spirits while they waited for the doctor to arrive, and she supposed he was enjoying all the fuss being made over him.
But it would not do for him to disrupt her grandfather’s household. So, stepping up to the group of people surrounding his pallet, she spoke with a sternness she did not feel. “What is the meaning of this, pray? Is there anything amiss?”
The servants turned to regard her with consternation. Doctor Whiting and Mr. Rose, the innkeeper, were standing with them.
“Begging your pardon, Miss Cecily,” Mr. Rose said, “but I thought as how I should come up to the manor with Jack here. I’m afraid I gave the lad a might too much brandy—to kill the pain it was. And him—not being used to so much, I guess—I suppose that’s what’s set him off to talking such farradiddle. For anybody who’s rode the London mail will tell you he’s a sober lad, for all that he’s acting queerer than a sheep what’s got maggots in its head.” He continued in a doubtful tone, “I thought I should make sure you still want him up at the manor.”
Cecily looked down at the injured man. He had been carried in on a plank and was now half lying, half resting upon one arm. His pallor was much worse than she had expected from hearing him speak, and she realized what an effort it had cost him to sound so cheery. Her heart went out to him for his courage, and her face flooded with warmth.
“Of course, you must leave him,” she said. “My grandfather would not hear of turning him out. And I am certain he will recall his manners once the effects of your excellent brandy have worn off.” Mr. Rose looked relieved and bowed to show his gratitude.
Doctor Whiting claimed her attention then. “I fear it was a very bad break, Miss Wolverton. I thought it best for the young man to be brought up here before I set it. Then, he must be kept quiet for several days. But, as you can see, he is not the most restful of patients.”
Cecily nodded, and assured him that she understood all that would be required.
At the sound of her voice, Jack had lifted his head, and now he was focusing upon her in a curious manner. Suddenly, a glimmer appeared in his eyes, as if he had just then recognized his former passenger.
He spoke, directing Cecily a look that froze her with embarrassment. “‘But, soft! what light from yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!’ “
There was a moment of stunned silence in the room before Mrs. Selby, who already resented the disturbance to her domain, stepped forward and said, “Now, just you mind your manners, young man! That’s Miss Cecily you’re speaking to and not that Juliet, whoever she might be. So just you keep a civil tongue in your head and don’t carry on about your betters.” She clearly thought Jack had mistaken her mistress for one of his lightskirts and was grossly offended.
Doctor Whiting, however, was not under the same misapprehension. He raised his eyebrows and regarded Cecily with an inquiring air. “Not the usual conversation of a mail coachman, I would say, Miss Wolverton. Do you not agree?”
Cecily was still too stunned by Jack’s words to answer with composure, but she nodded and remarked rather breathlessly, “It is most peculiar, surely.”
Jack raised himself upon one elbow, and he extended his other arm out towards her, saying in a slurred voice,
“She speaks:
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art/As
glorious to this night, being o’er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven . . .”
One of the ostlers snickered. He clapped his hand over his mouth before Mr. Rose could reprimand him. Cecily blushed to the roots of her hair, as the men from the inn stared back and forth from her to Jack.
Mrs. Selby, however, was not so paralyzed. “`This night,’ indeed!” she scoffed indignantly. “As if it weren’t plain midday and light enough to prove it! He’s drunk! That’s what he is. I would have expected better from you, Mr.
But it would not do for him to disrupt her grandfather’s household. So, stepping up to the group of people surrounding his pallet, she spoke with a sternness she did not feel. “What is the meaning of this, pray? Is there anything amiss?”
The servants turned to regard her with consternation. Doctor Whiting and Mr. Rose, the innkeeper, were standing with them.
“Begging your pardon, Miss Cecily,” Mr. Rose said, “but I thought as how I should come up to the manor with Jack here. I’m afraid I gave the lad a might too much brandy—to kill the pain it was. And him—not being used to so much, I guess—I suppose that’s what’s set him off to talking such farradiddle. For anybody who’s rode the London mail will tell you he’s a sober lad, for all that he’s acting queerer than a sheep what’s got maggots in its head.” He continued in a doubtful tone, “I thought I should make sure you still want him up at the manor.”
Cecily looked down at the injured man. He had been carried in on a plank and was now half lying, half resting upon one arm. His pallor was much worse than she had expected from hearing him speak, and she realized what an effort it had cost him to sound so cheery. Her heart went out to him for his courage, and her face flooded with warmth.
“Of course, you must leave him,” she said. “My grandfather would not hear of turning him out. And I am certain he will recall his manners once the effects of your excellent brandy have worn off.” Mr. Rose looked relieved and bowed to show his gratitude.
Doctor Whiting claimed her attention then. “I fear it was a very bad break, Miss Wolverton. I thought it best for the young man to be brought up here before I set it. Then, he must be kept quiet for several days. But, as you can see, he is not the most restful of patients.”
Cecily nodded, and assured him that she understood all that would be required.
At the sound of her voice, Jack had lifted his head, and now he was focusing upon her in a curious manner. Suddenly, a glimmer appeared in his eyes, as if he had just then recognized his former passenger.
He spoke, directing Cecily a look that froze her with embarrassment. “‘But, soft! what light from yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!’ “
There was a moment of stunned silence in the room before Mrs. Selby, who already resented the disturbance to her domain, stepped forward and said, “Now, just you mind your manners, young man! That’s Miss Cecily you’re speaking to and not that Juliet, whoever she might be. So just you keep a civil tongue in your head and don’t carry on about your betters.” She clearly thought Jack had mistaken her mistress for one of his lightskirts and was grossly offended.
Doctor Whiting, however, was not under the same misapprehension. He raised his eyebrows and regarded Cecily with an inquiring air. “Not the usual conversation of a mail coachman, I would say, Miss Wolverton. Do you not agree?”
Cecily was still too stunned by Jack’s words to answer with composure, but she nodded and remarked rather breathlessly, “It is most peculiar, surely.”
Jack raised himself upon one elbow, and he extended his other arm out towards her, saying in a slurred voice,
“She speaks:
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art/As
glorious to this night, being o’er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven . . .”
One of the ostlers snickered. He clapped his hand over his mouth before Mr. Rose could reprimand him. Cecily blushed to the roots of her hair, as the men from the inn stared back and forth from her to Jack.
Mrs. Selby, however, was not so paralyzed. “`This night,’ indeed!” she scoffed indignantly. “As if it weren’t plain midday and light enough to prove it! He’s drunk! That’s what he is. I would have expected better from you, Mr.
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