by Rebecca King
Charity had no idea, but didn’t want to think about it too closely, mostly because she wasn’t at all sure she would like whatever conclusion she came to.
Once she heard the quiet click of the door, Charity’s breath escaped her on a whoosh of relief, and she sagged against the soft sheets beneath her with a heavy sigh. Charity didn’t completely relax, and as a result, couldn’t give herself over to slumber as intended. She was too upset, too worried, and felt so utterly out of control of, well, practically everything in her life that she still struggled to comprehend just how it had all gone so horribly wrong.
In just over a day, her quiet, ordinary life had been turned on its head. The solitude she had become accustomed to had been obliterated. Her life had been invaded by a group of powerful men all of whom seemed to fill up every inch of her small house with their commanding personalities. Not only that, but one of them had awoken something inside her that she wasn’t at all sure would ever quieten down again. It was a side of herself Charity had never known existed. She had certainly never been so bold as to challenge a relative stranger before, especially a lawman like Angus. Nor had she ever been so foolishly brash as to race off into the night after any of the villagers. Moreover, she had never been so wanton as to give herself over to the mastery of any man’s kisses before, or his embrace for that matter.
Had she totally misread the situation, Angus’s closeness outside, and made a complete fool of herself as a result?
“It cannot happen again,” she promised herself. “It mustn’t. Somehow, I must keep my distance from him, but to do that I have to keep myself busy.”
Like a flame to a candle, an idea struck light into the darker recesses of Charity’s cluttered mind. She carefully began to recount the other events of the evening. It was true to say that she had traversed the darkness better than Angus because she was more familiar with it. Not only that, but she knew Mr Lawrence couldn’t possibly be responsible for kidnapping young women.
“Mr Horvat could,” she mused as she contemplated the small, swarthy looking man who inhabited the house next door to Mr Lawrence. “Angus and his friends are most definitely mistaken to think it might be Mr Lawrence.”
That led Charity to contemplate what else the War Office might have gotten wrong, and whether it could be hindering them apprehending the real culprit for the kidnaps.
“I have been in this village all my life, and so have many of the ladies of the tapestry group. We know the locals. We can move about undetected. Nobody will notice us going about our business in broad daylight. We have to help,” she whispered to herself.
When she realised how foolish she would sound muttering to herself, Charity turned over in bed, forced all thoughts aside of Angus’s presence in the room just down the hallway, and tried to get some sleep.
She had a strong suspicion tomorrow was going to be a very long day indeed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The following morning, Charity made her way downstairs in a house that was eerily quiet. It was most disconcerting to hear her own breathing. Were the men still in the house? Curiosity made her want to go back upstairs and take a quick peek inside her bed chamber to make sure someone was still in there. Someone had been up and about throughout Charity’s long and sleepless night. She had heard them. The occasional faint creak of a floorboard had been fleeting at best, but it had definitely been someone moving about. Surely, they couldn’t have just left without telling her – could they?
She contemplated going back upstairs, but the disgruntled rumbling of her empty stomach demanded sustenance instead. With another yawn, Charity made her way to the kitchen. She had things to do today, and it didn’t only include feeding her empty stomach. Once she had eaten, she needed to decide how she was going to help the men with their investigation, despite their vehement objection, preferably before she met with them again.
“And help them I will. If they wish to continue to stay in my house then they must let me do something to help,” she muttered. “First, though, breakfast.”
Half an hour later, Charity carried a heavily laden tray up to the bed chamber the men were using and kicked the door with the soft soles of her slipper-clad feet.
At first, her knock received no response.
“Come on,” she sighed.
Charity couldn’t ignore the very strong need for the man who answered the door to be Angus. She didn’t dare think why, or what she would do if it wasn’t him.
Her arms trembled with the weight of her cumbersome burden. Again, the door thudded as she kicked it. She truly had no idea why she felt compelled to bother to feed him. Angus was grumpy, and quite clearly didn’t like her, despite his kisses. Still, the human, feminine, nurturing side of her wanted to ensure he had something to eat, and thus there she was, standing outside her own bed chamber, kicking her own door down in determination to get him to graciously accept her generosity.
“Angus,” she snapped loudly, her voice rife with impatience.
Glaring at the door, Charity lifted her foot in preparation to kick it for a third time when it was suddenly yanked open. A decidedly disgruntled Angus appeared in the doorway with a heavy scowl on his face.
Charity’s heart flipped when she saw him again. He was tired, that was evident from the dark circles beneath his wonderful green eyes. While physically he looked just the same as always, today, there was a hardness in his eye that she couldn’t remember seeing before. It made her feel even more foolish about what she had allowed to happen between them yesterday and was a stark reminder that she didn’t really know him.
“I have brought you some breakfast,” she offered, too wary of his apparent bad temper to offer him even a small smile.
Before he could say anything, Charity pushed the tray into Angus’s midriff, leaving him with no choice but to try to take the heavy object off her. Unfortunately, his fingers slid straight over hers. As though branded, he immediately removed his hands, without taking the weight of the tray and abruptly stepped back. Charity gasped as she nearly dropped the contents of the tray all over the floor. Glaring at him, she stepped into the room and looked around.
“Where do you want me to put it?” she snapped dourly.
Charity had little choice but to wait while Angus backed into the room and shoved a sheaf of paperwork off the side table next to the bed.
“You don’t need to do this, you know,” he said as he eyed the tray with a rumbling stomach. The toast, jam, butter, ham, pie and wine she had was a positive bounty compared to what he usually ate while working. The smell of it was divine as she passed it beneath his nose. Even so, he had to remain professional. “Thank you for the kind offer, though.”
“Surely some food won’t hurt, will it?” Charity demanded sharply, wondering why he was being so ungracious.
“Not while I am working,” he declared, a hint of finality in his voice.
Charity slid the tray onto the table anyway and left Angus to contemplate its contents while she wandered over to the window. A startled gasp escaped her as she was suddenly swung around with a swiftness that left her off balance. She clutched at the hard arm held firmly around her waist, not least to have something to hang on to so she didn’t fall flat on her face.
“What are you doing?” she whispered as she clutched the thick bicep beneath her fingers.
“Stay away from the window,” Angus growled menacingly.
Charity shoved his arm away and whirled to face him. It was only then that she realised just how small she was in comparison to him. She hadn’t noticed it last night, but it was there. In broad daylight, she had to tip her head far back to be able to look up into his chiselled features. So much so she felt herself teetering backward when her eyes met his. The force of the instant attraction she felt made it difficult to breathe. All thoughts escaped her but every sense she possessed was tuned to him and only him. Nothing else was as important as he was. Nothing else mattered, not the kidnapper living opposite, the neighbours who might be able to
see them, his anger toward her over last night, or her worry that she was being foolhardy allowing any intimacy with a man who was going to leave anyway.
But, wasn’t it a good idea to savour any moment she could spend with him while he was there? She couldn’t be sure but couldn’t find the will to keep her distance.
Angus was oblivious to the direction of her thoughts. He was too busy cursing himself for having touched her again, even accidentally. He had already spent one long, cold and frustrated night staring at the house opposite, willing himself not to think about the woman who was tucked up in bed mere feet away. The temptation to joint her had been his private battle and he was exhausted from it.
“We don’t know who can see into the room. Just stay out of sight and away from the windows up here, that’s all,” Angus bit out. He sighed when he read hurt on her face, and realised he was being far too sharp with her. “I know this is your house, but this is my investigation. It is safer for you not to get involved.”
“I am sorry, but I think you should consider one or two pertinent facts before you issue any more orders,” Charity retorted coldly. “I think it would be darned odd if my curtains and shutters weren’t opened seeing as that is what I do every morning.”
Angus mentally cursed. “Just leave the investigating to me,” he warned.
“I am,” she protested with far too much innocence for his peace of mind.
“No, you are not,” Angus argued. “You are getting yourself in the window and making yourself noticed.”
“This is my house,” she protested. “Why should anybody think anything suspicious about me looking out of my own window?”
“They might catch sight of me,” Angus hissed, but his argument was feeble at best.
“Well, stay out of the way then,” Charity snapped.
Angus growled.
“Just what is your problem?” Charity whirled on him and placed her hands on her hips, if only so she had something to do with her hands. If she kept them free she was going to wrap them around his neck. She had never met anybody so argumentative before in her life, and it was enough to drive her out of her mind with frustration.
Angus leaned toward her. “Because you are doing everything I have already asked you not to do. I need you to stay out of the investigation ergo stay away from this room. Do not go poking your head out of the window, wandering into other people’s houses or gossip with anybody right now, is that clear? More importantly, do not go on any more fool’s errands like you did last night. Are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?”
“I didn’t realise I had to be put under house arrest,” Charity huffed, more than a little hurt by his abruptness. “I only brought you some breakfast.”
I wish I hadn’t bothered now, she mused churlishly.
“I will see to my own food but thank you for offering. One of the men will be here in a while to take over. I will go and get some sleep and food then,” Angus muttered, feeling utterly churlish for eschewing her generosity so briskly. When he forced himself to speak he made sure his voice was more contrite, even though it lost none of its crisp, authoritative command. “It is the way we work I am afraid. Anything could happen very quickly while I am away from the window. Look at how swiftly the man moved last night.”
“Every morning, I open my shutters.” Charity insisted, carefully ignoring him. “I don’t see any reason I shouldn’t do the same today. You will have to relocate yourself somewhere else if you don’t wish to be seen.”
“I know. You said it is what you do every morning and the neighbours will get suspicious if you don’t,” Angus replied patiently.
He spoke with such a dismissive air that Charity struggled to contain the urge to slap him about the head with the broadsheet she had brought him.
“You really have no idea how villages like St Magdaline work, have you?” Charity shook her head in a mimicry of his earlier motion. It felt good to be able to give him a taste of his own medicine.
When Angus straightened his shoulders and turned to face her squarely, such was his outrage, she lifted her brows condescendingly at him and stood her ground. Her eyes positively challenged him to physically throw her out of her own bed chamber. Thankfully, he didn’t.
“I have worked in villages like this before, yes,” Angus warned, but did little to quell the arrogance in his voice.
“I know people like you think villagers like us are backward, but we do look after our own. I wouldn’t expect you to understand the concept of what we do here, but if my shutters are not open at a time when they are usually opened, or God forbid, left closed all day, someone will call around to check that I am all right, and have not taken ill or something. People have routines, you know, and in a village like this it is routine that people expect. So, leave the shutters closed if you want. When my neighbours arrive, you can explain to them why my curtains are still closed in the middle of the day. The very fact they are closed will be more than enough to make Mr Lawrence worry. He will check them, several times throughout the day in fact, to see if they have been opened or not. Now, if you wish to be under that kind of scrutiny yourself, go right ahead. I, for one, don’t intend to have a stream of visitors checking up on me all day so, with your permission of course, I am going to open my shutters downstairs and enjoy the morning sunshine.”
With that, Charity marched out of the room and closed the door behind her with a resounding bang. Spitefully, she contemplated taking the tray with her such was her deep level of acute embarrassment at having her gesture rebuffed so briskly. As it was she was trembling with anger so badly Charity was sure she would drop the tray if she tried to carry it and would then make even more of a fool out of herself. She had no choice but to leave it behind.
Once downstairs, she tidied her sitting room, kitchen, and set about making a list of the things she would need to replenish her pantry. When that was done, and she found herself picking a strand of lint off her mantle in boredom, she realised she had to do something useful with her day. It was then that she remembered her earlier decision to do whatever she could to help the men along with the investigation.
After what had just happened with Angus upstairs, Charity now felt personally driven to prove to the men from the War Office that she was no fool, knew this village better than they did, and was perfectly capable of going about her own life without facing danger at every quarter.
“Utter fools, that’s what they are,” she muttered. “Arrogant men, one and all.”
Curiously, she studied the house across the street. From the outside, it looked to be an ordinary house. It was a little run-down maybe, but seemingly innocuous just like the rest of the houses which lined both sides of the small road to the south of the main village. It had been Charity’s home all her life. She knew the residents as well as her own family – or had thought she did. Now, she wasn’t entirely sure.
“I still cannot see Mr Lawrence being responsible,” she whispered to herself. “Mr Wendleson down the road maybe, but not Mr Lawrence. The War Office has to be wrong.”
Charity’s gaze slid to the house next door to Mr Lawrence’s humble abode. She tapped her finger against her chin thoughtfully as she studied that house. It looked even more unkempt than Mr Lawrence’s property. Charity shook her head as her gaze slid over the empty windows which stood like eyes above the long narrow front door.
“It has to be Mr Horvat. He is foreign and hasn’t made any attempt to fit in with anybody in the village,” she whispered to herself.
In fact, she knew that nobody had even been aware the house, which used to belong to old Mrs Browning, was no longer empty. It had only been when someone had noticed smoke coming from the chimney and a dark swarthy man in the village on more than one occasion, that the villagers had realised they had a new resident. In the eight weeks since Mr Horvat had appeared, none of the villagers had been able to find out much about the reclusive foreign gent who lived amongst them, despite the best attempts of the most stringent of i
nterrogators, the likes of which were Mrs Vernon and even Augusta Applebottom. As a result, Mr Horvat remained an enigma.
“I wonder if it is him,” she whispered, then frowned darkly at the new problem this presented. “How do we go about finding out when nobody is able to get any information out of him?”
Charity fell silent when she heard the faint chinking of pots being carried down the stairs. She didn’t wish to speak with Angus right now such was her acute discontent with him, so didn’t bother to hurry to the kitchen to relieve him of the tray. Instead, she kept her gaze on the house next door to Mr Lawrence’s. Her gaze sharpened when she saw a faint flicker of movement in one of the upstairs windows. At first, she wasn’t at all sure she hadn’t just imagined it. But when it happened for a second time, she knew she had seen correctly. Someone was moving about upstairs.
“That’s nothing unusual,” she murmured.
Still, Charity continued her scrutiny of that upstairs window. Strangely, the longer she studied it, the more convinced she became that she too was being watched. That suspicion was supported by the dark shape that had taken root in the shadows of the room. It – he - had yet to move.
“Now why are you watching me?” she murmured suspiciously.
All sorts of scenarios ran through her mind as she contemplated how she was to go about finding out more about the furtive Mr Horvat. She had little doubt it had been him she had followed last night. Had he seen her? She doubted it. He had been far too focused on where he had been going. As far as she was aware he hadn’t bothered to look back even once. There was no reason to believe he suspected her of anything.
Carefully, and with a distinct sense of discomfort, Charity stepped back away from the window. Rather than turn away, she continued to watch the shadow, and had her suspicions confirmed that it had been Mr Horvat when the shadow moved to one side before it completely disappeared.
