Lady Lightfingers (36 page)

‘Good God!' he said for the third time that day, amused that Celia had mentioned the turkey she'd compared him to. He gazed at his mother. ‘Celia can't really believe that I'm given to empty utterances.'

‘No, Charles, she doesn't think that. After talking to her this morning, I have reached a conclusion that the young woman's confidence is badly eroded. She's had a great shock, and anyway, is very unsure of herself, I suspect. She's coping with things in the best way she can. She was kept under the floorboards in the dark for several hours, and in a space hardly bigger than a grave. Can you imagine how that must have felt?'

Charles shuddered. He could imagine it only too well.

‘It would be a mistake to mention your feelings again until she has recovered, and is thinking straight. Give her a little time, and I believe she will come round. I formed the impression that she has something more on her mind than she's willing to discuss. She does care for you, though.'

‘Did she say so?'

‘Yes . . . she did, in many more ways than one. I do believe you've overwhelmed her. Allow her to recover . . . to get used to you. Women enjoy romantic gestures. Show yourself to advantage, buy her a posy of flowers.'

Charles' mind sifted through the information and stored it tidily away with the similar advice. He would make a list. ‘You'll have me under her window singing a serenade in the moonlight, next. Hmmm . . . yes, not too bad an idea. Celia likes music.'

Laughter trickled from his mother. ‘With your voice, music would be a misnomer, and might be a bit too much to expect. Be of support to her, nothing more. Be patient, Charles. When Celia begins to trust you, and she will, I'm sure she'll confide in you.'

‘I never thought I'd need a lesson on courtship from my own mother.'

‘Your father was a romantic man, you know. Like you, he had a bit of the wolf in him.'

Such a comparison pleased him. ‘Did you love each other?'

A smile flirted around her mouth. ‘We did. It took me a long time to recover from his death. Sometimes you're very much like him. I'm so very proud of you, you know, and so would he be.'

‘And Joshua?'

‘It's a different kind of love, less hot-blooded, but more affectionate. He's a good man.'

She reached out to touch his face. It was reassuring that his mother could still express love for her child, who was now a man, and how he could draw on it for comfort. He took her hand and kissed it, saying gruffly, ‘I'm glad you're my mother.'

‘So am I. You look rather pitiful, you poor boy. Now, go and get yourself a wash and shave and tidy yourself up while I ask the cook to warm some chicken broth for you. I have guests coming this afternoon. You can stay and help me entertain them if you wish.'

His heartfelt groan clearly expressed what that wish was worth at the moment.

‘Don't worry, dear. Stay long enough to be polite, and I'll ask Joshua to find some urgent business to discuss with you.'

Twenty-Two

Poole smelled of fish and the harbour was in its usual bustle of swaying masts and swooping seagulls as the fishing boats were being relieved of their catches.

The journey from Hanbury Cross had been a delight. The air was redolent of nuts and apples, and the trees, crowned in their autumn glory, were a sight to behold. Those leaves that had already lost their hold on the branches drifted in the air or were crunched under foot. There was a soft mistiness to the day that was altogether pretty.

The market stalls had a riper aroma, of horse and cattle dung. Men and women shouted their wares and dogs and children ran between the bustle and thrust of people's legs.

‘Are you looking forward to your visit to Italy with James,' Celia asked her aunt.

Harriet's smile emerged like the sun from behind a cloud. ‘I've been told it's the most romantic place on earth for a honeymoon.' Pink tinted her cheeks. ‘I'm so happy.'

Celia envied her that happiness. The wedding was to take place at the end of the week in the village church. There she would see Charles again, but she didn't know how she'd be able to look him in the face. Now he had observed her in her true colours, he obviously despised her.

‘You won't mind being alone at Chaffinch House for a month, will you?'

‘I won't be alone. Lottie and Millie will be there for company.'

‘Shall I ask Charles to look in on you from time to time?'

‘Certainly not.'

‘He's asked after you several times, Celia.'

‘Only because he thinks he's supposed to. He would have sent me a note if he'd been that interested.'

‘It sounds as though you still care for him.'

‘It cannot be, Aunt. You know why, and so does the reverend. You are the only people I can trust with my secret.'

‘Why don't you confide in Charles, and allow him to make up his own mind?'

‘Because I know what the result will be. Remember how shocked you were when I told you that my father had duped my mother into marriage, and of her need to earn enough money for food to keep us all alive.'

‘From what you tell me she was forced into it, and that must never become public knowledge. Not because I'm ashamed, but because I don't want other people to think badly of her. The real Alice was the one who loved you enough to send you to me in your time of trouble, and who found it in her heart to give Charlotte a home.'

Harriet tied the donkey to the hitching post next to a handsome gelding. The two bared their teeth at each other and whuffled a greeting. Harriet slipped a coin to an enterprising lad to give Major a drink and keep an eye on him.

‘We shall go to the courthouse first. James will meet us there and take us to lunch.'

They slipped into the public gallery, where a gypsy was being tried for stealing apples from an orchard.

Charles was defending the gypsy. Dressed all in black he looked slightly intimidating, and wore a pale wig, curled at the sides and with a little pigtail tied at the back. Charles was in the process of saying: ‘So you were working for the fruit grower, Mr Reeves, and you asked the man if you could take some windfalls home for your family.'

‘Yes, sir. And when it came time to pay my wage, he deducted the price of the apples. It were little enough as it was, seeing as most of the apples were rotten from the core out, on account of the wasps had been at them. When I told Farmer Dent that I wanted my money in full, less my wife and child starve that week, he got into a temper and hit me with his riding crop. He said he wasn't going to pay me at all, and would have me arrested and charged with stealing the apples. And here I am.'

‘Mr Dent, is this true?' the magistrate asked.

‘No . . . He's a bloody gypsy and they're all liars. I didn't say nothing like that.'

A man sitting next to Harriet jumped to his feet to state angrily, ‘You did so, Dent. I heard you with my own lugholes. You told him his wife and child could starve to death for all he cared. I don't go much on gypsies, but he put in a good week picking apples, and with no shirking. I reckon he gave you more than his eight shillings, worth.'

Charles had turned towards the man's voice, and his glance fell on her. His smile came to rob her of breath, and everything Celia had ever felt for him came rushing back to her like a spring tide.

The magistrate yawned. ‘I think I've heard enough of this case, Mr Curtis. I find the defendant not guilty, and the next time you're in front of me, have your witness properly instructed in court protocol. Do you have anything to add on your client's behalf?' There was a short pause then louder. ‘
Mr Curtis!
'

‘Yes, my lord.'

‘You're not usually quite so dim-witted, Mr Curtis. Do you have anything to add?
Compensation
for your client, perhaps.'

Celia giggled.

Charles' smile became a wry grin and he turned his attention back to the magistrate. ‘I request that my client be awarded his wages, plus an extra pound for the trouble he's been put to.'

‘A pound!' Dent shouted. ‘Not bloody likely.'

The magistrate would not be dictated to. ‘Let us make it eight shillings wages and twenty-two shillings compensation. That's a total of thirty-shillings to the gypsy, I believe.'

‘That's daylight robbery,' shouted Mr Dent.

‘Mr Dent will also pay to Mr Curtis the sum of his account for representing the accused. Have you got anything else to say before I fine you for contempt of court, Mr Dent?'

Dent pressed his lips tightly together.

‘See to it, clerk.' His gavel descended with a bang. ‘Court is adjourned.'

‘I was hoping you'd accept my invitation,' Charles said, when they got outside.

‘Invitation?' Celia admired a posy of purple verbena and yellow asters he'd given her. They were very pretty.

‘To help me make up my mind about a house I'm thinking of buying. Didn't Harriet tell you?'

‘No.' She slid him a shy glance, for he'd taken a small notebook from his pocket and was in the process of ticking off an item on a list.

‘That's the second time you've done that.'

‘Done what?'

‘Ticked that list.'

‘Ah . . . I suppose you're curious as to what's written on it.'

‘Not at all.' He hailed a cab, and he helped her inside. She gazed out the window. ‘James and my aunt seem to have disappeared.'

He gave an address to the driver. ‘Never mind. You'll be safe with me.' He tucked the notebook and pencil back in his pocket and his smile captivated her.

This was going to happen again, she thought. Just when she thought she was over him, she'd fall in love all over again. They set off up a long hill. ‘Why didn't you invite them?'

‘I think they wanted to be on their own. I imagine they'll catch us up when they're ready.' He took her hand in his when they turned into the short carriageway of a comfortably large house, lined with elm trees and lilac bushes. It looked a little neglected, but had a spectacular view over the harbour.

‘This is the house you're thinking of buying?'

‘I've been living in rooms for the past two years or more. Do you like it?'

The house was of regency design. The garden was overgrown and it had an air of waiting about it. ‘It has a great deal of charm.'

‘That's what I thought. The furnishings are optional, since the present owner lives abroad, and has no intention of returning – which is ideal for me, since I only own a gentleman's dressing chest and a desk.'

Inside, the furniture was shrouded. They wandered from room to room. Charles opened the French windows to the terrace, where the view over the harbour was exposed to their gaze.

‘It would be a wonderful home.'

Out came the book again, a tick was added. The book was put away with a flourish that she pretended not to notice.

Halfway up the stairs was a small landing where they turned at an angle. Above, a window of multicoloured glass let in the light. He pulled her down on to a stair. ‘You look pretty in blue.'

‘Charles—'

‘I know. I know. You don't want to encourage me in case I'm disappointed. Do you think I'm so shallow that I can fall out of love so easily?'

‘No, I—'

‘I know everything about you, Celia.'

‘You don't know about my father.'

‘What of him?'

‘He duped my mother into marrying him, when he was already married to someone else. I'm illegitimate,' she blurted out.

‘I don't give a fig about your father . . . or your mother, except she must have been an exceptional woman to have raised you so nicely under the circumstances.'

He pulled her against him. ‘I've come prepared for every eventuality. If you feel the need to cry I have handkerchiefs. If you want to curse, I promise not to be shocked. If you want to make love, I will find us a soft bed.'

Her hands flew to her cheeks. ‘Charles Curtis, you are making me blush.'

He gazed at her cheeks and grinned. ‘So you are.' He took out the book and gazed at his list, then at his watch, then fell to one knee. ‘Dearest Celia, my love. Will you marry me?'

‘What is on that list?' She plucked it from his hand and read it. Her eyes met his. ‘You have it all planned. Don't contact her for a while, then she'll miss you . . . give her flowers . . . show yourself at work to your best advantage so you impress her with your skills. Apples?' she spluttered.

‘Sorry, it was supposed to be a fraud trial, but the court list was switched at the last minute.'

‘I was impressed. You look sweet in your wig and gown.'

He winced. ‘I was supposed to look professional and in command of myself. Dearest Celia. Is it to be yes or no?'

Her eyes scanned down the rest of the list. ‘Show her the house you want to buy for her, and see if she likes it.'

‘She does.'

‘Charles. This is a big house.'

‘Big enough for a man and his wife, plus a little girl called Lottie and a dog called Spot . . . and one or two other small creatures in time, perhaps.'

‘It will need servants to help look after it. Can you afford it? There must be something smaller around. There's a pretty cottage for sale in the village.'

He grinned. ‘I earn five thousand pounds a year.'

She blinked. ‘Well . . . if you think that will cover your expenses . . . but you might have to economize a bit. It's a lovely home though. It just needs to be loved.'