Just Jane (24 page)

“That loathsome man!” Harriet shrieked. “We have
him
to thank for this. He deliberately lured Brandon into—”

“That's not fair, Aunt Harriet! Brandon's an adult, he makes his own—”

“I will not listen to this!” Harriet's face was flushed with rage. “Adult, indeed! He was just a boy when Robert began poisoning his mind! If I see that man again, I'll—I'll kill him with my bare hands!” Wheeling about, she ran back upstairs.

Hearing Harriet's outburst, Dr. Jeffers and Hugh had emerged from the parlor. “You see what I mean,” Jeffers said grimly, and started up the stairs. “Excuse me, I'd better look after her.”

Hugh gave Jane an anxious look. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, perfectly,” she said, trying to sound calm.

They returned to the parlor, where Jane sank unsteadily into a chair.

“Dr. Jeffers told me what happened,” Hugh said. “It seems Brandon and another soldier were on patrol when they ran into a rebel ambush. They held their own and the rebels withdrew, but not before the other soldier was wounded and his horse killed. Brandon's horse, Warrior, was also badly shot up, but was still on his feet. Brandon could've ridden away, but, instead, strapped his companion on Warrior and sent them back to camp. Later a search party went to look for Brandon and found him lying in a pool of his own blood. Evidently the rebels had doubled back, shot him, and left him for dead. He was barely conscious when they found him, but roused himself to ask about Warrior and the other man. They told him the other man survived, but Warrior collapsed and died when they got to camp. That's about it. The fact is, Brandon saved the other soldier's life—but at what a cost to himself.”

Jane sat unmoving, lost in a dark silence. “I thought I knew him,” she said at last. “But I never dreamed he had it in him to do something heroic. And just think, Cousin Hugh. It could've been—” She stopped and gripped her temples, horrified by a thought she couldn't bear to put into words.

“I know,” Hugh said quietly. “It could've been Peter who did it.”

The doctor soon returned. “Mrs. Ainsley is quiet now,” he reported.

“Dr. Jeffers—” Jane addressed him with a firm resolve. “I realize it's not my place to make decisions here. But I strongly believe that word should be sent to Rosewall at once. Today, if it's not too late.”

Jeffers gave a ready nod. “I'm happy for you to make decisions, Jane.
Somebody
needs to. But unfortunately it'll be dark soon, and it must be a hard ride of several hours, even on a fast horse.”

“Nevertheless, I have the feeling that time is of the essence here. Please be frank with me, Doctor. Don't you agree?”

After a moment of solemn hesitation, the doctor got to his feet. “I'll send a rider off immediately—with a lantern—and tell him not to stop till he gets there, daylight or no.”

 

That night Jane sat at Brandon's bedside, gazing at his seemingly lifeless form and marveling that this was the same young man whose brash self-confidence had so annoyed her in the past. She had still not yet seen him conscious. No change, Dr. Jeffers repeated. No change, no change . . .

She had dozed off when Brandon's eyes finally opened. He peered fuzzily at her. “Jane? Is that you?” His tremulous voice was barely audible.

Instantly awake, she leaned forward and took his hand. “Yes, it's me, Brandon. Cousin Hugh and I came as soon as we heard. And Dr. Jeffers has sent word to Rosewall, so Uncle Robert should be here soon.”

Brandon's feverish mind was drawn back to a dreadful scene he couldn't forget. “They killed Warrior, Jane. Finest horse that ever lived—they shot him as if he were a worthless old nag.”

“I'm so sorry, Brandon. But you'll have other horses. Someday you'll have a whole stable of them, all as fine as Warrior.”

He clung to her hand. “Stay with me, won't you? Please say you will.”

“Of course. I'm all settled upstairs, and I'll stay here till—”

“No, I don't mean that. I mean
stay
with me—forever.”

Jane's heart sank. Was it starting all over again? “I was wondering, Brandon,” she ventured, “shouldn't we send for Lucinda Dunning? After all, with things so serious between you two, perhaps she ought to be—”

“Oh, no, please! That was all just a silly trick.”

“Trick? What do you mean?”

“I just wanted to make you jealous. Lucinda never meant anything to me. It's always been you, only you, ever since the day we first met.” He rambled on, not noticing that Jane had sagged in dismay. “What a fool I was to take you for granted, when I couldn't begin to be worthy of you. But I've changed now, I'm—” He sucked in his breath at a sudden stab of pain.

Jane dabbed at his perspiring brow with a damp cloth. “That's enough,” she said firmly. “Get some rest now, we can talk about all this tomor—”

“No, no, this can't wait!” He strained to raise his head. “You must believe me, Jane, I've changed! I'm a man now, wiser and humbler. Finally worthy enough to ask you—will you be my wife? Promise me, and I swear I'll devote the rest of my life to your happiness.”

“Brandon, I . . .” Jane's mind searched frantically for a way out. “This is hardly the right time for a proposal.”

“On the contrary, it's the time more than ever . . .” His speech was labored. “Now more than ever, I need the promise of your love. Say yes, Jane, please. It will mean
everything
to me.

Jane hesitated for another long moment. Search as she might, there seemed to be only one escape. She took a deep breath. “Yes, Brandon. I give you my promise.”

“Thank you, my dearest girl. It's a miracle—you've turned the worst time of my life into the best. I feel better already.” A slow smile spread over his face as his eyes fell closed and his grip on Jane's hand relaxed.

Hugh had been listening from the doorway. “It's very late, Jane. Get some sleep, I'll take over here. Dr. Jeffers will be back before morning.”

For a moment longer, Jane gazed at Brandon's haggard face.
How peaceful he looks now
, she thought. “Yes, all right,” she said. “Thank you.”

Hugh followed her into the foyer. “Jane, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but—did you really say you'd
marry
him?”

Jane gave him a calm look. “Don't worry, Cousin Hugh. I never will.”

“So you told a lie. It could come back to haunt you, you know.”

“I hope and pray that it does. Then I'll have to say, ‘I'm sorry, Brandon, but I've changed my mind. I cannot marry you after all.' And he'll be very angry and call me all sorts of rude names. But that would be when he's strong and healthy again. And maybe I'll have helped to save his life.”

Hugh gave her an understanding nod along with a smile of fond admiration. “You're a wonder, Jane Prentice. Sleep well.”

 

Sleeping well was something she could not do. The rain had stopped for a while, but around midnight it began again, pelting down relentlessly for hours longer. For Jane, the sound of rain had always had a soothing effect, but not this time. Even when she drifted off to sleep near dawn, her troubled mind still found no peace.

She dreamed of a broad and sunny field. On one side stood Harriet. On the opposite side, Robert. Suddenly a horse came galloping furiously toward her. It was Brandon's mighty Warrior. Harriet called to the dashing young rider to come to her, but her pleas were matched by Robert's shouts, urging him to come that way. Instead, the rider bore down on Jane, reining in his steed a few yards in front of her. She crouched, terrified, as the huge beast reared, pawing the air, nostrils flaring. And when the rider pulled off his hat and gave it a flourish, all she saw was a grinning skull.

She started to scream, but the scream that shattered her dream and brought her bolt upright in bed was not hers. It was Harriet's, and it came from downstairs. Jane raced out of the room and down the stairs, only to find Dr. Jeffers, his shirt splattered with blood, standing in the doorway of the morning room. Beside him stood Molly, softly whimpering. From inside the room where Brandon lay, Harriet's wails rose and fell like the cry of a wounded animal.

Exhausted, Jeffers stared at Jane as if unsure of how to tell her what she already knew. “Internal bleeding,” he said hoarsely. “It came on suddenly and went out of control. There was nothing I could do.”

Feeling faint, Jane sank down on the stairs, rocking slowly back and forth.
Is this another awful dream?
she wondered. Hugh appeared from somewhere, slipping a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“The doctor says he went peacefully, Jane. There was no pain.”

She was deep in shock, barely able to speak. “That silly lie I told—I actually thought it might save him. How stupid of me!”

“Not stupid at all,” Hugh assured her. “It was another act of kindness going unrewarded.”

Jane was no longer showing any sign of hearing Hugh. She was staring across the broad foyer and out the open front door. The sun was rising and the rain clouds had disappeared, bestowing upon the earth a fresh, newly washed day.

“ ‘What showers arise,' ” she murmured. “How does it go? ‘What showers arise, blown with the windy tempest of my heart . . .”

Tenderly Hugh drew her closer. “My dear, I know how hard this is for you. But someday, when these bad times are over—”

“Someday, someday,
someday!
” She suddenly lashed out at him. Grieving would have to wait—right now, all she could feel was anger. “I'm sick of hearing about someday! I don't care who wins this hateful war! I just want the killing to stop!”

Then to her great relief, something hard and tight inside broke loose, and the merciful tears flowed.

After hours of hard riding, Robert arrived shortly before noon, quickly tethered his horse, and hurried up to the house. Dr. Jeffers was waiting for him on the veranda.

“Mr. Robert Prentice, I presume? I'm Dr. Jeffers.”

Robert made quick work of a handshake. “I came as soon as I could,” he said. “How's Brandon?”

“I regret to say that he died early this morning.”

Robert went pale and drew back as if struck. “Dear God—no!”

“I'm very sorry, sir. In the end, his injury was just too severe.” He gave Robert a moment to compose himself, then continued, “He's laid out inside, and burial will take place tonight. Secretly.”

“What do you mean,
secretly
?” Robert scowled.

“The Patriots control this area, Mr. Prentice. If a Loyalist is buried in the local cemetery, his grave will certainly be opened and desecrated. Brandon is known to have served the British. He must be buried here on the Dudley property, in a remote spot unknown to outsiders. It's the only way.”

“Contemptible!” Robert spat the word. “Sneaking around in the dead of night to hide him away! He deserves a hero's funeral, right here in Saint James Church.” But Robert knew in his heart that the doctor was right. “If that's not to be, then I'll pay my respects now and be on my way.” He started for the front door.

Jeffers laid a gentle hand on Robert's arm. “Just a moment, sir. If I may have a word—Let's sit over here, in the shade.”

Robert allowed himself to be escorted to a pair of cane-back chairs under a spreading oak. He was still scowling as the doctor spoke earnestly.

“The shock of these events has greatly unsettled Mrs. Ainsley. She blames you for Brandon's death, and there's no telling what might happen if she sees you. I must ask you, sir, not to enter the house.”

“Harriet blames me?” Robert looked sad but resigned. “I shouldn't be surprised. She always insisted I forced Brandon over to the Loyalist side. But he was acting entirely on his own, believe me. I am not to blame.”

“I'm sure not,” the doctor said soothingly. “But it's most important that nothing upset Mrs. Ainsley further. You understand.”

Robert glanced upward. Overhead, small birds twittered in the afternoon sunshine. “Birds sing,” he murmured. “Deer play in the woods. Villains do their evil work and live on. But the youngest and fairest die.” He seemed unaware of the other man's presence. “Am I really blameless? Or is that a lie I invented for my own comfort? If only he could tell me . . .”

Dr. Jeffers placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don't torture yourself, sir. Come home with me now. Miss Jane and Mr. Hugh are there, eager to see you. It's not far. I'll just go get my horse, and we'll be on our way.”

Left alone, Robert stared intently at the house. “If only he could tell me,” he whispered. Rising, he strode purposefully toward the front door.

 

Molly confronted him in the foyer, her eyes wide in alarm. “Lordy, Mr. Robert, suh, you not's'posed to be here!”

“Where's Brandon?” he demanded.

“You best leave quick, suh. Missus see you, she liable to pitch a fit!”

“Never mind, I'll find him myself.” He brushed past her, went into the parlor, then came out again. “Damn it, Molly, where is he?” he barked at the cowering servant.

But it was Harriet who spoke next. “You dare invade my home, Robert Prentice?” She stood at the top of the stairs, looking like death itself in a long black robe. Sheer hatred blazed in her eyes.

Robert stepped forward. “I loved him, too, Harriet. May I not grieve?”

“Grief, sir, is for me, who had my child stolen away. Not for you, who stole him!”

Robert stepped closer, speaking softly. “My dear, what can I say? If you truly feel I'm guilty of that—”

“You are guilty, sir. There is no doubt! And just as you led my child to his death”—her hand emerged from the folds of her robe and leveled a pistol at him—“so I lead you to yours.”