“It’s no trouble,” Owen said obstinately. “As for his lordship, it would be much quicker for him to go across the fields by way of Bellow’s farm. The moon is full—there would be no difficulty in doing so.”
“Possibly not,” Jack agreed pleasantly, “but I’m still far too new to the district to be confident of my ability to pick my way across unfamiliar fields, even by moonlight. No, I think I must stick to the roads. But I’m sure, if you really think it necessary, Mrs Mayfield would be glad of your escort also,” he finished diplomatically but untruthfully.
He could tell that Mrs Mayfield didn’t really welcome the idea of Owen’s presence—he didn’t himself—but he could also see from the set of the young man’s jaw that it would take a great deal to persuade him not to come. If Jack had been convinced of the necessity for doing so he might have made the attempt, but he had never been one to pursue an argument for argument’s sake and, judging by Charity’s expression, all she wanted was to get home as quickly as possible. He wondered what had caused her change of mood and hoped that he had not in any way been the cause of it.
In the end, despite Owen’s hostility and Mrs Mayfield’s lack of enthusiasm, the entire party set out together. As a compromise, it didn’t really please anyone, but at least it satisfied Charity’s increasingly obvious desire to go home.
The last farewells were said, the ladies were handed into the coach, the door was shut and the whole equipage rumbled off, with Owen and Lord Riversleigh riding alongside. Owen was stiff and very formal, Jack relaxed and faintly amused.
They didn’t have far to go, and it wasn’t long before the carriage passed through the main gates of Hazelhurst and began to trundle up the short driveway. Jack and Owen were riding a little way ahead, Owen determined at least to be the one to hand Charity down from the coach.
Jack glanced around appreciatively. The moonlight suited the beautiful old house, and he realised again what a wrench it would be for Charity to leave it. There had been Mayfields at Hazelhurst for so long. This house had been built by one of them nearly one hundred and thirty years before, and the family had been living in the same place for much longer than that.
So far that evening his thoughts had mainly been preoccupied with Charity, but now he decided that he would do everything in his power to save the home she loved. He knew it would mean an encounter with Lord Ashbourne, and he was aware of a flicker of anticipation at the prospect because, despite his somewhat misleading words to Charity, he and the Earl were old opponents.
At that point he was roused from his thoughts by the sudden realisation that, although the curtains were drawn, the library window was slightly ajar. Was that carelessness on the part of the servants, or… ?
The front door opened and two men ran out, their feet crunching on the gravel as they raced towards the shrubbery.
Instantly Jack touched his heels to the side of his horse and the bay sprang forward, riding down the men.
“Leydon!” Jack shouted over his shoulder, because for a moment Owen had been too startled to do anything. But almost before Jack had called Owen had urged his horse into a gallop, his huntsman’s instincts coming rapidly to the fore.
The man nearest Jack veered away, and Jack followed him. The other kept running straight to the shrubbery, with Owen hard on his heels.
The coachman hauled on the reins and the carriage juddered to a stop. The coachman had seen the men leave the house, and he didn’t know whether his ladies would be safer in the carriage or under their own roof. If there were still intruders inside the house they would be better outside. He reached for the blunderbuss he always carried but never before had had occasion to use.
“Martin, what is it?” Charity put her head out of the window.
“Stay in the carriage please, miss,” he said, his voice a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
Charity looked ahead. She was just in time to see Jack draw level with the running man. As he did so he sprang from the back of the speeding horse, and she felt a moment of sickening fear as both men went down.
Then Jack stood up, dragging his shaken captive to his feet and over to the carriage.
Charity realised she’d stopped breathing, and drew in a shaky breath. Then she remembered Owen—where was he?
“Charity! Charity!” Mrs Mayfield was tugging at her arm. “What’s happening? Charity!”
“I don’t know, Mama,” Charity said briefly. “But I don’t think it’s anything to get alarmed about.”
Jack searched his captive quickly, then he forced the man down on to his knees beside the carriage and ordered him to put his hands on his head.
“Watch him,” he said briefly to the coachman, and turned back to the house, taking a pistol from his greatcoat pocket as he did so.
“Stay here, Mama,” said Charity. Her earlier weariness forgotten, she opened the carriage door and jumped down on to the drive. Then she picked up her skirts and ran to Jack.”
“Go back to the carriage,” he said sharply. “I don’t think there’ll be anyone else in the house, but I can’t be sure.”
“It’s my house,” said Charity. “I won’t get in the way.”
She was slightly breathless, but quite calm, and very determined.
“Very well,” said Jack after only the briefest hesitation. “But keep behind me.”
He pushed open the front door and stepped into the house. The library door was open and a band of light fell across the floor of the otherwise darkened hall. There was a lantern on the library table, and several of the candles had been lit. It was only because the curtains had been drawn that the light hadn’t shown from outside.
There was nobody in the hall, and Jack strode forward to pick up the lantern. Charity followed him into the library, but she didn’t get much further than the door. She took one glance around and stopped dead, lifting her hands to her face.
The library was a shambles. All the desk drawers had been broken into and their contents upended on the floor, chairs had been overturned, and books pulled from the shelves.
“Oh, my God!” Charity whispered. “What were they looking for?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said briefly. “But this is clearly the room they were interested in. I’m sure there won’t be anybody else in the house.”
Nevertheless, he took the lantern and quickly checked the other rooms before returning to Charity.
She hadn’t moved; she was still standing where he had left her, staring with horror at the chaos all around her.
“Here.” Jack picked up one of the lighted candles and put it gently into Charity’s hand. “Go and light some of the candles in the parlour, and I’ll bring your mother in. She won’t want to see this.” Then he smiled at her reassuringly. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“No.” Charity roused herself and walked mechanically out of the library, closing the door gently behind her.
CHAPTER NINE
When Jack got outside he found the coachman still covering the captured burglar with his blunderbuss, and Mrs Mayfield on the verge of hysterics inside the carriage. She’d tried to ask the coachman what was happening, but he’d been so overcome with the responsibility for guarding his prisoner that he had growled at her to get back inside the carriage and keep quiet.
Consequently Jack found her cowering inside the coach, almost afraid to move.
She jumped convulsively, and gave a muffled scream as Jack’s head and shoulders, silhouetted by the moonlight, appeared at the window.
“Don’t be alarmed, ma’am, it’s only me,” he said, his deep voice instantly recognisable. “You can come into the house now.” He opened the coach door, let down the steps and helped her out.
“Is Charity all right?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied reassuringly. “The situation seemed more alarming than it was. You’re quite safe.”
He offered her the support of his arm and escorted her into the house. He’d deliberately gone to the d
oor on the opposite side of the carriage to where the prisoner still knelt, and Mrs Mayfield didn’t see him. Jack paused briefly at the door of the parlour, pleased to see that in the short time he’d been gone Charity had already made the room seem comfortably welcoming; then Mrs Mayfield saw her daughter and ran towards her.
Charity was feeling more normal. She had pulled herself together when Jack had gone out to get Mrs Mayfield and not only had she lit most of the candles, but she’d also kindled the fire in the hearth and sent Charles to fetch some brandy.
The servants had been told not to wait up for their mistresses’ return from the party, and until they’d heard all the commotion outside they had not realised they had had housebreakers.
Charles, who’d appeared with his breeches and his coat hastily pulled on over his nightshirt, was somewhat inclined to exclaim at the peculiar goings on. But Charity had cut him short and sent him away to find some brandy. She thought it might calm her mother’s nerves.
“Oh, Charity! What’s happening?” Mrs Mayfield cried, throwing out her arms to her daughter.
“Nothing dreadful, Mama,” Charity said reassuringly. For some reason which she didn’t full understand, she felt quite calm. There had been a moment when she had first seen the damage that had been done when she’d felt really distressed, but somehow the sight of Jack’s tall figure behind her mother seemed immensely comforting.
“Come and sit down by the fire,” she said soothingly to Mrs Mayfield. “Charles is going to bring you some brandy. There’s nothing to worry about, is there, my lord?” As she spoke she gently persuaded Mrs Mayfield to sit down, and held her mother’s cold hands reassuringly in hers.
“Nothing at all,” he replied calmly. “I’m afraid you’ve had intruders again, Mrs Mayfield. But I’ve checked thoroughly and there’s no one here now. You’re quite safe.”
“Oh, thank you.” Mrs Mayfield sighed with relief. As Jack had suspected, the fear of strangers in her house was of more immediate concern to her than the possibility that anything might have been stolen. “I’m sure if you say so it must be true, my lord. Thank goodness you were here. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”
“I think Miss Mayfield would probably have managed,” he said, a half-smile in his eyes as he looked down at Charity.
She was feeling torn between admiration and exasperation at the ease and speed with which he had allayed Mrs Mayfield’s fears. Two nights ago, when the intruders had first appeared, Charity had had to dedicate several hours to achieving the same effect.
“Charles is your manservant, I take it,” Jack said, without acknowledging that he’d seen or understood Charity’s look. “When he comes back, could you send him out to me, Miss Mayfield? Excuse me, ma’am.”
He went back outside and surveyed the moonlit scene before him. The coachman was still grimly guarding the prisoner, and Jack’s horse was standing with the reins hanging, near the edge of the shrubbery. Owen was nowhere to be seen.
Jack whistled quietly, and his horse pricked up his ears and began to walk sedately towards him, nuzzling him in the hope of a reward. Jack spoke quietly to him and picked up the reins, tying them to one of the thick stems of ivy that climbed the outside wall of the house. Then he went over to the carriage.
“Well done,” he said to the coachman. “You’ve done excellently. You can leave the prisoner to me now. Take the carriage round to the stables and then come back for my horse.”
“Yes, sir.” The coachman laid down his blunderbuss with relief and swelled with pride at Jack’s words. He hadn’t seen much of the new lord, but he’d already come to the conclusion that Jack’s praise was worth having. He immediately decided to give Jack’s horse the best possible care.
“All right, you can stand up now,” Jack said to his prisoner as the coach rumbled away. “But don’t try anything. I have a pistol, and if I have to I’ll use it. Do you understand?”
“Y-y-y-y-yes,” said the man, speaking for the first time, just as Charles arrived.
“Is that him, my lord?” Charles asked darkly, his hands doubled into fists. “Only let me show him what he gets for breaking into a ladies’ establishment.” He took a determined step towards the man as he spoke.
“Later, perhaps,” said Jack coolly. “I want to ask him some questions first. If he doesn’t answer to my satisfaction, I may well allow you to teach him better manners.” His words were intended for the prisoner’s benefit—not Charles’s. Fear might induce the man to speak more quickly, and more truthfully, than might otherwise have been the case.
There were sounds of movement coming from the shrubbery, and Jack turned towards them, his pistol once more in his hand, though he suspected it was nothing more alarming than Owen’s return.
His supposition proved quite correct. Owen emerged into the moonlight, minus his hat and muttering under his breath. He was leading a strange horse, but he’d lost his quarry and he wasn’t in a good mood. He looked down at Jack balefully.
“He got away,” he said, somewhat obviously. “They had horses tied up on the other side of the shrubbery. I followed him as far as I could, but I lost him behind the three-acre woods. It would have been a different story if I’d had my hounds with me.” He eyed Jack belligerently, as if blaming him for this omission.
“I’m sure it would,” said Jack mildly. “And at least you’ve brought the second horse back. Now we can be certain there were only two of them. Let Charles take the horses round to the stables and we can go into the house and question this fellow.” He indicated his prisoner.
Owen hesitated. He could find no real fault with the plan, but he never liked being told what to do at the best of times, and when it was Jack Riversleigh making the suggestion Owen was inclined to disagree on principle.
“What do we need to question him for?” he demanded. “We know what he was doing. We caught him in the act.”
“True, but there are one or two unusual circumstances that need explaining,” Jack replied. “Of course, if you’re not interested in being present when I question him…” He left the words hanging and, after a rather significant pause, Owen jumped down from his horse and handed the reins to Charles.
“My father should be present,” he said. “He’d know the best way of going about this.”
“I’m sure he would,” Jack agreed. “But it’s very late, and I don’t think there’s any need to trouble Sir Humphrey tonight. You can fetch him in the morning. In the meantime, I don’t think we’ll do any harm if we question the prisoner now. We’ll take him into the library.”
* * *
It was very cold in Charity’s bedroom and, by the time she’d undressed and put on her nightgown, she was shivering slightly. She slid quickly into bed and pulled the covers up under her chin, thinking about the events of the evening.
Jack had managed everything so smoothly that there had been very little disruption to the household, but Charity could hardly repress a shudder when she thought of what might have happened. It would have been bad enough to have come home to find they’d been burgled, but it would have been worse if they’d actually disturbed the housebreakers at their work!
Jack had questioned the man he had caught, but the prisoner seemed to be somewhat slow-witted, and that, combined with the fact that he had a very bad stammer, had made it very difficult to make sense of anything he said.
Owen had quickly come to the conclusion that the whole exercise was a waste of time, and had left Jack to get on with it alone while he went to see Charity. He’d intended to reassure her, but neither Charity nor Mrs Mayfield had seemed to need much reassurance, and Mrs Mayfield had completely exasperated him by her obvious confidence in Lord Riversleigh’s ability to manage the whole affair.
Owen’s temper was even more uncertain than usual because his failure to catch the second intruder had piqued his pride. He had seemed to feel the need to justify his failure, and he’d explained several times that he had been at a great disadvantage because he’
d had to chase his man through the shrubbery. Things would have been different if his quarry had stuck to the open drive, as Lord Riversleigh’s had done.
Charity had agreed mendaciously with everything Owen said, though inwardly she continued unshaken in the opinion that a few shrubs wouldn’t have made any difference to Jack’s chances of success.
But Owen had slowly talked himself into a better mood; and when Jack finally joined them in the parlour he had been able to greet him with a reasonable level of politeness, though certainly not warmly.
With Mrs Mayfield’s permission, Jack had suggested that they lock the burglar in the cellar for the rest of the night, with Charles to guard him, and in the morning Owen should fetch his father to arrange for the disposal of the man. In the meantime, though he didn’t anticipate there would be any further disturbances, he suggested that both he and Owen remain at Hazelhurst for the night.
Mrs Mayfield had greeted his suggestion with delighted relief and immediately asked Charity to organise rooms for their unexpected guests. Owen was less delighted by the notion that Jack would be staying under the same roof as Charity, but consoled himself with the thought that his own presence would surely prevent the notorious Lord Riversleigh from doing anything improper.
These knotty problems having been solved, it hadn’t been long before the entire household, with the exception of Charles, had retired for what was left of the night.
* * *
Charity smiled to herself in the dark. She was aware of a profound sense of relief that, for once, she wasn’t solely responsible for the well-being of everyone at Hazelhurst. The idea that there was someone she could rely on was an unusual but far from unwelcome sensation.
She turned over and prepared to go to sleep. Then she remembered the library. There were still books and papers strewn all over the floor, and tomorrow she had another meeting with Lord Ashbourne’s agent. She sighed. She could always offer the excuse that they’d been burgled, but for her own sake she wanted matters settled as quickly as possible.
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