‘Did you sleep well?’ Charity asked, picking up her napkin and giving a smiling nod to the maid’s offer of freshly carved ham and boiled eggs.
‘Yes indeed, Miss Charity,’ the curate responded. ‘I must admit since coming here, I have felt a lightness of spirit previously missing in Dartmouth…’ he trailed off, and Charity guessed that the missing part of his sentence was concerning the presence of his mother. She felt sorry for Percy but couldn’t help wondering how such a timid, pious soul had issued from Mary Noon’s loins. Mayhap Percy was more like his father.
Tapping her egg with a spoon, she found herself unaccountably hungry, and for the next few minutes, she concentrated on her breakfast, keeping her thoughts determinedly away from Jago Carlyon by thinking about Percy’s family.
‘Was your father a fisherman?’ she asked at length.
Surprised, Percy looked up from his second helping of toast and nodded. ‘Lost at sea when I was a babe,’ he clarified.
‘What about brothers and sisters?’ she probed, never having thought to ask before. Truly, Percy had always been part of the furniture.
‘One sister,’ he answered. ‘She died before her fifth birthday. Ate some bad mussels.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘Mother was never the same after that. Something broke inside I think.’
Charity’s hand hovered between her plate and her mouth, her food forgotten as she listened. ‘Why did you become a clergyman?’ she asked when he didn’t say anything further.
Percy gave a sad smile. When Lizzie died, I knew there had to be a reason. And not just a reason she died, but a reason for her being here in the first place.’ He paused, giving his leftover toast to Freddy. ‘In the end, I found it in God,’ he finished with a shrug.
Charity stared at the small, skinny man with his familiar tufts of hair sticking out in all directions and wondered if she knew him at all. In truth, she’d never even tried to know him. Percy had simplyalwaysbeen there. She wondered if any of her sisters had ever questioned him about his family. Sudden guilt swamped her.
As if guessing the direction of her thoughts, Percy suddenly smiled. ‘Please don’t concern yourself, Miss Charity,’ he said, ‘I am very happy at Blackmore. The Reverend is like the father I never had, and all of you…’ He paused and actually chuckled. ‘Well, I could not have asked for a moreinterestingfamily.’
Charity gazed at the curate open mouthed. She’d learned more about him in ten minutes than she had in eighteen years. Including the fact that he actually had a sense of humour. She grinned back, her self-reproach, while not gone entirely, most certainly lessoned. She vowed that when all this was over, shewould do her best to ensure that Percy Noon’s standing in the vicarage was never again reduced to that of a proverbial door mat.
‘Would you like to pay a visit to the library?’ she asked impulsively, remembering Jago had mentioned the house contained one. ‘It’s likely my father and Mr Carlyon will not return before this afternoon.’ At the curate’s eager nod, she pushed back her chair and climbed to her feet, calling Freddy from his chosen spot under the table. The morning room was directly accessed from the main entrance hall, and clipping on the foxhound’s lead, Charity stepped into the huge space, looking round for someone to direct them to their destination. But while she could hear someone speaking, there was no one in sight.
Taking a step in the direction of the voices, she halted and looked over at the room on the opposite side of the hall. The one they’d seen Jago’s father disappear into – was it only yesterday? A sudden idea taking hold, she abruptly changed direction, beckoning Percy to follow her. Seconds later, they were outside the room in question. Charity glanced over at the curate who looked back at her in perfect understanding. They were simply looking for the library.
Before she had chance to question what she was doing, Charity grasped the doorknob and twisted. The door was not locked, and she was able to push it open quite easily. With a quick glance round, she grabbed Percy’s arm and together they entered the room, dragging Freddy behind them.
Carefully shutting the door, Charity gazed around what was a mirror of the morning room. Only this one had black drapes at the windows, and everything was covered in dustsheets. It had undoubtedly been used once upon a time as a sitting room. Thesun streaming through a gap in the closed curtains revealed it to be a pleasant room that would likely receive the sun throughout most of the day. There were two winged chairs facing the fireplace and to the right, a small desk. Behind the door, stood a narrow bookcase, though with its covering, they were unable to tell if it contained any books.
The room had clearly been someone’s favourite, though evidently not recently. Stepping forward, Charity fought the urge to peek under the dustsheets. Even without revealing the furniture underneath, it was evident that the room had been predominantly used by a woman. The wall coverings were a soft pink, and the pictures on the wall depicted flowering gardens, apart from the one over the fireplace. Standing underneath it, Charity stared up at the portrait of a young woman. Her features were delicate, but she had the same honey-coloured eyes as Jago. Was this Genevieve? She turned back to look at Percy.
‘Mayhap this was why Mr Carlyon came into the room,’ the curate mused. ‘To gaze upon the features of his daughter.’ He shook his head with a sigh. ‘Simple grief.’
Charity nodded, feeling suddenly uncomfortable at the thought of intruding upon someone’s private anguish. Then she thought back to the furtive way he’d entered and exited this room. The loathing in his gaze as he’d stared down at her. And why was he lying about the state of his health?Somethingwas amiss. She looked round the room again. ‘Do you think he could have been looking for something?’ she questioned. ‘I mean, why the secrecy? No one would think any the less of him for wishing to spend time in a room that was clearly a favourite of his daughter.’
‘What kind of something?’ Percy questioned doubtfully. Charity thought back to Morgan Carlyon’s hostile gaze. She hadn’tshared the incident with the curate, fearing he would think her imagining things. Her father too would doubtless think her dicked in the nob if she told him about it. And naturally she could not confide in Jago.
Feeling suddenly alone, she looked down at the foxhound who wagged his tail in response.Tonight. Tonight she would return to search this room, bringing Freddy with her. The foxhound might not be much help, but he’d at least provide some company. She narrowed her eyes in thought, wondering what time would be best, then suddenly her thoughts screeched to a halt. What the deuce was she thinking? How on earth could she look Jago in the eyes, knowing she was snooping around his house? Whatever his father was or wasn’t up to was entirely none of her business.
With a sigh, she declared that Percy was undoubtedly correct. ‘Grief can make a person act entirely out of character,’ she agreed, leading the way to the door before stopping and turning back. ‘I think perhaps it would be best if we did not tell anyone we’ve been in here,’ she suggested. ‘After all, we don’t wish to cause offense to the man who has put a roof over our head in our hour of need.’
To her relief, after giving it some thought, Percy gave an understanding nod. Charity just hoped nobody would have cause to ask him directly about it. The curate’s aversion to lying was legendary, at least in part she suspected because he wasn’t very good at it.
Carefully turning the doorknob, Charity eased the door open slightly and peeked round the crack for just long enough to establish that the hall was empty. Then giving a quick nod to Percy, she pulled it open the rest of the way and stepped out into the hall, Percy on her heels.
She had just managed to shut the door behind her when a sudden voice came from the morning room. ‘Are you looking for somewhere, Miss Shackleford?’
It was all Charity could do not to jump. She had no idea whether Mrs Penna had observed them exiting the small sitting room, but if she had, to deny it would simply arouse the housekeeper’s suspicions.
‘Oh, Mrs. Penna,’ she sighed, stepping forward. ‘Thank goodness, you’re here. Percy and I are looking for the library.’ She paused, then took a chance, waving vaguely back at the room they’d just left. ‘We mistakenly thought this might be it.’
‘That was Miss Genevieve’s room,’ Mrs. Penna confirmed, walking towards them, ‘but the Master doesn’t allow anyone to use it now.’
Charity made a sympathetic sound, stepping away from the door. ‘We thought so as soon as we saw all the dust sheets. What happened to Miss Carlyon was so very sad.’ She waited to see if the housekeeper would give any indication that she was aware of the reason for Jago’s two-year absence.
Mrs Penna’s response was a regretful sigh. ‘Aye,’ she agreed. ‘Things have never been the same since she went over that cliff.’ She shook her head, before saying briskly, ‘Right then, let me show you the whereabouts of the library.’
