Shades of Milk and Honey Read online

  If she could let Melody know that her nighttime excursion was noticed, perhaps she would forgo it, and then Jane would have no qualms about either her own or Melody’s behaviour. In truth, though, she knew that Melody would merely slip out another way and make her appointment in a yet more furtive manner. It was perhaps better to preserve secrecy until the revelation of her presence might truly accomplish something.

  Jane slipped down to the ground floor and then out the kitchen door to the garden. Eschewing the Long Walk, Jane made for the side of the hedge. Her breath sounded unnaturally loud in her own ears.

  Her memories of fleeing her governess led her to a place where the yew boughs gave every appearance of thick, verdant growth, but had been trained past a missing shrub. It was easy to push them aside and slip through the wall of the maze, entering it at a deeper point than Melody. In this way, using a very different map of the maze than its designer had intended, Jane reached the center of the maze before her sister. She paused before walking to the entrance of the center, listening for any noises within. Footsteps, pacing on the gravel, betrayed an anxious gentleman. Jane could not enter the heart of the maze without his awareness.

  The walls in this portion of the maze were too tightly woven for her to slide through without noise. If only there were a way to see what was happening inside without entering the center of the maze.

  The cool night breeze carried with it the sound of lighter footsteps approaching from the true entrance, which could only be Melody. By their sound, Jane judged that Melody had entered the Spider’s Colonnade. Jane had perhaps two minutes before her sister gained the center.

  She wished for nothing more than to be able to see through the wall. It struck her, then, that Mr. Vincent had offered her a solution with his explanation of lointaine vision. She need only work the light folds with care, bending them over the hedge to carry the scene within to her. Jane sank to the ground, knowing that this would take more energy in her exhausted state than she could maintain while standing. She reached out for the folds and began to weave them together.

  Throwing the skein of glamour over the hedge, she saw the image of rose blossoms at her end of the folds. Carefully, she cast about like a fisherman until the end of the skeins found a man whom Jane had no expectation of seeing. Waiting in the center of the maze stood Captain Livingston.

  A sweat stood out on Jane’s brow that even the night air could not cool.

  Livingston paced across the garden such that Jane had to push the folds of the lontaine vision after him to keep him in her sight. Her breath came yet more rapidly. Jane wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

  Then Melody entered the image.

  “Henry!”

  Captain Livingston embraced her—embraced her!—as if he did not have an engagement with Beth. “Dearest, forgive me for not coming sooner.” He bent to kiss her.

  Melody pushed away from him. “You might have at least sent a note.”

  “Please, you must forgive me. Banbree Manor is full of servants who want nothing more than to carry word of my actions back to my aunt. She holds the keys to any inheritance I am to receive.”

  “My father will settle us with a handsome sum.”

  “So you have said, but is it not more prudent to delay but a little while longer, so that we might live in a lifestyle more suited to your beauty?”

  “Oh, stop. What do I care for such things?”

  He laughed and drew her close. “You might care very little now, but I would not want to see you in a cottage without a maid to do the work for you. I have a plan, my love, and it will only take but a little while longer. I beg you not to betray me with your looks or your actions in the next days. In Bath, my aunt will expect me to flirt with every pretty bonnet that walks past, and so I shall, but I love only you.”

  Melody sighed. “Henry, I do not like the deception.”

  “These are only words, love, and words shall never harm thee. Words mean nothing. Are we not engaged?”

  Jane could hardly hear Melody’s response for the buzzing in her ears. She realized that the fatigue she had so sought was close to overwhelming her, so she tied off the skein and lost sight of them.

  “I sometimes wonder if your proposal was nothing more than pretty words.”

  “Then let me shew you that I love only you.”

  Jane could not let this stand. If there were a time to reveal herself, it was now, before her sister’s honour was completely lost. She clambered to her feet, and the maze reeled about her. Clinging to the shrubs for support, Jane fought to stay conscious.

  At the first rustle of branches, the voices in the maze stopped. “Who’s there?” Captain Livingston cried.

  Melody gasped. “Mama said there were wolves in the forest. What if they’ve found their way into the maze?”

  “There are no wolves in Engl—”

  Jane stumbled against the hedge and dropped to her knees in the path.

  “Henry! Draw your pistol!”

  Jane opened her mouth to call out, but the world tipped sideways, and the ground slammed against her.

  Twenty-two

  Leaving the Maze

  Jane heard the sounds of wolves around her and Melody’s voice crying for help in the distance. Trapped in the branches between hedges, Jane struggled to reach her sister, but the branches dug deeper into her, weaving through her flesh like folds of glamour.

  Cracking her eyes, Jane left the dream maze and woke with her face pressed against the gravel of the path. She had not left the maze at all. Her mouth felt stuffed with cotton batting, and her temples throbbed with the lingering effects of her overexertion.

  She stiffened. How long had she lain in the path? Her nerves tied themselves into tangled skeins as she realized that gentle light suffused the maze. Beyond the maze, no sounds disturbed the morning, save for the gentle chirp of birds and the rustle of the wind through the shrubbery.

  The damp and chill, combined with her own exhaustion, would certainly lead to a fever, and yet Jane wanted nothing more than to lie in the path rather than confront Melody.

  The situation was far worse than she had expected. Melody was not merely in a secret engagement, she was engaged to a man who had already engaged himself to another. How was Jane to tell her father? And once he knew, what action could he take? To forbid their engagement, surely. To deny Captain Livingston admittance to their company, of a certainty. But how to do so in such a manner that it would not bring dishonour on their family, or the Dunkirk’s or Lady FitzCameron’s? The Viscountess would certainly not take kindly to the insinuation that her favourite nephew had been making advances that went so far past improper as these. Jane’s stomach twisted.

  And what of her promise to Mr. Dunkirk? If ever there were a condition which placed Beth at risk, then her engagement to Captain Livingston was surely it. And yet Jane felt a cutting certainty that Mr. Dunkirk would feel compelled to seek satisfaction from Captain Livingston if he knew.

  That, Jane could not condone. No matter the captain’s offense, taking his life would not set things right. Nor could Mr. Dunkirk be so easily assured to win, if a duel were in the offing. To face a glamourist such as Mr. Gaffney was a far different thing than facing a captain in His Majesty’s service.

  She must try her level best to dissuade him, if he seemed set on pursuing that course.

  Slowly, so as not to risk another faint, Jane pulled herself to her feet. She followed the curving paths of the maze back out by the regular route, one hand always upon the yew to aid in her balance. As she walked, she felt somewhat steadier, but nausea still gripped her middle.

  Though the light shewed that it was somewhat past dawn, she saw no sign of her family’s carriage on the front sweep. Jane made her way up the Long Walk. She tried to believe that the lack of a carriage was because her mother had delayed travel due to health, yet dread slowly filled her with conviction that her mother and sister had already departed.

  Her stride quickened as she neared th
e house and saw no signs of the bustle that must precede a departure. Bursting into the house, Jane hurried for the stairs and nearly collided with Nancy as she came down.

  “Lord, miss. You gave me a start. Your ma was looking for you, and here I thought you were still in bed.”

  Thank heavens; they had not gone. Jane slowed her headlong rush. “Thank you, Nancy. I will attend her at once.”

  Confusion creased the maid’s face. “But she’s been gone this hour or more, miss. She was right put out that you weren’t there to see her off, she was. They tried to wake you before they set out, but Miss Melody told me to let you sleep. She said you were feeling poorly when you went to bed.”

  Jane gripped the banister to keep from falling. Gone, with Melody in the company of Captain Livingston. Oh! What mischief would occur while they were in Bath.

  “Are you well, miss?” Nancy seemed only now to see Jane’s disheveled appearance. What a state she must look, from having slept the night in the shrubbery.

  “Yes, thank you, Nancy.” Jane must apply at once to her father to bring Melody and their mother back to Long Parkmead. She took her leave of Nancy and descended to the ground floor to seek her father out in his study.

  “Papa, may I have a word with you?”

  “Eh? Of course, come in, come in. Good heavens! Jane, are you quite well?” Mr. Ellsworth pulled a chair out for her with a haste that alarmed Jane.

  “I am troubled, Papa.”

  “That I can well see.” He pulled a twig of yew from her hair before settling behind his desk. “What is troubling you, my dear? Your mother was half beside herself with worry when you did not descend to see them off. I assured her that you were in good health, but now I wonder if I was quite right to do so. Am I mistaken that this is the gown you wore yesterday?”

  Jane glanced down at the damp and dirty fabric. “It is, sir.”

  “And did you spend the night out-of-doors, as it appears?”

  “I—I did.” Jane twisted her hands in her lap. “It is because of this that I need to speak with you on a subject of some delicacy.”

  “Hm.” A vein pulsed in her father’s forehead, and he rose to his feet, turning around the room. “I must say that I thought better of him than this. And of you, for that matter.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, what is a father to think? You were absent for nearly all of dinner, though you sat with us. There was a look in your eye which I have not seen before. I wondered—and you might think that I am too old to notice such things—but I wondered if a certain gentleman would be calling on me soon. I thought I should be delighted if he did, but then to have you appear before me as if you had spent the night out-of-doors, and with a delicate subject to discuss? What would you have me think?”

  Jane blushed and stammered. “No, sir. You are mistaken, though I apologize for concerning you thus. I assure you it is not on my account that I come to you.”

  “Well then, what troubles you?” He hooked his fingers in his waistcoat and peered down his nose at her.

  Now, faced with the prospect of explaining her fears about Melody, Jane felt all the apprehension that came with imparting unhappy news to one’s parent. Her throat tightened against the words that she must say. She wished that she had ordered her thoughts before seeking her father in the study.

  “I am worried about Melody,” she said, starting with the simplest of the facts, knowing that she would have to proceed to overheard conversations and speculation before long.

  “Melody?” That checked his pacing. He sat. “She has been somewhat downcast in the past weeks, as have we all, but I had reason to hope that the removal to Bath would do much to restore her spirits. Indeed, I think I have seen a brightening over the past days.”

  “It is precisely the removal to Bath which concerns me.” Avoiding her father’s gaze, Jane continued. “Some weeks ago Melody intimated that she had an attachment to a gentleman, which I now know to be Captain Livingston.”

  “He has paid her attentions while at the house, but I was not certain. Well, their time in Bath will do nothing but cement the bond.”

  Of course, without the conversation that Jane had overheard, Captain Livingston’s behaviour would seem the model of propriety. She sighed and forced herself to continue, hoping that it would not damage her father’s good opinion of her. “I would that I could share your happiness even in that measure. There are two things you must know, and it grieves me to relate them. The first is that Captain Livingston has said that his aunt would not approve of their attachment. The second is that I know him to be engaged to another woman.”

  Mr. Ellsworth’s breath came very quick. He looked over her disheveled state once more. “How do you come to have this knowledge?”

  “I—I followed Melody last night. I know I ought not have eavesdropped, but I saw her slip out of the house and realized that she must have scheduled a rendezvous with her beau. I had thought to follow in case anything untoward occurred.”

  “Did it not occur to you to awaken me? That I might have been more aptly suited to this task?”

  Jane faltered, faced with an inner understanding that her actions had been based on spite and not sisterly regard. She hung her head. “I was angry at her, Papa. I should have woken you, but she had pried into my own affairs—”

  “Ah ha! So I was right that there is a gentleman in your heart.” He waved his hand to brush that issue away. “We will not distract ourselves with that. Tell me about your statement that Captain Livingston is already engaged? This brooks a certain amount of disbelief, I must admit, as his behaviour has always been the model of propriety.”

  “I cannot tell you any details, as the knowledge was given to me in confidence.” Jane would not betray Beth’s faith in her, at least not to her father, though the very real possibility existed that she would have to tell Mr. Dunkirk, based on her promise to him. “I ask that you accept my word that it is true.”

  Rubbing his mouth, Mr. Ellsworth leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. After a moment, he glanced sharply at her. “This, then, is what I propose. I will follow your mother and sister and engage them to return home.”

  “They will not want to return.”

  “True.” He grunted and resumed his study of the ceiling. “The most expedient course is to tell your mother that you are ill; she will fret and return home at once. I will not offer Melody the choice of continuing on with the FitzCameron party, though you and I both know she will request it.”

  The relief that Jane had hoped would come of telling her father had not arrived. Instead, a sickness turned in her stomach, knowing that Melody’s faith in her would be forever broken. It made her feel an even more conscious betrayer of her sister’s trust than when she had followed her into the night, but despite her anger at Melody, she could not tolerate the thought of letting her sister ruin herself.

  Her father saw some of this conflict in her face and said, “You have done right to tell me.”

  Jane nodded. Though she knew he was correct, her heart remained unconvinced.

  Her father pushed back his chair. “I must be on my way if I am to catch them before Shaftesbury. You would do well to be on your way as well, if you want to be back from Robinsford Abbey before we return.” At the surprize evident in Jane’s features, he said, “I will not press you for confirmation, but I may have my guesses as to the young lady who has taken you into her confidence.” Mr. Ellsworth pressed his hand against Jane’s cheek. “My dear, I do not envy you. This cannot please her family.”

  “No, sir. It cannot.”

  “Still. Take a moment to mend your toilet.” He shook his head and smiled fondly at her. “You look half a madwoman.”

  Mr. Ellsworth went his way, leaving Jane to climb the stairs to her room. She opened the door and stopped, struck dumb by the glamural covering one corner of the room.

  She had forgotten her efforts to exhaust herself the night prior. The wood she had made waved in the breeze
, with more vitality than she could have imagined emerging from her hands. The level of detail she had employed was not what made the difference; it was the tension underlying the straight graceful boughs, as if they yearned to uproot themselves and move, giving the whole scene life. Jane laughed.

  She had created a glamural of which Mr. Vincent might approve, but in the one place in the house that he could not go. The mirth nearly overwhelmed her, then mixed with sobs and panic and turned into a panting fit that caused Jane to press her hand over her mouth. She shut the door and leaned against it, with her eyes screwed tight. Oh, Mr. Vincent, how should I transform this terror into art? Perhaps it could become its opposite in a row of perfectly ordered tulips. Another bubble of laughter almost overwhelmed her, but Jane caught her breath. Whatever Mr. Vincent might think, there was a time to govern one’s emotions, and this was that time. Jane needed all of her rational thought about her.

  Twenty-three

  The Box on the Mantel

  By the time Jane had made herself presentable enough to call on the Dunkirks, she was somewhat steadier in her sensibilities. She would need some excuse to visit, so she thanked providence that she had promised to bring happier books for Beth. Jane took a quick detour to the family’s small library and picked a handful of books which might suit.

  Her hands shook, realizing the greater need that Beth would have for these when Captain Livingston’s treachery was exposed. Jane swallowed the bile rising in her throat, tucked the books under her arm, and set out for Robinsford Abbey.

  Had it been only the day before that she had walked this path with Mr. Dunkirk? She passed the spot where he had begun to relate Beth’s history, and then the place where she had learned of his duel with Mr. Gaffney, and then the oak tree by which he had said her name. There was the path which led to the apple tree where she had discussed the nature of perfection with Mr. Vincent. Had it been there that he had begun to think of her?