‘It’s my belief he’s in the wood store,’ Mrs Penna shuddered. Then seeing Charity’s white face, and shaking hands, she added, ‘I’ll fetch you some warm milk, my dear. A little bit of brandy in it will put an end to your shivers.’
In truth, the milk and brandy had helped, but when another forty-five minutes had passed, Charity could stand it no longer. ‘Freddy needs to do his business,’ she declared. ‘I’ll fetch my cloak.’
Crossing the entrance hall to the stairs, Charity stared anxiously at the closed door of the small sitting room. If George Barnet had been speaking the truth, what possible reason could Jago’s father have had to deliberately wreck a ship?’ Shaking her head, she hurried upstairs to her bedchamber and shrugged on Genevieve’s cloak.
Five minutes later, she breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped outside into the cold invigorating air. Unclipping Freddy’s lead, Charity gave the foxhound the opportunity to stretch his legs and free her hands to take advantage of the cloak’s wonderfully deep fur-lined pockets. Drawing the hood over her head, Charity tucked her hands down as far as they would go, hunching down into the soft fur around the neck.
Abruptly, her fingers touched the edge of something wedged deep inside the folds of the pocket. It felt like some kind of parchment. Pinching it between her forefinger and thumb, she finally managed to draw out a small square of folded paper. Frowning, she pulled her other hand free of its pocket and moving towards the candlelight flickering in the drawing room window, she started to open it.
∞∞∞
Despite his anger, Jago regarded his father’s waxy features with concern. They were seated in Genevieve’s sitting room. Therewas no fire in the grate, and the room felt cold and stale. But despite the temperature, Morgan Carlyon was sweating profusely.
Swearing softly, Jago got to his feet and poured three large brandies. ‘Do you wish me to leave?’ Richard asked Jago, accepting the glass.
Jago shook his head as he handed another glass to his father. ‘We are beyond that now,’ he sighed sitting back down. ‘There will be no more secrets, and I will need you as a witness.’
The Master of Tredennick seemed hardly aware of the conversation as he swallowed the brandy in one gulp and held the empty glass in shaking hands.
Leaning wearily back against his chair, Jago took a sip of his own brandy, staring over the rim at his father’s white face. ‘Why?’ he asked simply at length.
For a second, he thought his father wasn’t going to answer, then raising haunted eyes, he muttered, ‘Johnson knew.’
‘You meanEndeavour’scaptain?’ Jago queried, struggling to contain his impatience. ‘What did he know?’
‘He knew I was financing the Helford free traders.’
‘You were what?’ Jago bit out, the horror in his voice unfeigned.
‘I thought the mine was finished,’ his father shouted, showing more animation than he had since entering the room. ‘Others are failing, all over Cornwall. Why should Wheal Tredennick be any different? I did it for you.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ Jago shot back savagely, jumping to his feet and pointing an unsteady finger towards his father who blanchedand leaned back. ‘Don’t youdareuse me as an excuse, you self-centred bastard.’ His voice turned icy as he added, ‘You always hated the mine. You couldn’t wait to hand the reigns over to me. You had no bloody idea whether it was making a profit or not.’
Richard stood up, inserting himself between the two men and placed a calming hand on his friend’s heaving shoulder. ‘You need to hear him out, Jago,’ he advised softly.
Tossing back the rest of his brandy, Jago threw himself back in his seat, relishing the burn of the fiery liquid as it slid down his throat.
‘I didn’t know he was bringing Genevieve home,’ his father whispered brokenly.
‘Who did it? Who did you pay to murder over fifty innocent people?’
Morgan shook his head. ‘Stefan took care of it.’
‘Stefen Petrock?’ Jago shook his head. ‘What the devil did he have to do with it?’
‘I was paying him,’ his father answered, his voice becoming stronger. ‘He knew the score. Knew that it wouldn’t be me who paid the price of discovery.’
‘What happened to him?’ Jago asked, feeling suddenly sick.
The Master of Tredennick abruptly started laughing. ‘He’s in a trunk in my room,’ he finally managed to gasp, tears of mirth streaming down his face. ‘The one with my chamber pot on it.’
Jago grimaced in horror at the knowledge his father had been sharing his bedchamber with a corpse for nearly two years. Helooked over at Richard whose face clearly revealed the same shock.
Jago had no idea what to say. He simply watched as the tears of mirth streaming down his father’s face became tears of anguish, and he finally realised that something inside the Master of Tredennick had been irreparably broken.
∞∞∞
Despite the light from the window, Charity was unable to see clearly what was on the parchment. Frowning, she held it up closer and finally managed to distinguish the signature. It was Stefan Petrock.
