‘I cannot believe you were so bacon-brained that you left your chamber in the middle of the night to wander the halls of a … a … public establishment,’ he fumed. ‘Not to mention nearly being put to bed with a mattock and tucked up with a deuced spade should the madman have spotted you. Just you wait until I inform Nicholas, my girl.’
‘I really don’t think you wish to go downthatparticular route, Father,’ Charity responded tartly.
To Jago’s surprise, she didn’t seem in the least cowed. He wondered who Nicholas was. ‘So you are certain he was not aware you were privy to his conversation with the innkeeper?’ he questioned, putting an end to their argument.
‘Definitely not.’ Charity shuddered. ‘As Father so succinctly put it, I truly do not think I would be sitting here now had he known I was there.’
‘So, the innkeeper of this establishment is involved,’ mused Jago. ‘It’s no surprise, in truth. He’s known to be a slippery character.’
‘He was certainly scared,’ Charity conceded. ‘Whatever hold this Jack has over him, he enforces it with fear.’
‘The man is ruthless,’ Jago agreed. ‘He cares about nothing but profit and does not balk at the use of the most extreme violence against any who cross him.’ He took a sip of his brandy. ‘That said, his almost legendary viciousness and the number of bodies washing up along this section of coast have brought him to the attention of the wider authorities, forcing the local Customs officers to get off their arses and do something about him.’
‘If you manage to find evidence against him, will you report it to the authorities?’ Charity asked evenly. ‘Or will you take matters into your own hands?’
Jago stared at her. In truth, he’d shied away from thinking about what he would actually do once he discovered the means to end the smuggler’s reign of terror. ‘It depends on the circumstances,’ he hedged.
‘Surely, there is no doubt he would swing if he was arrested,’ the Reverend declared.
Jago paused before answering. ‘The free traders have influential backers,’ he said carefully. ‘There would most definitely be opposition, and it’s a long road to the morning drop.’
‘And where does all this leave my mother?’ Percy interjected despairingly.
Jago stared over at the white-faced curate, his sympathy visibly apparent. ‘It’s clear Mary is a pawn in a much bigger game,’ he said at length. ‘Should she agree to testify against Jack, she is unlikely to reach the witness stand, a fact she’s well aware of. She also knows that should Jack fail to have her silenced, she still runs the risk of ending up on the scaffold alongside him.’ He finished the rest of his brandy.
‘It’s nearly midnight. My brain is no longer sharp enough for such a crucial discussion, and I need to sleep. I suggest we meet tomorrow morning at the Fisherman’s Rest and continue our conversation then.’
‘Nothing will happen to your mother overnight,’ he added when Percy looked about to argue. ‘It is not in Jack’s interest to rock the boat until absolutely necessary.’ He looked around the silent table. ‘We will come up with a workable plan to free her in the morning,’ he finished, his weariness becoming more apparent.
‘We are beyond grateful to you, Mr Cardell,’ Charity murmured, placing her napkin on the table. Jago shook his head as he moved to slide back her chair. ‘It is I who am indebted to you, Miss Shackleford,’ he reasoned with a smile. ‘For the first time in three years, I’m persuaded I might actually achieve a whole night’s sleep.’
∞∞∞
As he began the long walk back to his lodgings, Jago’s heart was the lightest it had been since his sister’s death. Despite his earlier avowal, his elation was such that he doubted he would get any sleep at all this night.
Tonight’s revelations meant he was much closer to putting an end to Jack’s murderous activities, and once the bastard received the justice he so richly deserved, Jago would be free at long last to return to Tredennick. He imagined the conversation he would have with his father. Mayhap the knowledge that Genevieve’s murderer had been made to pay for his crimes truly would bring the old man some comfort.
Surprisingly though, the thought of going home didn’t bring Jago the same familiar longing, and as he walked, his thoughts kept straying to Charity Shackleford.
He found himself imagining her walking the grounds of Tredennick, standing on the terrace on a beautiful spring day watching the sunlight sparkle on the sea in the distance. Truly, he believed there was no more beautiful place on earth. What would she think of it?
He shook his head to rid it of such fantasies. He knew nothing about her or her family. He knew they hailed from Devon, where the Reverend had a small parish, but almost nothing else.
And anyway, now was not the time for thinking about the future. The most pressing issue was to find the real man behind the guise. They’d have to comb every corner of Dartmouth in thehope Charity would recognise him again. It would be both time-consuming, tedious and above all, dangerous should Jack realise he’d been uncovered.
Sighing, Jago finally arrived at his lodging house. It was an hour past midnight, but though the cold was biting, he feared his room would not be much warmer. Never again would he take for granted the warming pan placed between his bedsheets at home.
Shivering, he searched his breeches for the key. Just as his fingers closed over the bunch hidden in his pocket, a faint noise caught his attention. It had sounded like a stone being dislodged. He paused, sliding his hand slowly out of his pocket, but didn’t look round. Seconds later he recognised the sound of a single footstep. Whoever it was, was going to great pains to hide their presence.
Jago tensed and made a pretext of rummaging around in his other pocket as though still looking for his key. Seconds later, he felt the smallest warmth at his back as someone stepped up directly behind him. Without a second thought, Jago spun round, instinctively stepping backwards. He vaguely registered that the man was large and shabbily dressed before all his attention focused on the knife in the ruffian’s hand. Then everything seemed to go at a snail’s pace. As the stranger lifted the knife, Jago drew back the fist still holding his bunch of keys and without hesitation, threw everything he had into a punch which met the stranger’s nose with a satisfying crack.
With a soft groan the man let go of the knife and went down, blood pouring down the front of his face. The keys had turned Jago’s fist into an iron club. Swiftly the Cornishman knelt down, his knee pressing down hard against the ruffian’s stomach. ‘If you think to rob me, you’ve chosen the wrong victim,’ he hissed.
The man tried to speak, but clearly his nose was broken. Dragging him upright, Jago recognised one of the fishermen from the docks, and with an abrupt sense of dread, realised the cull wasn’t here to steal from him.
‘Jack wants to know wot you know,’ the man finally managed. ‘An’ ‘e’s run out o’ patience.’ Unbelievably, the smuggler grinned, the blood showing dark against his teeth. ‘An’ ‘e ain’t goin’ to take kindly to you ruining me pretty face. You got ‘til sunset tomorrow afore you’re done.’
Jack had sent him. The leader of the Hope Cove gang had clearly decided he did want the mythical information Jago claimed to have, but unfortunately preferred to kill him rather than recruit him to get it.
