After a quick glance at Percy, Charity smiled and hurried to follow the housekeeper, this time in the opposite direction to the dining room they’d eaten in last evening. The corridor was no less dark than the one they’d already negotiated, but fortunately, on this occasion, they didn’t have to walk far. Throwing open adoor, Mrs Penna stepped through. ‘Here we are,’ she declared with a grand sweep of her hand.
Charity looked around in awe. This library rivalled the one in Blackmore. For a few seconds, she forgot her suspicions as she twirled round in delight.
‘Miss Genevieve loved this library too,’ the housekeeper commented sadly. 'Her father didn’t approve, of course. Mr Carlyon is old school. He doesn’t hold with the idea of women improving their minds.’ She frowned, lost in memories of the past. ‘He should never have sent her away. Her behaviour might have been beyond the pale, but at least she’d still be alive.
With a sad shake of her head, she snapped back to the present and smiled. ‘Let me bring you both some tea.’
Chapter Eighteen
In the event, the Reverend and Jago Carlyon did not arrive back until late afternoon. This time their journey to and from Falmouth was done in a carriage, which according to her father, his arse was more than grateful for.
They were seated this time in the drawing room, their chairs clustered around a cheerful fire which did much to ward off the late afternoon chill. Mrs Penna had brought them tea and slices of a delightful lemon cake which was apparently the cook’s speciality.
Both men were in high spirits and confirmed that Philip Lander, Jago’s contact within the Falmouth Customs office, had immediately sent a missive to an officer he trusted in Dartmouth with instructions to keep a watchful eye on George Barnet and another on Joseph Smith. Lander had also sent word to Weymouth, the home port of theSwallow, a Revenue Cutter with a well-trained crew of fifty men who would be on standby to assist the local Customs boat. The infamous Jack’s days were numbered. It was only a matter of time. The aim was to catch him red-handed on his next run.
‘Knowing they’re well on the way to catching your sister’s murderer will undoubtedly lift your father’s spirits,’ Charity noted.
‘I’m unsure whether to say anything further to him until they’ve actually got Barnet behind bars,’ Jago answered with a sigh. ‘We’re still a long way from finally put an end to the whole business.’
Shaking his head, he climbed to his feet. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with Richard and will see you at dinner.’
As Charity watched him stride to the door, she thought how weary he looked. It was unsurprising really. He’d spent the better part of two years playing a dangerous charade while living hand to mouth, and since coming home, he’d simply resumed the running of Tredennick. She hoped they would have an opportunity to spend a little more time together. Things were coming to a head, and she was persuaded they would soon be returning home to Blackmore.His father at least will be happy when we’ve gone.
A few minutes later, Percy excused himself, citing the need for some fresh air. ‘Take Freddy with you, lad,’ the Reverend mumbled, settling himself more comfortably by the fire.
Charity looked down at the comatose foxhound and chuckled. ‘You’ll have more luck moving a boulder,’ she observed. ‘Don’t trouble yourself, Percy. I’ll take the lazy hound out before dinner.’
As the curate pulled the door to behind him, Charity found her thoughts returning to Morgan Carlyon. Suddenly restless, she leaned forward and helped herself to more tea.
‘So, come on then, out with it, girl.’ She looked over at her father in surprise. ‘You’ve been stewing over something since we returned from Falmouth,’ the Reverend continued, ‘and you’ve not sat still since Jago left.’
Charity opened her mouth to deny it, then slumped back into her seat with a sigh.
‘Has something happened?’ her father probed with a rare show of insight.
After a moment’s internal debate, she told her father what they’d found in the small sitting room and Mrs Penna’s subsequent revelations in the library. ‘There is something … off about the whole thing,’ she finished, ‘though I can’t put my finger on it. Why did Morgan Carlyon send his daughter away? I thought she was simply visiting friends.’
‘Well, it hardly matters why,’ the Reverend frowned. ‘He might regret his actions, but he didn’t kill the chit.’
‘Why is he hiding the fact that he can walk?’
‘Mayhap he likes the coddling,’ Reverend Shackleford mused. ‘After all, it’s an excuse to put the whole deuced problem in Jago’s lap.’
‘So why would he approve of Jago going away for so long?’ Charity countered. ‘And on such a dangerous mission?Knowingthere was a strong possibility he might lose his only son as well as his daughter.’
The Reverend frowned. ‘Vengeance is a powerful motivator,’ he replied at length.
Charity shook her head. ‘I may be chasing a bag of moonshine, Father, but I think there’s something wrong in this house.’
‘Jago will be aggrieved to hear you say that,’ the Reverend commented with a sly glance.
‘I think he believes it too,’ Charity retorted, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘He’s hardly spent any time within these four walls since he returned.’
‘I dare say he wants to reacquaint himself with his inheritance,’ her father argued.
Charity shook her head, irritated at his entirely uncharacteristic obtuseness. Her father was usually uncannily quick to sniff out a mystery, and entirely incapable of letting it lie. She eyed him surreptitiously. It had to be said, he did look fagged to death. Mayhap this whole business was taking more out of him that she’d thought. Charity felt a sudden lump in her throat. Her father might make a complete mull of most things, but she couldn’t even begin to imagine life without him.
∞∞∞
