Free Jack on the Box by Patricia Wynn Page B

she think he was an actor? That was worse than being thought a coachman! He frowned, his eyes closed. What could he have said to make her suspect something like that? Confound it! What had he said yesterday?
    * * * *
    The question continued to plague Jack in his dreams. But the following three weeks were a greater trial, as he spent the main part of his days in unrelieved solitude. He was well fed and made as comfortable as could be, but there was little he could do to combat the boredom. The highlights of his days were the two visits from Cecily, morning and evening, when she would bring his medicine. Jack did his best to prolong these visits, thinking up excuses to keep her there as long as possible. And he did not tell her when the pain in his leg stopped requiring the use of laudanum. He simply held the glass until she left the room, then poured its contents into his chamber pot.
    Once Cecily suggested again that Mrs. Selby could take over the duty of bringing his medicine, but Jack protested vehemently that he was quite afraid of Mrs. Selby.
    “She has taken me into an unaccountable dislike, Miss Cecily,” he said plaintively. “I’m afraid she might try to poison me.” Some time since, Jack had conveniently forgotten to use Cecily’s surname and had adopted the style of address used by her grandfather’s retainers. She had not bothered to correct him.
    “Poison you, Mr. Henley! I assure you, she would do nothing of the kind! You cannot be quite rational if you can imagine such a thing.”
    Jack feigned innocence, though his blue eyes danced with merriment. He would have liked to say how much her visits meant to him, and how much he looked forward to them. But he had not forgotten the one time he had overstepped his bounds when speaking to her on the mail. Her look of reproach had stayed with him, and he would not like to see it repeated.
    “That must be it,” he said, putting his hand to his brow. “I must be feverish. But please don’t leave me to Mrs. Selby. The fright would not be good for a man in my condition. Who knows what I might not do?”
    For a moment he was certain that she had seen through his ruse, but if she had, she disguised her mirth with a hasty cough and rose to leave.
    “Very well, then, Mr. Henley. I shall continue to bring your medicine myself, although I cannot think you will be requiring it much longer.” She ignored Jack’s sheepish grin and continued, “But you must be quite bored with nothing to do all day but stare at the walls. It is too bad you do not read.”
    “Read?” Jack said. He had not liked to ask for books, knowing it would be a most peculiar request, coming from a servant of the road.
    At the eager sound of his tone, she gave him an inquisitive look. “Do you mean to say you are a reading man, Mr. Henley?”
    Jack flushed uncomfortably. “Yes, of course. That is, I know my letters, and I . . . Yes, I am,” he finished lamely.
    “Well,” Cecily said, evidently very much surprised. “Then I shall see about sending you up some books to read. That will be much better than having you fret with boredom. You might get up to mischief, and we mustn’t have that leg injured again now, must we?”
    Something in her voice made Jack look at her suspiciously, but her manner was simply that of an efficient nurse. He thanked her very humbly.
    The books were soon sent up, and they came as quite a relief to Jack, though he was still unaccustomed to such little activity. In some ways he would have preferred to be back on the box, driving the mail. But, at the same time, he knew that returning to his job would mean losing Cecily’s companionship entirely. And he had discovered that there was much pleasure to be derived from the company of a pert young lady.
     

Chapter Six
     
    Reflections about the lady of the house had begun to occupy his mind excessively, when he was surprised one day by a visit. It was midmorning, not Cecily’s customary time to look in. She knocked