"You are incredibly naive."
Jane shrugged, though she did note that Millicent had no answer for her. "There’s the house," she said softly, pulling up by the side of the lane where a parting in the trees made the manor house visible in the distance. Built on classical proportions of yellow-gray brick, its restrained and uncluttered outline stood on the hillside, commanding the land around. "The gardens were a later improvement by Capability Brown," Jane added neutrally.
"A fit seat for an Earl," Millicent commented, well pleased.
Jane looked at her sideways, but made no comment. She picked up the reins again and turned the equipage about, heading back down the lane.
"Are we near the parsonage?" Millicent asked.
"Yes. Why do you ask?"
"I thought perhaps you would like to visit Reverend Chitterdean. Mama tells me he’s sick now."
"Yes, he and Nurse Twinkleham are both sick. No doubt from tending Mrs. Chitterdean during her illness. I should like to stop by. I haven’t been able to for days, and I normally make it a regular habit."
"Then let’s do," Millicent said, smiling at her cousin.
Jane pursed her lips, but could not think of anything wrong with Millicent’s plans. She just wished she knew what prompted them.
As they approached the parsonage, Millicent groaned.
"What is it, cousin?"
"I fear I am not recovered as I’d hoped. I think I’d best return to my bed," she answered wanly.
"Of course," Jane said, turning the carriage about.
"No, wait! There is no reason you should come with me. I am only feeling a little peaked. Why don’t you go ahead and visit the Chitterdeans? I can drive myself back to Penwick."
Jane looked doubtful. "I don’t know if that would be wise."
"Oh, please? I should feel even worse if I knew I were the cause of putting off your visit. "
Jane was confused by her cousin’s unusual behavior, but could see no flaw in her argument. She thought a moment, then nodded and pulled up the carriage. She gave the reins to Millicent. "Go easy on her, she has a tender mouth," advised Jane. Then she got down. "Are you sure you feel well enough to drive?"
"Oh, yes. Do not worry so, cuz."
Jane stepped away from the carriage and turned toward the Chitterdean home. Behind her she heard Millicent flick the whip and urge the horse into a canter. Surprised, she turned around to watch. Millicent’s hat ribbons flew out behind her and she looked as if she were chased by the hounds of hell. Jane shook her head, bewildered. Perhaps Millicent had suffered sunstroke. What else could explain such odd behavior? Still musing over the situation, she approached the house.
She was not more than ten feet from the door, looking more at her feet than at her way, when the front door flew open and Mrs. O'Rourke's warning echoed ominously in her head. She turned to flee, but Lord Willoughby came outside like an exploding cannonade. He grabbed her wrist, dragging her inside.
"Took her long enough," growled Lord Willoughby in only a vestige of the tones Jane was accustomed to hearing.
He roughly snapped her around and let go of her wrist. Jane fell against a vacant chair. As she struggled for balance, she was surprised to note Sir Helmsdon bound and gagged in a companion chair. Mrs. Chitterdean and the maid were not to be seen. Reverend Chitterdean was also bound, but not gagged.
"What’s going on?" Jane demanded, as Willoughby grabbed a length of rope and tied her to the chair.
"Why, your own marriage, ducky," said the supposed Lady Willoughby, her raspy whispering voice gone to reveal a common London street accent. She laughed harshly. "Caw, it’s a might too bad, it is. Might fetch a few yeller boys from the London stews, but that Lady Tipton wouldn’t a’ad non’r that. Said she still ’ad t’call you kin, and that just wouldn’t be fittin’. Bad Ton, she calls it." The woman scratched her backside through the material of her dress and laughed again.
"Enough of your confounded chatter, Sophie," snapped her confederate.
"Eh, none a your high’n mighty airs with me! Just remember who brung you to this lay!"
"It may not be much of a lay if this here parson can’t talk!"
Jane glanced around at Reverend Chitterdean. His face was unnaturally pale, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. As she looked at him he was wracked by a long, congestive cough. Afterwards he shook his head miserably.
"I don’t understand," Jane said, dragging her eyes away from the pallid complexion of Reverend Chitterdean.