Charity fought the urge to duck. Mayhap Mr Cardell would not recognise her in the daylight. Though as she stared at his swarthy countenance, she was suddenly convinced she would have recognised him anywhere. She knew the moment he identified her, and the expression on his face set her heart thudding. Surprise, coupled with something else. A wariness bordering on fear. Confused, Charity looked back down at her tea. She might have made a bit of a cake of herself last evening, but there was certainly no reason for him to look at her so. She kept her eyes down, expecting him to simply walk on, but instead, a small bell rang as the door was pushed open.
Seconds later, he was at their table. ‘Miss Shackleford, Reverend Shackleford, how pleasant to see you again,’ he murmured with a bend of his head. ‘I trust you’ve suffered no ill effects from our misadventure last night.’ He nodded towards the window and the disgraced foxhound, adding with a small grin, ‘I see Freddy has been up to more mischief.’
Surprised he’d remembered the dog’s name, Charity looked up, and her eyes widened. Looming over her, Jago Cardell was … well,enormous. How had she failed to notice this last night? He was at least six foot four with muscular forearms and hands the size of small dinner plates. She found herself remembering their mishap last night, and abruptly wondered how it would feel to be entirely enfolded in his large arms, immediately feeling flustered at the thought.
‘Mr Cardell,’ her father was saying jovially. ‘This is certainly a fortuitous meeting. Might I purchase you a hot beverage in thanks for your timely assistance last night?’
‘Unfortunately, my shift in the boatyard begins in ten minutes, and they do not take kindly to laggards.’ Jago excused himself with a rueful smile.
Charity continued to stare up at him curiously. His attire was that of a working man, but both his voice and manner were more reminiscent of a gentleman.
‘Mayhap you would care to join us this evening for a meal, Mr Cardell,’ she found herself saying, even as she wondered at her temerity. He looked directly at her for the first time, and she drew in her breath. His eyes were the colour of dark honey and fringed with long black lashes. He stared down at her for a second as if uncertain how to answer, then he gave a short bow.
‘I should be honoured, Miss Shackleford. My shift finishes at dusk.’
‘Excellent,’ Reverend Shackleford interjected. ‘We are staying in the Castle Inn, Mr Cardell. We will await you in the bar.’ He turned towards Percy who had remained uncomfortably silent during the exchange. ‘This is my curate, Mr Percy Noon. Hewill be joining us for dinner this evening.’ Percy gave a startled glance towards the Reverend.
‘Oh, I’m not entir…’
‘Is eight p.m. agreeable?’ Augustus Shackleford interjected before Percy had the chance to launch into a lengthy list of excuses.
Jago inclined his head towards the curate, then turned back to the Reverend. ‘I shall look forward to it.’ He gave a slow smile which did peculiar things to Charity’s insides.
‘They have an excellent menu I believe,’ she gushed.
She actuallygushed. Good grief she was turning into Chastity. Mortified, she looked down at her hands, helpless to stop her face reddening. A few minutes later, to her relief, he took his leave.
‘Do you think it a good idea to broadcast our presence here, Sir?’ Percy cautioned.
‘Mr Cardell may be able to further our cause,’ responded the Reverend, dismissing his curate’s concerns. ‘After all, it is likely he knows people that we do not.’ He swallowed the last of his tea.
‘Come then, it’s time we visited Mary to see how the land lies, if we wish to put this whole havey-cavey business to bed. After all, we don’t wish to be lingering in Dartmouth for any longer than necessary. Agnes will have my proverbials if I’m not returned by the time her salts run out.’
∞∞∞
Jago roundly cursed himself as he made his way towards the docks. What the devil had he been thinking to accept such an invitation? To blasted dinner of all things. Was he so desperate for the company of a pretty face that he’d risk everything? If anyone connected to the smuggling ring happened to spy him enjoying dinner with strangers, it would likely provoke their suspicions and almost certainly scupper any chance of him learning the identity of the elusive Jack, however remote that might seem at the moment. He would have to cancel.
His mind made up, he tried to put the matter aside as he made his way along the waterfront to the first of the merchant ships alongside. Unfortunately, Charity Shackleford’s face would not be so easily banished. He remembered the feel of her pressing against his baubles and ridiculously, he felt himself stir.
Bloody hell, he was acting like a green lad. At nine and twenty he should know better. True, it was nearly three years since he’d last lost himself in the softness of a woman’s body, but he could not afford to be distracted after so long. Obtaining justice for his sister was the only thing that mattered.
∞∞∞
The Dartmouth gaol was situated surprisingly close to the Castle Inn, on Hanover place. Indeed, Reverend Shackleford found it slightly alarming to realise he’d been sleeping not more thanfifty yards away from potential gallows birds. However, he drew some comfort from the fact that the gaol was actually only steps away from St. Saviour’s Church, and since the Almighty was well aware that they were on a mission of mercy, the Reverend was (almost) entirely certain that no harm would come to them from their close proximity to any varlets that might currently be languishing behind bars.
Fortunately, the onlyvarletlocked up at that particular moment in time turned out to be Percy’s mother. In truth, Dartmouth’s only gaol turned out to be a bit of an anti-climax.
Consisting of two vaulted rooms, the smell of which assaulted their noses a good few feet away, the sole guard - if the slovenly individual could be referred to as such - was sitting on the step outside eating a hunk of bread and cheese.
‘I wish to speak with your prisoner,’ Reverend Shackleford demanded in the doom-laden voice he usually reserved for his more reluctant parishioners.
‘Wot yer want ‘er for?’ was his shrugged response. ‘You thinkin’ to save her, revren?’ He laughed loudly, slapping his thigh. ‘Even if she escapes the mornin’ drop, there ain’t no way that bloody harridan’s gettin’ through the pearly gates.’
‘Blast and bugger yer eyes, Joseph Smith. If I’m ‘eadin’ downstairs, you’ll be right behind me, yer bloody old goat,’ came a loud female voice from inside, followed by an ear-splitting cackle.
The indelicate voice clearly belonged to his mother, if Percy’s pained expression was anything to go by.
‘Oh bloody stubble it, you bracket-faced old trollop,’ the guard grumbled, clearly losing interest in baiting his prisoner.
