it himself. Didn't say where they were going, but they headed east, toward Maldon. Pratt has gone after them, to see if they have hired a boat."
"But that's madness! A boat at this time of year? With a woman and children? I would have thought he would have headed to London, or further south, to make a short Channel crossing."
"A desperate fellow," John shrugged. "There is nothing to be done, Will. I cannot let Mrs. Bordon go to London unescorted, and you cannot go haring after the fellow, when Mrs. Tavington has had such a shock. I'd like to see the man punished, but we may have to leave him to Heaven."
Tavington slouched in the deep leather chair, glowering. The cat came up to him, and looked at him with great green eyes. Tavington condescended to stroke a silken ear, and listened to the rising wind, hoping that Heaven was listening.
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Note: For Moll and Tom to be legally married, the impending marriage must be announced in church on three succeeding Sundays ("publishing the banns"). Thus, if the banns are first published on Sunday, January 13th (the first Sunday after Bordon's return, Moll can be married no earlier than Monday, January 28th, anyway. Very rich people, like Lord Fanshawe, could hasten the process by buying a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury.
Next—Chapter 52: The Vicar of Wargrave Cross