The Rebel Page 28

  She knew it would not be long before the soldiers made their way to the loft and then to the roof.

  Somewhere below, she heard the neigh of Queen Mab. Scurrying to the end of the roof, she peered over and saw her horse rising on her back legs and pawing furiously at the air and at the soldiers who were trying to capture her.

  Flames appeared through the smoke, licking the dry thatch and sending sparked crackling into the air. Egan climbed to the peak. There was a lower slate-roofed building across a narrow alley, but she also saw three dragoons already waiting by that building.

  “Jump, Egan! Jump!”

  She recognized Patrick’s shout, and a thrill of hope lifted her spirits. Crossing a patch of open ground at the edge of the village, a dozen Shanavests on horseback raced toward her.

  The encroaching flames were beginning to light up the roof like an inferno, and she realized she had no choice but to jump across. Backing up, Egan ran a couple of steps and leaped for the slate roof of the next building. She landed hard on her ankle, but this was no time to be delicate. As she was scrambling to the edge, she heard an exchange of pistol fire. Peering over the side of the building, she saw the mounted Shanavests swarmed the soldiers and Mab. While a dozen of them fought fiercely with the dragoons, two of them pulled her horse away.

  She jumped again without hesitation, again feeling her ankle when she hit the ground. The pain burned through, nearly overwhelming her, but she limped to the horse and pulled herself onto Mab’s back.

  There were whistles and shouts. Surrounded by the masked group, Egan and the rest withdrew as speedily as they’d arrived, galloping across the fields away from the village. After passing through the first line of hedges, though, they wordlessly split into groups of two and threes and headed off in different directions.

  Egan found herself in the company of two masked Shanavests, Patrick and another on a horse she didn’t recognize. She frowned at the man’s back. He was a stranger, but one adept at the use of sword…that she knew. Though he spoke in Gaelic, his accent was unfamiliar. There was, however, something distinctly familiar about his voice.

  What perplexed her most, though, was that he was giving orders.

  “After crossing the river, Patrick, I want you to take her east. I’ll draw anyone coming after us to the north. You have a place to hide your horses.”

  “Aye, the same places we’re always hiding them.”

  “Finn!” she whispered. She tried to get a better look, peering through the dark. The large, tri-cornered hat and the mask thwarted her efforts.

  “Are you Finn?” she asked finally.

  “Ye see, Egan, our Finn is not a ghost of Liam’s making, after all.” Patrick answered, riding to her right.

  Before she could ask another question, they splashed into the shallows of the river and then continued to ford it. There was no sign of any followers. Her ankle was throbbing badly.

  She stared at him again. For several years, she had known of Finn. Liam had used his name often in conveying key information to their group. He appeared to have many contacts in the English regiments as well as the volunteer militias. He had at times even seemed to know things that had to come from someone close to Ireland’s Lord Lieutenant himself. In spite of his participation in the fighting tonight, she had never known him to step out of his usual role.

  Indeed, she had never met him—or seen him—until now.

  “Act as if nothing has happened,” Finn told her as they prepared to separate on the far shore. “Resume your other life. Pretend you know nothing of tonight. They are bent on capturing you, and you must not allow them to succeed.”

  He turned and she watched him disappear quickly into the darkness. Patrick urged her to move, and she proceeded. But Egan’s mind was racing with Finn’s words.

  Resume your other life…Resume your other life…

  What other life? She no longer had any other life. Just as the hard slate roof of the stable had hurt her ankle, Clara’s words had destroyed the already unsteady footing she was feeling at Woodfield House.

  Though the pain shooting up her leg from her ankle hurt tremendously, the ache in her heart was hurting far worse.

  Between the two wounds, Jane knew she had nothing to stand on.

  CHAPTER 24

  The housekeeper saw the curious glances of the cooks and servants and grooms—some working, some taking their breakfast—when she entered the servant’s hall with the persistent guest on her heels. She simply had to put a stop to this. She turned and left the room with the woman still dogging her.

  In the narrow corridor, still dark in the morning light, she whirled around. “Ye just cannot follow me about like this, m’lady. Certainly not on a morning such as this…with so much left to do before the rest of the house is up. I told ye once, and I’ll tell ye a hundred times, if I must, but I cannot help ye find Miss Jane.”

  “But you know where she is,” Alexandra persisted. “And by God, I am not giving up until you tell me where she is…or at least have someone take me to her. It is absolutely urgent that I should bring her back here for the ball this evening.”

  “But clearly, she doesn’t care to come back, m’lady. She wouldn’t give a beggar’s boot for any of this fanciness. I’m telling ye, mum, she doesn’t care to hear their snickering behind her back.”

  “This will be different, Fey.” Alexandra lowered her voice and looked into the other woman’s face. “I shall make the whole lot of them eat their words. We did not go to all our trouble to have them laugh at her. After tonight, your gentry will think twice before they ridicule her.”

  “A fine dress is nary enough, m’lady.” Sadness shone in the gentle woman’s eyes. “She has been hurt too much before. I do not think she wants to face such things again.”

  “But she must! She must come out of hiding and face them.” She placed a hand on Fey’s arm. “Do you think she is truly happy where she is, or how she is treated by…well, by certain people close to her? Does she not deserve better than what she is getting?”

  “What I think and what will happen are hardly the same, m’lady.”

  “But they can be…with our interference,” Lady Spencer quickly interjected. “I know them. They are like parrots…waiting for one to say something so they can all repeat it. And that is what will work to our advantage. That is what Jane needs. Someone to begin talking about her in a way that points out the noble qualities in her.”

  Fey stared at the floor, unconvinced.

  “There is something else I am planning to do, as well, but I need Jane’s permission to do it.”

  Fey’s eyebrows arched with interest.

  “Without revealing very much to Lady Purefoy, I have received her permission to remake one of the parlors to a theme of my choosing.” Alexandra lowered her voice. “I wish to make it into a gallery, but I need Jane’s permission to use her paintings.”

  “Her paintings, m’lady?”

  “Indeed. I wish to bring some of the canvases down from that attic work area of hers and display them about the room.”

  “But she…Miss Jane never…never shows her work to anyone.” Fey wrung her apron in her hands.

  “But Jane has tremendous talent. Unless they are complete boors, her paintings will impress all of them far more than anything else we can do.” Lady Spencer nodded with conviction. “I am speaking the absolute truth, Fey, when I tell you Jane’s work is equal to some of the greatest masterpieces of our time.”

  “But some of what…she paints…” The housekeeper frowned and shook her head. “I am no expert, mum, but some of it is a wee bit revealing of her private life.”

  “That is exactly why I need her…why you must help me find her. Only Jane can decide what to show and what not.” Alexandra took hold of the servant’s hand. “If my praise of her as a person has no weight with these people, I know her talent will turn the tide. This is a perfect opportunity for Jane to come out before her peers. There could never be another chance like this anyt
ime soon.” She gentled her tone and met the woman’s thoughtful gaze. “If nothing else, please take me to her so I can explain these things to her. The decision will be hers—but she has to be told, while there is still a little time left.”

  After a moment, a look of resolve replaced the indecision in the housekeeper’s face. “No one else can be going with ye.”

  Alexandra nodded.

  “And ye shall need to wait until midday, when I can find someone to spare for a few hours.”

  “Just tell me when, and I’ll be ready.”

  ***

  With a book tucked under her arm, Clara once again took refuge in the gardens. The entire household continued to be in an uproar over the ordeal tonight, and the young woman had even found the privacy of her bedroom invaded by the dressmakers and seamstresses and servants who were ready to bathe her and do her hair and whatever else Lady Purefoy had ordered them to do.

  And she was ashamed of all of it.

  Clara couldn’t forgive herself for the lunacy—for assuming that she was capable of seducing Sir Nicholas and getting him to change his earlier decision of asking for her hand. The cutting remarks he had delivered to her two nights ago had been as mortifying as they were sobering. Instead of learning from Henry’s rejection earlier and trying to make a change in her life, more so than ever before she was trying to be her parents’ puppet.

  Clara moved deeper through the garden and thought of the injustice she had done to her older sister. Jane had gone away without a word to her of where she was going and how long she was staying away. Her older sister had done just as she had asked her to. And for what?

  Henry was right. She was selfish. It was Jane who behaved selflessly…and deserved better.

  Tears were running down her face by the time Clara neared her favorite spot by the paddock. As she approached the hedge, the voices of two men engaged in a tense conversation on the other side cut into her misery.

  “I do not understand this at all, Captain,” her father was saying in an angry but hushed tone. “I have been generous enough to offer him a plan for capturing these leaders of the Whiteboys. It is not too much, I should think, to expect Musgrave be frank with what happened last night.”

  “As I said before, sir, he sends his regards and says he intends to give you a full report tonight.” The other man’s voice was apologetic. “I have been ordered to say nothing more.”

  “But I am entertaining tonight.” Sir Thomas seethed. “My wife has a blasted ball planned that I must attend to. Come, Captain…you served me well when I was magistrate. What did he find or whom did he arrest that requires such secrecy?”

  “I fear, Sir Thomas, that the present magistrate must make his own explanations, sir.”

  “Out with it, Wallis. You were there. What happened?”

  Clara cringed at her father’s menacing tone now. She could only imagine the man facing Sir Thomas must be even more affected by his growing fury.

  “I…”

  “The devil take you. Did we succeed or not, man?”

  There was a long pause.

  “This…this must remain just between us, Sir Thomas.”

  “As you wish,” the older man growled impatiently.

  “I only tell you this out of respect for our efforts together.”

  “Indeed, Captain. We made a good team, you and I.”

  “Last night, we made no arrests, but we were able to unmask the rebel Egan. That is all I can say. Our troubles are far from being over, but the magistrate—as he plans to explain to you tonight—is confident that we are close to capturing the…the rebel.”

  Clara’s hand was tightly clamped over her mouth as all she’d just heard continued to whirl in her mind. They’d unmasked Egan.

  “I see.” Sir Thomas’s voice was far more subdued when he spoke again. “So, other than coming here and keeping anything of import from me, why do you want to search my stables? Does Sir Robert think I am hiding rebels in the hayloft?”

  “The magistrate wishes to know if any horses were missing from the stables of any of the landowners last night. We are looking, in particular, for a large black horse…one similar to the mare that is often ridden by your daughter, Miss Jane.”

  Clara could wait not a minute longer. Clutching her stomach in an effort to ward off the queasiness rising into her throat, she ran frantically toward the house. She needed to get her cloak. She needed to find Jane…to warn her of what the dragoons already knew about her. If they had unmasked her, that meant they already knew her identity. They would be coming after her…here…possibly tonight!

  She couldn’t let this happen to Jane. Seeing a gardener on the path, she brushed away the tears and ordered him to go and ask Paul to ready a good horse for her. She had to find her sister…somehow.

  Conor’s blood was already on her hands. She could not bear to go through life with her sister’s blood on them, too.

  ***

  Jenny’s cottage consisted of three rooms. In size and in its furnishings, it was far more comfortable than many a tenant’s hovel. But still, when it came to someone of Lady Spencer’s quality, it would normally be considered hardly suitable for entertaining.

  Jane, however, was relieved to see that the visitor so comfortable in the cottage. She made no hint of finding anything offensive in Jenny’s home. In fact, as Jane watched the two women chatting amiably before the small peat fire, she was extremely pleased with Alexandra’s affability and natural charm in her manner toward Conor’s aunt.

  Jane waited, impatient to learn the reason for this unexpected visit. Nothing could have been wrong with Nicholas, or Lady Spencer would not be so calm, she decided. But there had to be a good reason. Fey and Paul would not, under normal circumstances, reveal Jane’s whereabouts to anyone. Nonetheless, Alexandra had been brought here by their direction.

  Jenny soon excused herself and left the two of them alone. Lady Spencer turned her sparkling eyes on Jane.

  “I have seen your paintings.”

  “You have?” she replied, surprised.

  “Yes. Jane, you have tremendous talent. I cannot tell you how impressed I was in seeing them. Your work is…inspiring!”

  “I don’t know if…”

  “But I have a favor to ask of you,” she said, going on to explain her elaborate plan of displaying some of Jane’s paintings during the ball for the purpose of regaining the local English gentry’s respect. Jane tried patiently to listen to everything the good lady said.

  “But none of this I care one whit about,” she interrupted finally, not wishing to give Lady Spencer any false hope by her continued silence.

  “It is an artist’s natural inclination to fear sharing her work with others. We all fear the rejection of an audience. None of us wish to be embarrassed by criticism or even by some offhand remark. I believe it is quite normal to want to keep our work and ourselves safely in seclusion. Most of us claim that we only like to paint for ourselves.”

  “I do not claim that, Alexandra. I do paint for myself. To me, taking a brush to the canvas or charcoal to paper is not for the sake of creating a piece of art. I do it to let out the emotions that are trapped inside of me.” Jane spoke passionately. She followed the other woman’s gaze to the drawing tablet on the windowsill beside her. Jane had been sketching when Lady Spencer had arrived. “I hope you will forgive my bluntness, m’lady, but even if I had even the slightest desire to share my work with others, these people would be among the last I would choose. Gaining the respect of my father’s friends is not high on what I wish to do with my life.”

  Jane wished she could get up and walk about the room. She was feeling frustrated, crowded. But her bruised ankle stopped her.

  “But, my dear, people need something to talk about. Rather than prattling on about the past over and over again, would it not be far more pleasant if they had something as thrillingly powerful as your art to discuss?”

  “I care nothing for their pleasantries.” Jane shook her head in disagr
eement. “I have never cared about what they think of me, but I refuse to put myself in a position of having to endure their criticism in any public arena. I do not need them, and they have no use for me. I am quite resigned to things as they are.”

  “I understand your bitterness.” Alexandra leaned forward in her chair, lowered her voice, and touched Jane gently on the knee. “But can you not see that what I am trying to do has a purpose far grander than allowing you to make peace with a few provincial snobs who cling to the outdated prejudices of yesterday?”

  Jane’s heart started beating faster in her chest. She had feared that Lady Spencer’s true purpose today had nothing to do with the paintings.

  “My purpose is far more selfish. I am trying to do this for Nicholas…and for you,” the older woman continued. “I have watched what your absence over the past few days has done to my son. For the first time in his life, Nicholas appears…well…lost. His spirit, his joie de vivre…it all seems to have lessened dramatically since you have been away from Woodfield House. And now, here I am…and I find the same kind of melancholy afflicting you.”

  Jane blinked back the tears suddenly burning her eyes.

  “You two simply must resolve your differences.” She clutched Jane’s hand. “And though I know that nothing of your past matters at all to Nick, I also know that you would be far better resolved to a future together if you were able to walk away from some of the darkness of your past.”

  Jane had made love to Nicholas. She had given her body and her heart to him. But looking down now at her own black apparel, she knew she still had far to go to leave her past behind.

  “My dear, I am here to help you in what ever way I can. I have connections in England, you know, and there is always a way to improve on matters of the past.” The intense blue eyes were pleading when they met Jane’s. “Please allow me to make a difference.”

  The young woman looked down at her own fingers clutching at Alexandra’s hand like a sailor gripping a lifeline. A desperateness was wracking her body and soul. By all the saints in heaven, she needed help in more ways than she could name. Jane believed her only chance of ever finding happiness again lay with Nicholas…and her love for him. Despite the endless tears she’d shed since arriving at Jenny’s cottage, though, she didn’t need to remind herself that she was still there because of her sister’s request. She could not ruin Clara’s chances when her own future was so uncertain.