Joan Wolf Read Free Page A

Canning, Sir Edmund’s lawyer, drew it up,” he said. “He naturally wrote it in favor of the holder.”
    “Do you mean he can call it in any time he chooses?”
    “He must give you two months’ notice,” he replied, his mouth very dry. “Jessica, my dear, what has happened?”
    There was no flicker of expression on her face. What she thought, what she felt, she had long since learned to keep to herself. Ever since her mother had died ten years ago she had stood on her own feet. She was aware of the sympathy on the old man’s face but instinctively she shied away from it. She could not afford it. It would weaken her. So she said now in a calm, self-possessed voice, “Sir Henry wants to marry me. If I do not agree to his extremely distasteful proposal, he intimates that he will foreclose on my mortgage.”
    “He could not mean that, Jessica! Why, such behavior is, well, blackmail.”
    Jessica’s lips twisted contemptuously. “He meant it. It is just the sort of thing a man of his stamp would resort to.”
    Mr. Grassington nervously shuffled some papers on his desk. “I did not know that Sir Henry had ever been over to Winchcombe,” he said tentatively.
    “He has been coming regularly this past month,” she replied. “I thought he was interested in the horses. It now appears he was interested in the whole property.”
    “Or the property’s owner,” put in Mr. Grassington meaningfully.
    Jessica looked scornful. “Oh, he made me a ridiculous speech about how he had decided to marry me a year ago when first he met me at Melford Hall. It’s more likely that he decided then to acquire Winchcombe. It would set fewer people’s backs up if he did it by marrying me, but I am not going to oblige him.”
    “Is it so difficult for you to believe that a man might want you for yourself?” the old lawyer asked gently.
    Her dark brows rose.“He has gone about demonstrating that in rather an odd fashion.”
    “Yes. Sir Henry is a crude man, I fear. But, Jessica, I do not think his interest is Winchcombe.” He paused. “Do you possibly think you might consider marrying him?”
    “No.”
    “But to lose Winchcombe—and after you have worked so hard, my dear!” He looked in distress at her thin face—too thin, he thought. She was wearing herself out. The beautiful white and rose of her skin had turned a pale golden brown from the sun. He shook his head mournfully. “What else can you do?” he asked.
    “If I marry Sir Henry I lose Winchcombe anyway,” said Jessica. “A married woman has little say over her own property. No, as I told you once before, I have no intention of making the same mistake my mother did. I will manage by myself.”
    “But how?”
    “I will pay Sir Henry the mortgage money.”
    “I do not see how you can get it. If I had it I would give it to you, you must know that. But I do not have it.”
    She smiled at him. “You are very kind, Mr. Grassington, and I thank you.” She rose, and the smile died away, to be replaced by a look so intense it seemed to burn through him. “I will get that money if it kills me,” she said in a taut, determined voice. “No one is going to take Winchcombe away from me.”
    “Oh my dear,” he said helplessly.
    “No one,” she repeated fiercely, and her eyes looked almost silver in her suddenly pale face. She turned on her heel and left the room with swift grace.
    The old lawyer stared after her with worried eyes. When Jessica was angry she was capable of anything. And from the look on her face he knew that she was very angry indeed.
     

Chapter Three
     
    Give money me; take friendship whoso list!
    — BARNABY GOOGE
     
    Three days later Jessica set out for London, accompanied by Miss Burnley. She paid a visit to Clarges Street, where she arranged to borrow money at a depressingly high interest rate from Mr. King, a well-known moneylender. The money from Mr. King she would use to pay off Sir Henry Belton. Unfortunately, the only collateral she had to