*
“I don’t know how you can stand eating this every day,” stated Jane staring at Lodge’s platter as he tucked in for his lunch. “Mrs. Hobart is actually a very good cook and has a well stocked pantry.”
“I happen to enjoy poached cod with corn cakes and cucumber salad,” replied Lord Lodge, pulling out his cutlery from the folded napkin. “It does wonders for your health.”
“If you say so,” responded Jane dubiously. “But you’ll have to do without, as there’s no more cod or cucumbers and the cornmeal required for the cakes is running low.”
“Unacceptable,” Lodge said in the most displeased and haughty manner Jane had ever seen him display. “Inform Mrs. Hobart that my strict diet requires that I have this food regularly. I don’t care how she does it, but I expect to have this same meal in at least three days time.”
“Yes sir, I’ll inform her.”
“Good.” He began eating his meal in silence, stopping only to butter his corn cakes. “How do our preparations progress?”
“I’ve been able to find some large crates in the basement that should suit our purpose,” she reported dutifully. “Although I can’t think of an explanation for their eventual shipment.”
“On the desk behind me you will find a letter,” he motioned with his knife. “Read it to me.”
She walked over to the desk and was able to find the letter he indicated under a pile of books and blank paper. The black ink flowed across the paper in waves of aristocratic script. At the top was the letterhead of the Hunt.
“To the staff of the Crow’s Nest,” she began reading from the top. “There are a pair of chairs that I would like delivered from your location to my offices on Loch Dhu Island. Loch Dhu Island?”
“Yes. It’s a small island on the great lake,” he answered over his shoulder after dabbing his mouth with the silk napkin. “There’s a small castle on it and should prove a nice rest stop for our escape. Keep reading.”
“You will find these chairs in storage, though I do not know their exact location. They are both large wing back chairs made of black leather and with bronzed studs. I expect them delivered within the week. Signed… How can this be?”
“Read,” order Lodge smiling as he rose from his finished meal.
“Signed, Dr. John Cleaver, Master of the Hunt.”
“You look surprised,” he observed.
“How did you get this?” Jane asked, confirming his observation. Her head was spinning as she stared at the letter that could potentially set them free. She recognized Cleaver’s handwriting, but was confused by the contents. The Doctor was not in the practice of dealing with such common matters.
“I wrote it.”
“What?!” her head snapped up to face Lodge as he lit his pipe. His eyes burned through the smoke in amusement. “But it’s identical to his handwriting.”
“Thank you, I am quite good at reproductions.”
“But it can’t possibly work,” she stated without much confidence. But then she started to think it through, logically appraising the situation as Lodge was teaching her. Few people knew his real handwriting, but that didn’t matter as the letter had fooled her. The crates were in the basement storage, as were the chairs presumably. So all they had to do was remove the chairs after they were packed and get inside. Then they would be transported to safety. “It could work.”
“Possibly,” allowed Lodge as he studied her progression from disbelief intently. “What are some of the problems?”
“What is this, a test?” she replied testily.
“This is training,” he retorted in kind. “I’ve provided a problem along with a solution. However I want you to find any potential flaws with our reasoning.”
She thought for a short time, moving the sequences of events in her mind. Problems and obstacles began to appear to her as she went through the process.
“First, if one of us is in a crate, the other won’t be able to secure the second crate properly.”
“Second?”
“Success depends on no one opening the crates during the journey or at the destination.”
“Third?”
“We don’t know what’s awaiting us on the island.”
“And fourth?”
“How do we get off the island and then where do we go?”
“Very good, those are the same problems I discovered as well,” he congratulated his student. “So what are the possible solutions?”
“Well first we can fashion some sort of handle to hold the crate lid down from the inside so it appears fastened. I would also imagine that they would tie the crate down on the wagon, as they’ll want to protect Dr. Cleavers possessions. In that vain, they will probably use some packing material around the chairs. If we’re covered with that and if the crates are not opened, we should go unnoticed.”
“And the last two problems?”
“I’m not sure,” she confessed after a brief silence. “Those appear to be unknown’s that we can’t possibly theorize from here.”
“Capital!” clapped Lodge in appreciation. “It is hazardous to theorize before receiving the facts. We must admit that we have no solution for the last two problems at this time.”
He took the letter from Jane and folded it up and placed it in an envelope. Depositing the envelope on his desk, he grabbed a candle and dropped some hot wax along the seal. Then with a wink at his companion he withdrew a metal stamp from a hollowed out book and stamped the wax. After it cooled he placed it back in Janes hand.
“If the handwriting gave them pause, the seal will dispel any doubts.”
Jane nodded, realizing their conversation had concluded. She slid the letter in her pocket and then began filling her tray with the remnants of her master’s meal.
“Is there anything else you require?” she asked before leaving.
“Nothing at the moment,” he replied from the desk. “I need to sit and think. I will see you at dinner.”
Jane glided out noiselessly with the tray in one hand, making her way below stairs without passing anyone. The lodge remained largely empty apart from Lodge, herself, and the small number of staff.
“He does seem to go on,” observed Mrs. Hobart when Jane deposited the tray in the kitchen. “He must talk the ear off you.”
“I don’t mind,” replied Jane innocently. “Although he does have a request. He’d like to continue his regimen of cod and cucumbers.”
“Did you inform him that we’re all out?”
“I did.”
“And what did his Lordship say?”
“That he didn’t care how you got them, but he wanted his meal within the next three days. I must say, I’ve never seen him cross like that.”
“Well if that’s what he wants,” huffed the cook as she went to a small writing table by the window. “At least he gave me three days. Some of these lords and ladies would give me three hours to provide them what they want.”
Jane watched her remove a rough envelope from a leather satchel on the table. She realized that this must be the mail bag as Mrs. Hobart scribbled the food order on a list before placing it back in the bag. But when she moved back to the sink, Jane noticed that there was a second bag beside it. She realised that if the first bag was going to the Manor, the second might have come from it.
“Incidentally, the lads just returned from the Manor,” Mrs. Hobart said while she tackled the dirty dishes that had just been deposited.
Jane walked over to the window to look outside, much to the amusement of Mrs. Hobart. However the cook did not see Jane smoothly deposit the false letter into the second satchel as she looked out on the empty courtyard.
“When are they going back?” asked Jane innocently as she turned back from the window.
“Not for a few days, so you’ll have plenty of time.”
“Time for what?” She replied innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She did know and she was slightly concerned. Jane knew that using her charms t
o gain the trust of the groundskeeper was necessary, but how long would her shy flirting act last? Luckily he was content with their slow progress. But she was unwilling to go beyond that.
If she had wanted to escape at any cost, she could have fully seduced him. She would have easily influenced him into helping her and Lord Lodge escape. But that would have caused more problems than it would solve. She was sure he would be severely punished if Cleaver discovered he had knowingly helped them. And she wouldn’t be able to live with herself knowing that.
But there was another reason for wishing to avoid any intense personal interactions with him. She had recently discovered she was a romantic. Apart from the books on philosophy she had borrowed from Lord Lodge, she had also borrowed some classic literature. She had instantly become hooked on Jane Austen and read her novels into the early mornings.
So every time she thought of Phillip the groundskeeper, her thoughts would immediately turn to someone else. She didn’t even know why she continued to think about him. The first time she’d seen him he’d hardly made an impact on her; he wasn’t ruggedly handsome or charmingly suave. But at their subsequent meetings she’d felt a twinge of something within, that somehow they were connected. Her rational side told her it was because he was the dark stranger and the feeling would pass. But the feeling never seemed to pass and her thoughts kept returning to Patrick Pierce.
She knew this was foolish and she should try and stop it. He was a member of the Hunt and she was a servant. Besides, he had probably been bewitched by one of the glamorous Ladies of the Hunt, maybe the Russian or the Frenchwoman. Plus they had only met a handful of times and she probably never registered to him. She concentrated on these thoughts to try and block him out, but knew that it was only a matter of time before he would resurface in her mind.
Chapter 15