The carriage was still lumbering along, jolting over each rut, getting slowly further and further away. The remaining guards were still standing in an untidy circle around Jack, waiting to be told what to do.
Before he said anything he whistled, and the bay gelding came back to him. He took up the reins thankfully, glad that he had devoted so much time to training the animal, and looked around at his companions.
“You,” he said, indicating the guard who had originally offered Charity his scarf, “do you know where the surgeon is to be found?”
“Yes, sir,” the man answered immediately.
“Good; take my horse and fetch him. Don’t delay, but don’t lame the horse either—it’ll take longer if you do.”
“Yes, sir.” The guard mounted the horse and set off down the road. Jack watched him critically for a moment. It wasn’t just that he was worried about his horse. He was genuinely concerned that an accident might delay the arrival of the doctor. But, if not a master horseman, at least the man appeared to be an adequate rider, and Jack turned his attention to other matters.
“How many men held you up?” he asked the two remaining guards.
“One, sir.”
“Who fired the shots?”
“The highwayman.” The guards looked bewildered.
“There were three shots,” said Jack. “The first was a warning shot?” He looked at the men interrogatively, and they nodded. “Who fired the second—Mr Leydon?”
“No, sir. The more talkative guard shook his head. “He tried to get to his pistol, but he never had a chance. That was the shot that hit him.”
“I see. So who fired the third shot?”
The two guards looked at each other. Until that moment they’d hardly been aware that there had been three shots. They’d been so shocked by the sight of Owen’s lifeless body that they’d been only dimly aware of what Charity had done.
“It must have been Miss Mayfield,” said the first guard disbelievingly at last. “There was a shot from beside the carriage, and when I looked up I saw that one of the highwaymen had been hit. It couldn’t have been anyone else; it must have been Miss Mayfield. But I don’t…”
“That’s all,” said Jack. “One last thing. Did the man give any sign that he wanted to rob the coach? Or was he only interested in rescuing the prisoner?”
“He never said anything about the coach,” said the guard definitely.
“Thank you. Go back to Leydon House now,” said Jack.
The two men nodded respectfully and set off across the fields, following the same route that Sir Humphrey had taken earlier. It was only the coach that had to stick to the rutted, winding road.
Jack looked thoughtfully after them for a moment, then he turned and set off after the coach. He was on foot now, but the coachman was forced to drive so slowly over the bad road that it wasn’t difficult for Jack to catch up.
* * *
Charity stood in the Leydons’ drawing-room, resting her head against the cool glass of the windowpane. She was alone. Mrs Mayfield was resting in the comforting presence of Tabitha and the Leydons’ housekeeper, and Lady Leydon was with Owen.
Mrs Mayfield had been inclined to be hysterical, but Lady Leydon had been remarkably self-possessed. She was one of those retiring women who could always rise to the occasion when there was genuine crisis—and she had the doctor’s assurance that her son was not fatally injured. Charity suspected, rather guiltily, that once Lady Leydon had recovered from her initial shock she had even been able to find some compensations in the situation. For the first time in years one of her children was dependent on her again, and Lady Leydon was feeling a renewed sense of purpose.
The door opened, and Charity turned to see Jack. She felt a sudden urge of relief at the sight of him, still so calm and assured after all the terrible things that had happened.
“How is Sir Humphrey?” she asked, not entirely able to conceal her anxiety.
“Much better.” Jack crossed to her side. “The doctor has convinced him that Owen will survive, and now he’s putting all his energies into raising a hue and cry against the attacker. By the time Sir Humphrey has finished I doubt if there’ll be a magistrate or a constable this side of London who doesn’t know what happened.”
Charity smiled uncertainly. “I can imagine,” she said. “And I dare say you encouraged him.”
“I did,” Jack admitted. “He’s doing something constructive—and it might flush out our man.”
“Perhaps,” said Charity. She was trying to be sensible and rational, but it was difficult. There had been no time for her to give way to her feelings earlier, but, now that her whole attention was not devoted to the task of keeping Owen alive, she felt weak and tearful.
“You saved his life,” said Jack quietly. “Sir Humphrey knows that—the doctor told him. He’s very grateful. You were very brave.”
“I was terrified,” Charity whispered, and the tears she had been holding back so doggedly ever since she had at last been relieved of the responsibility for Owen finally overcame her.
Her head was lowered and she didn’t see Jack come towards her; she only felt him take her in his arms. For a moment she tensed, then she relaxed and leant against him, feeling the gentle touch of his hand against her hair. She would have fallen without his support and Jack knew it, and his arms tightened about her.
He had loved her before, and now his love and respect for her had grown beyond all measure. It was only the inappropriateness of the moment which prevented him from speaking—or was it really the memory of the haunted, almost horrified expression he had seen in her eyes when she had pulled away from him the previous evening? Something had certainly upset her, and now, in the cold light of morning, he was increasingly afraid that it might have been his own unrestrained ardour which had appalled her. One thing was certain—he never wanted to see that look in her eyes again.
Charity had never felt so comfortable, or so safe, but after a moment she forced herself to step away and look up at Jack. His hands were still resting on her waist, he hadn’t let her go, though he was no longer holding her so closely, and she could only bring herself to meet his eyes very briefly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so foolish,” she murmured. She was confused and unsure of his intent, and in the back of her mind the illogical fear lingered that there might be some other woman. No immediate plans for marriage, he had said…
“Foolish is not the word I’d have used,” Jack replied, his voice deeper than ever. “If you don’t feel afraid—how can you be brave?”
Charity looked up at that, this time meeting his gaze steadily.
“I shot a man,” she said.
“I know.”
“I was so angry that I wanted to kill him, but now…” She broke away from Jack and went to stand by the window, staring out at the tree-studded lawn.
“My father taught me to shoot,” she said. “I wanted to learn, but when it came to it I hated killing things. Sometimes it’s necessary, but…” She sighed.
“Did you see him fall from his horse?” Jack asked.
“No.” Charity remembered how the man had fallen forward, but he’d still been riding.
“Then perhaps you didn’t kill him. Owen was shot and he’ll recover—but he would be dead if you hadn’t acted so quickly. What you did was difficult, but in the circumstances it was necessary.” Jack put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s always easy to say what should or shouldn’t be done—much harder to be the person who has to do it.” Jack turned her round to face him.
“No one else showed much presence of mind,” he said. “You should be proud of yourself—I am.”
“Proud of me?” There was a note of almost disbelief in Charity’s voice. She had been expecting…what? Horror? Shock at her unladylike behaviour? It was one thing to nurse the wounded, but quite another to fire upon their assailants. Mrs Mayfield still didn’t know what she had done, and Charity was dreading the moment when she found out.
“Of course,” he said.
Charity looked at him searchingly, still not quite sure that he meant it, but then she saw from his eyes that he did, and she felt a sudden, overwhelming happiness that he should have such a good opinion of her.
The moment lengthened and neither of them spoke. The urge to pull Charity back into his arms was very strong, but Jack resisted it. He was convinced he had upset her the previous evening, and she meant too much to him to risk distressing her again, particularly after all the other events of the morning. She was trying hard to hide it, but he knew she was still feeling shocked by what had happened.
“Come and sit down,” he said, guiding her to a chair.
“I am being foolish,” Charity said with a weak attempt at humour. “Whenever I think Mama’s upset I always make her sit down too.”
“Possibly,” said Jack doubtfully. “But in this instance I think it would be more honest if I admitted that I’m trying to make myself useful. You don’t have to sit down, of course—but I’ll feel better if you do. That way I can deceive myself into thinking I’ve done something constructive too.”
Charity blinked at him. He smiled back at her, the expression in his grey eyes kind and self-deprecating, and at last she felt the final vestiges of the horror caused by the events of the morning fade into oblivion.
“Thank you,” she said. “You came to the rescue again. I don’t think I have ever been so happy to see anyone in my life. I was feeling quite desperate!” She held out her hand impulsively as she spoke.
“You’d left me very little to do,” he replied, taking her hand. “But I’m glad if my presence expedited matters. Now,” he added more briskly, “we must decide what to do next.”
“The pendant!” Charity exclaimed. “Is it still in your pocket?”
“Yes, I’ve got it.” Jack sat down opposite her. “And I think our original scheme is still a good one. Your highwayman was interested in only rescuing his henchman; that could be because he’s a devoted master—or it could be because he was afraid he’d talk. Either way it seems to indicate that he doesn’t know we’ve found what he’s looking for. If he did know he might have wanted to search the coach.”
“Oh, my God!” said Charity. “You mustn’t carry it around with you any more—it’s not safe!”
“Yes, it is. He doesn’t know I’ve got it,” Jack reminded her, feeling ridiculously pleased by her obvious concern for his welfare.
“But even so…” Charity wasn’t convinced.
“I’ll put it somewhere secure as soon as I can,” he reassured her.
“But that won’t make any difference if he finds out you’ve got it, or that you’ve had it,” she protested. “Even if you tell him you haven’t got it now, he won’t believe you; he’ll—”
“Charity!” Jack interrupted firmly. “The pendant and I are both quite safe and will continue to be so. He doesn’t know I’ve got it, and he won’t find out. And, even if he does, I’m forewarned of his intentions, which gives me the advantage.”
“Yes,” said Charity. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
“Good. Now, as soon as I’ve taken my leave of Sir Humphrey, I must return to Riversleigh, and then I’ll go back to Hazelhurst. I don’t know if the thief will come tonight or not, but, judging by the speed with which he acted this morning, I wouldn’t be surprised. We won’t underestimate him again.”
“We?” said Charity with a flash of spirit. “I thought you’d already decided that I was to be relegated to the role of nervous female in this whole affair?”
But inwardly she felt her heart begin to sing. Would he really be doing all this on her behalf if he felt no more for her than simple friendship? Of course he would! He was too much a gentleman not to offer his help to anyone who needed it. All the same…
“Now you’re trying to provoke me,” said Jack. “You know perfectly well that that was not what I thought—even before you went out of your way to prove me wrong!”
“I didn’t…” Charity began indignantly, and then relaxed as she saw that he was teasing her. “I thought of creating a disturbance,” she admitted. “Anything to give Owen or Sir Humphrey an opportunity to turn the tables—but then I remembered all the things that could go wrong and I decided to sit quietly and pray that the man would leave without hurting anybody. I wish he had.”
“Yes, I know,” said Jack. “I never thought you’d do anything foolish.”
“I’ve done a great many foolish things,” said Charity. “But not at a time like that—at least, I hope not.”
As she finished speaking the door opened, and they turned their heads to see Sir Humphrey entering the room.
“I’ve been thinking,” he announced without preamble, “and it seems to me that there’s something damned fishy going on.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“In what way, sir?” asked Jack mildly, standing up at the magistrate’s approach.
“That attack on the coach,” said Sir Humphrey, so intent on his train of thought that he’d barely registered Charity’s presence. “Didn’t occur to me before, but damned risky business! And for what? To save a stuttering idiot! And why? That’s what I’d like to know. You don’t want to believe any of that nonsense about honour among thieves,” he added, glaring at Jack belligerently.
“I don’t,” said Jack.
“No, well…quite,” said Sir Humphrey. He’d been about to argue the point, and now he was feeling somewhat disconcerted.
“But what do you think we should make of it?” asked Jack.
Charity glanced at him doubtfully. She was afraid Jack was making fun of the squire and she didn’t approve of it. But there was nothing in Jack’s expression or in his tone of voice to suggest he was secretly mocking Sir Humphrey, and in fact he was simply curious to hear the magistrate’s opinion.
“I don’t know,” Sir Humphrey replied honestly. “It doesn’t make sense to me. Nothing that idiot said made sense. But the hold-up isn’t the only odd thing. There are the two break-ins as well. Thieves don’t usually go back to the same place twice—not in my experience, at any rate. And I think we can assume that the man who rescued our prisoner was one of the thieves from last night.”
Jack nodded. Sir Humphrey’s summing up of the situation might be slightly disjointed, but it was far from inaccurate. On the whole, Jack was inclined to think that the magistrate deserved to know the truth—as far as he and Charity knew it themselves—but he was reluctant to say anything without Charity’s agreement.
He glanced at her, a question in his eyes, and when she nodded imperceptibly he said to Sir Humphrey, “We think there may be a great deal more to the affair than just a simple burglary.”
“You mean, you know something?” Sir Humphrey demanded. “What do you know?”
“Nothing very concrete,” Charity intervened suddenly.
She was prepared to tell the magistrate about Jack’s original suspicions, but she still didn’t want him to know that they’d actually found the pendant. She couldn’t overcome the belief that Jack would be in danger if anyone knew the jewel was in his possession, and she wasn’t prepared to let anyone else in on that secret.
“Well, come on! Come on! Either you know something or you don’t,” Sir Humphrey said, looking from one to the other impatiently.
“Perhaps, since Miss Mayfield is so closely involved, it would be better if she explained,” Jack replied, his relaxed expression belied by the intent look in his eyes as they rested on Charity’s face.
He wasn’t quite sure why she was equivocating, but he had every faith in her good sense, and he had no objection to following her lead—at least until he knew what was in her mind.
“Well?” Sir Humphrey stared at her.
“We didn’t say anything at first because it seemed such a foolish idea,” Charity said composedly. “But when Lord Riversleigh questioned the thief last night the man said certain things that seemed to suggest he was looking for treasure—and in our library!”
“Well! I’ll be damned!” said Sir Humphrey after a moment. “Treasure, you say? In the library! Good God!”
“Lord Riversleigh mentioned the matter to me,” Charity continued when Sir Humphrey seemed to have recovered from his initial astonishment. “And of course I said the whole thing was nonsense. But…” she paused ruefully “…we were talking about it just now before you came in and, if it’s true—that they really believe there’s treasure in our library, I mean—it might help to explain what’s happened. The return of the thieves to the same place, and the desperate rescue of the captured man. The first man might have been afraid in case the prisoner gave any information away, so he wanted to rescue him before he could talk.”
“But good God! Treasure in your library!” Sir Humphrey wasn’t really listening to her any more; he was still trying to grapple with the outlandish suggestion about treasure.
“The important point is not whether there is any treasure, but whether the thieves believe there is,” Jack said smoothly.
It was now clear to him that Charity wanted to conceal the discovery of the pendant and, although he hadn’t guessed her true reason for doing so, he was inclined to think it was a good idea.
The callous attack on Owen had made Jack more determined than ever to catch the master thief, and the thief would be far more likely to make a third attempt on the library if he didn’t know the pendant had been found. It wasn’t that Jack didn’t trust Sir Humphrey, it was just that the fewer people who knew, the less likely the information was to leak out.
“Yes, you’re quite right, of course,” said Sir Humphrey. “But what an incredible notion. I wonder where they can have got it from?”
“I’m rather curious about that myself,” Jack admitted.
“Most unaccountable—treasure, indeed,” said Sir Humphrey. “We’re not used to all this excitement, are we, Charity?”
“No, sir,” Charity smiled at him. “Actually, I think I could do with a great deal less.”
Ten Guineas on Love Page 16