‘Perhaps his father is too ill to consider us,’ Percy remarked. ‘Do you think Mr Carlyon might require our presence?’
The Reverend opened his mouth to disagree, then frowned, shutting it again. ‘Mayhap you’re right, Percy lad,’ he eventuallyreplied, ‘but I don’t see how we can simply knock on the old man’s bedchamber door to offer our services when we don’t even know if he’s about to cock up his toes.’
‘If you’re referring to giving him the last rites, of course you can’t,’ Charity snapped, her weariness getting the better of her. ‘And suggesting such a thing might well hasten the poor man’s demise.’ She shook her head. ‘Mr Carlyon and his father have not seen each other for two years. They undoubtedly have much to discuss.’
Despite her declaration, Charity could not help but feel a little concerned. The length of Jago’s absence did not bode well for their acceptance by his father. And they had nowhere else to go.
‘Well, if I sit here much longer, I’ll fall asleep at the deuced table,’ the Reverend reasoned. ‘So we might as well have a look round. If we happen to come across the master of the house looking as though he’s not long for this world, we can at least put in a good word.’
Ignoring Charity’s protest, he climbed to his feet. ‘Come along, Percy,’ he winked, ‘let’s do a little exploring.’
Muttering under her breath, Charity pushed back her chair. There was absolutely no way she could allow her father to simply wander around Tredennick without supervision. Goodness knew where he might end up. Gritting her teeth, she dragged the reluctant foxhound away from the fire and hurried after the two men, reaching the door, just as her father was pulling it open.
‘Empty,’ he whispered excitedly, stepping out into the corridor.
Charity rolled her eyes. ‘You have no need to whisper, Father,’ she declared, following him. ‘We are in this house by invitation.’
‘Which way shall we go?’ Percy murmured after they’d taken a few steps. Despite her assurance that they had every right to be there, Charity didn’t question the curate’s continued hushed tones. Truly, the silencewasa little unnerving.
‘Mayhap we could head for the garden,’ she suggested.
‘I’m certain it’s raining,’ her father argued. ‘It does so all the time in Cornwall.’
‘Well, it wasn’t when we got here, and you’ve never been to Cornwall before,’ frowned Charity. ‘So how would you know?’
‘My grandfather was Cornish,’ the Reverend defended. ‘And they say once a Cornishman…’ He gave an enthusiastic thump to his chest around the area he thought his heart was positioned, then winced.
Charity shook her head in exasperation. ‘Perhaps if we head back towards the entrance hall, we might find someone to help us,’ she suggested. The Reverend nodded and started back towards the faint light from the grand hallway, Percy at his heels.
Chapter Sixteen
Just as they were about to step out into the hall, the Reverend suddenly stopped and raised his hand. ‘What?’ muttered Charity, trying to peer around him.
‘Who do you suppose that is?’ her father responded, pointing to a tall, thin figure slowly descending the stairs.
‘Do you think it a ghost, Sir?’ Percy breathed.
‘Are you bacon-brained?’ the Reverend whispered back irritated. ‘Of course it’s not a deuced ghost.’
‘He looks like Jago,’ Charity observed as the man reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘Could it be his father?’
‘I thought Jago’s father was confined to his bed,’ Percy countered.
Reverend Shackleford narrowed his eyes. ‘So did I, lad. And I have to say if that fellowisthe Master of the House, he’s certainly looking sprightly for someone who’s about to meet his Maker.’
They watched as the man looked around furtively before disappearing through a door to the right of the staircase.
‘I understood he’d had an apoplexy when his daughter was killed which left him without the use of his legs.’ Charity whispered as they watched him shut the door.
Unsure quite what to do, the three of them remained in the corridor just back from the opening to the entrance hall. Ten minutes later, the door at the bottom of the stairs opened again, and after a slight hesitation, the man walked out, absently rubbing at his head.
‘Hehasgot a bit of a limp,’ Percy observed.
‘And in truth, I’ve seen better looking corpses,’ the Reverend added as the sunlight from the dome suddenly reflected directly onto the man’s pale features.
‘He certainly doesn’t look well,’ Charity agreed.
‘But why the deuce is he sneaking about his own house?’ the Reverend questioned.
