The Hidden Heart. Candace Camp

run through the halls, wailing out the news of his death, that she had immediately set about readying Gabriela and herself for the journey to Gabriela’s new guardian. General Streathern’s death, following as it did hard on the heels of his seemingly prophetic words to her, jolted and frightened her, lending an eerie importance to what he had said. Had he foreseen that his death would come that swiftly? And had he foreseen other things, as well—things that had made him urge her to take Gabriela safe out of Lord Vesey’s hands?

      She had sat up with Gabriela the rest of the night, holding the girl while she cried out her grief until Gaby fell, finally, into a restless slumber. Jessica had remained by the girl’s side, dozing by fits and starts in the padded rocker beside the bed, thinking about the General and letting her own tears flow for the man who had been so kind to her, standing by her when the rest of the polite world had scorned her. She had not cried like this for anyone since her father’s death ten years ago.

      The next morning, she had told Pierson, the butler, about the General’s last instructions to her, and he had immediately set two of the maids to packing up her and Gabriela’s clothes and other necessities for the journey. He would not have ignored the General’s orders in any case, nor would any of the other servants, but Jessica could see in his eyes that he agreed with the General about the wisdom of removing Gabriela from Lord Vesey’s vicinity.

      Jessica had gone about her business, seeing to the funeral arrangements and notifying all who needed to be notified of the old man’s death, including Lord Vesey at the inn in the village—even though it was like a stab wound to her chest to think of that loathsome man’s probable pleasure at the news. She had penned letters to the General’s friends, telling them of his demise, and another to the Duke of Cleybourne explaining the situation, while the servants went about the necessary arrangements to the house—draping crepe above doors and turning mirrors to the wall, muffling the door-knockers. Every spare moment, Jessica had spent with Gabriela, trying to ease the pain of this new death and separation.

      The girl was white and hollow eyed but calm, not giving way to tears again until the last moments of the funeral. Jessica’s heart was heavy for her. Gabriela had had to suffer more sorrow than a fourteen-year-old should bear—losing both her parents when she was eight, and now losing the man who had been a grandfather to her, her only real remaining relative, for one could scarcely count Lord Vesey. Now all she had left were Jessica and the stranger who would be her guardian.

      Despite the girl’s sorrow, Jessica knew that she had to explain to her why they must leave as soon as possible. She did not, of course, explain Lord Vesey’s depravity to her, deeming it unsuitable for a young girl’s ears, as well as exceedingly frightening for her. However, as it turned out, she did not need to justify leaving. As soon as Gabriela learned that they were going away in order to avoid Lord Vesey, she was eager to leave.

      “I hate him,” she told Jessica vehemently. “I know it’s wrong. He is old and deserves respect…but he gives me the shivers. The way he looks at me…it’s as if a snake had crossed my path.”

      “I understand. It is an apt analogy,” Jessica agreed. “He is a wicked man. Your great-uncle thought so, too. You must never be alone with him. If he comes into a room, you leave.”

      “I will.”

      At the funeral, Leona wept in her lovely way. Jessica wondered why the woman bothered, since the General was dead. Did she hope to influence the attorney who would read the will? Or was she simply unable to pass up an opportunity to focus everyone’s eyes on herself?

      Jessica herself struggled not to cry, sitting beside Gabriela and holding her hand. She knew that she needed to be strong, for Gabriela’s sake, but she could not help remembering the many kindnesses that General Streathern had shown her, until finally she could not hold back the tears any longer, and she, too, had cried, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

      Afterward, in the formal drawing room of the General’s house, his attorney, Mr. Cumpston, read the General’s last will and testament to them. It came as no surprise to Jessica that the old man left his house and his entire fortune to Gabriela and nothing to the Veseys. It was what he had told her the other night. It did come as a shock, however, when she learned that General Streathern had left Jessica his favorite inlaid wood box, containing several of his mementos, as well as a sum of money. She stared at the attorney, amazed, oblivious to the venomous looks the Veseys shot at her. It was not a large sum, she knew, compared to Gabriela’s fortune. Leona, she felt sure, would consider it mere pin money. But it was enough, if invested wisely, to provide Jessica with a livelihood for the rest of her life. She would not have to scrimp and save, and she would never again be at the mercy of others. It was freedom from the painful, frequently humiliating existence into which her father’s scandal had plunged her, and it made her heart swell with gratitude and affection for the General.

      Lord and Lady Vesey, as she had expected, had protested the contents of the will long and vigorously.

      “I am his nephew!” Lord Vesey had cried. “There has to be a mistake. He would not have left money to his butler and valet and…and her—” he pointed contemptuously at Jessica “—and left nothing to a relative!”

      “It’s because of you!” Leona added, her eyes shooting into Jessica like daggers. “I think we all know why he left you money, don’t we? The sort of services you performed for the old—”

      “Lady Vesey!” Mr. Cumpston exclaimed, shocked. “How can you say such a thing about the General? Or Miss Maitland?”

      “Quite easily,” Leona retorted scornfully. “I am not a country innocent like you.”

      “I was friend to General Streathern for many years,” Mr. Cumpston replied. “I knew him well, and I know that there was no taint of scandal attached to him or Miss Maitland. He explained all his wishes to me.”

      “He was influenced by her!” Leona cried, her lovely face contorted into something far less fetching. “Her and that chit!” She waved her hand toward Gabriela. “They worked on him. Convinced him to exclude us.”

      “That’s right,” Lord Vesey agreed. “Undue influence, that’s what it was. He was an old man, and feeble. He probably didn’t know what he was doing. I shall take this to court.”

      “Very well, Lord Vesey,” the attorney said with a sigh. “Certainly you may do so. But I think you would simply be throwing away money on such a suit. The General was in full possession of his faculties until he was felled by apoplexy that day, and there are a large number of respected people in this community who will testify to that. The witnesses to the will were Sir Roland Winfrey and the Honorable Mr. Ashton Cranfield, who were visiting the General at the time. They, too, can testify as to the General’s ability to know what he was doing, and I think you will find few who would dispute the word of either of those gentlemen.”

      Lord Vesey sneered but fell silent. Jessica had no very great opinion of his intelligence, but she suspected that even Lord Vesey would realize he had little hope with two such respected men as witnesses against him. He and Leona left the house soon afterward, and Jessica sincerely hoped that was the last she and Gabriela would ever have to see of them.

      Mindful of her promise to the General, she and Gabriela had also left that afternoon, after packing up the last of their things, putting the lovely wooden box the General had given her into one of her trunks, then bidding the servants of the household a tearful farewell and promising to send them word from the home of Gabriela’s new guardian and trustee.

      They had traveled throughout the night, stopping only to change the horses at post houses along the way. She and Gabriela slept as best they could in the rumbling carriage, woken often by jolts and jars. Though the carriage was well-appointed and as comfortable as such conveyances could be, it was a hard drive, and it was a relief whenever they stopped at an inn to change horses and could get out a bit and stretch their legs, free from the constant motion of the coach.

      Now, having arrived at the duke’s stronghold the next evening, Jessica was swept by a new dismay. The castle did not look like a welcoming place.

      “Are