Chapter Sixteen

 

It was the following morning, and until Luke Callahan returned to the estate Janice couldn’t think. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep or care how well her campaign with the duke was going, although it seemed to be going very well.

One thing she could still do while the groom was gone was continue saying no. And she was getting better at it. As she invented creative answers to avoid blatantly insulting His Grace, she realized she was being like Mama, the queen of saying no.

But until she’d come here to Halsey House, Janice had never noticed this trait in her mother. And come to think of it, Marcia said no very easily, too. It seemed that both Mama and Marcia had very strong opinions and, captivating as they were, they adhered to those personal sentiments.

Perhaps saying no was actually the very essence of their charm!

Janice, on the other hand, had always tried to be agreeable. But what was agreeable, really? How treasured were smiles and nods that came from a person who didn’t know her own feelings—or, if she did, didn’t value them enough to protect them?

Was saying no what she had to learn in the country? Janice was beginning to wonder.…

She spent the entire morning searching for Emily March’s journal on the duke’s library bookshelves, but she came up with nothing. Neither did Isobel. Which meant the escritoires were next, and after that Janice wasn’t certain. She’d have to do some subtle probing of the occupants of the house, starting with the dowager.

When Janice entered her bedchamber, the Queen was presiding over her own version of Court. The throne of pillows behind her supported her tiny body well. “You again,” she drawled, her gaze flinty.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Janice curtsied. “Good morning.”

The dowager threw out a lazy finger, indicating that Janice might sit in the chair by the bed.

Janice did as she was told. She was dying to tell her that she loved the duchess’s portrait, but she was afraid the comment might confuse her.

“I’ll have a song this morning,” said the old lady. “I haven’t heard one this age.”

“A song?” Janice was somehow surprised.

“Can you not hear me? Or is this willful disobedience on your part? Court’s been rather dull. Get to it.”

Janice was well aware of the presence of the nurse behind her back. “Well, if you don’t have a preference—”

“Stop dillydallying,” snapped the dowager.

“All right.” Janice cleared her throat. “‘Good morning, pretty maid,’” she sang, “‘Where are you going?’”

Her voice started out thin—it had been a long while since she’d sung a note—but as she continued the ballad, which Daddy sang every morning to Mama as he prepared for the day, the notes grew stronger and stronger. And by the middle of it, she was in full voice and her heart was happy—

Especially when she saw that the dowager was well pleased. Her eyes brightened and she seemed to follow hungrily every word Janice sang.

When the last note finally drifted away, Her Majesty sighed long and loud. “Now that’s singing,” she said simply.

Janice smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She had, too.

She glanced over her shoulder at Mrs. Poole, who for the first time ever managed to smile in return. It was nothing spectacular—it was barely a curve of her lips—but at least it was better than the grim face she usually presented.

“My grandfather used to s-s-s-sing that,” she said, her whistle particularly pronounced.

“No noise from the minstrels’ gallery,” barked the dowager. “I can’t abide the flute. Such a prissy instrument. Give me a horn any day.”

Janice cast a glance at the nurse. Her face was redder than usual. Of course she’d heard the slight. “I’m so sorry,” Janice murmured.

The nurse turned her very square back on her.

“Your Majesty”—Janice felt terrible for Mrs. Poole—“you must be kinder. You must be terribly unhappy to pick on your caretaker.”

“What do you think? I can’t do any proper ruling from this bed.” The dowager gave a great sigh. “How’s your plan going, by the way? Are you listening to my advice?”

“Yes.” Janice was glad for the change of subject. “And it’s working.”

Her Majesty chuckled. “I knew it would. So, what will be the first thing you do as duchess?”

“I don’t know” Janice’s face heated. “It might not happen. We’re only at the beginning stage of the … the strategy.”

The dowager waved her hand. “It works fast. So prepare yourself. Soon you’ll be a powerful woman.”

“Like you?” Janice asked her.

“I’ve had my moments,” her hostess said smugly, but then her forehead wrinkled. “Although … although I recall not taking advantage of all of them. I should have spoken up. I should have said no. No.” She slapped the coverlet, the creases around her eyes and mouth deepening.

Janice detected a slight tremble of her lips and took her hand. “It’s all right. Please let me sing you another song.”

But the dowager seemed to forget she was there. “I stood by.… I knew what he’d done.”

“Really, Your Majesty. I know a lovely marching song—”

“But I didn’t know what to do,” Her Majesty insisted, not heeding Janice in the least. “I loved him, you see. He was all—he was all I had left.” She lifted her chin and looked off into the distance, the very picture of a noble queen.

Janice felt compelled to take both her hands and give them a squeeze. “Really, Your Majesty, you did everything you could. Please don’t have any regrets.”

“Regrets?” The frail lady made a scornful face. “I can’t afford those. Duty won’t allow it. We must—” She stopped speaking, and after a long second of inhaling and looking generally uncomfortable she reached out for the handkerchief on her lap and sneezed.

Atchoo!

Janice looked back at Mrs. Poole, who was standing and watching. There was a trace of something in her eye—concern, Janice could see. Genuine concern.

“She doesn’t usually talk like this,” the nurse said. “You mustn’t rile her.”

“I’m so sorry.” Guilt made Janice shrink up in her chair.

“I’m fine,” said the patient with a chuckle. Her entire demeanor had changed. She was back to being the sweet elderly Dowager Duchess of Halsey. “Good thing you’re here, Lady Janice. I’m ready to leave this room. No one else will let me. Will you?”

She had a charming twinkle in her eye.

Janice breathed a sigh of relief. Yet she couldn’t be at ease for long. Both the Queen and the dowager wanted to get out of the bedchamber. And in Janice’s heart—no matter how well-intentioned the duke and the doctor were—she believed, too, that some fresh scenery would do the dowager a great deal of good.

But she shouldn’t make that decision. Surely not. It wasn’t her place.

“Let me … let me talk to Mrs. Poole a moment, Your Grace. I’ll be right back.” She smiled—trying her best to be cheerful in spite of her concerns—and stood.

Mrs. Poole looked at her suspiciously as she approached. “My lady, don’t even think about it.”

Janice sighed. “It’s cruel to keep her in here.”

“It’s what His Grace demands. And what the doctor ordered.”

“Who is this doctor?”

“Dr. Nolan.”

“When was the last time he was here?”

“About three months ago.”

“Three months?”

Mrs. Poole nodded.

Janice shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m taking her out.”

“You will not—”

Janice strode by the nurse to a door she’d never seen Mrs. Poole open and laid her hand on the knob. “You don’t have to help, and I’ll tell His Grace you tried your best to stop me.”

“No one will assist you. No servant here wants to lose his or her job.”

“That’s a shame but understandable. I have my own maid and Mrs. Friday, my chaperone, to lend me aid.” Janice opened the door and looked into a small room that held a cot and a bureau but nothing else. “Where’s Her Grace’s Bath chair?”

“I’m not telling,” said Mrs. Poole from behind her. “And your own maid and chaperone are in the stables. I saw them walking out there myself.”

To see the puppies, of course.

Janice immediately thought of Mr. Callahan and wondered when he’d be back.

“I’ll fetch them then.” Janice shut the door. “And I’ll find that chair. I’ll get Her Grace out of here without you, Mrs. Poole. So there.”

The nurse crossed her arms. “By the time you get your maid and chaperone, the dowager will be asleep again. So you might as well not bother. Besides, I’ll tell His Grace.”

“Fine.” Janice gave a short laugh. “You do that. And when you fall asleep there tonight”—she angled her head at the little room—“you’ll know that you’ve done your duty.”

“Exactly.” The woman’s tone was self-satisfied.

“And when you wake up tomorrow,” Janice reminded her, “you’ll come right back into this bedchamber and sit all day. Just as you always do. You’re as trapped here as the duchess is.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re right. You have your own box to retreat to at night.”

Mrs. Poole’s mouth thinned. “There’s nothing wrong with it. At least it’s private.”

“Right. The rest of the servants are crammed into the attics, aren’t they? Poor things. Always seeing each other … laughing, joking, having company. It must be awful. Much better to be in here with nothing to do and no one to speak you except your patient—whom you ignore.”

Mrs. Poole took a deep breath. “You’ve s-s-s-said enough, my lady.”

“I wonder what you’re so afraid of?” Janice cocked her head. “Are you nervous about that whistle? Because once you hear it several times, you don’t notice it anymore.”

“How dare ye speak of that!” A rough accent spilled from the attendant now. “You heard Her Majesty. She don’t like it.”

Janice shook her head. “She’s difficult, isn’t she? But I’ll wager that when she’s herself—the dowager duchess—she’s never said a word about it to you.”

The nurse hesitated. “No, she hasn’t. Only the Queen has.”

“I’m so sorry about that,” said Janice. “Listen to me, Mrs. Poole. I’m speaking the truth. I find your whistle not imposing at all. And when you smile—as you did today—I completely forget about it anyway.”

Mrs. Poole went to the window and looked out. “You’re only one person,” she said over her shoulder. “I see them snickering, the other servants.”

“Perhaps it’s because you’re always grumpy. I know that my own maid, Isobel, told me that you were so lucky to be able to sing like a bird. And she was sad that you weren’t more cheerful.”

“Easy for her to say.” The nurse’s square back was unyielding.

Janice walked slowly up to her. “I’m sure it will require courage. But perhaps you could smile more when you’re in the other parts of the house and when you’re here with the dowager. I know she’ll appreciate it, even if the Queen never does.”

Mrs. Poole turned, her mouth grim. “I’ll think on it.”

“Good.” Janice smiled. “Now it will take more courage to direct me to the Bath chair. But I assure you that I won’t let the duke fire you. I’ll tell him I found it myself and that you protested mightily when I removed the duchess from her bed.”

“A scrawny thing like you can’t do that on your own.” There was no heat or insult in the nurse’s voice.

“Certainly I can,” Janice assured her. “I grew up with three brothers. I swung from trees often. I can lift a sack of potatoes with ease. I’m sure I can get an elderly woman into a Bath chair.”

“I’ll help you do that, at least,” Mrs. Poole muttered.

“Will you?” Janice’s heart sped up.

Mrs. Poole nodded. “I’ll be right back. The chair is down the hall. It hasn’t been used since we moved here a year ago. I lift her off the bed and directly into the tub to bathe her.”

Poor dowager, she’d been trapped in this bedchamber for far too long!

While Mrs. Poole was gone, Janice prepared the elderly lady for their outing. “We’re going to take you to a special room,” she said, “with a beautiful view. The windows go from the floor to the ceiling, and you’ll be able to see the gardens covered in snow and, behind them, the beautiful pasture and trees.”

“My old sitting room,” said the duchess with a bit of wonder.

Janice’s heart lifted. Her elderly friend seemed excited!

But then the duchess hesitated and slowly shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready.”

“It’s all right,” Janice assured her. “You belong there, Your Grace.”

“I-I can’t.”

“You just sit back.” Janice would be confident for her. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of getting you there.”

The dowager didn’t look at all happy, but she said nothing else.

Janice realized she’d have to coax her little by little to resume a normal life.

When the nurse returned, she insisted on putting the fragile old woman in the chair herself. Janice held her breath, but it went quite well. Mrs. Poole tucked a pretty quilt around Her Grace and stood back.

“There you are.” The nurse was as stiff as ever, but she also looked a bit proud of herself.

“Thank you so much,” Janice said. “You were very gentle.”

Mrs. Poole nodded.

Janice pushed the chair to the door, which Mrs. Poole opened for her.

“See you in an hour or so,” Janice told her cheerfully.

Mrs. Poole said nothing as she walked by.

Out in the hall, Janice felt all the importance of the moment. The dowager was free!

“How are you?” She smiled as she looked around the chair at the elderly woman.

But the dowager wouldn’t answer. She was obviously frightened at being out of her room, which made Janice furious at the duke.

She resumed pushing the chair. “I promise it will be all right. Remember how anxious you were to get out? Well, now it’s happening. You’re going to enjoy yourself.”

At the turn of the corridor, she suddenly remembered the two flights of stairs she’d have to go down and swallowed back her panic. No doubt she could manage. She was strong as an ox. She’d turn the chair backward and go first, holding the handle in an iron grip. And then she’d gently lower it from step to step.…

She hoped she wouldn’t jar the duchess too much.

But what if Her Grace’s bones were brittle and weak?

Janice paused and swallowed. What if she’d been a complete idiot to ignore the doctor’s advice? And the duke’s orders?

Breathe, she told herself.

But the panicked thoughts came at her, a relentless onslaught of doubt.

You’ve involved this poor old woman.

You’re prideful.

Stupid.

Mama and Daddy would be furious!

“Lady Janice?” the dowager asked her hopefully. “May we turn around now?”

“There’s no need, Your Grace.” She did her best to sound merry. “You’ll be fine. We’ll get there soon enough.” Should she simply leave her here, run out to the stables, and get Isobel or Mrs. Friday? Wouldn’t that frighten the duchess, to be left all alone? And what if she did fall asleep again? “I-I only paused because I needed to adjust my shoe.” She said a quick prayer and continued down the hall, the Bath chair rolling smoothly over the carpet.

She’d do it. On her own. But when they came to the stairs, she couldn’t help it—her eyes welled up. This was going to be extremely difficult. But she couldn’t disappoint the dowager now. Yes, the old lady acted as if she didn’t want to go, but she needed to see that she could thrive outside of that bedchamber. She must see that. Otherwise, she’d continue begging Janice to help her escape.

Janice’s hands trembled on the handles of the chair. What if she dropped her hostess?

She inhaled again, another long, slow breath, and decided that she simply wouldn’t drop her. She’d keep Her Grace safe.

With a deliberate air, Janice turned the chair around, looked behind her, and lowered her own feet to the top stair.

That’s it.

She lowered her right foot another step and gave a gentle pull on the chair. At the same time, she lifted with all her might so that the wheel wouldn’t go kerplump.

There. Her heart pounded furiously. But the duchess was safe on the first step.

Just, um, ten or fifteen more to go. And then another staircase …

Refusing to be cowed, Janice gripped the handles, prepared to go one step down again.

“Wait!”

She daren’t move, but she glanced upward.

There stood Mrs. Poole at the top of the stairs.

Thank God.

“I’ll take the bottom,” the nurse said. “But come back up here. We’re going to turn the chair sideways and walk down together. Going backward is too difficult.”

Janice nodded, unable to speak, she was so grateful.

When all was said and done—and it was a rough few moments descending those stairs—the dowager was safe on the lower floor.

“Thank you,” Janice told Mrs. Poole, and continued pushing the chair down the corridor.

“I might as well go with you.” The nurse didn’t smile.

But on those stairs, they’d formed a partnership.

Maybe not a friendship, but a partnership was nearly as good.

They passed two footmen separately, both of whom were goggle-eyed at the sight of the duchess.

Neither Janice nor Mrs. Poole said a word.

After the second footman passed, Janice murmured for the nurse’s ears only, “Do you think they’ll say anything to anyone?”

Mrs. Poole nodded. “They would have even if we’d threatened them not to,” she whispered back.

“You’re right, I’m sure.” Janice peeked over the edge of the chair. “Are you all right in there, Your Grace?”

“Yes, my dear,” the old woman said softly.

She wasn’t saying much, but Janice refused to be worried. This was a very big outing. No doubt Her Grace was overwhelmed.

So it was a triumph—and a relief—when at last Janice and Mrs. Poole turned another corner and rolled the dowager’s chair through a door and into the sitting room she so loved.

Who knew that her grandson apparently loved it, too?