Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Charlotte, sit down at once! I’ll fetch the smelling salts.”
Ignoring her aunt, Charlotte picked up the clothes she’d been wearing the previous day, still a little damp from the dousing, and hastily got dressed.
When her aunt returned, she was dragging a comb through her tangled curls and cursing each time it snagged.
“Sit down!” repeated Aunt Flora, with unexpected authority. “I don’t know why you’re in such a rush. What can you do about anything?”
She sat obediently on the edge of her bed, but when the pungent smelling salts were wafted under her nose, she waved them away. “I’m just so worried. Rafe— I mean, Lord Beckport’s mission was more important than you know.”
Her aunt gazed at her a moment, then sat down beside her. “I may know more than you think,” she said gently. “What can I do to help? You can rely on my complete discretion.”
If only Charlotte could confide in someone! If people went to Dovehouse Farm to catch a glimpse of Rafe—as the gossips undoubtedly would for an infamous peer—not only would Rafe be exposed, but Justin would be, too. And be mistaken for a deserter. All hell would break loose.
Whatever was she to do? She must warn them both!
“What’s going on, Charlotte?”
She forced herself to calm down. Panic would solve nothing. Perhaps she should confide in Aunt Flora—she’d always been very level-headed.
Before she could frame a sentence, Flora said, “Perhaps you’ll be cheered by the other news I have to share. There’s to be supper party tomorrow night at Finchcombe House.”
Charlotte’s heart jolted. “Finchcombe House? Isn’t that the Culverdales’ estate?”
“It is, indeed. But it’s very odd, them giving virtually no notice. We’ve accepted, of course, though I don’t suppose there’ll be anybody there I want to talk to.” Her aunt looked wistful, but Charlotte’s mind was buzzing too busily to wonder why.
The Culverdales were having an impromptu supper party? If Rafe was right that the previous ball had been to distract the locals during a smuggling run, did it mean another run was happening tomorrow?
Rafe couldn’t possibly know about this, or he’d have mentioned it.
But how on earth was she to get word to him covertly, especially now that everyone knew his true identity and direction?
She chewed on her lip. There had to be a way.
There was concern in her aunt’s eyes. “You look very tired. Shall I fetch you one of Ephraim’s nostrums?”
“It’s nothing. I’ve just not been sleeping well.”
Flora gave her a hard stare. “No, it’s something else. Something you can’t stop worrying over. If you tell me what the matter is, maybe I can help.”
Suddenly, Charlotte felt like a small child again. The secrets she’d been keeping, her love and fears for Rafe, crowded in upon her, and all she wanted was to lean on her aunt’s shoulder and sob.
She sucked in a shuddering breath and schooled her mind to calm. “Prepare yourself for a major confession, Aunt,” she said. “I hope you won’t be too shocked.”
A peculiar expression crossed her aunt’s face, but the sensitive smile was soon back in place. “I may not be as easy to shock as you imagine.”
“Very well,” said Charlotte, and took a steadying breath. “I’ve fallen in love with Rafe.”
“I thought as much,” Flora said.
“There’s more. Remember Justin Jessop, the young man I tried to run away with?”
Her aunt nodded. “How could I forget?”
“He deserted from his company up in Scotland to be with me. I never asked or expected him to,” she protested when her aunt’s brows flew up. “He just arrived one day and shocked the life out of me. I took him to Rafe, who very generously offered Justin a position on his staff to save him being shot for desertion. I’m afraid now that Rafe’s identity is known, both his and Justin’s lives are at risk.”
Her aunt asked sharply, “What is Beckport’s mission, exactly?”
Charlotte explained it in full, including their suspicions concerning Lord Culverdale. As well as her fears over what the last-minute supper party might presage.
“I’m sure Lord Culverdale is up to something,” she said. “He may even be planning to light the beacons tomorrow while everyone is at Finchcombe House. I can’t bear to think of those poor children lighting those horrid explosive bonfires!”
Flora took her hand and squeezed it. “Nor the idea of those beacons signaling Napoleon that he can invade our country. There’s much at stake here.”
“We mustn’t go to the supper party. We need to warn Rafe, and somehow keep people at bay while he completes his mission.”
“Will our absence not be remarked upon? The invitation came yesterday while you were out, and Lucinda has already sent our acceptance. Besides, what can three ladies do in the face of such despicable treachery?”
Charlotte glanced at her aunt. She looked a different person somehow—younger, but also wiser. Maybe Mama was right and there was something going on with that gypsy healer, Dr. Campaign.
“Even if Napoleon does try to invade,” Flora said, “we have a whole fleet of ships and fearless admirals like Horatio Nelson. There are militias stationed in every county.”
Charlotte smiled wanly. “True. But it doesn’t help us today.”
“What if,” Flora said after a lengthy silence, “you send Rafe a message via one of the village children? Jacky Scadden would do anything for a penny or two.”
Charlotte nodded, and felt a bit brighter. “Then all we’d need is a way of keeping the gossips, the match-making mamas, and the local gentry clear of the farm.”
Now that she had a co-conspirator, Charlotte felt much more optimistic about finding an answer. Between the two of them, surely they could come up with something.
She jumped at the loud ringing of the dinner bell downstairs. Mama hated anyone to be late for breakfast.
Suddenly, Charlotte knew exactly what to do. “Aunt Flora!” she said excitedly. “Are you still in contact with your doctor friend?”
Her aunt’s cheeks pinked, and she looked so self-conscious Charlotte felt inclined to laugh. The answer was clearly yes.
“Why do you ask?” Flora queried cautiously.
“Because I think I’ve hit on exactly the solution we need. But we’re going to need a little bit of help from a medical practitioner.”