‘She’s down there alright,’ Augustus Shackleford replied with far more conviction than he was feeling. But they’d come this far. ‘Come on, Percy lad, get a deuced backbone. I promise I won’t let you go…’
Chapter Eleven
Reasoning it would take her father some time to find his curate and speak with the Custom’s officer, Charity took time over her toilette. She’d only brought two day dresses with her, and neither was particularly flattering. Still, there was nothing she could do about that, and anyway she would be unlikely to remove her pelisse when they met Mr Cardell…
Her musings came to a screeching halt.
This was the first time in her nearly nineteen years that she’d actually cared what a gentleman thought of her. What was it about Mr Cardell that made him different to all the other gentlemen she’d met?
She frowned, seating herself at the small dressing table. To be fair, she hadn’t exactly met an overabundance of gentlemen. In fact, the only ones she’d had any dealings with at all had been her sisters’ husbands. She was not given to lively chatter like Chastity, and up until recently, any large gathering had been an excuse to kick up a lark.
She picked up a brush and drew it through her hair thoughtfully, trying to examine her feelings for Jago Cardell. What did she know about him really? Oh he was handsome as sin with his honey-coloured eyes and wheat-ripened hair. He’d told them that his home was in Cornwall and that his sister had been cruelly murdered nearly three years earlier. But that was it.
Thinking back, she realised just how careful he’d been when divulging information about himself. But then, she and her father had been just as reticent. Revealing nothing about their connection to the Duke of Blackmore or indeed exactly where they called home, aside from it being in Devon.
How on earth could any kind of a relationship develop between them when they couldn’t even admit to each other where they lived? And did she actuallywantsomething more with the enigmatic Cornishman?
Three short days ago she could not have dreamed she’d be having thoughts such as these. She’d been resigned to simply helping her sister make a good marriage. Her heart had never beat faster in a man’s presence, and she’d never even contemplated the thought of man’s lips against hers … and more.
Behind her Freddy gave a loud snore, breaking her reverie. With a sigh, she abandoned her daydreaming. Whatever her feelings for Jago Cardell, now was not the time to act upon them. She knew he found her attractive, but she was worldly enough to realise that that on its own meant very little to a man. She must put her fantasising aside and concentrate on the task at hand.
She looked down at her watch chain. Goodness, she had only half an hour before their meeting in the coffee house. She sincerely hoped her father had succeeded in speaking with theCustoms officer and that Mary Noon had merely been released rather than kidnapped as they’d feared.
Swiftly pinning her hair up, she donned her pelisse, threw on her cloak and finally tugged on her boots. In less than ten minutes, she and Freddy were out of the inn’s front door and making their way along the Quay towards the Fisherman’s Rest. Turning the corner, she spied a small butcher’s shop on the opposite side of the street. Mayhap Freddy would enjoy a nice, tasty bone for his dinner this night instead of scraps from their table, and she still had plenty of time before the coming rendezvous. Lifting her skirts, she hastened towards the other side of the street and joined the small queue waiting to be served.
As she moved up the line, she quickly tied Freddy up outside before entering the shadowy interior of the shop, wrinkling her nose at the coppery smell. Her attention on the large cuts of meat hanging on the walls, she wasn’t immediately aware it was her turn. With a quick apologetic glance at the people still behind her, she turned towards the butcher, intending to ask if they had any leftover mutton bones, but the words died in her throat when she looked up. Straight into the eyes of the elusive Jack.
∞∞∞
‘You won’t let me go will you, Sir?’ Percy implored in a heated whisper as he sat down on the edge of the opening.
‘Stop being so deuced lily livered,’ Reverend Shackleford retorted. ‘Have I ever dropped you before?’
‘Yes,’ Percy came back bluntly.
The Reverend opened his mouth to deny such a monstruous accusation, but abruptly remembering theone or twooccasions when hemayhave been less than solicitous of his curate’s person, he shut it again.
‘If we’re going to rescue Mary,oneof us has to go down there,’ he reasoned instead. ‘And you know I’d be the one risking life and limb if I could, Percy. I mean, how often do the villagers at Blackmore declaredaringmy middle name.’
‘I thought it was Edward,’ Percy answered with a frown.
Reverend Shackleford stared nonplussed at his curate for a full second before shaking his head and muttering, ‘Sometimes, Percy Noon, I think you’ve got nothing but deuced fresh air between your ears.’
Then with a long-suffering sigh, he got down onto his hands and knees and instructed Percy to turn round until they were facing each other. ‘Right then,’ the Reverend went on. ‘I’ll hold onto your hands while you … well … you know … while you just …’
‘Just what?’ Percy blurted. Sensing the small man was about to bolt, the Reverend grabbed hold of his trembling hands and gave an encouraging push.
With a strangled squeak, Percy obligingly slid backwards until only his upper torso was above the lip of the hole.
Panic stricken, the curate let go of one of the Reverend’s hands and made a grab for the large man’s shoulder. Unfortunately, his questing hand entirely missed its intended mark and instead planted his superior a prime facer that had the Reverend seeing stars. With a muffled grunt, Augustus Shackleford toppled forward with Percy clinging on to his head like a limpet.
Then, slowly but surely both men slid into the hole.
∞∞∞
It was him. Charity was entirely certain. Her heart hammered against her chest, and she fought the urge to turn tail and run. He stood silently, waiting to hear what she wanted and for a few seconds she struggled to remember what she’d come in for. Fortunately, at that moment, a jovial voice yelled from outside the shop. ‘You got any sweetbreads in there, George? I ain’t standing ‘ere freezing me ballocks off if they’re all gone.’
Jack took his eyes of Charity and glanced towards the speaker. ‘All gone, Paddy,’ he answered. ‘Best try again tomorrow.’ His voice was so different from the sinister, threatening tone she’d heard him use in the inn, that for a second she thought she’d been mistaken, until his eyes returned to hers, watchful, guarded. ‘I haven’t got all day, miss,’ he commented mildly.
