‘He told me I was pretty,’ faltered Chastity.
‘Is your head so easily turned, you would heed the words of any sweet-tongued numbskull?’ Charity flung back, unable to stifle her irritation at her sister’s foolishness.
The twins had been received in the morning room at Blackmore having sent the missive to their eldest sister the afternoon before. Grace had wasted no time in responding and the seal on her reply to their note made it clear that she was speaking as the Duchess. Her invitation to attend her at Blackmore the following morning was a command, not a request.
‘Bickering will get us nowhere,’ Grace sighed, picking up her dish of tea. ‘I think you’d better start at the beginning Chastity.’ She paused and narrowed her eyes, before warning, ‘It will serve no purpose to leave anything out. I cannot deal with what I do not know.’
Fifteen minutes later, Grace was white faced and Charity was glaring at her sister in unaccustomed anger.
‘You allowed him tokissyou? Are you completely bacon-brained?Obadiah Timson. Please tell me you’re aware the oily snake counts half the girls in the village his conquests?’
‘Heisvery handsome,’ Chastity defended. She creased her brow. ‘But in truth, the kiss was a little … disappointing. His lips were dry … and … well, a bit … crusted.’
Both listeners recoiled at the conjured picture. Indeed, Grace had to swallow hard as her earlier toast threatened to make a sudden reappearance.
‘I know I’ve been foolish,’ Chastity whispered as she registered the appalled expressions of her sisters. ‘You can rest assured I will tell Mr Timson I have no wish to see or speak with him again.’
‘You will do no such thing,’ snapped Grace, collecting herself. ‘You will neither see, nor speak with Mr Timsoneveragain.’ She raised her eyes to the heavens while thanking her lucky stars that on this occasion Nicholas wasn’t here. That said, deciding what to do with her idiot sister without his matter-of-fact counsel…
She gave a loud sigh. Obadiah Timson’s face might well be agreeable, but according to Jimmy, his personality was anything but, and Grace had no doubt such an obnoxious individual would endeavour to create trouble, especially in the Master of Blackmore’s absence. Naturally, they had to remove Chastity from the vicinity at the earliest opportunity. That in itself wasn’t a problem. Chastity could accompany her to Faith and Roan’s. An extra pair of hands would be most welcome.
The more pressing concern was whether to involve their father or not…
∞∞∞
‘Are you there Percy?’ The Reverend peered into the gloom of the church vestry. None of the candles were lit which was unusual in itself at three in the afternoon. Normally, Percy could be entirely relied upon to be exactly where he should be at any given time of the day. Reverend Shackleford frowned. However, it was blatantly obvious that his curate was not, on this occasion, exactly where he should be. Deuced inconsiderate man. Glancing down at Freddy, he had a sudden idea. If Percy was off gallivanting, then the foxhound’s legendary nose would almost certainly discover where in no time at all. Especially as Percy was one of his favourite humans.
Stepping into the vestry, Augustus Shackleford looked around for something small belonging to his curate. As his eyes became accustomed to the mid-afternoon shadows, he noticed a paper on the desk. Thinking it a first draft of Sunday’s sermon, the Reverend hurried over. Mayhap a quick read now would forestall too many lurid descriptions of the afterlife facing Blackmore’s residents if they continued on their wicked path. Trying to dilute Percy’s messages of doom and gloom was challenging as a rule, and even more so when the Reverend’s first read through was in the pulpit…
Hurrying over to the desk, the Reverend picked up the single sheet of paper. If it was the first draft of Sunday’s sermon, then Percy hadn’t got very far. His curate’s usual wont was at twelve pages at least, ofttimes more. Muttering, the Reverend searchedin his pockets for his eyeglasses. The dratted things were never where they were supposed to be. Finally locating them, he placed them on his nose and stared down at the paper in his hand. It was a letter.
Without any qualms, he read Percy’s scrawling handwriting. Slowly, a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Just when he believed his problems were over. He glanced upwards and sighed. Truly, he should have known better. If he’d learned anything during his time as a man of the cloth, it was that the Almighty had an unlikely sense of humour.
∞∞∞
‘What do you mean Percy’s gone?’ Grace’s incredulity could not have been greater had her father informed her that the curate had suddenly found himself a wife. ‘Where has he gone?’
Reverend Shackleford squirmed uncomfortably. ‘I believe he decided to visit his mother in Salcombe.’
‘He has a mother?’ Charity’s interjection showed exactly the same astonishment.
‘Well he wasn’t delivered by a stork,’ the Reverend muttered, exasperation overtaking his discomfort.
‘I believed him an orphan.’ Grace frowned. ‘I certainly had no idea he had family living so close. Why does he not pay her regular visits?’
‘Erm … I believe they err …, that is … I’m given to understand that Percy’s mother is not of the same persuasion.’
‘She’s a Roman Catholic?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Well, she either is or she isn’t,’ Grace snapped. ‘Which is it?’
Reverend Shackleford felt himself begin to sweat under his cassock. If there had been any way to keep his daughter in the dark, he would have done so. Unfortunately, their only horse, a bad-tempered stallion aptly named Lucifer, had been put out to pasture six months earlier so his only method of getting to Salcombe was by carriage. Specifically one belonging to the Duke of Blackmore.
‘Percy’s mother is not of a religious persuasion.’ The Reverend ensured his voice showed the sorrow appropriate to his distress at the likely direction Mrs Noon’s immortal soul would travel after she kicked the bucket.
‘Is she on her deathbed then?’ Charity questioned. ‘Has Percy gone to pray for her?’
