Scarecrow of 1889
Chapter 13: Heiress of Reinhart

Chapter 13: Heiress of Reinhart

Jane’s eyes widened at the sight of her things scattered, and she quickly bent down to pick them up. She stooped to gather them, and almost immediately, Ricardo slid gracefully to her side to assist.

"It seems fate isn’t quite done with us today," he remarked with an amused smile.

Once her things were back in her trunk, Jane tried to close it, but with the handle broken, she tried to carry it, when Ricardo took it from her with ease.

"Allow me to do it. It would be a shame for you to carry it when I am here. Por favor," Ricardo moved the trunk away from her when she tried to reach for it. "Hm?" he caught her staring at him.

"Thank you for helping, Gracias," Jane expressed her gratitude, a bit embarrassed at the inconvenience. "I’m usually better prepared, Mr. Wood."

"I have no doubts about your preparedness, milady," Ricardo chuckled as they started towards the carriage station. Flashing a mischievous grin, he ventured, "Perhaps you might thank me with a cup of tea or coffee?"

Jane met his suggestion with reserved silence before conceding, "Okay," reflecting internally on the civility of the gesture.

"Do you always like to be self-reliant?" Ricardo probed gently, glancing at her with a mix of curiosity and concern. "You seem like someone who seldom depends on others."

Jane smiled at his words. She stated, "I come from a wealthy family, Mr. Wood. And since I was little, people around me have told me how women couldn’t do things a man could. It ended up me wanting to prove them wrong—that we are capable, even though not in everything. Like physical strength. Sticking to old patterns isn’t beneficial. One needs to break the mold."

"You are right," Ricardo replied with a nod while paying keen attention to her.

Catching a local coachman, they climbed in and left for the Reinhart residence. Upon arriving, Ricardo carried the trunk to the door, and Jane, who had walked ahead, rang the bell.

The door swung open, revealing the familiar face of the caretaker, Martha, who greeted Jane warmly. "Welcome back, Miss Jane. I was beginning to worry you’d find your way home at some ungodly hour."

Her gaze quickly shifted to Ricardo, and a spark of mischief lit up her eyes. "And who might this dashing young man be? A new colleague?"

"No, Martha, this is Ricardo Wood, a... friend," Jane replied, the word ’friend’ hanging curiously in the air, much to Ricardo’s delight.

Ricardo greeted her with a charming smile and a respectful bow. "Good evening, Martha. Where should I set this down?"

"Just over there will be fine," Jane directed, moving to assist him despite receiving a playful scowl. "Sorry, force of habit."

"And what do you do, Mr. Wood?" Martha inquired, sizing Ricardo up with a keen eye.

"I’m involved with one of the opera houses, doing research for the plays," Ricardo explained, which seemed to impress the old woman greatly.

"Oh, how splendid! Miss Jane, maybe you can marry this one," Martha exclaimed suddenly, much to Jane’s shock.

Jane’s eyes widened, and she quickly ushered her caretaker towards the kitchen. "Maybe fetch him something to drink?" she suggested in a hushed tone, then added more sternly, "Martha, we mustn’t say such things."

"But he’s got a fine job, he’s easy on the eyes, and he brought you home safely," Martha protested, her concern for Jane’s future evident. However, her argument was interrupted by a fit of coughing.

"Are you alright?" Jane asked, her worry evident.

"Just the troubles of old age," Martha assured her, after catching her breath. "Henry called the physician earlier today, and I’ve been prescribed these dreadful pills." She gave Jane a gentle push back towards Ricardo. "Don’t keep the gentleman waiting. I’ll be back shortly."

Ricardo lingered in the living room, his gaze drifting across the decor until it settled on a family portrait that captured a distinguished couple and their young daughter. The child in the picture had the same poised bearing as the woman he now knew.

Hearing Jane’s footsteps enter the room, he turned and remarked with a soft smile, "It’s a beautiful picture. Your parents must be proud, no?"

Jane joined him by the fireplace, as she stared at the image with a bittersweet smile. "My father would be, yes. My mother, on the other hand, it’s complicated. He passed away many years ago."

"Tu madre?" Ricardo inquired gently, noting the shift in her tone.

"My mother?" Jane’s smile strained as she shrugged. "I haven’t seen or heard from her since I was eleven. It was my father who raised me."

Catching the subtle cues of discomfort, Ricardo steered the conversation towards lighter waters. "Martha seems like a wonderful woman. I took quite a liking to her."

Jane’s expression brightened, her playful side resurfacing. "I’ll make sure to pass along your compliments, Mr. Wood," she teased.

Ricardo’s smile widened, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur. "You should agree to go out with me, hermosa, before she decides to steal me away."

Jane laughed, the sound light and carefree. "What a popular man you are," she replied, shaking her head in mock dismay at his flirtation. Taking the turn to question, she inquired, "What brought you to the station today?"

"There was a new set of lights that was sent from overseas for use in the Opera House. I finished delivering it and was waiting to return home," Ricardo replied to her before adding, "I don’t like to do it, but if I get to meet you today, I don’t mind delivering things every day."

"You are persistent, aren’t you, Mr. Wood?" Jane noted loudly. "I will think about it."

"Gracias, Senorita," Ricardo said, pleased with her answer as he smiled.

Jane lingered at the doorway, watching his carriage vanish into the distance. Once he was out of sight, she turned back inside and found herself drawn to the family portrait hanging in the hallway.

She studied her mother’s face in the photo, which had faded into little more than a hazy memory over the years. Her mother had abandoned her and her father for another life with a different man, never once glancing back at the family she left behind.

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