“Yes, Mama.” Charity stood up, grateful for an opportunity to hide her face.
“And how is dear Lady Leydon?” Mrs Mayfield said, continuing to address herself to Owen. “To be sure, I only visited her yesterday. She seemed in very good health.”
“Yes,” said Owen baldly. Then he realised that Mrs Mayfield was looking at him and he stumbled into speech again. “That is to say, I believe she is very well. Lord Travers came to visit us yesterday, and I think she’s been looking forward to his arrival.”
“Of course; she told me he was coming,” Mrs Mayfield said. “I hope I shall have the opportunity of meeting him. But no doubt I shall on the fourteenth.”
“The fourteenth?” said Owen, looking as if he hadn’t got a clue what she was talking about.
“The day of your party,” Mrs Mayfield said reprovingly.
“Oh, the party; yes, of course.” Owen took a steadying gulp of his wine. “I’m looking forward to it. I hope…I hope you’ll be able to come, Charity.” He looked at her, his expression half appealing and half belligerent.
“Of course she’ll be there,” said Mrs Mayfield, then she sighed. “Oh, dear, I don’t suppose we’ll be going to many more parties.
“Of course we will, Mama,” Charity said bracingly, but the thought had depressed Mrs Mayfield and she suddenly fell silent. Unfortunately her silence daunted Owen almost as much as her earlier loquacity, and he suddenly jumped to his feet, declaring that he was expected at home.
“Let me fetch your coat,” said Charity, taking pity on his obvious desire to speak to her alone. Besides, she wanted the opportunity to further her own plans.
“Thank you,” he said. But once they were in the hall he picked up a candle from the small table and pulled her into the front parlour, which was otherwise unlit and unheated.
“Charity, I had to come,” he burst into speech. “I meant…I wanted to tell you I didn’t mean what I said this morning. I ought to have my tongue cut out! But when I get angry I can’t help myself. I hope you’ll forgive me.” He looked at her miserably, holding the candle at an angle.
“Owen! Of course I do!” Charity exclaimed, genuinely touched by his generosity. She took the candle away from him as she spoke and made a mental note that she must get Ellen to scrape the melted wax from the carpet tomorrow. “Besides, it was all my fault. I behaved abominably.”
“No, you didn’t,” he said, not necessarily because he believed it, but rather because he hated them to be at odds with one another, and Sir Humphrey had always told him to make allowances for the peculiar fancies of the weaker sex. “I said some terrible things in the heat of the moment…I’m sure your motives were excellent—but what on earth made you shut the gate? You must have known it would spoil the sport!” he finished, forgetting some of his good intentions.
Charity was just about to make a sharp retort when she remembered that not only the future of Hazelhurst but also the fate of her ten guineas were riding on the outcome of this interview. So, with a remarkable piece of self-discipline, she hung her head and confessed that she’d felt sorry for the fox.
“Sorry for the fox!” Owen exclaimed, looking at her as if she were mad. “How very singular. But you always did take some odd notions into your head. Well, I’m glad that’s settled. I’ll be off now. We’re taking the hounds out again tomorrow. Father was mortified that we couldn’t show Lord Travers better sport today.”
“Oh,” said Charity, “I see. The fox got away, then, did it?”
“Yes. Now, where’s my coat?” Owen followed Charity back into the hall.
“It’s here. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay any longer?” Charity smiled meltingly at him. Unfortunately Owen was too busy struggling into his greatcoat to notice.
“And next time you hear the hounds running, make sure you don’t interfere with them,” he said severely as he buttoned it up.
“Yes, Owen,” she said meekly. “Owen!” She had a sudden inspiration. “Won’t you come and see me tomorrow? I have so much to arrange before we move and I would really value your advice.”
“Oh, yes…yes, certainly,” he said, puffing up. “Yes, I’ll come tomorrow without fail.”
He would have to give up his sport, but the idea that his advice was invaluable flattered his pride, and he was really very good-natured. He didn’t like to think of Charity struggling alone with all the problems of moving house.
“I’m so glad,” she said gratefully. But as she closed the front door after him she was trying to think of which particular piece of unimportant business she could get Owen to help her with. She had a much higher opinion of his good will than she did of his good sense.
CHAPTER FOUR
Charity woke up suddenly at two o’clock in the morning and lay quietly in the darkness, wondering what had roused her. Her room was directly above the library and, as she lay listening, she thought she heard a noise in the room below.
She sighed. She’d had the windows opened that day to air the room and she supposed that Ellen had neglected to shut them. It wasn’t the first time that such a thing had happened, and once she had gone downstairs to find that the wind-blown curtains had knocked over one of Mrs Mayfield’s favourite vases.
She wondered whether it was worth getting up and then decided that it probably was. If she didn’t she was bound to find all her papers blown about by morning. She slid out of bed and put on her robe, not bothering to light a candle because she knew the way so well—and because it was always such a bothersome business to strike a spark from the steel and flint. She could probably be downstairs and back in bed again before she got the tinder to catch light.
She padded silently downstairs, feeling her way with one hand on the banister, and opened the library door. After the darkness of the hall the room seemed quite light because the curtains were drawn back and the moon was nearly full. She saw with some irritation that the window was indeed open, and went over to close it.
At that moment she heard a startled exclamation from the shadows and realised, unbelievably, that she wasn’t alone. There was a dark figure standing by the bookshelves.
“Who’s there?” she said sharply. “Charles, is that you?”
The next minute she was pushed violently aside. She fell heavily against the oak table, bruising her hip and sending a chair crashing to the floor. She pushed herself up, intending to grab the poker from the fireplace, and briefly saw a dark shape in the window, silhouetted against the moonlight. Then she was alone.
She sat down suddenly, annoyed to find that her legs felt weak with reaction. Her hip was aching and she rubbed it absently. The next minute the library door burst open and her heart leapt nervously—then she heard Charles’s voice demanding to know what was going on, and she sank back in relief.
“Miss Charity, is that you?” he asked, confused. “Is something the matter?”
“Not any more,” she said. “We had an intruder, but he’s gone now. Please close the window and then light some candles.”
“An intruder!” he exclaimed, without moving.
“Charles! The window!”
“I’m sorry, miss. I’ll close it at once.” Charles hurried across the room and drew it shut. “Did he hurt you, Miss Charity?” he asked anxiously.
“Not really. I think I frightened him as much as he frightened me,” Charity said; she was beginning to feel more like herself.
“Whatever did you want to go and tackle him on your own for?” Charles wondered.
“I didn’t know anyone was in here. I thought Ellen had forgotten to close the window,” Charity explained. “Could you light the candles, please?”
“I’ll fetch a tinder-box.” Charles turned round and cannoned straight into the housekeeper, who let out a small scream.
“Goodness! Is that you, Mrs Wendle?” Charity asked weakly. “I hope you weren’t disturbed by all the noise.”
Before the housekeeper could reply both women were electrified by a scream from the hall.
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“Good grief! What’s happened now?” Charity leapt up and hurried to the door.
“It’s Ellen, miss,” said Charles’s voice apologetically from the hall. “She’s fainted. I bumped into her in the darkness. I must have frightened her.”
“I see.” Charity took a deep breath. “Mrs Wendle, would you please go and tell Mama that everything is all right while I try and revive Ellen? And for heaven’s sake provide us with some light, Charles!”
“Yes, miss. But should I lay Ellen down on the floor?”
“No, no. Bring her in here and put her on the sofa.” Charity crossed to the parlour and held the door open for Charles to carry Ellen through.
“Now,” she said, “if you would just fetch some candles. And I think perhaps you’d better get dressed as well.” The footman was wearing nothing but his nightshirt.
“Oh, yes, miss, of course.” Charles blushed in the darkness and hurried away.
Charity let out her breath in a long sigh and turned her attention to Ellen.
* * *
It was not until long after dawn, when Mrs Mayfield was eating breakfast in the comforting presence of Mrs Wendle, that Charity finally had a moment’s respite. She sighed with relief and slipped quietly out of the house and into the garden, grateful for the chance to be alone. She couldn’t remember ever having had such a dreadful night. Her encounter with the intruder had been the least part of it.
Not only had Ellen had hysterics when she had recovered from her faint, but Mrs Mayfield too had become extremely nervous when she had discovered that they’d almost been burgled. She’d insisted that Charles check every room and by the time he had done this, and checked that every door and window was securely fastened, everyone had been far too jumpy to go back to bed.
Charity was exhausted. Charles was certainly willing, but the unexpected events of the night seemed to have fuddled his wits so much that she’d had to continually remind him of what to do next; and everyone else had been suffering from an extreme agitation of the nerves. It was only with the daylight that they’d all begun to feel somewhat reassured.
Charity leant against an old apple tree and closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her face. The wind was quite strong, but in the shelter of the garden it was remarkably warm and she wondered how much longer the fine weather would last.
“Miss Mayfield!”
She jumped visibly, putting her hand up to her throat as she felt a sickening jolt of surprise.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Lord Riversleigh was standing just behind her, his approach having been muffled by the short grass. He frowned, an expression of concern on his face as he saw the alarm in Charity’s startled eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“No. I just didn’t hear you coming,” Charity said.
She was both relieved and unexpectedly pleased to see who it was; yet she felt a slight, unfamiliar flutter, almost of nervousness, as she looked up at him. Then she remembered how their last meeting had begun and in an effort of liveliness she held out her hand politely.
“Good morning, my lord. Isn’t it mild for the time of year?”
“Very.” He took her hand and held it for a moment, looking down into her face. “What’s the matter?” he asked abruptly.
“Nothing really.” She drew her hand away and tried to laugh. “Were you coming to see us? I’m sure my mother would like to meet you.”
“Not exactly, although I would, of course, be delighted to meet Mrs Mayfield. In fact, I was riding past on my way to visit Jerry Burden when I saw you in the garden. So I thought I’d stop to let you know how assiduously I was following your advice.”
“What?” Charity stared at him blankly for a minute. “Oh! You mean in my letter to Edward.”
“Of course.” Jack looked at her searchingly. He could see the signs of weariness and past alarm in her face, and he felt a sudden surge of admiration for her. She was facing the difficult situation in which she found herself with such good-humoured courage that it was easy to underestimate how badly she must be hurt by the imminent loss of her home.
“Miss Mayfield, are you sure you’re quite yourself?” he asked. “Is there anything I can do?”
“You mean, you’ve been talking to me for a whole five minutes and I haven’t said anything outrageous yet,” Charity said, pulling herself together and smiling ruefully.
“I would have said, rather, that you seem a little subdued,” he replied. “Is it something to do with leaving Hazelhurst? Perhaps I can help. I’m not unacquainted with matters of business.”
“No. Thank you. But it’s very kind of you to offer,” Charity replied gratefully, but without offering to explain her uncharacteristic behaviour. Despite her occasionally disastrous outspokenness, she nevertheless possessed a good deal of reserve and she had always been reluctant to share her problems with others.
“I’m glad you’re going to see Jerry,” she said. “You certainly don’t waste any time, my lord.”
Jack smiled. “As I recall, you wanted the matter dealt with ‘as soon as possible’,” he said. “I’m simply complying with your wishes.”
“Oh, dear.” Charity blushed. “I’d never have written so if I’d known you weren’t Edward. Things used to slip his memory, you know.”
“I didn’t know, but I can well imagine they might,” Jack replied, “and also that you’d have had no hesitation in reminding him if they did! I’m glad you approve of my promptness. And now I must be on my way. I’m afraid I’ve already intruded upon you long enough. Please convey my compliments to Mrs Mayfield.” He stepped back and bowed with the careless grace which characterised all his movements.
Charity felt a flicker of disappointment. She enjoyed talking to Lord Riversleigh, and after the alarms of the previous night she found his presence remarkably reassuring. She didn’t want him to leave, and it occurred to her that it might, after all, be a relief to discuss what had happened with someone who could be relied upon to take her meaning without tedious explanations—and who would certainly not have the vapours.
“We had an intruder last night,” she said abruptly, without any form of preamble. “I heard a noise downstairs and thought Ellen must have left a window open, so I went down to close it and surprised a burglar. He escaped through the window. No harm was done.”
“Were you hurt?” Jack came back to her, a gleam of concern in his grey eyes which Charity found almost disconcerting. She wasn’t used to people being worried about her.
“No.” she looked away, annoyed to find she was blushing. “I think I frightened him more than he frightened me. But in his haste to get away he pushed me aside and I knocked over a chair,” which woke up the household. Poor Mama was very upset.”
“Very understandably so, I imagine,” Jack said. Without conscious thought he had taken Charity’s hand in his, and now he held it in a comforting clasp. “Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”
“No, indeed he didn’t,” she assured him.
He had braced his free hand against the branch over her head and he was standing so close to her that she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. He seemed very strong, and she was intensely aware of how much taller than her he was. The half-formed thought even flitted across her mind that it might be rather nice to be able to cast her problems on to somebody else’s broad shoulders. Most people were so used to the way she always dealt with every problem that arose that they tended to take it for granted that she could manage.
So she could, she reminded herself. Nevertheless, it was very pleasant to stand quietly beside him, and she was quite content for him to break the lengthening silence.
The early-morning sun was behind her head and, though she didn’t realise it, it lit up her hair until it almost seemed as if she wore a halo. She looked so gallant and vulnerable as she smiled up into his eyes that Jack felt a strong desire to take her into his arms, and he suddenly realised that he was becoming more involved than he had intended. His hold on her hand tigh
tened briefly—but only briefly. He knew that, despite her slightly misleading outspokenness, she had in many respects led a very cloistered life. It showed in so many ways, including the way in which she smiled up at him with such open trust—and it was not his practice to play games with innocent young women.
For an instant Charity had felt an unaccustomed fluttering breathlessness as she had gazed up at Jack. But then he released her hand, although he continued to lean against the apple tree, and she realised he was speaking to her. With an effort she tried to concentrate on what he was saying.
“Would you recognise the intruder again?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” she replied, with commendable composure. “I never saw his face. At first he was standing in the shadows, then he was silhouetted in the window. I never saw him properly at all. And he didn’t take anything—I checked this morning—so even if he was caught there wouldn’t be any way of identifying him. I don’t think there’s any point in pursuing him,” Charity concluded. “That’s what you were trying to find out, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Jack smiled faintly. “You have a remarkable trick of taking disaster in your stride,” he observed. “Has anything ever overset you for long, Miss Mayfield?”
“Once or twice,” Charity replied, unexpectedly serious; she was remembering her grief at the death of her father, a grief that time had still not entirely mended. Then her expression lightened and she reverted to her more characteristic manner.
“One must be practical about these things, after all,” she said, and took the opportunity to move slightly away from him.
“A very sensible attitude to take,” Jack agreed, turning so that he was still facing her.
“Now you’re laughing at me,” Charity said amiably, feeling more relaxed now that she had the open space of the garden, rather than the apple tree, behind her. “Never mind; would you like to come in and meet Mama?” she asked. “She’s very anxious to find out what…I mean, I’m sure she’d be delighted to make your acquaintance.”
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