Pulling the threadbare covers up to his chin, Percy shivered in the damp cold of his lodging house and thought about his predicament. No matter which way he looked at it, his first duty was to save his mother’s immortal soul. Naturally, ensuring her release from the dingy cell she was currently residing in was a close second. And Percy had no idea how he was going to do either.
He wasn’t accustomed to dealing with such complex problems. At least not unaided. He thought back to the letter he’d left for the Reverend, already regretting his written avowal that this was something he had to do alone. What on earth had he been thinking?
Confessing to the Reverend that his mother was involved in smuggling was not at all the same as admitting it to the Duke of Blackmore. And anyway, it was more than likely his superior already knew, given the quality of the brandy they both enjoyed during most evenings. Percy squeezed his eyes shut, wondering if his mother’s arrest was the Lord’s way of punishing him for not speaking out. Ignoring his mother’s clandestine activities and the Reverend’s suspected involvement was every bit as bad as pardoning them.
But shockingly, at this moment, Percy didn’t care a jot whether Augustus Shackleford was complicit in Mary Noon’s illegaldealings, he just wished the Reverend was here to tell him what to do…
∞∞∞
It was midnight by the time their carriage drew up outside the Castle Inn. Of the three of them, Freddy was definitely the sprightliest. Whatever he’d eaten had certainly not kept the hound down for long. Both the Reverend and Charity on the other hand looked as though they’d been dug up, as Prudence would no doubt have observed.
Clutching Freddy’s lead tightly, Charity winced as she climbed down from the carriage. It felt as though every bone hurt. As she waited for her father to descend, her thoughts inevitably went back to the earlier search for their errant hound. And more specifically, Mr Jago Cardell.
She knew nothing about him except that he was tall. She hadn’t even been able to see him clearly in the darkness, so could only guess at his looks. Nevertheless, there had been something intriguing about him. Her face flamed again as she thought back to the compromising position they’d finished up in. What the deuce must he have thought of her? Especially her wholly inappropriate laughter. In truth, her mirth had been more than a little hysterical, though she wasn’t usually given to such histrionics.
Determinedly, she put the matter aside. She was very unlikely to see the man again, and for now, she needed to focus on helping her father rescue Mary Noon. Guilty the woman may be, but she was also Percy’s mother, and the whole Shackleford family owedthe curate more than any of them could ever repay - even if much of their gratitude was for Percy’s oft futile attempts to keep their father out of mischief.
After the carriage and horses had been led away by the stable hands, Charity and the Reverend were fortunate enough to be given their own small but pleasantly furnished rooms. On entering the chamber, Charity wearily unfastened her cloak, while a maid bustled about, stoking up the fire in the hearth and placing a warming pan into the bed.
As soon as the maid left, Charity undressed and climbed gratefully into bed. Within minutes she was sound asleep.
Chapter Five
‘You reckon on leavin’ ‘er to rot then, Jack? I mean wot if she squeals?’
‘Mary knows better than that. If she so much as opens her mouth, she’ll end up in one of those barrels.’ The leader of the Hope Cove gang of smugglers, simply known as Jack, nodded towards the casks of brandy being dragged to the surface. Twenty in all, they’d been brought in over a week earlier and lashed together with weights to hide them from the revenue men. Once hauled off the beach, the contraband would be taken half a mile inland and hidden underneath the cellar of the Kings Arms.
Glancing back, Jack could just make out the twelve broad-shouldered tubmen on the edge of the beach, each with a pair of wooden half-ankers at his feet, ready and waiting to carry the spirits to their initial destination.
‘So what did our friend Cardell have to say?’ Jack continued, his eyes carefully scanning the cliffs surrounding the secluded cove they were in.
‘Reckons ‘e knows summat, but wants in afore he spills ‘is guts. Says he’ll only speak to you.’
Jack looked over at the wiry man next to him. ‘Tell Flynn to deal with it. I want to know what Cardell knows. He gives it first, then we’ll talk. If he refuses, tell Flynn to beat it out of him, then slit his bloody throat and send him to the locker.’
∞∞∞
Despite her exhaustion, Charity woke up early the next morning, her first thoughts of her twin. By now, she and Grace would have arrived in Torquay. Charity envied them the time they would get to spend with Faith but understood Grace’s reasoning for not taking them both to Redstone House.
Leaving the Reverend to his own devices was simply not an option, and though it had been Chastity who’d needed removing from Blackmore, sending her to assist their father would be akin to throwing the tinder box into the fire. Even when Grace had believed him simply attending a deathbed.
Sighing, Charity pushed aside the coverlet, shivering at the chill. Wondering at the time, she went to the window and peeped through the drapes. Dawn was still an hour or more away, far too early for the maid to remake the fire. Pressing her nose against the glass, Charity peered down to the courtyard below. Flickering candles casting fanciful shadows around the yard gave evidence that despite the early hour, not everyone was still abed.
Wrapping herself in a blanket, Charity carefully made her way towards the fireplace, the slight glow of last night’s embers heronly light. Crouching down in front of the hearth, she picked up the poker and stirred at the embers in the grate. Fortunately, there was still enough heat, and after a few moments, she carefully added more coal from the basket before sitting back on her heels to wait for it to catch.
As the fire began to light up the room, Charity glanced about and observing the outline of two candlesticks positioned by the bed, she climbed to her feet. Picking one up, she took it back to the fire and carefully holding out the end of the candle to the small flame, she managed to light the wick. Had Grace been present, she would no doubt have rung a fine peal over her head for taking such a risk.
Placing the candlestick onto the small bedside table, Charity picked up her book and was preparing to climb back into bed when, all of a sudden, she heard footsteps. Frowning, she paused, remembering she and her father had the only two rooms at the top of the inn. Abruptly wondering if her father could be in trouble, she scooted backwards off the bed and ran towards the door. Pulling it ajar, she stuck her head out, just in time to see her father start down the narrow stairs. The light from the candle in his hand revealed him to be fully dressed, and though she could only see his back as he carefully descended, it was clear Freddy wasn’t with him. A feeling of dread shot through her. Where the deuce was he going? Clearly not to take Freddy out to do his business.
She quietly closed the door and stood still for a second. There was no way she could simply return to bed now. Hastily, she pulled on her dress and cloak and pushed her bare feet into her half boots. Without any stockings, they were hard to pull on and she wasted valuable seconds trying to shove her feet into the freezing cold leather. Finally, pulling open the door onto thelanding, she was frustrated to see it back to darkness. Any light shed by her father’s candle had completely disappeared, and she had no idea where he could have gone.
Resisting the urge to stamp her feet in vexation, she hesitated on the threshold. She would be foolhardy indeed to go wandering about the inn aimlessly. What was her father doing, and why hadn’t he taken Freddy? A sudden idea took hold, and before she had the chance to question whether she’d possibly taken leave of her senses, she quickly went to fetch the candlestick and stepped out onto the small landing, pulling her door shut behind her.
Seconds later, she pushed open the door to her father’s room where the foxhound looked up sleepily. ‘Good boy, Freddy,’ she whispered, stepping inside and holding her candle high to look for his lead. Once secured, she pulled the reluctant hound off the bed. The disgruntled look he gave her spoke volumes. Clearly, he thought her completely addled.
‘You may be right, boy,’ she muttered, looking for something of her father’s she could use. Finally, coming upon a reasonably clean handkerchief, she grimaced slightly, then held it to Freddy’s nose. ‘Find,’ she whispered. The foxhound yawned, then looked up at her. For a second, she thought he was going to ignore her instruction – it wouldn’t have been the first time - but after a few seconds, he sniffed at the square of linen again and trotted to the door.
Holding his lead tightly in one hand and the candlestick in the other, she followed Freddy down the stairs, taking care not to trip over her dress. On the landing below theirs, the foxhound stopped and lifted his head while she stared apprehensively into the shrouded darkness of a narrow corridor. After nearly half a minute when she thought her heart likely to burst through her chest, he put his head back down to the floor and continued tothe top of the next set of stairs which were fortunately much wider.
