Where Love Shines (24 page)

Jennifer began to fear that Dick had been overly optimistic about the market having everything. Just then a small boy skipped by munching an apple. Jennifer blinked. Was it possible? Perhaps all tow-headed urchins looked alike. Yet that head of strawlike thatch was so distinctive. “Josh!” she cried.

The boy stopped and turned. His blue-brown eyes turned saucer-round, and his mouth dropped open mid-bite. “Miss, is that you?”

“Indeed, it is, Josh. I remember you said your new employer was taking you north, but I had no idea I’d see you here.”

“Then you ain’t forgot me?”

“Certainly not. And I hope you haven’t forgotten your alphabet.”

“No, miss. Not quite, I ’aven’t. Not as I ’ave much time fer learnin’, wot with the market an’ the ’orses. But I can write my name fine.”

“Does your employer have a stall here, Josh?”

“’im as I’m helping fer the guv does. Right over ’ere. Army blankets.” He puffed out his chest. Jennifer could see he had grown considerably. It appeared his employer fed him well. “British army ’as the best in the world.”

“That’s true—when they can get them.” Jenny’s reply held a note of irony that was lost on Josh but Richard’s sardonic smile told her he knew all too well. “Let’s see your cart, Josh.”

“This way.” He darted off through the crowd and stopped at a cart parked before a distinctive black and white building. Josh saw her looking at the building. “Market Inn. Fair posh it is—that’s where the guv stops when ’e comes up.” He pointed to a shiny black gig with red wheels. “That there’s ’is carriage, too.” He turned back to his market wares. “There’s blankets, miss.”

Jenny looked at the wooden cart piled high with heavy woollen goods. She ran her hand over one of the thick gray blankets. “What we could have done with these at the hospital.” Her reference to their shared experiences seemed to lessen the distance Richard had placed between them. She put a blanket in his hands and reached for a shirt from the stack.

“Sometimes we even ’as medicines.” Josh grinned at them in his best salesman manner.

Jenny turned to Richard. “Dick, these are just what we want for your workers. The women can use the blankets for mantles and put them on their beds at night, and the men can wear the shirts. But something’s wrong here.”

He nodded. “I know. At least these will be going for a good cause now, but they should have been used in the Crimea. I know a lot of the supply problems were from stupidity and red tape, but how did these get here? And medicines?”

“Of course we heard rumors of graft—accusations even.” Jennifer groped for the memory. “I recall hearing an argument about it in the hospital. It was that Dr. Gavin who came out with the commission.”

“The one who was shot?”

“Yes. The night before the accident—that’s why I remember it—I heard him and Dr. Pannier arguing about someone holding back the supplies. You don’t suppose Gavin was shot because he was involved in graft?”

“Or maybe—,” Dick began.

“Miss, do you want to buy summat?”

“Yes, Josh, I do. I’d like to make a special offer for your whole cartload.”

Josh’s eyes got big again. “Whoosht! That’d be right fine! Then I could get back to the stable. I got extra chores ’cause tomorrow’s a meet.” He started to dash toward the Market Inn, then turned back. “I’ll get Mr. Coke. Don’t go away.”

Only moments later, Jenny turned at the sound of a brisk stride and palms rubbing together. “So, young Joshua tells me you fine people are interested in purchasing some woollens. I don’t need to tell people of your discriminating taste that these are the very best quality—finest British made.” His smile emphasized the frequency and brightness of his freckles.

“Yes, I was thinking—,” Jenny began, but Richard stepped forward.

“Coke! Jamie Coke, hardest riding sergeant in the Lancers. It’s you!”

There was a pause while the busker switched roles. Then he drew himself up and sketched a salute. “Lieutenant Greyston, sir.”

“Good to see you survived, Coke. You appear to be doing well.”

“Yes. Yes, fine. That is, this is just a sideline. Do this for a friend really. I’m in the sporting business. Have my own stable.” He suddenly seemed confused, as if he didn’t know what to say next.

Jennifer saw her chance and made an offer for the blankets and shirts well below their value, expecting a counter-offer. To her amazement, Jamie Coke made no effort to haggle. Dick said he would send a servant with the money to pick the purchases up, and the matter was concluded.

Jennifer gasped as they walked back to the carriage. “Something was not right there.”

Dick nodded. “He wanted to get rid of us, didn’t he?”

“Do you suppose they are army contraband, and he was afraid we’d know it?”

“That doesn’t make sense. That would be all the more reason to drive a hard bargain—even try to keep us from getting the goods if he feared we might file a complaint against him.”

“Hmm. I’m delighted to have those shirts and blankets. But I certainly would like to know what’s going on. Oh, Dick, I didn’t tell you what I discovered just before leaving London either.”

She related how the mission had been replaced by a brothel and that the Health Department seemed to be powerless against the landlord.

Dick listened attentively, and her spirits rose. Working together on this had brought them closer again. Perhaps everything would be all right. She went on with her story. “Arthur was out of town, and I didn’t know who to turn to, so I went to Lady Eccleson.”

Richard pulled himself up stiffly. “I’m certain that as soon as Mr. Merriott has his seat in Parliament, he will be able to put all such matters to right.”

They rode back to Greyston Pitchers in silence, Jennifer feeling more confused than ever. What had she done wrong now?

T
hank you, but I think I won’t go to the races tomorrow.” Jennifer placed her knife and fork vertically across her plate, a signal to the footman to remove them.

“That is most wise of you. A day in bed would do you a world of good.” Lady Eccleson peered at her through her lorgnette. “Your color has not improved at all. As a matter of fact, you appear to be more moped than you were in London.”

“Nonsense, Charlotte. The gel needs more fresh air. Go to the races, Miss Neville.” Jenny forced a smile at Great-aunt Lavinia and heartily wished someone would change the subject. She certainly was more dispirited than she had been in London, but fresh air or the lack of it was hardly the problem.

“I had decided not to go myself. I don’t care much for horse racing—great crushing crowds all yelling and stamping for three minutes and then long periods of standing about in the damp with nothing to amuse one.” Livvy pushed a brussels sprout about her plate with the back of her fork. “But I’m certain Miss Neville would prefer to be hostess to Mr. Merriott tomorrow, so perhaps I will go with you, Dick.” The sharpness was back in Livvy’s voice.

“Mr. Merriott? Arthur is returning tomorrow?” Jennifer’s head jerked up.

“It was his plan to have his work in Sheffield completed by today. He said he would pay us a visit on his return south. I believe he is to inspect a factory at Stafford and then return to London.” Livvy gave her a keen look. “But I expect you know all that.”

“No. I really know very little of Arthur’s plans.” The footman set a tall crystal dish holding a scoop of lemon ice garnished with a mint leaf before Jennifer, but she did not reach for her spoon. Arthur was coming tomorrow and then going on to London. This was her chance to escape the uncomfortable situation with Richard here. She had thought she would be obliged to wait until Lady Eccleson returned to London, but if Lady Eccleson could spare Martha for a few days, she could travel with a maid under Arthur’s protection.

She looked at Richard sitting between his mother and sister, his blond hair gleaming in the gentle gas light, the shadows of his sharp features emphasized by the whiteness of his stiff collar. Tomorrow would be her last chance to reach him. If she were to leave and never see him again, she wanted one more chance to learn what had gone wrong in the friendship she held so dear. “If you really don’t care for racing, Livvy, perhaps you would be willing to greet Mr. Merriott. I believe I will be guided by your Great-aunt’s advice.”

Later, in her room Jenny knelt down for her evening prayers. She found her attempt to reach God as futile as her attempt to reach Richard. She tried to pray for her friends. She tried to pray for her country, as she had ever since the earl had opened her eyes to the need for the land to see a great revival, for the Lord to raise up a torchbearer who would light spiritual fires in all the languishing, barren places. But tonight all the windows of heaven were shut. She fell into her childhood pattern of asking a rote blessing on all her family, ending with “and God save the queen.” She slipped between her covers. In spite of the thickness of the featherbed, however, she shivered long in the darkness.

The next morning, though, she was determined to be her brightest. She opened the door of her room just enough to bring in her shoes, freshly polished by Cory, the boot boy, the night before. If this was to be her last day with Richard, she would do her best to make it a good one, no matter what his restraint. She would wear her brown velvet suit with the white silk blouse. It was from the House of Creed and was the most elegantly tailored garment she had ever owned. The fitted jacket, ornamented only with a row of gold buttons, flared wide over the fullness of her skirt, and the sleeves had wide cuffs over the gathered silk at her wrists. She had Martha arrange her hair, which just matched the deep chestnut fabric, with extra smoothness. This would offset the stylish brimmed hat with its curling feather plume, which was certain to outshine all the ordinary bonnets around.

It seemed that Richard had set himself to be a good host that day as well. As the coachman Hexam drove the Victoria at a brisk pace the twenty miles southeast to Rugeley, Richard told her something of the history of the area and its landmarks, instructing Kirkham to point out various parks, churches, and stately homes as they passed them.

They took luncheon at the Rugeley Arms Inn, which seethed with the enthusiasm of the race-course crowd: stable owners, moneylenders, professional bettors, hangers-on. Richard requested a private parlor, but the best the host could offer him was a private table in the back dining room, which was already filled nearly to capacity. Even this room rang with arguments over which horses were surest to win and boastings of the great fortunes that well-placed bets would bring.

“I am sorry, Jenny. I shouldn’t have brought you here. I hadn’t realized it would be quite so raucous.” Richard leaned across the table to speak to her.

Jenny’s heart leaped. It was the first time he had called her Jenny since her coming north. But this was hardly the place to discuss their relationship or the deeper questions that had filled her thoughts since she had spoken to Shaftesbury. This place was entirely given over to racing fever, and there could be no fighting it. Richard’s hand rested on the table. She touched it lightly. “It is very stimulating, Dick. Don’t worry. After all, there is little left to shock one who has nursed soldiers.”

A serving girl brought their steak pie and vegetables. Since Kirkham was eating in the public room, Jenny wondered whether she should offer to help Richard. But then she saw that he was doing very well—surely far better than a few months ago. Did he really see better, or was he simply becoming more accustomed to not seeing?

As if in reply to her thoughts, Dick smiled at her. “If you would consider a compliment from a blind man, I should tell you that I think your suit is very elegant. The velvet feels exquisite.”

“Thank you. That is a compliment I value.” Her immense pleasure rang in her voice. Perhaps she could approach deeper subjects even here. Had she only imagined the barrier between them?

But then a deep, raspy voice at the next table took her attention. “Well, gentlemen, I assume you have all placed your money on Windflyer. I can tell you my horse won’t let you down. Your fortunes shall be made.”

“Your horse? Coke says the animal’s his.”

“Yes, yes. My partner is a bit inclined to overspeak himself, but he’s a fine hand with horses. Can’t complain about the work at his stable, so I let him take his share of the credit and beyond.”

Then Jenny recognized the voice. “Dick, that’s Dr. Pannier. We should say hello.” She turned, then cried out in surprise as a familiar tow-headed figure darted across the busy room, dodging waiters, dogs, and gesticulating diners. “Josh, you do show up in the most surprising places!” she cried.

“’ullo, miss. Got to find the guv. Coke’s sick.” He swiveled his head, looking every direction until he saw the table behind Jenny. “Oh, Guv’nor!” He darted to Pannier. “Coke’s powerful sick. It’s the indigestion again, ’e’s upstairs on ’is bed. ’e needs more of ’is medicine.”

“In bed?” Pannier sent his chair crashing backwards as he jumped up. “He should be at the track! Thank goodness I brought my medicines. Don’t worry, gentlemen, Windflyer will run. And he will win. Your money rides safe on him,” Pannier announced to the table as he hurried out behind Josh.

“So Dr. Pannier is Josh’s employer!” Jenny watched the departing figures.

“And Coke’s friend,” Dick added. “Interesting.”

They were still digesting this revelation when Kirkham entered to suggest that they get on to the track. And, indeed, they started none too early, for all the way was heavily congested.

The race course just outside of town was more crowded and noisier than the inn. Country squires, punters, touts, and tic-tac men crowded the wooden rail lining the track. At the end near the finish line, however, a small covered stand offered seats for the gentry. Dick and Jenny left Kirkham standing at the rail and found a place in the stands. Uncertain how much Dick could see of the proceedings Jenny kept up a lively narrative of the first two races, caught up herself in the excitement of the cheering and the sense of power and speed as the horses swept by. “Oh, Dick, they’re beautiful!” She grabbed his arm. “The winner was named Jigger. He must be a potter’s horse.”