Rose, than to bring a drunken boy what hasn’t got any manners up to the manor house!”
Mr. Rose was almost as confused by Jack’s behaviour as Cecily was, but he did not appreciate the tone in which he had been addressed. He drew himself up. “I take leave to remind you, Mrs. Selby, that it was Sir Waldo himself who gave orders for the lad to be brought here. Though I will say, Miss Cecily,” he said, turning to her, “that if I’d known he was going to carry on in this way, I would never have brought him.”
By now, Cecily was quite anxious to be rid of all the men who were gaping at her in amazement. “That is quite all right, Mr. Rose,” she said. “It is not your fault. I suppose the—” here she hesitated “—the young man is simply not himself.”
As if in proof of this, Jack let himself slowly back down upon his plank, muttering to himself, “‘I am too bold; ‘tis not to me she speaks.’”
This was much more to the innkeeper’s liking, and he threw Jack a relieved look. “There now. That’s right, miss. Jack’s a good lad. The guard on the mail thinks the world of him, and that Davies is a hard man to please. Will you be wanting me for anything else?”
“No, nothing, thank you,” Cecily hastily said. “If you could just have your men carry him upstairs to a room—Mrs. Selby will guide you—that will be all.” She watched from a safe corner of the servants’ hall, as the ostlers bore Jack up the stairs. They disappeared around a turn, but not before he spouted forth another revealing bit of verse.
“‘It is my lady; O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were!’”
Once they were out of sight of the mistress of the house, more of the ostlers gave in to guffaws. Cecily could hear them echoing down the stairwell. She put her hands to her cheeks to cool them, forgetting that Doctor Whiting was standing nearby.
When he spoke, she jumped. “That was a perfect rendering of some of Romeo and Juliet , if I’m not mistaken, Miss Wolverton.”
Lowering her hands rapidly, she turned to face him. “I do believe you are right, Doctor Whiting.” They regarded each other for a moment before she spoke again, and then rather defensively.
“If you think I have any explanation for it, Doctor, you are quite mistaken.”
He was instantly apologetic. “Of course not, Miss Wolverton. I am sorry if I gave you any reason to think I needed any. It is simply a bit strange. I suppose the lad might have had an unusual upbringing—perhaps his people were in the theatre. It was just that he seemed to recognize you. I meant no offence by the remark.”
Cecily smiled, and confessed, “It is quite all right. You see, I have seen the young man before. He took me up on his mailcoach and brought me here more than a month ago—though why he should speak to me in such a fashion . . .” She did not finish. “But I daresay you are correct. His family must have been in the theatre.” She tried to look relieved, but she felt disappointed. For a moment, she had allowed herself to believe something else.
Doctor Whiting regarded her seriously. “If you had rather not take him into the house, I could find some room for him in my lodgings. He would not receive the excellent care he would get here, but Sir Waldo might not like the thought of an actor, former or otherwise, being loosed in his home.”
“Oh, no!” Cecily cried, adding quickly, “My grandfather is quite looking forward to talking to the coachman . . . about coaching, you understand. Oh, no. I should hate to disappoint him. You mustn’t worry about a thing.”
Doctor Whiting nodded, as if he understood. “Very well, then. I’ll go up to him now, miss, if that suits you.”
Cecily urged him to do just that, adding that he might ask Mrs. Selby for anything else he might need. Then she waited until the housekeeper was back downstairs, and gave her orders concerning the young man’s belongings.
While these instructions were being
Mr. Rose was almost as confused by Jack’s behaviour as Cecily was, but he did not appreciate the tone in which he had been addressed. He drew himself up. “I take leave to remind you, Mrs. Selby, that it was Sir Waldo himself who gave orders for the lad to be brought here. Though I will say, Miss Cecily,” he said, turning to her, “that if I’d known he was going to carry on in this way, I would never have brought him.”
By now, Cecily was quite anxious to be rid of all the men who were gaping at her in amazement. “That is quite all right, Mr. Rose,” she said. “It is not your fault. I suppose the—” here she hesitated “—the young man is simply not himself.”
As if in proof of this, Jack let himself slowly back down upon his plank, muttering to himself, “‘I am too bold; ‘tis not to me she speaks.’”
This was much more to the innkeeper’s liking, and he threw Jack a relieved look. “There now. That’s right, miss. Jack’s a good lad. The guard on the mail thinks the world of him, and that Davies is a hard man to please. Will you be wanting me for anything else?”
“No, nothing, thank you,” Cecily hastily said. “If you could just have your men carry him upstairs to a room—Mrs. Selby will guide you—that will be all.” She watched from a safe corner of the servants’ hall, as the ostlers bore Jack up the stairs. They disappeared around a turn, but not before he spouted forth another revealing bit of verse.
“‘It is my lady; O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were!’”
Once they were out of sight of the mistress of the house, more of the ostlers gave in to guffaws. Cecily could hear them echoing down the stairwell. She put her hands to her cheeks to cool them, forgetting that Doctor Whiting was standing nearby.
When he spoke, she jumped. “That was a perfect rendering of some of Romeo and Juliet , if I’m not mistaken, Miss Wolverton.”
Lowering her hands rapidly, she turned to face him. “I do believe you are right, Doctor Whiting.” They regarded each other for a moment before she spoke again, and then rather defensively.
“If you think I have any explanation for it, Doctor, you are quite mistaken.”
He was instantly apologetic. “Of course not, Miss Wolverton. I am sorry if I gave you any reason to think I needed any. It is simply a bit strange. I suppose the lad might have had an unusual upbringing—perhaps his people were in the theatre. It was just that he seemed to recognize you. I meant no offence by the remark.”
Cecily smiled, and confessed, “It is quite all right. You see, I have seen the young man before. He took me up on his mailcoach and brought me here more than a month ago—though why he should speak to me in such a fashion . . .” She did not finish. “But I daresay you are correct. His family must have been in the theatre.” She tried to look relieved, but she felt disappointed. For a moment, she had allowed herself to believe something else.
Doctor Whiting regarded her seriously. “If you had rather not take him into the house, I could find some room for him in my lodgings. He would not receive the excellent care he would get here, but Sir Waldo might not like the thought of an actor, former or otherwise, being loosed in his home.”
“Oh, no!” Cecily cried, adding quickly, “My grandfather is quite looking forward to talking to the coachman . . . about coaching, you understand. Oh, no. I should hate to disappoint him. You mustn’t worry about a thing.”
Doctor Whiting nodded, as if he understood. “Very well, then. I’ll go up to him now, miss, if that suits you.”
Cecily urged him to do just that, adding that he might ask Mrs. Selby for anything else he might need. Then she waited until the housekeeper was back downstairs, and gave her orders concerning the young man’s belongings.
While these instructions were being
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