CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The carriage jolted uncomfortably towards London, and Charity closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She was tired—she had had so little undisturbed sleep over the past few days—but she couldn’t close her mind to the terrible thoughts that tormented her.
She couldn’t stop thinking about her father and what he must have felt when he’d realised he had lost everything—and that led her to think about Lord Ashbourne. She had never hated anyone in her life before, but she had no doubt that she hated the Earl. She knew she could never rest until she had confronted him, and all through the long carriage ride she rehearsed again and again what she would say to him. Only now and then did her thoughts wander away to other, less compelling matters.
Sometimes, as she braced her feet against the jolting of the carriage, she found herself thinking about Jack. It was a painful exercise, in some ways more painful than her thoughts about her father. She had trusted Jack, and relied on him—now she realised she hardly knew him.
She couldn’t understand why he hadn’t condemned Lord Ashbourne more strongly for what he had done. He had taken the news so calmly, almost dispassionately. Did he not find Lord Ashbourne’s actions shocking? Did he even admire the Earl for his cunning?
She shied away from the thought, resolutely putting Jack out of her mind. He was riding beside the carriage, escorting her to London, but she had hardly acknowledged his presence since their departure that morning. At the back of her mind she was dimly aware that he was trying to help her, but she was too confused and too bewildered to make any attempt to understand his point of view. She didn’t know what he wanted her to do, but she was afraid that if she listened to him she might be diverted from her purpose—and that would have been a betrayal of her father.
They’d been travelling some time and she wanted to open her eyes and see where they were. She wanted to look at the passing countryside in the hope that the changing scenery would take her mind off her problems; but Tabitha was sitting opposite her and Charity knew that if she opened her eyes the maid would begin talking to her. She couldn’t bear the idea of conversation, so she kept her eyes resolutely shut and remembered instead her meeting with Owen the previous afternoon.
* * *
“Charity!” Owen exclaimed delightedly.
He looked up at her as she stood beside the bed. A band of pale afternoon sunlight illuminated her face, and he thought she had never looked more beautiful. He didn’t notice the shadows in her eyes or her pallor—he was too pleased to see her.
“How are you?” she asked, and smiled at him with something of an effort.
“I’ll be on my feet in no time,” he declared. “Sit down, sit down.”
She obeyed, folding her hands demurely in her lap, though inwardly she felt anything but calm.
“I was hoping you’d come before,” said Owen. “I asked for you. I know you saved my life. I wanted to thank you.”
“I did what I could,” Charity replied. “I’m thankful that it was enough.”
“And you shot one of the ruffians,” said Owen with satisfaction. Sir Humphrey had told him that, though he still didn’t know everything else that had happened at Hazelhurst since he had been confined to his sick-bed.
“Mind, I’m not sure that I like the notion of you having anything to do with guns, but in the circumstances you did well. Not like me. I don’t seem to be able to do anything right at the moment,” he added bitterly. “I hear Riversleigh came to the rescue again.”
“He heard the shots,” said Charity.
“He’s always in the right place at the right time,” said Owen, “but he won’t always have the advantage on his side.”
“I don’t think he does now,” said Charity, surprising herself because she wasn’t feeling particularly in sympathy with Jack and she hadn’t expected she’d have any urge to defend him.
“What do you mean?” Owen looked at her suspiciously, but she didn’t reply.
She didn’t know how to explain that, whatever else Owen might lack, he had always possessed the one advantage denied to Jack. Owen wasn’t rich and he wasn’t particularly clever, but he was the squire’s son and, from birth, his place in his small world had always been accepted unquestioningly by himself, and by everyone around him.
By contrast, as Charity thought about Jack, she realised his world must always have been a more complicated place, and she was aware of a fugitive notion that perhaps, to survive in a complicated world, it might be necessary to be a complicated person. But then she dismissed the idea. She had other, more important things to think about than Lord Riversleigh.
At the sound of Owen’s voice she recollected herself and smiled at him.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better. But you always did have a very strong constitution. It would be very hard to kill you, I think.”
Owen looked pleased.
“We’re a tough lot, the Leydons,” he declared. “We always breed true. When we’re married—”
“Owen!”
He looked at her in surprise. “I know I haven’t spoken to your mother yet, but as soon as I’m able to stand on my feet I will. I’m sure she won’t object. There’s no need for you to be anxious.”
“I’m not,” said Charity with a hint of her old tartness, but it wasn’t fair to be annoyed with Owen. This whole dreadful misunderstanding was entirely her fault.
“Owen, I’m sorry…” she began. But then, because she wanted there to be no doubt of what she was telling him, she said simply, “I can’t marry you.”
“What?”
“When you proposed to me at the party I was…flattered, but I was also confused,” she said steadily, trying to make her rejection of him as painless as she could. “I was surprised, and I didn’t know what to say—so I said yes. But I shouldn’t have done. It was very wrong of me. I’m sorry.”
“You mean, you don’t want to marry me?”
“No. I don’t think we’d suit. I’m sorry,” she said again.
For a moment he didn’t say anything, he just lay staring up at the ceiling. There was an unreadable expression on his face and Charity didn’t know what to do.
She didn’t know whether he’d accepted what she’d said, whether she’d hurt him, or whether he was angry with her. She didn’t know if she should say anything else, or if she should allow the silence to lengthen until he broke it himself.
In the tree outside the window a crow began to make its harsh cry, and Charity thought it sounded as desolate as she felt. So many birds sang in the summer, but the sound of the crow always reminded Charity of winter.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Owen said at last, still not looking at her.
“No, it’s me,” she replied quietly, knowing that he was referring to Jack Riversleigh.
Owen turned his head at that, frowning. “You?”
“We wouldn’t suit, Owen. Think how many arguments we’ve had in the past few days. We would spend the rest of our lives quarrelling. I don’t want that.”
“No, we won’t,” he said. “It’s true you’re headstrong, and not always very…sensible. But one must make allowances for your circumstances. I’m sure things will be different when we’re married.”
“You mean, I’ll change and become more biddable, less opinionated?” she asked, smiling faintly. “But I don’t want to change, Owen. I like the way I am.”
He looked puzzled; he was very fond of her, but he didn’t really understand her. The very qualities in her which he admired when they led to her saving his life distressed him when they resulted in a clash of wills between them. He wanted part of Charity, but not all of her, and he didn’t see that that wasn’t possible.
“I’m sorry, I can’t stay any longer,” she said. “I’m going to London tomorrow. I have to get ready.”
“London?” He stared at her with renewed suspicion. He couldn’t rid himself of the notion that somehow Lord Riversleigh had something to do with Charity’s change of heart.
“Mama and I are going to move to London,” she said calmly. “Mrs Riversleigh has invited us both to stay with her while we find somewhere to live. It will be easier to make arrangements if we’re on the spot. Unfortunately, Mama doesn’t feel up to the journey yet, so I’m going on ahead. I hope I’ll be able to have everything arranged by the time she arrives.”
“You’re going to London on your own!” Owen was outraged. “Whatever can you be thinking of? Headstrong! Heedless! It’s most improper behaviour!”
“No, it’s just practical,” said Charity. “I have always made all the arrangements. There’s no reason why I should cease to do so, just because we’re moving elsewhere.”
“I suppose he’ll be going with you?” Owen said sullenly.
“Lord Riversleigh has business of his own to attend to in London. He has kindly agreed to escort Tabitha and me,” she said flatly. “Goodbye, Owen.”
* * *
Charity sighed, wishing her parting with Owen had been more amicable. Owen still didn’t like Jack—perhaps he never would—and it must have been difficult for him to hear that she was going to London in Lord Riversleigh’s company.
The carriage was turning off the road. She felt the altered motion and opened her eyes, looking out of the window. They were stopping at an inn. It was time to change the horses and eat a quick meal before they continued their journey.
The door was opened, the steps let down, and Jack held out his hand to assist her. She hesitated for a moment, then she put her cold hand in his and let him help her out.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice polite but very cold.
“Charity…” he began, still holding her hand in his.
“Will we be stopping here long?” she asked, drawing her hand away.
He looked at her steadily for a moment, knowing that she was deliberately distancing herself from him.
“No,” he replied at last, reluctantly accepting the situation, even though he had a strong desire to take her in his arms and shake her until her eyes lost their blank, desolate expression and sparked instead with indignation.
“No, we won’t be staying here long, Charity, but if you come into the inn you can rest for a while, and they’ll give you something to eat.” He offered her his arm.
“I’m not tired,” she said, but she took his arm. It was the only friendly gesture she had made and she would have been surprised if she had known how much comfort Jack took in it.
* * *
It was late afternoon by the time they arrived in London, and Charity was exhausted and Tabitha sick. Normally Charity would have been fascinated by the sights and sounds of the metropolis because, though Mr Mayfield had come to town regularly, this was only her second visit. But now she didn’t care.
Somehow she had imagined that they would go straight to Lord Ashbourne and she was vaguely surprised when she realised that in fact Jack was escorting her into his mother’s house.
He guided her gently into the elegantly yet comfortably furnished drawing-room. Outside it was cold and dark, and for the first time in days it had come on to rain, but inside the house the candles had been lit and the fire crackled welcomingly.
Charity was too tired to feel anything but faint relief at her arrival, but she made an effort to smile as she saw a dark, plumpish woman stand up to greet her. She had no quarrel with her hostess, however mixed her feelings about her son.
“Miss Mayfield! I was so pleased when Jack told me you and your mother would be visiting us,” Mrs Riversleigh exclaimed. “I’m only sorry that your mother didn’t feel she could face the journey yet. You must be exhausted. Come and sit down.”
Mrs Riversleigh was shocked by Charity’s exhausted and haunted appearance, but no sign of her feelings could be detected from her voice. Instead she took Charity’s hand and led her to a chair by the fire.
“Thank you.” Charity’s smile was a mere vestige of its usual self. It hadn’t yet occurred to her to wonder how Mrs Riversleigh had known she was coming, though in fact Jack had sent a messenger on ahead, warning his mother of their arrival.
“I’m sorry.” She roused herself with an effort. “You must think it very rude of me to arrive unannounced like this.”
“No, of course not,” Mrs Riversleigh replied firmly. She was a kind woman and, even if she hadn’t known Jack wanted her to welcome Charity, she would still have greeted her warmly. “But you must still be very shaken from the coach. Let me take you up to your room so that you can rest. Or are you hungry?” she added as an afterthought. “I can never eat when I first get out of a carriage, so I always assume that no one else can, but I know it’s not the case with everyone. Would you like something to eat first?”
“No, no, thank you.” Unintentionally, Charity’s expression indicated that the thought of food at that moment was as nauseating to her as it obviously was to Mrs Riversleigh after a long journey.
“Come, then.” Mrs Riversleigh took Charity upstairs herself and saw that she was settled in a very pretty room before she left her alone.
“Would you like me to send some food up to you later? Or will you come down?” she asked as she opened the door.
“Oh, no, I’ll come down,” Charity said quickly. “I’m sure I’ll be more myself soon, it’s just that, at the moment, every time I close my eyes I have the foolish notion that I’m still being tossed about in the coach.” She smiled apologetically, a distinctly self-deprecating expression in her eyes, and Mrs Riversleigh felt herself warming to her unexpected guest.
She closed the door quietly and went down to join Jack.
“That poor girl looks quite exhausted,” she said as she sat down in her favourite wing chair. “Why have you brought her to London?”
“She has some family business to attend to,” Jack replied mildly, though his voice sounded slightly strained. “Where’s Fanny?”
“She’s gone to dinner with the Markhams. When I received your note I sent my apologies. I thought you would want me to be here when you arrived.”
“I did. But I’m sorry to spoil your evening.” Jack sat down in a straight-backed chair, sideways to the table, and selected an apple from the fruit bowl.
“You haven’t,” said Mrs Riversleigh calmly. “The Markhams are very nice people, and Fanny is fond of Lucinda—but an evening in their company bores me to distraction! This promises to be much more interesting.”
Jack had been peeling his apple, but he looked up at that, an unforced gleam of amusement in his eyes that pleased his mother. She wasn’t unaware of the tension which filled him, and it both puzzled and slightly concerned her.
“You are quite reprehensible,” he said. “Sometimes I blush for you.”
“No, you don’t. You agree with me,” she replied.
“Touché.” He flung up his hand and laughed.
“What is this all about, Jack?” she asked more seriously. “Miss Mayfield looks as if she’s seen a ghost.”
“I think, in a way, she has,” he said. “No, I can’t tell you any more. I think you must ask Charity if you want to know anything else.”
“Certainly not,” said Mrs Riversleigh firmly. “I don’t know her!”
“Not yet,” said Jack. He smiled faintly. “It doesn’t usually take long to get to know Charity. She may ask your advice on finding a house in London,” he added more briskly. “I don’t think it’s likely; she’s got a lot of other things on her mind at the moment. But that is the ostensible reason for her visit. So, if she does…”
“If she does I’ll give her all the help I can,” said Mrs Riversleigh.
“Thank you,” Jack said. “Now, I must send a message to Lord Ashbourne.” He stood up and went over to an elegant bureau.
“Lord Ashbourne! Is he involved in this business?” Mrs Riversleigh exclaimed.
Jack nodded.
“I don’t like the man,” said Mrs Riversleigh firmly.
“You’re prejudiced,” he responded lightly.
“Of course I am,” she replied. “His nephew nearly killed you!” She saw a flicker of something in Jack’s eyes and a sudden suspicion flared within her.
“Have you seen Ralph Gideon recently?” she demanded.
He folded his note, addressed and sealed it before he replied.
“We ran into each other the night before last,” he said as he pulled on the bell rope for a footman to take his letter to Lord Ashbourne.
“He is now nursing a wound in his shoulder.”
“You’re a fool,” she said with conviction.”
“Yes, I probably am,” he agreed reflectively.
* * *
Charity sat quietly in a comfortable chair. She hadn’t wanted to lie on the bed—she felt too vulnerable in that position. Her eyes were closed and her mind finally empty of almost all thought. It had been impossible for her to remain at the same fever pitch of emotion with which she had begun the day, and by the time she had arrived at the house she had felt quite numb, and drained of all emotion.
But she was resilient, and the time on her own had helped her. After a while she began to feel more like herself. She knew she wouldn’t be seeing Lord Ashbourne that evening, and she owed it to her hostess to make some effort to be a charming guest. She didn’t want to see or speak to Jack, but it would be rude to hide in her room, or allow her own troubles to worry others—particularly when she had virtually forced her presence on Mrs Riversleigh.
She went over to the mirror and gasped at her appearance. She looked terrible—her hair was falling down, there was a smudge of grime on her cheek, and her dress was creased and dusty. She could never go downstairs like that.
She glanced at the bell rope nervously; despite her earlier attention, she already knew she was staying in a far grander house than any she had previously visited, and she wasn’t quite sure what would happen if she pulled it, but she needed Tabitha’s help—if Tabitha was well enough.
She took a deep breath, and resolutely tugged at the rope. Within an astonishingly short space of time a shy maid appeared. She asked for Tabitha, but Tabitha was apparently quite unwell—in fact, she was groaning on a bed, but the maid didn’t tell Charity that.
“May I help you, miss?” she asked.
Charity looked at her doubtfully for a second, then she nodded decisively. It took nearly forty-five minutes to repair the ravages of the journey, but when they had finished the maid stood back admiringly.
“You’re beautiful, miss,” she said shyly.
Charity stared critically at herself in the mirror. Her dark curls shone and the activity had brought a glow to her cheeks, but the beautiful eyes looking back at her seemed tired and sad.
She sighed.
“You’re flattering me,” she said. “But thank you anyway.” She took a deep breath. “I must go downstairs,” she said, “but I wasn’t really attending when Mrs Riversleigh brought me up here. I’m not sure if I can remember the way back.”
“I’ll show you, miss,” said the maid eagerly.
She really did think Charity was beautiful, and she was quite charmed by her kind manner. Mrs Riversleigh was very kind too, but until that moment the maid had been inclined to think that such considerate ladies were rare.
* * *
Charity paused in the doorway. She felt shy, and a little confused, because Jack and Mrs Riversleigh had been joined by another man she didn’t recognise.
“I’m sorry,” she said hesitantly. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
“Not at all,” Mrs Riversleigh replied warmly, walking over to her with a stiff rustle of silk. “As soon as I knew you were coming I had dinner set back. It was quite easy, and not at all inconvenient,” she added reassuringly as she saw that Charity was looking guilty.
“Come and let me introduce you to Matthew.” She took Charity’s arm and led her over to the other man.
Charity followed obediently but, as she did so, she couldn’t resist the impulse to look across at Jack. He was watching her quietly. There was no humour in his eyes—only a question, and something that was not quite an apology.
“This is Matthew Dawson,” said Mrs Riversleigh, unconsciously recalling Charity’s attention. “He was my father’s partner; now he is Jack’s. Matthew, this is Miss Mayfield.”
He was a spare man, not above middle height, with stooped shoulders. He was clearly bashful in strange company, but his eyes were shrewd and kind, and Charity found herself warming to him.
He sat next to her at dinner, but, though he replied when she spoke to him, he introduced no new topics of conversation himself. He only felt at ease with his craftsman peers, with his apprentices and with the people close to him that he had known for years. Elegant young ladies—to him, Charity was an extremely elegant and self-assured young lady—made him nervous and uncomfortable. He couldn’t imagine that anything he had to say would interest her.
Jack said very little, and Mrs Riversleigh was frankly curious. She knew there was an undercurrent of tension between Charity and Jack and she wanted to know what Charity meant to her son but, though he might have told her if she’d asked, she hadn’t chosen to do so. She had never pried into her children’s affairs and, on the whole, they had rewarded her tact by being remarkably open with her. She was afraid that this time, it might be different, but she knew that she could only wait, and hope that in the end she would find out what was happening.
When the meal was over she took Charity back to the drawing-room, leaving Jack and Matthew to their wine.
“Would you like some tea?” she asked as they sat down. “There’s no knowing how long those two will sit over an empty table. It’s not that they’re heavy drinkers, you understand. It’s just that when they start talking about their craft they forget all sense of time!”
Charity smiled. “Lord Riversleigh told me about Mr Dawson,” she said. “I think he must be a very clever man—and a very nice one.”
“Yes, he is.” Mrs Riversleigh was slightly surprised.
She knew that Matthew did not always appear at his best in unfamiliar company. It was not everyone who could see beyond the monosyllabic and awkward replies to the talented and sensitive man he really was. She felt a growing respect for Charity, which increased when Charity said, “You must think it very rude of me to invite myself like this; I don’t normally behave so badly. Well…” she paused ruefully “…perhaps I do.”
“You seem troubled,” said Mrs Riversleigh, because she wanted Charity to feel that she could confide in her, but she didn’t want her to think that she was being vulgarly curious.
“Yes,” said Charity, “but it’s so complicated that I just don’t know how to explain. Didn’t Ja…Lord Riversleigh tell you anything about it?”
“No. I don’t think he felt it was his place to do so,” said Mrs Riversleigh. “He would never betray another’s confidence.”
“No.” Charity looked at her hostess rather strangely. “No, he wouldn’t.”
She remembered the other confidences he hadn’t betrayed. He could have made her the target for every gossip in Sussex if he’d chosen to do so—but he hadn’t. He had been very kind to her; perhaps she was doing him an injustice—but why had he defended Lord Ashbourne?
“I don’t think it’s a secret,” she said at last as she realised Mrs Riversleigh was waiting for her to continue. “I’m afraid I’ve been treating it like one, but that’s only because it feels so much like a nightmare. Does that make sense?”
“We don’t always want to talk about the things that upset us most,” said Mrs Riversleigh gently. “Sometimes it helps. But sometimes when we’re confused, and people ask questions we can’t answer—because we don’t know the answers—we just end up feeling more confused.”
Charity looked at her gratefully. “Yes,” she said. “That’s how I feel. Do you mind if I don’t explain now? I promise I will later.”
“There’s no hurry,” said Mrs Riversleigh, and looked up as Jack and Matthew came into the room. For once Jack had had no desire to linger over the dining table, discussing their craft, and he had made the move to rejoin the ladies long before Matthew had felt ready to do so. Matthew would have been quite happy if he’d never gone back into the drawing-room.
Charity saw his hesitation and guessed how he must be feeling. It would be a kindness not to embarrass him further by trying to engage him in conversation, but she didn’t want to talk to Jack, nor even to Mrs Riversleigh. Jack confused her and, although she liked her hostess, she couldn’t feel entirely at ease with her while there was still so much unexplained between them.
Matthew was the only one present who offered no threat, only the challenge of setting him at his ease. To Charity the combination was irresistible, and she took a cup of tea from Mrs Riversleigh and gave it to Matthew, sitting down beside him as she did so. It had occurred to her that the best way to draw him out must be to ask him about his work, and that was what she proceeded to do.
Matthew looked rather alarmed at her approach. But when she was neither patronising nor flirtatious he began to feel more at ease. And when she asked if it had been he who’d made the beautiful silver gilt teapot, and seemed genuinely interested in his reply, he became quite talkative.
Mrs Riversleigh appeared to be concentrating on her embroidery, but in fact she was watching them in some amusement. Even after forty years, Matthew was as enthusiastic about his craft as he had been as a new apprentice. Given the opportunity, he could talk well and at length about what he’d made in the past—and he was always full of his plans for future work.
He described the processes of casting, soldering and annealing to Charity; explained the difference between embossing, chasing and engraving, and even upended the contents of the tea caddy on to the silver tea-tray so that he could show her how he’d finished it.
Charity had begun to talk to him partly because she really was interested, and partly to take her mind off her other problems. But it wasn’t long before she became quite engrossed in what he was telling her. She’d always enjoyed the company of people who were good at something and, once he’d lost his initial self-consciousness, Matthew was able to bring his stories and descriptions to life.
“Of course, that was the salvar Hogarth engraved for us,” he said at one point.
“Hogarth!” she exclaimed.
“He began life as an engraver,” Jack explained, looking up briefly from what he was doing. “I don’t think Matthew has ever forgiven him for his fall from grace to become a mere painter!”
“Well, I can see the merit in his pictures too,” Matthew admitted. “But it was a sad loss to the trade.” And he continued with his description of the early days of the business, when Joseph Pembroke had realised that he would never have a son to succeed him and had taken Matthew into partnership.
Jack didn’t interrupt any more. Early in the conversation he had taken some paper from the bureau and begun to sketch Charity and Matthew as they sat talking. Mrs Riversleigh knew what he was doing, but neither of the other two did.
His movements were quick and deft and, when he at last put down his pencil, Mrs Riversleigh got up and went to stand at his shoulder to look at the finished sketch.
Jack was a very fair artist, but Mrs Riversleigh had always believed that he drew best those people that he knew best—and those people that he loved. He was as close to Matthew as he had been to his father and she wasn’t surprised to see how well he’d caught the silversmith’s likeness. But she had to restrain a gasp when she looked at his picture of Charity, and she knew then that at least one of her unspoken questions had been answered. The girl on the paper was as vibrant and full of life as the girl talking to Matthew. Jack had surpassed himself.
“It’s very good,” she said softly.
“It is, isn’t it?” he looked at the sketch almost as if he was surprised that it should be so.
“What is it?” Charity glanced up, momentarily distracted from her discussion with Matthew.
Jack passed her the sketch, and she looked at it for a long moment without saying anything. Then at last, with her eyes still on the picture Jack had drawn of her, and apparently quite irrelevantly, she said, “When can I see the Earl?”
“Tomorrow morning. I’ve arranged a meeting.”
“Good.” For almost a full minute Charity continued to look at the sketch, and Mrs Riversleigh wondered what she saw in it.
“It’s very good,” she said quietly as she finally handed it back to Jack. “It’s not often one sees oneself through someone else’s eyes. Thank you.”
For a moment her gaze locked with Jack’s, almost as if she was seeking the answer to her question. Then she stood up.
“I’m sorry, I hope you’ll excuse me,” she said to Mrs Riversleigh. “But it’s getting quite late and I’m afraid I’m very tired.”
“You’ve had a tiring day,” said Mrs Riversleigh. “I hope you’ll sleep well.”
“Thank you.” Charity smiled briefly, and went quickly out of the room.