One of the black crows informed him that there was no money - that the old lord had invested heavily in shipping and his fleet had gone down in a tropical storm taking his fortune with it. He swirled the dregs of his cognac around the crystal glass. He needed another brandy. He would get drunk as a wheelbarrow, return to his alcoholic fog. He didn’t feel better in his cups, but at least he didn’t have to think. He had consumed his fourth glass before he began to forget his despair.
His world had fallen apart for the second time. Without funds there could be no improvements, no restoration of Thurston Hall. Even if he wanted to, how could he offer for Charlotte when he was as destitute as she? He reached out and after several attempts managed to grasp the decanter. This was almost empty. Devil take it! He couldn’t get through the night without refreshment. He tipped the remains into his glass not spilling a drop. He nodded, smiling at his skill.
He had been ignoring the repeated knocking at his door, not wishing to speak to anyone. Then realized if he answered he could send whoever was there for more brandy.
‘Enter,’ he shouted, not bothering to turn his head.
‘My lord,’ Meltham said nervously, ‘the lawyers are still waiting in the library for your return.’
‘Tell them to go to hell. I don’t wish to speak to them.’
‘Shall I ask them to return tomorrow, my lord?’
Jack ignored the question. ‘Refill this; in fact bring me two bottles and then leave me in peace.’
He heard the butler depart leaving the door open, which allowed him to hear the worried whispering outside.
‘Lord Thurston’s indisposed, sir. Perhaps it would be best if you return tomorrow or the next day?’ The lawyer’s words were too indistinct for Jack to hear but he heard Meltham’s reply. ‘It is certainly good news, Mr Thomas. I shall make sure his lordship sees the documents as soon as he is well.’
Jack pushed himself upright, replacing his glass clumsily on the side table. Good news? How could there be any when the old crows had said all his fortune was beneath the waves? Should he enquire further before they left? No - tomorrow was soon enough. All he wanted at the moment was to drink himself into oblivion.
*
‘Annie placed the bowl on the bed where I can reach it then leave me alone please.’
‘Yes, miss. I’ll put the little brass bell next your bed. I shan’t be far away.’
Feeling too sick to answer Charlotte rolled over on her side, praying she would fall asleep and wake feeling well again. The shutters were closed and what was left of the bed hangings had been drawn round. But the room was still too bright. She tried pulling the comforter over her head, but with her face covered she felt even worse and uncomfortably warm.
She twisted on to her other side; turning her back to the windows, and without the light flickering across, she immediately felt better. There was so much to think about. What would happen to the new staff, would they be sent away? Her head throbbed and the pain over her eye intensified, feeling as though a hot needle was being plunged into it. She gave up any attempt to reason and resigned herself to enduring a miserable twenty-four hours.
Charlotte slept through the afternoon and into the night. She woke in the small hours to discover her headache was waning, her brain ready to function. Glad she had not had to use the china bowl, she sat up. She was a trifle weak but otherwise quite restored.
She wriggled her toes experimentally and found they too appeared to have recovered. Slipping out of bed she groped for the tinderbox on her bedside table. Deftly she struck the flint then lit the candle. Her wrapper was draped over the end of her bed and she pulled it on. Her room was chilly; there was a definite autumnal nip in the air.
After standing up she walked carefully about the chamber testing her toes. They bore her weight quite happily. She picked up the candlestick and, holding it aloft, went in search of supper. It seemed a long time since she had enjoyed the meat pasty and bread and cheese in the library with the children.
The house was silent, everyone asleep. Then she heard the patter of small feet above her head and knew the rats were awake and busy about their own business. She crept along the empty passageways not wishing to disturb the children by her nocturnal ramble. The flame of her candle threw eerie shadows up and down the walls. A woman of weaker nerves might believe that she was seeing ghosts, but she was not given to missish vapours of that kind.
The hall, with its high ceiling, seemed alarmingly large. She paused in the small pool of light from her candle, trying to get her bearings. The passageway that led to the kitchens was on the far side, to the left of the entrance. The stairs faced the front door so she needed to follow the wall to her right until she found it.
She squeezed her eyes closed and opened them again hoping to see more clearly. One of the after effects of her headaches was impaired vision and tonight was no exception. She could not stand on the stairs all night; if she wished to go to the kitchen to find herself something to eat she would have to be brave, step out into the darkness and trust her memory was correct. She fingered her way around the newel post then back until her feeble light showed she was standing in front of the dark wood panelling of the wall.
She raised her candle again – there was a door ahead -that would have to be Jack’s. She would make certain she was quieter than the mice as she passed. If she appeared in his domain dressed in her nightgown, he would take that as an invitation to continue what they had started earlier. In the eyes of the world she was a woman of loose morals but as long as this was without substance her conscience was clear.
She negotiated the endless panelling, avoiding all three doors, until she reached the far side and was facing a corridor - but was it the correct one? Did this lead to the kitchen or somewhere else entirely? In this rabbit warren of the house it was hard to be sure.
She walked a little way down, sniffing the air like a hound. Yes - she could faintly detect the smell of food - this had to be the right direction. Feeling more confident she increased her pace, knowing that the butler’s pantry, housekeepers rooms and the servants quarters all led from this passageway and that the old-fashioned kitchen was at the far end.
Charlotte glanced over her shoulder nervously. Was there someone behind her? She spun, and held her candle high. Nothing suspicious. The silence and the darkness were beginning to unnerve her. The light from her candle didn’t shine far, it would be easy for someone to wait, quite close, but remain out of sight. By the time she reached her destination she was almost running.
She pushed harder, the kitchen door was stuck. The latch was difficult to lift with one hand but she was reluctant to put her candlestick down. She looked over her shoulder, checking to see she was alone and then risked placing it on the floor beside her. She gripped the heavy latch with both hands and managed to lift it clear of the hasp. Triumphantly she threw her weight against the door.
It flew open and, losing her balance, she tumbled forward to find herself enveloped in the arms of the one person she had been at pains to avoid.
‘Charlotte, my dear, what an unexpected pleasure.’ Jack’s words was slurred and his breath pure alcohol.
‘You are foxed, sir. Let go of me at once, before we both fall.’
He released his hold and stepped back, swaying alarmingly. She was glad to see he had managed to light two oil lamps without setting fire to himself or the kitchen.
‘I have come to find food, are you on a similar errand, Cousin?’ She rather thought a good meal would be exactly what he needed. She could recall her father once telling a young lieutenant he had to eat in order to sober up. She frowned, or was it to eat before he drank in order to remain sober?
Jack dragged out a chair and subsided. ‘Actually, sweetheart, I forget why I came here. But I expect you are right, I came in search of food.’
She smiled relieved he was no longer looming over her, breathing brandy fumes down her neck. ‘In that case, I shall make us both a meal. No, do not look so surpr
ised, you will discover I am a proficient cook, even in such an antiquated kitchen.’
She busied herself finding the makings for an omelette. The bread was still fresh. She would ask him to cut it; it could keep him occupied, stop him staring at her in that disconcerting manner. She put the bread, the board and a sharp knife beside him.
‘Do you think you could cut us some bread without slicing of your fingers?’ She smiled, as obediently he began his task. It took all his concentration to hold the blade straight. Satisfied she had achieved her aim, she returned to her cooking.
A short while later the impromptu meal was ready. She found the butter dish in the pantry and he had hacked off two thick slabs of bread. She divided the creamy yellow omelette between two plates, added the slices of thickly buttered bread and placed one on either side of the table. The appetising smell of eggs wafted across the room.
Jack looked at it with distaste. ‘I find I am no longer hungry.’ As she watched she saw his complexion pale to an almost greenish tinge. Then he kicked back his chair and, hand to mouth, headed for the scullery. She tried not to listen to the unpleasant noises. Her own nausea threatened to return and she pushed her plate away.
She heard him washing his face and then he returned his colour restored, and quite unrepentant. To her horror he sat down, picked up his fork and started to shovel down his meal with obvious enjoyment.
He paused just long enough to say, ‘If you’re not intending to eat yours, may I have it?’
She nodded, too disgusted to speak. He was behaving with the same disregard for another’s feelings as her little brother Harry. Had he no delicacy at all? The kettle hanging on a trivet over the fire began to hiss. She supposed she could make him a cup of tea. It might help to dilute the brandy he had consumed.
She rose, forgetting she was not dressed, and her wrapper gaped open revealing far more than she considered proper to the interested spectator munching his way through her supper! He made no comment. Angrily she pulled the edges together and retied the belt. The man was a Philistine - more interested in filling his belly than anything else.
She unlocked the tea caddy and put three spoonsful into the pot. She was reaching over to lift the heavy black kettle when he spoke sharply.
‘No, Charlotte, wait. I’ll do it.’
So he had been watching her after all. ‘I can manage. I’m not a milk sop.’
‘Leave it!’
She froze at his command, her hand poised over the handle. She heard him kick his chair back and then he was beside her. He took her hovering hand and drew it back
‘Charlotte, you ninny, you have no protection. Your hand would have been burnt and the kettle dropped.’ She stared at her hand lost in his and found she could not withdraw it. Her breathing was erratic and she trembled. ‘Are you afraid of me, sweetheart? Is that why you shake like a blancmanger?’
Instantly she snatched her hand back. Her voice was commendably composed. ‘Of course not. Why ever should I be frightened of a giant ex-soldier with a penchant for brandy and distressing habit of manhandling me?’
‘Touché! I am indeed all you say, I can assure you that at this precise moment it is not brandy I’ve a desire for.’
There was no mistaking his meaning. Her cheeks turned crimson and she hastily returned to her tea making. ‘Well, are you going to tip the water on the leaves or not, Cousin? I would like dish of tea to go with my bread and butter.’
He swung the kettle over and tipped the boiling water, one-handed, into the china pot. Then without a word he replaced it by the fire.
‘I have my tea weak, is that acceptable?’
‘Perfectly.’
Charlotte found the strainer and tipped the tea into the waiting cups. Jack was moving about behind her. Whatever was he doing? She expelled her breath with a relieved sigh as she heard him leave the room. Carefully she carried the tea over to the table and put it down. Then she noticed the two plates which had contained the eggs were gone, as had the bread and butter. Botheration! She had been looking forward to eating that.
She didn’t look round when he came back from the direction of the pantry. She held her breath as he stopped behind her. He leant forward and his face brushed hers as he dropped a plate in front of her.
‘Here you are, sweetheart, not as good as your delicious omelette, but hopefully it will be enough to satisfy you.’
On a clean white plate was the errant bread-and-butter, crusts removed, accompanied by a large wedge of cheese and a spoonful of chutney. Her mouth curved in delight. ‘Thank you. That looks wonderful.’ She picked up a fork and prodded hopefully at the relish. She raised an eyebrow.
‘I know; it must be over two years old, but I can vouch for the fact it tastes none the worse for that.’
Charlotte set to with enthusiasm. She interspersed mouthfuls of bread, chutney and cheese with swallows of tea. She was aware he had sat down opposite and was watching her wolf down her food.
‘I do like a female with a healthy appetite,’ he announced to the ceiling.
She choked on her tea. ‘It is impolite to comment on such things. Have you no manners?’
He chuckled. ‘None at all, sweetheart. I am merely an uncouth soldier so I shall have to rely on your superior knowledge of such matters to rectify my failings.’
She grinned. ‘You are incorrigible and I’m glad to say t I am replete. I couldn’t eat another morsel.’
‘Excellent.’ He was about to place his boots on the table but seeing her frown, he pushed his chair back and folded his arms instead. He half smiled at her. ‘Perhaps you can explain why you found it necessary to sneak downstairs in the middle of the night to find sustenance?’
She nodded. ‘I went to bed with a megrim yesterday afternoon. Usually I’m too sick to eat for at least a day and so my maid didn’t bring me a supper tray.’
‘And I was too drunk to eat but now we are both well fed and I am sober.’ Charlotte shuddered as she recalled the reason he was no longer in his cups. He openly smiled at her look of disgust. ‘Quite so! Did your maid tell you what the lawyers said?’
‘She said there is no money, that grandfather invested heavily in shipping and everything went down in a storm.’
‘That is correct. We are at an impasse. I can give you the money to restore the Hall or employ new staff.’ He paused assessing her reaction. ‘It seemed pointless asking them to draw up documents if there were no funds for you to work with.’
She stilled. What was he telling her their bargain was cancelled? That the challenge was no longer valid? ‘You intend to turn us out because of this? We will manage somehow. We don’t eat very much; you will hardly know we are here.’
He stared pointedly at her empty plate. ‘If the bantlings eat as much as you I’ll be bankrupt within a se’night.’ His face was solemn but she knew he was funning.
‘And you drink enough brandy to fill a bath so I consider we are equal on that score.’
He laughed. ‘But, my dear, I can stop drinking brandy but you cannot stop eating.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jack. This is a serious matter. Have you no funds of your own at all?’
He was instantly serious. ‘I have a major’s half pension and I believe there is something from my grandfather, but altogether it doesn’t amount to very much.’
‘And I have a tiny annuity. I’m afraid both pensions stopped on my mother’s death.’
‘Then, my dear girl, shall we starve here together or part company?’
‘Together, if you please. There’s a walled vegetable garden, it’s overgrown but it can easily be brought round. We can purchase some chickens and a milk cow and perhaps a hog or two. I believe we could easily provide most of our own food and it would hardly cost anything.’
‘Good God! You’re serious - do you really think we could succeed?’
She nodded, beginning to believe their life at Thurston Hall could be viable.
‘And I can shoot even with one working eye and there
is game aplenty in the woods.’ He stood up his expression animated, his enthusiasm making him appear younger, less austere. ‘Miss Carstairs, you are a bloody marvel! There is no money, the place is falling down around our ears, but together I think we might pull things round.’ He held out his arms and she walked into them.
At first he just held her; she felt safe, protected by his strength. His body heat seeped through her thin wrapper and nightgown taking away the chill. Then a different kind of heat started to flow around her limbs. His head was resting lightly on the crown of her head, his hands moving gently up and down her spine. With a sigh of pleasure she
relaxed further into his embrace.
His arms tightened and his mouth nibbled at her hair; his hot breath sent shock waves down her back. She moved but he raised a hand and tilted her head allowing him free access to her mouth. She drowned in his kisses; she was oblivious to all but the passion they were sharing. Then she felt him stiffen and in one fluid movement he threw her down to the floor, landing on top of her, crushing the breath from her body.
Furious at his crude attack she was about to protest when there was a flash of light, a bang, the sound of breaking glass and the room was full of smoke.
‘Lie still, we are being shot at,’ he hissed in her ear.
Chapter Eight
Charlotte was too frightened to answer. She closed her eyes and prayed fervently for deliverance. Jack dropped a tender kiss on the back of her neck then his bulk shifted and he was gone. Why had their attackers not spoken? Identified themselves? Come in search of them? After all they were unarmed and helpless beneath the table, at least she was.
Where he had gone she had no idea and dare not move her head to see. He was an experienced soldier, well used to being ambushed; he would know what to do, she had to lie still, keep praying and listen.
She thought she heard a slight movement outside the kitchen window but couldn’t be sure. There was a cool draught on her face and she guessed someone had opened the back door. Was it the assassin coming in or Jack going out? Her heart was beating so loudly she could hear it. Her legs were jutting out; they felt exposed, vulnerable, easily seen in the flickering lamplight. Inch by inch she drew them in until she was curled tight, hugging her knees. Somehow the smaller she made herself the safer she felt.
The Duke's Challenge Page 8
