by Janet Woods
The young woman’s heartbreaking sobs followed Imogene into the hall, and guilt beset her. She’d been there to counsel her, not accuse. Celia Laws had already been through enough.
There was more than met the eyes about what was going on. A girl with Celia’s background should have jumped at the chance to marry someone like Charles, whether she loved him or not.
Whose side am I on? Imogene thought. Charles, who had always been a good judge of character, had asked her to help him, not crush the young woman, who seemed very low in spirit at the moment.
Placing the cloak on the hallstand she went back into the drawing room. ‘You do love Charles . . . I know it.’
‘With my heart and soul . . . That’s why I must let him go.’
‘Oh, my dear.’ Imogene took the girl in her arms and held her tight. ‘You will do no such thing. You’re too distressed to even think coherently, let alone make a decision that will make you both miserable. Come, we will throw the letter on the fire, and you will tell me all about it. What happened to you in that dreadful place?’
Did she really want to know what happened to Celia? If the girl had been forced into . . . well, if she’d been used, then she’d be duty bound to inform Charles.
A shuddering sob went through the girl as she imperceptibly drew away, in both body and mind. It was though she’d pulled an invisible door between them and stood behind it for the few seconds it took to compose herself. ‘I have no intention of discussing this any further with you, Mrs Harris. My decision is made. Please do not try to push me any further.’
‘Is it now,’ Imogene whispered as her carriage bore her away. Celia Laws knew very little about her son if she thought she could discard him so easily. To start with, she wouldn’t be able to avoid him socially, since they’d be connected through James Kent. Charles would not let Celia slip through his fingers.
Imogene smiled, having no doubt that if Charles wanted Celia, he’d get her. She discovered that she didn’t mind the thought of having Celia Laws for a daughter-in-law – she didn’t mind it at all. The girl was interesting, and there was nothing insipid about her.
On the other side of town, Charles was waking from his slumber. He had no choice. Someone was pounding on his head with a mallet.
He opened one eye and quickly closed it again. The sun was up.
‘Charles . . . Are you going to open this door or shall I fetch the porter with an axe.’
It was Bart’s voice . . . and the pounding came from Bart applying his fist to the door panel. ‘Let me in; the constables are after you for impersonating Venetian royalty.’
Charles opened one eye again, mumbled something uncomplimentary, then croaked, ‘There’s no such charge, is there?’
‘How would I know; you’re the lawyer.’
The lawyer grimaced, for he felt more like what remained of last Sunday’s dinner than a legal gentleman of note . . . or even one without note. ‘I’m coming.’
Bart carried in a tray of coffee, and poured them both a cup. A cursory glance came his way and Bart handed him the cup and saucer. ‘You look like death while its decomposing a body. Drink up.’
Charles shuddered at the image Bart had conjured up. He was still fully dressed, his evening suit crumpled, while in contrast Bart looked as though he’d just stepped out of a tailor’s establishment. ‘Why is it you sound so cheerful?’
‘Because I know I don’t feel as ghastly as you do. I stopped drinking when it became obvious you intended to drink us all into the ground. Someone had to look after you.’
‘Well, you don’t have to look so bloody smug about it. Where’s everyone else?’
‘Gone . . . There was a bit of a riot over at Bessie’s, I hear. She’s been arrested.’
Alarm jiggled painfully through him. ‘What for?’
‘Everything you can think of. The authorities have had enough of her, and she’ll be going to prison for a long time. We were lucky we got your poppet out in time before the raid took place, else she’d have been arrested along with Bessie’s girls. They’ve closed the house down.’
Thank God, Charles thought, though he knew it would soon reopen under another proprietor. At least Celia would no longer be in danger from Bessie and her crew. He nearly scalded his throat as he swallowed down his coffee and gave a surprised yelp. ‘Celia told me she didn’t want me.’
‘So that accounts for the attempt to drink yourself under the table.’ Bart shrugged. ‘Women change their minds all the time. Ignore her for a week, and she’ll come running.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘It stands to reason. I admire your taste though, and who can ignore a damsel in distress, who also happens to be an all-in-wrestler. I thought she was going to use that knife on Bessie; the way she sliced her bodice open would have put any surgeon to shame. Bessie’s breasts sprang out of the top like monkeys out of a barrel, and they blacked both her eyes. It was fascinating.’
Charles managed a short-lived grin, mainly because the movement of his mouth sent a pain soaring into his head. ‘Shut up, Bart, it’s too painful to laugh.’
‘And your lady-love has a nice turn of phrase when she’s pushed to it. Bessie will never get over being called a heap of flea bites.’
Charles chuckled. ‘I thought that to be a nice touch, myself. It’s a line from a play, but I can’t remember where I heard it.’
‘Finished that coffee? Right then, I’ll take you home to your mama, delightful creature that she is. You were blessed when mothers were allocated. Can you stand?’
‘Just about.’ The world spun around him and he groaned piteously. ‘I’ll never drink again . . . well, not to excess anyway. Have you seen my other shoe anywhere?’
‘If you open your other eye you’ll discover you have two legs, with a shoe on each foot,’ Bart said helpfully.
‘I thought they were already both open.’ He gazed blearily at his friend. ‘What’s the time?’
‘Noon.’
‘Already? Good God!’ he groaned, hoping he didn’t look as pathetic as he sounded and felt.
‘Do you have an appointment then?’
‘No . . . I was hoping it was bedtime, that’s all.’
Dear Charles,
My sincere thanks for the assistance rendered by you and your friends in securing my release from my abductor. I’m appreciative of the danger you were placed in, and sincerely apologize. It was rude of me to compare you to various fowls. At the time, I was pushed past the point of endurance and my temper was overheated. I should have controlled it, and I can only hope that you’ll forgive me for what would be to anyone else, unforgivable.
On the matter of our relationship, and your declaration. I will always regard you with great affection, Charles, but any relationship beyond friendship will not be encouraged. No doubt you have rethought your impulsive words and now regret them, so it will be as if you never spoke.
Sincerely,
Celia Laws.
‘Good God!’ he said for the third time that day, amused that Celia had mentioned the turkey she’d compared him to. He gazed at his mother. ‘Celia can’t really believe that I’m given to empty utterances.’
‘No, Charles, she doesn’t think that. After talking to her this morning, I have reached a conclusion that the young woman’s confidence is badly eroded. She’s had a great shock, and anyway, is very unsure of herself, I suspect. She’s coping with things in the best way she can. She was kept under the floorboards in the dark for several hours, and in a space hardly bigger than a grave. Can you imagine how that must have felt?’
Charles shuddered. He could imagine it only too well.
‘It would be a mistake to mention your feelings again until she has recovered, and is thinking straight. Give her a little time, and I believe she will come round. I formed the impression that she has something more on her mind than she’s willing to discuss. She does care for you, though.’
‘Did she say so?’
‘Yes . . . she did,
in many more ways than one. I do believe you’ve overwhelmed her. Allow her to recover . . . to get used to you. Women enjoy romantic gestures. Show yourself to advantage, buy her a posy of flowers.’
Charles’ mind sifted through the information and stored it tidily away with the similar advice. He would make a list. ‘You’ll have me under her window singing a serenade in the moonlight, next. Hmmm . . . yes, not too bad an idea. Celia likes music.’
Laughter trickled from his mother. ‘With your voice, music would be a misnomer, and might be a bit too much to expect. Be of support to her, nothing more. Be patient, Charles. When Celia begins to trust you, and she will, I’m sure she’ll confide in you.’
‘I never thought I’d need a lesson on courtship from my own mother.’
‘Your father was a romantic man, you know. Like you, he had a bit of the wolf in him.’
Such a comparison pleased him. ‘Did you love each other?’
A smile flirted around her mouth. ‘We did. It took me a long time to recover from his death. Sometimes you’re very much like him. I’m so very proud of you, you know, and so would he be.’
‘And Joshua?’
‘It’s a different kind of love, less hot-blooded, but more affectionate. He’s a good man.’
She reached out to touch his face. It was reassuring that his mother could still express love for her child, who was now a man, and how he could draw on it for comfort. He took her hand and kissed it, saying gruffly, ‘I’m glad you’re my mother.’
‘So am I. You look rather pitiful, you poor boy. Now, go and get yourself a wash and shave and tidy yourself up while I ask the cook to warm some chicken broth for you. I have guests coming this afternoon. You can stay and help me entertain them if you wish.’
His heartfelt groan clearly expressed what that wish was worth at the moment.
‘Don’t worry, dear. Stay long enough to be polite, and I’ll ask Joshua to find some urgent business to discuss with you.’
Twenty-Two
September
Poole smelled of fish and the harbour was in its usual bustle of swaying masts and swooping seagulls as the fishing boats were being relieved of their catches.
The journey from Hanbury Cross had been a delight. The air was redolent of nuts and apples, and the trees, crowned in their autumn glory, were a sight to behold. Those leaves that had already lost their hold on the branches drifted in the air or were crunched under foot. There was a soft mistiness to the day that was altogether pretty.
The market stalls had a riper aroma, of horse and cattle dung. Men and women shouted their wares and dogs and children ran between the bustle and thrust of people’s legs.
‘Are you looking forward to your visit to Italy with James,’ Celia asked her aunt.
Harriet’s smile emerged like the sun from behind a cloud. ‘I’ve been told it’s the most romantic place on earth for a honeymoon.’ Pink tinted her cheeks. ‘I’m so happy.’
Celia envied her that happiness. The wedding was to take place at the end of the week in the village church. There she would see Charles again, but she didn’t know how she’d be able to look him in the face. Now he had observed her in her true colours, he obviously despised her.
‘You won’t mind being alone at Chaffinch House for a month, will you?’
‘I won’t be alone. Lottie and Millie will be there for company.’
‘Shall I ask Charles to look in on you from time to time?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘He’s asked after you several times, Celia.’
‘Only because he thinks he’s supposed to. He would have sent me a note if he’d been that interested.’
‘It sounds as though you still care for him.’
‘It cannot be, Aunt. You know why, and so does the reverend. You are the only people I can trust with my secret.’
‘Why don’t you confide in Charles, and allow him to make up his own mind?’
‘Because I know what the result will be. Remember how shocked you were when I told you that my father had duped my mother into marriage, and of her need to earn enough money for food to keep us all alive.’
‘From what you tell me she was forced into it, and that must never become public knowledge. Not because I’m ashamed, but because I don’t want other people to think badly of her. The real Alice was the one who loved you enough to send you to me in your time of trouble, and who found it in her heart to give Charlotte a home.’
Harriet tied the donkey to the hitching post next to a handsome gelding. The two bared their teeth at each other and whuffled a greeting. Harriet slipped a coin to an enterprising lad to give Major a drink and keep an eye on him.
‘We shall go to the courthouse first. James will meet us there and take us to lunch.’
They slipped into the public gallery, where a gypsy was being tried for stealing apples from an orchard.
Charles was defending the gypsy. Dressed all in black he looked slightly intimidating, and wore a pale wig, curled at the sides and with a little pigtail tied at the back. Charles was in the process of saying: ‘So you were working for the fruit grower, Mr Reeves, and you asked the man if you could take some windfalls home for your family.’
‘Yes, sir. And when it came time to pay my wage, he deducted the price of the apples. It were little enough as it was, seeing as most of the apples were rotten from the core out, on account of the wasps had been at them. When I told Farmer Dent that I wanted my money in full, less my wife and child starve that week, he got into a temper and hit me with his riding crop. He said he wasn’t going to pay me at all, and would have me arrested and charged with stealing the apples. And here I am.’
‘Mr Dent, is this true?’ the magistrate asked.
‘No . . . He’s a bloody gypsy and they’re all liars. I didn’t say nothing like that.’
A man sitting next to Harriet jumped to his feet to state angrily, ‘You did so, Dent. I heard you with my own lugholes. You told him his wife and child could starve to death for all he cared. I don’t go much on gypsies, but he put in a good week picking apples, and with no shirking. I reckon he gave you more than his eight shillings, worth.’
Charles had turned towards the man’s voice, and his glance fell on her. His smile came to rob her of breath, and everything Celia had ever felt for him came rushing back to her like a spring tide.
The magistrate yawned. ‘I think I’ve heard enough of this case, Mr Curtis. I find the defendant not guilty, and the next time you’re in front of me, have your witness properly instructed in court protocol. Do you have anything to add on your client’s behalf?’ There was a short pause then louder. ‘Mr Curtis!’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘You’re not usually quite so dim-witted, Mr Curtis. Do you have anything to add? Compensation for your client, perhaps.’
Celia giggled.
Charles’ smile became a wry grin and he turned his attention back to the magistrate. ‘I request that my client be awarded his wages, plus an extra pound for the trouble he’s been put to.’
‘A pound!’ Dent shouted. ‘Not bloody likely.’
The magistrate would not be dictated to. ‘Let us make it eight shillings wages and twenty-two shillings compensation. That’s a total of thirty-shillings to the gypsy, I believe.’
‘That’s daylight robbery,’ shouted Mr Dent.
‘Mr Dent will also pay to Mr Curtis the sum of his account for representing the accused. Have you got anything else to say before I fine you for contempt of court, Mr Dent?’
Dent pressed his lips tightly together.
‘See to it, clerk.’ His gavel descended with a bang. ‘Court is adjourned.’
‘I was hoping you’d accept my invitation,’ Charles said, when they got outside.
‘Invitation?’ Celia admired a posy of purple verbena and yellow asters he’d given her. They were very pretty.
‘To help me make up my mind about a house I’m thinking of buying. Didn’t Harriet tell you?’
‘That’s the second time you’ve done that.’
‘Done what?’
‘Ticked that list.’
‘Ah . . . I suppose you’re curious as to what’s written on it.’
‘Not at all.’ He hailed a cab, and he helped her inside. She gazed out the window. ‘James and my aunt seem to have disappeared.’
He gave an address to the driver. ‘Never mind. You’ll be safe with me.’ He tucked the notebook and pencil back in his pocket and his smile captivated her.
This was going to happen again, she thought. Just when she thought she was over him, she’d fall in love all over again. They set off up a long hill. ‘Why didn’t you invite them?’
‘I think they wanted to be on their own. I imagine they’ll catch us up when they’re ready.’ He took her hand in his when they turned into the short carriageway of a comfortably large house, lined with elm trees and lilac bushes. It looked a little neglected, but had a spectacular view over the harbour.
‘This is the house you’re thinking of buying?’
‘I’ve been living in rooms for the past two years or more. Do you like it?’
The house was of regency design. The garden was overgrown and it had an air of waiting about it. ‘It has a great deal of charm.’
‘That’s what I thought. The furnishings are optional, since the present owner lives abroad, and has no intention of returning – which is ideal for me, since I only own a gentleman’s dressing chest and a desk.’
Inside, the furniture was shrouded. They wandered from room to room. Charles opened the French windows to the terrace, where the view over the harbour was exposed to their gaze.
‘It would be a wonderful home.’
Out came the book again, a tick was added. The book was put away with a flourish that she pretended not to notice.