‘Then it will have been delivered to him this morning.'
‘Yes. Damnation, we must act quickly. I shall have to break in tonight and try to find it-'
‘No. Let me go now and see what I can discover.'
He stared at her.
‘Are you out of your mind? You cannot go to Beringham, it is far too dangerous.'
Her brows rose.
‘It is market day, and if I know Phineas he will be holding a court. He would not miss the chance to fine his fellow men for their misdeeds. And even if he is at home I shall have my maid with me and make sure he knows that I have left word of where I am.' She smiled. ‘I want to make peace with my new stepmama.'
‘And what do you hope to achieve by that?'
‘At best, to find that letter and at worst-I can at least describe to you the layout of the house.'
‘No. I can as easily find my way tonight. I will not risk your safety.'
‘Please, Ross, let me do this.' She held his gaze steadily. ‘We will neither of us have any peace until he is brought down.'
It took some time to persuade Ross that she was determined, but at last he agreed, after she had told him that if he would not help her she would make the attempt alone. A swift plan was devised and she went back to Allingford to collect Betty.
As she drove back to North Street, Charity wondered just how much she should tell her maid. Betty had drawn her own conclusions about what had happened in the dressing room the previous evening, but she had maintained an affronted silence on the matter. However, if Charity was going to enlist her aid in this latest escapade, she would have to tell her at least some of the truth.
* * *
‘Ooh, Miss Charity, that is the most fantastical, madcap idea I have ever heard!'
Charity and her maid were in the gig and on their way to Beringham. Time was short so Charity had begged Betty to accompany her, promising to explain everything on the way.
‘To break into a magistrate's house, to find a letter Mr Durden thinks might be there-'
Charity had said nothing about Ross's activities as the Dark Rider, only that he suspected Phineas of spying for the French. She had to admit the story did sound implausible.
‘I will understand, Betty, if you do not wish to help us-'
‘Of course I will help you, Miss Charity. From all you have told me of your father, you don't think I would let you go into his house alone? By heaven, you and Mr Durden are like a pair of star-crossed lovers from one of Mr Jenkin's plays!'
Charity threw her a wry glance. ‘I suppose we are, only in this instance I have no idea what the ending will be!'
* * *
The afternoon was well advanced by the time they reached Beringham. Charity remembered the town from her childhood, but it had changed considerably in the thirteen years since she had run away. It was still a bustling market town, but she thought it compared unfavourably to Allingford. The town was less colourful, the people far more sober in their dress and countenance. One or two turned to stare as she drove through the High Street and Charity smiled and nodded, happy to acknowledge that she was the celebrated actress from the neighbouring town. She had to work hard not to search the crowds for a sight of Ross, but he had told her he would be close and the knowledge supported her as she raised her hand to knock on the door of Phineas Weston's grand town house.
‘I don't like this, mistress, and so I tell you,' muttered Betty as they waited for the summons to be answered.
‘No more do I,' murmured Charity through smiling lips. ‘That is why I have brought you with me, for protection.'
They were shown inside through the ornate entrance hall and into an overfurnished drawing room. Charity adopted a stately pace and took the opportunity to note the layout of the hall-drawing room to the left, two closed doors to the right with the bust of Caesar in pride of place between them, sweeping staircase to the upper floors. She gestured to Betty to sit on the bench in the hall and wait for her.
She was left alone in the drawing room and immediately crossed to the double doors, peeping through into the dining room beyond. She had returned to the centre of the room by the time her hostess entered. Hannah was as overdecorated as her drawing room. Her yellow gown was in the latest mode, but bedecked with such an abundance of lace and ribbons that even when she stood still her gown fluttered and trembled of its own accord.
‘My husband is not at home.'
Charity heard the cold tone. She answered pleasantly and with total insincerity, ‘I am very sorry to hear that, but perhaps it is not such a bad thing. I came...' She paused, looked away, her whole demeanour one of shy uncertainty. ‘I have been thinking about you since your visit to me.' Hannah's hostile look became tinged with bewilderment. Charity gave her a sad little smile. ‘Having no family begins to weigh upon one after a while.'
‘If I understand correctly, it was you who ran away,' replied Hannah. She did not invite Charity to sit down, but continued to watch her carefully.
‘I was very young.' Charity gave a sigh. ‘I realise now just how headstrong I was as a child. How headstrong I still am and prone to lose my temper all too quickly.' She fixed Hannah with her most bewitching smile. ‘I hope you can forgive the hateful things I said to you the other day.'
‘I think it is your father you need to see. To give him your apology.'
‘You are very right, ma'am.'
‘But he will not be home for some time.' Hannah moved towards the door. ‘Perhaps you could come back....'
‘Of course, but please, while I am here-' She broke off, limpid blue eyes fixed upon Hannah's face.
‘Yes?'
‘If I might see his Bible?'
Hannah's brows shot up. Whatever she had been expecting, thought Charity grimly, it had not been this!
‘His Bible!'
Charity nodded, clasping her hands together before her in mute appeal.
‘Yes, if you please. The big leather-bound one. He used to read it to me every night.' It was an effort not to shudder at the memory. ‘I would draw such comfort from seeing it.'
Hannah stared at her for a long moment, then with a shrug and a nod she went to the door. Charity followed her across the hall and through the second of the two doors. She found herself standing in a book-lined room with a large mahogany desk in the centre. Her father's study. Her memory had not failed her. All her childhood she remembered her father keeping the family Bible in his study.
Along with the worn leather riding crop he had used to beat her.
No time to let the past weigh down upon her now. She needed all her energies for the task ahead.
‘Ah, here it is!' She hurried across to a lectern by the window, noting as she did so that the study was above the kitchens and overlooked a small service yard. It was surrounded by a brick wall with a door leading to a back lane. The door would be locked, but the wall, although high, would not be impossible for a man to climb over. She laid her hands on the tooled leather cover of the Bible, saying reverently, ‘Father's most treasured possession.'
She opened it and stared at the flyleaf, momentarily forgetting her role.
‘The Weston family record,' said Hannah crisply, following her gaze. ‘Your name has been scratched out, but you will not wonder at that, when you consider the pain you have caused your father.'
Charity was gripping the lectern so hard that her knuckles had turned white, but she hoped the other woman would see that as a sign of grief and not the revulsion she actually felt to see the black scoring through her name, so heavy that it had scratched a hole in the page.
‘You are quite right,' she answered quietly. ‘I have a great deal to repent, I think.'
But not running away from Phineas Weston. Never that.
She said, her voice a nice mixture of timidity and hopefulness, ‘Mrs Weston-Hannah-I wonder if you would let me...read a little from this holy book? I think it would help to-to soothe my soul.' Without waiting for a reply, she carefully turned over the pages. From the hall came the faint sounds of knocking at the door. ‘Ah, Psalm Thirty-two, how appropriate.' She put up her head and declaimed, ‘"Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered".'
She continued to recite, even when the footman appeared. He murmured something to his mistress, who listened in growing irritation. She looked up at Charity as if to say something, then changed her mind and followed the servant from the room, leaving the door open behind her. As soon as she was out of sight Charity moved across to the desk while the words continued to fall from her lips without pause.