The news held him rigid for a second, and the man immediately took advantage of his brief distraction. Thrusting his hips upwards, he bucked Jago off his stomach, scrambled to his feet and ran, droplets of blood trailing behind him.
Jago didn’t give chase. Instead he sat down on the cold ground and waited for his heart rate to settle back to something approaching normal. He’d been a bloody fool to think he could play someone as ruthless as the notorious smuggler.
He’d come to Jack’s attention alright, but not in the way he’d hoped. Jago had thought there was no urgency to their search. He’d been wrong.
Now he’d succeeded in sending the gang leader’s minion packing with a bloody nose, Jack would consider him even more of a problem, and Jago didn’t think the bastard would waste any time before sending others to do the job. The question was, would he wait until tomorrow’s sunset to do it?
∞∞∞
Reverend Shackleford quietly stuck his head into Charity’s bedchamber to collect Freddy just after dawn. As he clipped on the hound’s lead, he made sure to offer a murmured thanks to the Almighty that, on this occasion, his daughter remained sleeping. Undoubtedly, she’d have had something to say if she’d discovered where he was going next.
Next, he tiptoed down to Percy’s room where he was surprised to find the curate already dressed. ‘Tare an’ hounds you look as though you’re about to hand in your dinner pail,’ was his first comment as the small man opened the door.
When there was no response, the Reverend frowned. ‘Right then, Percy Noon, it’s about time you got a deuced backbone. Indulging in a fit of the blue devils won’t help anything at all, and we’ve got work to do.’
‘What kind of work?’ asked the curate, frowning.
‘Put on your cloak, and follow me lad. I’m not entirely sure whether our Mr Cardell might be cutting a bit of a wheedle, given that he spent most the evening making calf eyes at Charity.’
‘He seemed to know what he was talking about,’ Percy defended. ‘I actually thought him very amenable.’
‘I could tell that when you gave him the whole sorry story, chapter and verse,’ the Reverend retorted.
‘If I remember rightly, that was you, Sir. I simply told him my mother happened to be in gaol. And anyway, he had a very sad account of his own to share. One much worse than ours.’
‘That doesn’t mean he wasn’t shamming it. The story he gave us could have been a deuced Canterbury tale as far as we know.’
‘So how do you intend to find out if he was telling the truth?’
‘Last night he claimed to know Mary. I think we should pay an early morning visit to your mother and ask her if that’s true.’
‘I’m not sure my mother will want to speak with us,’ fretted Percy as he followed the Reverend towards the inn’s front door.
‘Well, Cardell reckons he can get her to safety, I’d have thought that was a good enough reason for her to tell us everything she knows about him. Especially if he’s pitching the gammon.’
‘You don’t know my mother,’ Percy grimaced, lifting his cassock out of the filth as they stepped out of the inn. ‘If a more contrary woman has ever lived, then I certainly haven’t met her.’
‘Since when have you become such an expert on women’s behaviour,’ the Reverend snorted.
As they crossed over into Hanover Place, Augustus Shackleford’s determined march faltered. Frowning, he looked around. Though early, he’d have expected a guard to be posted outside the gaol, but there looked to be no one. Continuing towards the front entrance at a slower pace, he finally noticed that the large door was ajar.
‘Thunder an’ turf,’ he muttered, picking up his pace again. Seconds later, they pushed open the door and entered the gaol. This time there were no candles, and the room was almost pitch black.
It was also empty.
Chapter Ten
Slowly, Charity became aware that the pounding she’d thought in her head was in actual fact someone knocking on the door. She sat up, wincing and holding her head as she did so. The two glasses of wine she’d indulged in last night were clearly taking their toll.
‘Charity, are you in there?’ Her father’s voice was even louder than usual. Without immediately answering, Charity looked round. The light shone through the gap in the curtains, enough to show her that her furry bed companion was missing. ‘Have you got Freddy?’ was her eventual response.
‘Who else would give the deuced cur houseroom,’ her father responded, irritation evident in his voice. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Well, clearly you already have once this morning,’ Charity answered clambering out of bed and putting on her robe.
‘Is that a yes?’ yelled the Reverend, just as she threw open the door.
‘Yes,’ she snapped into his startled face. ‘Seriously, Father,’ she continued, walking over to the window, ‘do you make a habit of entering many women’s bedchambers without so much as a by your leave? I’m persuaded if that is the case, my stepmother will almost certainly have something to say about it.’
