Jago turned to look down at her, his expression impassive. Her heart lurched at his seeming indifference to their earlier closeness. ‘My father has a small office on the harbour with theuse of a horse and cart in case of emergencies,’ he answered. ‘It won’t be the most comfortable journey, but at least we should get to Tredennick in time for breakfast.’
He stepped back from the railing, running his fingers through his unkempt hair. ‘Please remain on board and stay out of sight until I return,’ he finished, his tone wearily resolute, allowing no room for argument.
As she watched him walk away, Charity berated herself for her foolishness. What had she expected? He had far more pressing concerns than her, and it was likely he hadn’t seen either his father or his home in two years. And she’d actually forgotten for a moment that they were fugitives. This was no May game they were playing. Indeed, their very lives could well be at stake.
Chapter Fifteen
Barely an hour after dropping anchor, Jago had acquired the horse and cart, and they were back on dry land. As she climbed up onto the cart, Charity glanced back at the small vessel that had brought them here. There was no sign of the fishermen, and she suspected they’d chosen to make themselves scarce in the event their arrival had been observed by less than friendly eyes.
Within half an hour, the sea had vanished behind the rolling hills, though Jago had informed them Tredennick was no more than a mile from the coast.
Despite her aching limbs, Charity was fascinated by the landscape. It was very similar to that of Devonshire, but there appeared far fewer dwellings. Jago seemed lighter with each passing mile, and once or twice he even laughed out loud in response to her father’s disgruntled comments. Even Percy smiled on occasion as he watched Freddy scout ahead, his excited nose either buried in a bush or high in the air, sniffing the wind.
As Jago promised, they finally arrived at his home around nine in the morning. As they rounded the last bend, Tredennicksuddenly appeared, its austere grey stone almost seeming part of the land on which it was built. Charity gasped at the size of it. Jago hadn’t warned them his home was the size of a small castle. ‘Tare an’ hounds,’ her father muttered, ‘I’m beginning to think there is much you haven’t told us, Mr Cardell.
Jago glanced over at the clergyman’s frowning face. ‘You’re right of course, Reverend Shackleford,’ he admitted. ‘Starting with the fact that my name is not Cardell. It’s Carlyon.’
Augustus Shackleford eyed him narrowly. ‘Anything else? Do you have a title perchance?’
Startled at the question, Jago started to shake his head before stopping with a chuckle. ‘Not unless you consider my father’s honorary title ofclosed-fisted tabby,’ he finished drily.
‘Do those who work for him call him that?’ Percy asked aghast.
‘That and worse,’ retorted Jago. ‘Not normally to his face though.’ He laughed at the curate’s look of horror. ‘My family own Wheal Tredennick,’ he explained. ‘Tin and copper have brought us considerable … well … this.’ He waved his hand toward the grey stone mansion. ‘But in recent years it’s also cost us significantly. As we dig deeper, it becomes increasingly hazardous to those doing the actual mining, and I’ve had many an argument with my father over his reluctance to spend the money necessary to provide extra safety precautions.’
He sighed before continuing. ‘My sister’s death caused a significant decline in my father’s health, and he’s been bedridden for most of my absence. From reports I’ve received, his deterioration has made him even more closed-fisted, and he’s certainly not lost the use of his tongue. It’s my hope that allthe safety practices I put in place before I left, will still be in place on my return.’
Though she remained silent, Charity listened with interest. While Jago had told her some details about his family, much of this was new to her.
‘Who’s been running the mine in your absence,’ the Reverend asked, ‘if your father is confined to his bed?’
‘My secret weapon,’ Jago grinned. ‘Richard Tregear, my father’s estate manager has been taking care of things. In truth, he handles my father much better than I do, and more importantly, we hold to the same moral standards.’ He paused, concentrating on directing the horse through the open gates before adding, ‘Though I suspect he will be happy to see me back. Even Richard’s patience is not unlimited.’
Five minutes later, they were finally climbing down from the horse and cart. Charity felt as though every part of her had been taken apart and put back together again. Her muscles screamed as she hobbled towards the steps leading to a terrace fronting the large main door. Her father and Percy didn’t seem to be fairing much better as they shuffled behind her. Only Freddy appeared still full of the joys of spring, running around, sniffing and cocking up his leg. Charity smiled, his exuberance helping to lessen her anxiety as she stared up at the austere façade in front of her.
The dull grey stone gave the house a sombre air, though she imagined the flower beds along the edge of the terrace would provide a splash of colour in the summer. She thought back to the riot of wildflowers that covered the vicarage garden and felt a sudden sense of homesickness so strong, it nearly brought her to her knees.
‘Are you well, Miss Shackleford?’ Jago’s comment brought her back to earth.
She blinked back the prickle of tears as she looked up into the concerned face of the Cornishman. ‘Merely tired, I think,’ she answered, truthfully.
At that moment, the front door opened, and all eyes were on the tall, thin man on the threshold. Evidently the butler.
‘Thunder an’ turf,’ the Reverend muttered in a whisper that could have been heard in Falmouth. ‘He looks like Death’s head on a mop stick.’
‘Father!’ Charity admonished, preparing to apologise. Fortunately, the newcomer showed no signs of having heard them.
Jago, however, chuckled at the Reverend’s assessment. ‘Bennett’s as deaf as a post, so nothing you say will offend him.’
‘He looks …ancient,’ Charity frowned, glancing up at Jago, then back at the skeletal figure, now tottering down the steps towards them.
‘He’s been here much longer than I have. He should have retired years ago, but simply refuses.’ Jago shrugged. ‘I suspect he’ll simply keel over while serving tea in the drawing room one day.’
‘You have a drawing room?’ Charity asked with mock awe.
‘We have two,’ Jago responded flippantly. ‘And a sitting room, a large dining room, a small dining room, a salon and a library.’ He paused, thinking for a second before adding, ‘Oh, and a ballroom.’
‘I should love to visit your library,’ responded Charity, still eying Bennett who didn’t appear to have got much closer. ‘Should we meet him halfway?’ she asked doubtfully. At this rate they would still be here at lunch time.
