A Spinster's Awakening (A New Adventure Begins - Star Elite 2)

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.

“Just what are you up to?” Charity knew now that she had to find out.

It didn’t occur to her that she was emboldened by Angus’s presence in the house. Charity never stopped to contemplate if she would be so wayward if she had been all alone. Instead, Charity was focused solely on the man across the road, and how she went about proving his guilt. Mostly because it kept her mind off the distracting presence of the man in her kitchen.

“I could take you some cake,” she mused in a breath that was barely above a whisper.

Immediately, her gaze flickered to Mr Lawrence’s house. Charity contemplated the last time she had attempted to take him a neighbourly offering. He had quite rudely declared that he hated cake and rebuffed her so briskly she had been offended for days, to the point that she had barely been able to bring herself to even nod to him when they had crossed paths in the village a few days later.

Charity had no idea what she would do if Mr Horvat was equally as rude. She didn’t feel comfortable around him now anyway, not after last night, and this morning. Was she confident enough to go across the road and venture anywhere near him, even armed with a friendly cake? She didn’t think so and doubted she would even with any of her friends in attendance.

“Damn, I need to make the cake today,” she whispered in disgust when she remembered the evening’s meeting of the tapestry circle.

Charity sighed deeply. She had completely forgotten about the pantry she still needed to restock and cast a worried glance at the clock on the mantle. If she got a move on she would be able to get to the store before the ladies arrived, although wouldn’t have the time to bake anything if she was hindered in any way. Rather than hurry out of the house, though, she remained rooted to the spot, and continued to contemplate the house opposite. She was lost on the quandary of how she was going to find out what she needed to know without alerting either Mr Horvat, or the very watchful gaze of the men from the War Office.

“I have to go and see him somehow,” she whispered, but for the life of her couldn’t work out how she was going to get into the house, or even knock on the door without appearing suspicious. “I can’t do that. If I behave oddly he will know immediately that something is wrong.”