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Authors: William Lavender

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BOOK: Just Jane
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He seems quite ferocious enough
, thought Jane. “I'm truly sorry for any distress I've caused you, Uncle Robert. But Mr. Cordwyn is not at fault. I persuaded him to take me to Cousin Hugh's. Blame me, please, not him.”

“I
do
blame him, for his insolence,” Robert snapped. “And Arthur, for leaving you unsupervised. And
you
, for being disobedient. That I cannot tolerate. Only the fact that you're a highborn English lady prevents me from sending you to your room without supper, as a badly behaved child should be!”

Now a glint of defiance came into Jane's eyes. “In that case, sir, I suggest you disregard my highborn status. If it would please you to punish me, then do so.”

Robert blinked, taken aback by her sudden show of spirit. When he spoke again it was in a calmer tone. “I must go now. Thanks to rebel thugs, I need to see about repairs on my house. Please pack your things tonight, because we leave for Rosewall first thing in the morning. This is no fit place for you, Jane. Perhaps out in the country, away from the undesirable influences here, you may learn to behave like the proper lady you were bom to be.”

“I shall do my best, sir. And now, if I may be excused?”

Head high, with serene dignity, she turned and went out, heading upstairs to her room. Her thoughts were in turmoil.
Learn to be a lady, must I? But how am I ever going to learn to get along with that tyrant?

Fretfully she felt for her locket. Only this time, it wasn't there.

Chapter 8

Mrs. Morley looked in on Jane later, to find her slumped in her bedroom chair. “What happened, dear? Was Mr. Robert terribly angry with you?”

“I fear so, yes. He told me I must learn to behave like a lady.”

“Hmph! You're already the finest lady he's ever likely to meet.”

“He was also furious with Mr. Cordwyn, which was extremely unfair. But we have to remember, it hasn't been a good day for Uncle Robert. His house has been vandalized, and the royal governor's return was postponed.”

“And some even worse news just arrived,” Mrs. Morley said. “The British ships suffered so much damage in the bombardment, they've given up and sailed away.”

“Really!” Jane had noticed that the distant cannon fire had long since stopped, a fact accounted for by this latest news. So Peter Quincy had been right—and to Jane's surprise, she couldn't decide whether to be sad or glad.

“I have some bad news of my own, Mrs. Morley,” she said then, rising from her chair. “I hate to tell you this, but you'd notice eventually, anyway. My locket came off somewhere, and now it's missing.”

“Oh, merciful heavens!” Mrs. Morley cried. “What's to be done?”

“I have to find it, that's what's to be done. I'm going to start immediately after supper, if Uncle Robert will allow it.”

 

But Robert was not at the supper table—only Harriet, Clarissa, Jane, and Mrs. Morley gathered there. Arthur had gone off on some unspecified “business,” and Robert, accompanied by Brandon, had gone to see about his damaged house. Conversation between Harriet and Clarissa was mostly limited to domestic matters, as if both were determined to steer clear of the day's important events.

Jane waited, and when the opportunity arose, she brought up the subject of her missing locket. “Not that it's especially valuable,” she explained. “Except to me. It's the only thing I have that belonged to my mother.”

“After supper we'll launch a thorough search,” Harriet

“What worries me is that I might have lost it at Cousin Hugh's,” Jane went on. “So I was wondering, Aunt Clarissa—if we don't find it, do you suppose Uncle Robert would mind awfully if I ran back to Hugh's, and—”

“Good gracious, Jane!” Clarissa exclaimed. “I wouldn't dare suggest such a thing to him! He's so hostile toward Hugh, the mere mention of the name sends him into an apoplectic fit.”

Harriet offered a solution. “I'll send a servant to inquire.”

It was done. In the meantime, the women spent an hour after supper scouring the house in search of the locket. It was nowhere to be found. The servants were questioned, but none could recall seeing it. The one who had been sent to inquire at Hugh's returned, saying that the people there had found no locket.

Clarissa tried in vain to console the inconsolable Jane. “Now don't fret, dear. Losing a locket is not the end of the world. I'm sure we can find you another pretty necklace to wear.”

Jane forced a smile.
Another pretty necklace—to replace my mother's!
How little understanding the beautiful Clarissa possessed. With a sigh of resignation, she began to pack for the trip to Rosewall the next morning.

Rosewall
. Suddenly she had the feeling that going to the backcountry plantation, a day's journey away, would be like going to another foreign land.

 

It was stiflingly hot that night. Jane was a long time getting to sleep, slept fitfully, and awoke after an hour feeling limp and exhausted. The French windows leading to the third-floor veranda were open, but no breath of air stirred. Jane rose and went out onto the veranda, hoping to find a cool breeze. There was none, but the garden below was enchanting under soft moonlight. All was quiet. All the world was asleep.

But not quite. Gradually, Jane became aware of low voices drifting up on the still air. She tiptoed down the veranda toward the rear corner of the house. Two people sat on a garden bench below, half hidden in the shadows. The blond hair of Clarissa Prentice shone like spun gold in the moonlight, and Jane could make out the broad shoulders of Simon Cordwyn beside her.

“I had intended to apologize,” Simon was saying. “But the way he went after me set me off. Now he's demanding that Mr. Ainsley send me packing.”

“Don't give it a thought,” Clarissa said soothingly. “Do you think for one moment I'd let that happen? Never, my darling, I couldn't bear it!”

My darling?
Jane stifled a gasp.

Clarissa's fingers played in Simon's hair. “Now, go back to your room. If I can get away later, I'll come to you, I promise.” She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled his lips to hers.

Turning away, Jane crept back to her room and crawled into bed, to He staring at the ceiling in wide-eyed shock. Which was worse? Her sharp disappointment at the kind and gende schoolmaster, whom she had come to respect and admire so much? Or the disgust she felt for the lovely Clarissa, the shameless, deceiving wife? She knew only that there would be very little sleep for herself that night.

 

Two carriages were drawn up in front of the house the next morning. It was all arranged: Robert and Clarissa would travel in the first, Jane and Mrs. Morley in the second. While the drivers loaded the baggage, the Ainsleys and their guests said hasty good-byes in the courtyard. Brandon fervently clasped Jane's hands and promised to visit her soon and often, since her sweet company was essential to his existence. She gave him a distracted smile, and after embracing Arthur and Harriet with warm thanks for all their kindness, climbed into her carriage beside Mrs. Morley. Watching them, she noticed that although Arthur embraced and kissed his sister, he barely mumbled a word to Robert. How sad it was to see the brothers-in-law harboring resentment against each other. Harriet gave Robert and Clarissa expansive hugs and waved cheerily to her departing guests.

Jane settled back, eager to be gone. But as the first carriage pulled out, Simon suddenly appeared beside the second, delaying its departure.

“I know your uncle wouldn't approve of my speaking to you, Jane. But I couldn't let you go without saying good-bye. I'll miss you.”

Her eyes fixed on the carriage driver's back, Jane replied with cold formality. “Really? How nice. I'm sorry I can't say the same.”

He regarded her with a puzzled frown. “What's the matter? Are you angry with me about something?”

Still she refused to look at him. “No, not angry, Mr. Cordwyn. Just disappointed.” Leaning forward, she spoke to the driver, “Move out, please.”

As the carriage clattered away, Mrs. Morley looked back to see Simon staring after them with a look of slack-jawed astonishment. Her own face wore a look of shocked disapproval as she turned to the girl beside her.

“I must say, Jane! That was really quite rude of you!”

Jane tossed her head crossly. “I don't care! I hate him, and I hate his boring school, and I can't
wait
to get to Rosewall!”
And if that's true
, she thought, tears stinging her eyes,
why do I feel so miserable?

Chapter 9

As a young bride arriving in the South Carolina back-country, Clarissa Prentice had taken one look at the fourteen-foot-high stone wall encircling her husband Robert's plantation house and its gardens, and called the place a fortress. To soften its appearance, she had ordered hundreds of climbing English roses brought in, which she had planted along the base of the wall. Soon the great expanses of stern, forbidding stone disappeared beneath fragrant bloodred blossoms and thorny growth, and the name Rosewall was born.

A great iron gate guarded the only entrance to the grounds. Shimmering in the distance, a quarter mile beyond, the winding Edisto River lay, like a twisted thread on a deep green carpet. The three-story brick-and-timber mansion sat a hundred yards back from the gate. Surrounding the house was a garden paradise, complete with grape-laden arbors, masses of flowers, giant moss-hung oaks, lush green lawns, and meandering gravel footpaths. Gazing about, Jane felt that she had entered a world of almost unearthly peace and serenity. As she stepped into the house a few minutes later, the magnificent interior of high ceilings, richly paneled walls, and fine furnishings took her breath away. The Ainsley house in Charlestown was grand, but even in England Jane had never seen such splendor as this.

A muscular giant of a man appeared, ebony black, completely bald, and barefoot. He was Omar, the butler, and he moved with uncommon grace and dignity. Omar bowed to each person in turn, with an especially low bow for Jane.

“Omar here to serve you, miss,” he said in a resonant voice. “What you ask be Omar's command.”

Thanking him, Jane turned to meet the lighter black woman who now stood at his side. Cuba, the cook and housekeeper, was Omar's wife. Her broad face crinkled with a warm smile. “Praise God, you be sent from heaven, child!” she exclaimed. “You'll liven up this big ol' house right quick, I'd say.” Jane returned her smile and, just this once, didn't mind being called a child.

Clarissa showed Jane up to a sunny, pale pink room on the second floor.

“This is your room, dear. We hope you'll like it. We truly enjoyed getting it ready for you.”

“It's beautiful,” Jane exclaimed, gazing around her at tall windows with lacy white curtains, a tall four-poster bed, and soft, fluffy pillows. “Thank you for everything you did to make it so.”

“Oh, it was mostly Cuba, really. Robert may be the owner here, but it's really Cuba and Omar who run the place. Cuba works miracles managing the house, keeping us all fed and everything in perfect order. And Omar—there's a man of many talents. In another life, he could have been a great leader.”

Jane thought of the Ainsleys' servants. Though kindly treated, they had seemed more like phantoms than people, gliding silently in and out, eyes downcast, speaking only when spoken to. Omar and Cuba, though, seemed to see themselves as valued persons in their own right, perhaps because their owners—or at least their mistress—openly acknowledged their importance.

Jane felt tempted to soften her attitude toward her beautiful aunt. But when she recalled the whispered conversation in a moonlit garden—and the promise of a tryst to follow—the temptation vanished. In time, she hoped to overcome Robert's anger toward her. But how could she ever get over her disgust at seeing his wife betray him?
And why
, she wondered,
do I, too, feel somehow betrayed?

 

The summer daylight was beginning to fade when they gathered in the dining room an hour later. To Jane's relief, her uncle seemed in an amiable mood as he inquired if her room was satisfactory. She assured him that it was more than satisfactory, it was beautiful.

“Indeed,” she added, “Rosewall is quite beautiful altogether.”

Robert gave a pleased smile. “Actually, you've seen very little of it so far. Later I'll take you upstairs, where you can see its full extent.”

“Feel honored, Jane,” Clarissa said dryly. “You'll get to see Robert's favorite place, his observatory. He reads his precious poetry up there and stares off for miles in all directions. Everything you can see from up there is Rosewall land. The kingdom of His Majesty, King Robert the First!”

Shocked by Clarissa's sarcasm, Jane shot a curious look at her. But Robert only chuckled indulgently. He didn't seem to mind her words a bit.

The observatory, it turned out, was the entire third floor of the house. Reached by a steep, narrow staircase at the end of a long hallway, the chamber was almost bare, except for a table and chair in one comer and a desk stacked with old books in another. A portrait of King George, complete with crown and long jeweled robe, hung above the desk. Robert stood watching Jane while she gazed around her. The golden light of the setting sun shone through high, open windows on all four sides of the room, and the rich fragrance of the thousands of roses far below seemed to fill the air they breathed.

Jane looked out beyond the massive rose wall at a panorama stretching to the distant horizon. Robert pointed out the intricate system of ditches bringing the flooded rice fields their life-giving water. There were barns, vegetable gardens, and fruit orchards, and two long rows of small brick houses for the slaves working the crops. Beyond the rice fields lay endless wilderness, with the river winding through a brooding swamp. Barely visible in the twilight, plumes of smoke rose from the chimneys at the plantation of Robert's friend Louis Lambert and his family, several miles to the north.

BOOK: Just Jane
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