Ten Guineas on Love

by Claire Thornton

  “Why were you still sitting here after you’d tidied up?” she demanded, both sounding and looking far more like herself. “You said it was a puzzle. Is there something you haven’t told me—do you know what the burglars were looking for?”

  For a moment Jack looked at her, then he smiled faintly. He hadn’t intended to mention his suspicions tonight, but if she was actually asking…

  “I don’t know exactly,” he replied. “But I have a pretty good idea of what they think they were looking for.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “But what was it?” Charity asked.

  “Treasure,” said Jack simply.

  “Treasure!” she exclaimed. “In our library! You must be mistaken. There’s no treasure here!”

  “Possibly not,” replied Jack equably, “but the thieves certainly think there is.”

  “Good heavens!” said Charity blankly.

  “Don’t worry about it now,” Jack said. “I shouldn’t have said anything about it to you when you’re so tired. Go to bed; I’ll tell you in the morning.”

  “Certainly not,” said Charity indignantly, and now she sounded just like her old self. “It’s my library. I want to hear exactly what the man told you. Treasure at Hazelhurst! He must be mad! Or—are you sure you understood him properly? Owen said he was incomprehensible.”

  “He certainly wasn’t the most articulate man I’ve ever spoken to,” Jack agreed. “And he’d obviously had the fear of God—or the Devil—put into him by his master. But some things he said were plain enough. He didn’t know what the treasure was, and he didn’t know why they were searching here—but they were definitely looking for something in the library. Something they had to find before the end of February.”

  “Good God! They must be crazy!” Charity declared again. “There’s nothing here but books and ledgers. Perhaps they’ve got the wrong house. I mean…” She looked around at the dimly lit library, shadows from the firelight flickering on the walls and the bookshelves. “There’s nothing here,” she said again.

  “You may be right,” said Jack. “But I think it bears investigation. There are one or two things about what he said, and about what else has happened here recently, that…” He paused abruptly and held up a warning hand as Charity looked at him questioningly.

  In the silence she heard the creak of wooden floorboards outside and felt a sudden flare of alarm as she wondered wildly whether the prisoner had overcome Charles and was escaping—or was it the master thief returning for his apprentice?

  Then she remembered Jack was there and her fear subsided. She turned to him for guidance.

  Jack was looking at the door, one hand in his pocket, the other still holding his brandy glass.

  There was a moment of silence—then the door burst open and Owen plunged into the library, a poker upheld in his hand.

  He lowered it slowly as he saw them, and Charity watched the look of astonishment on his face change to one of outrage as he took in her presence.

  “Charity!” He goggled at her for a moment, then he looked at Jack, his expression redolent with suspicion.

  “Ah, Leydon,” said Jack smoothly. “I hope I didn’t wake you. I’m afraid I must have made more noise than I intended when I was putting the furniture back in its place. Miss Mayfield has already come down to investigate.”

  “Putting the furniture back?” Owen said disbelievingly.

  “I’m afraid I have an obsession with tidiness,” Jack explained, straight-faced. “The thought of a disorderly room can keep me awake all night.”

  “Really?” Owen looked at Jack as if he were mad, and Charity had to restrain a sudden urge to laugh, though at the same time she was on tenterhooks in case either man said anything to arouse the other’s suspicions—they both had good reason to suppose they occupied a privileged position in her affections.

  “Oh, yes,” said Jack, blandly enlarging upon his theme. “I’ve been known to drive servants mad with my insistence that everything has its place and that everything is kept in its place. But I assure you there’s no cause for alarm. It’s quite safe to return to bed; I’ll do my best not to disturb you again. Indeed, as soon as I’ve put these books back on their shelves, I shall feel able to retire myself.”

  “I see,” said Owen, for once almost lost for words, though he retained sufficient presence of mind to feel scornful of what he considered to be a very unmanly—almost housewifely—weakness.

  Jack’s lips twitched slightly, but he didn’t say anything, and Owen was so disconcerted that he started to turn away without continuing the conversation.

  Then he remembered that Charity was still in the library—and wearing only her nightdress!

  Owen’s conventional soul was horrified and he swung back to face Jack, new suspicion dawning in his eyes.

  “There’s no need for Charity to help you tidy up,” he said, so belligerently that Charity felt a flicker of alarm.

  “None at all,” Jack agreed calmly, taking the wind out of Owen’s sails.

  “Come, Charity, I’ll escort you back upstairs.” Owen held out a masterful hand, trying to regain the initiative.

  “For heaven’s sake! Owen!” Charity exclaimed, exasperation at his high-handedness overriding her anxiety that he might provoke a scene. “I’m quite capable of finding my way upstairs in my own house. Do go back to bed!”

  “I’m not leaving you downstairs alone,” said Owen magnificently, ignoring Jack.

  “But I’m not alone,” Charity pointed out. “Besides, there’s something I want to ask Lord Riversleigh. Do go to bed, Owen. I won’t stay up much longer, I assure you.”

  “I’ll wait,” said Owen stubbornly.

  Charity sighed in exasperation and glanced at Jack. His wooden expression was belied by the twinkle in his eye, but he clearly wasn’t going to give her any help. If she didn’t want to include Owen in a discussion about real or imaginary treasure she was going to have to submit gracefully.

  She frowned, and walked over to the door Owen was holding open for her. Just before she went through it she looked back at Jack, and he grinned at her. Indignation flared in her eyes and she turned her head away, walking upstairs with great dignity.

  Jack closed the door that Owen had neglected to shut and leant back against it. Then he looked around the library, though he was actually thinking about Charity. It still hadn’t occurred to him that she might actually have succeeded in getting herself betrothed to Owen when he so obviously infuriated her at every turn, and Jack was hoping that he would have an opportunity to talk to her again in the morning. But first he had other things to do and, after a moment or two, he pushed himself away from the door and headed towards the section of shelving where the first intruder had been standing when Charity had surprised him.

  * * *

  The sun was high in the sky when Charity woke the next morning. Despite her weariness the previous evening, sleep hadn’t come quickly and even when she had fallen asleep she’d been restless and uneasy. It had only been just before dawn that she had at last fallen into a profound and deep sleep, and for once she’d overslept badly.

  The pale winter sun was streaming in through the curtains, which despite the horrified protests of her mother and the maids, she never allowed to be closed. If she turned her head she could see the tops of the trees outlined against the sky. If she moved her head she could make the pictures through the window shift from one leaded glass pane to another. As a child it had been a game she had played with herself. Does the holly branch look better through this glass pane or that one? She turned her head experimentally. This one, she decided. A perfect picture in a perfect frame.

  What had happened last night? Now the sun was shining it was hard to believe that the interlude in the firelit library could be anything more than a dream. But Charity knew it wasn’t. Even now she could feel her body begin to glow anew with the remembered ecstasy of his touch. What had happened? What did he want from her—and what did she want from him?


  She thought of her coolly laid plans to marry first Edward, and then Owen. There had never been any question of love. She liked Edward and she was fond of Owen, but marriage to either would be a practical arrangement to meet practical needs—and she’d always thought that that was what she wanted. Now she knew that it wasn’t—and she didn’t know what to do.

  She felt reluctant to get up and go downstairs to face either Jack or Owen. She was still too uncertain of her feelings—or Jack’s—and today was the day Owen was going to ask Mrs Mayfield for permission to marry her!

  For one craven minute she thought about claiming she was unwell and staying in bed. But that would have been cowardly and Charity never turned her back on a challenge—even when she was hungry. It suddenly occurred to her that she was, in fact, extremely hungry. She got up and dressed quickly. Things always look better after breakfast, she thought, and for the first time wondered why she’d been left undisturbed for so long. Normally she was up before the maids to go to the dairy and plan the day ahead.

  She hurried downstairs and found her mother at breakfast.

  “Hello, dear, do you feel more rested now?” Mrs Mayfield asked placidly. “Lord Riversleigh thought you looked tired last night and suggested you be allowed to sleep in. I must say, I thought myself you were looking very weary. It must be the worry of all the arrangements—not to mention the excitement of having burglars.”

  “Burglars!” Charity’s first flush of embarrassment at the mention of Jack’s name was forgotten as she suddenly remembered what Jack had said about treasure. In the light of day the notion seemed even more fantastic than it had the previous night, yet she realised now that Jack had been quite serious when he had spoken about it.

  “Where is Lord Riversleigh?” she asked urgently, hardly noticing her mother’s unusual complacency.

  “He’s a very nice man, isn’t he?” said Mrs Mayfield. “So thoughtful, and very reliable in a crisis. I’m sure all the rumours about him are just spite.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Charity blushed uncomfortably. She didn’t want to think about all Jack’s good qualities now—it made her nervous. She preferred to concentrate on the probably apocryphal treasure.

  “Where is he?” she asked again, interrupting her mother.

  “I was saying to Lady Dalrymple only yesterday…” Mrs Mayfield broke off and looked at Charity in mild surprise, though inwardly she was delighted by her daughter’s impatience to seek out Jack.

  “He went to ask one of the stable-lads to take a message to Riversleigh,” she said.

  Charity turned and hurried out of the room, but at the doorway she checked and swung round to face her mother.

  “And where’s Owen?” she asked suspiciously, suddenly afraid that he might already have declared himself to her mother.

  “He’s already on his way to fetch Sir Humphrey.” Mrs Mayfield dipped another piece of toast into her tea.

  “Good.” Her mind relieved of one of its cares, Charity hurried off to find Jack.

  She came face to face with him, re-entering the house through a side-door, and stopped suddenly. For the first time she felt shy in his presence, and she didn’t know what to say.

  He was standing with his back to the light and for a moment she couldn’t see his expression. Then he turned slightly and smiled, and she felt quite breathless.

  “You said something about treasure last night,” she said somewhat incoherently, knowing she was blushing and hoping she didn’t look as foolish and unsure of herself as she felt.

  “So I did.” Jack closed the outer door and came towards her. For an instant he was standing beside her, looming over her, then he moved past her and opened the door of the back parlour—politely holding it for her.

  “If you have a moment, Miss Mayfield, I think there are a few things we ought to discuss before Sir Humphrey gets here.”

  Miss Mayfield? He’d called her Miss Mayfield. Last night he’d called her Charity. What did it mean?

  “Yes, of course,” she said sedately, and went into the parlour.

  “What did…?” she began as he was closing the door—and stopped mid-sentence as for the first time she realised that there was an aura of suppressed excitement about him.

  “You don’t mean you found something?” she demanded.

  Jack laughed. “How did you know?” he asked. “I meant to surprise you.”

  “You have!” said Charity emphatically. “Good heavens! What is it? Show me!”

  “Here.” Jack took a beautifully made box from his pocket and handed it to her, watching her expression as she opened it.

  There was a jewel inside, but a jewel unlike any she had ever seen before. It was an oval pendant of gold, set with diamonds and three blood-red rubies, and it looked as beautiful and perfect as the day it had been made.

  Almost without thinking, Charity went over to the window, and in the better light the precious stones seemed to take on new life.

  Jack reached past her and picked up the jewel. He opened it carefully and handed it back to her, taking the jewel case from her as he did so.

  She took the pendant in her hands, almost afraid to touch it, and saw that it was in fact a locket, containing the most exquisite miniature portrait she had ever seen. It was a picture of a lady, painted against a brilliant blue background and dressed in the style of the Elizabethans. Her glowing hair was drawn back from her face, there was a ruff around her neck, and roses on her breast.

  Charity gasped, because it was almost as if the lady were alive. She seemed to be looking straight into Charity’s eyes and she was smiling with a joyous happiness which was almost painful to behold.

  “I believe it’s by Nicholas Hilliard,” said Jack quietly; he’d been watching Charity’s expression. “He was a miniaturist during Elizabeth’s reign. He painted many pictures of the Queen, some of them placed in jewelled settings every bit as magnificent as this one, but he painted other people as well.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Charity murmured. “Hilliard? I’ve heard of him, of course, but I never guessed that this was what he could do. An engraving of a dead Queen in a book doesn’t prepare you for this glorious colour. It’s so beautiful”

  She couldn’t take her eyes away from the picture; she was entranced by its beauty and by the exquisite detail of a portrait barely more than two inches long. How could there be so much life in something so small?

  “He was a goldsmith,” said Jack quietly. “The definition of craftsmanship was wider in those days. He probably didn’t make that jewelled setting himself, but he could have done. A goldsmith, a jeweller, and a painter.”

  Something in Jack’s voice caught Charity’s attention and she looked up at him.

  “You’re a goldsmith too, aren’t you?” she said. “Not just a banker. Could you do this?”

  “I’m not a genius,” he replied.

  “But you’d like to?”

  “Would I?” he said musingly. He took the pendant from her and held it up. “Perhaps I would, but I have little time for such things now. And fashions change—this isn’t what I’d seek to make. He was a genius, but in many ways he was still painting in the medieval tradition. You can’t see it in these close portraits, but he had no idea of perspective!”

  “I haven’t either,” said Charity. “Edward explained it to me, and I understand the theory, but every time I try to put into practice it goes all wrong.”

  She sounded so aggrieved that Jack laughed, and that made her laugh.

  “You should make time,” she said more soberly, laying her hand on his arm. “We all have so little time to do what we really want. That’s what I used to think about Edward; I used to worry about him. I’m so glad that things have turned out for him as they have. I’d hate to think that…”

  “I’m not unhappy.” Jack looked down at her, and covered her hand with his. “I still spend time in the workshop, I still make things—one day I may even create a masterpiece.” He smiled self
-deprecatingly as he spoke. “But I have a responsibility to the partnership not to neglect our banking interests, and I enjoy that also. You should understand, after all, what I do is not so very different from what you’ve been trying to do here at Hazelhurst.”

  Charity looked at him searchingly. She was concerned about him, and because she wasn’t thinking about herself her self-consciousness had completely vanished.

  “Yes, I see,” she said at last. “But you’ll get busier, everyone always gets busier. You must be careful that one day all your time doesn’t get eaten up by your business.”

  “Some people might say that was a good thing.” Jack smiled. “You’ve never seen an example of my work!”

  “I don’t need to,” she replied, and for the first time she became aware of his hand on hers. She blushed and drew her hand away.

  “What are we going to do about that?” she asked, nodding towards the jewel, and trying to speak normally, though suddenly her heart was racing. “And now I come to think of it, where did you find it? And how did it get there?”

  “In the library.” Jack took the case out of his pocket and handed it to Charity. He too had been affected by their touch, but he had himself well in hand this morning.

  “I know that,” Charity replied exasperatedly as she opened the box and held it for him to replace the pendant.

  “Well, considering that you thought the whole idea was nonsense…” he said tantalisingly.

  “I was wrong, I admit it,” Charity said hastily. “Where did you find it?”

  “There was a concealed cavity in the wall behind the bookcases,” Jack explained. “Once I’d taken all the books off the shelves I discovered a mechanism for swinging the entire bookcase away from the wall. It’s on hinges, you see, but the design and the weight of the books usually disguise the fact. And, even when I’d done that, the hiding-place wasn’t obvious. But it’s easier to find something if you have a rough idea of what you’re looking for, so it didn’t take long.”