Lies and Misdemeanours

“Afferley is a fairly small, nondescript village; a hamlet really, several miles away from Derby. It is owned by someone Sir Hugo knows, apparently.” He smiled down at her. “Sometimes it is best not to ask too many questions.”

Hetty studied him for a moment, aware of the intimate atmosphere that settled over them. It was difficult to ignore, especially when they were both bathed in moonlight. The silvery shadows gave him an air of mystery that made him more than a little intriguing. Her fingers itched to touch the side of his face, just to assure herself that he was real, but she knew that any kind of contact would bring forward the emotions she was already struggling to contain.

“Try and get some sleep,” he murmured gently, aware of her eyes touring the contours of his face.

His body began to respond, and he shifted to try to ease the discomfort. In an attempt to focus on something other than the wayward demands of his flesh, he leaned away from her so he could remove his jacket. Unfortunately, when he tried to drape it over her shoulders, she pushed it back at him with a shake of her head.

“I am fine. You keep it, or you are going to get cold. I have my cloak,” she eyed the broad expanse of white shirt. “You only have your shirt on. You will be frozen.”

“I am fine.” He assured her with a grin, but clenched his teeth to stop them from chattering. “I come from a hardy breed.”

Hetty sighed. “I know, but that white shirt glows in the dark. You stand out like a beacon,” she told him wryly. She watched him consider that for a moment before he carefully put his jacket back on.

“Do you think they are going to be alright?” Hetty asked with a frown. “I hope to God they got out of town alright.”

“My friends know what they are doing. Look at what they arranged yesterday. If it wasn’t for all of you, Simon and I would be swinging from the gallows by now.” He stopped when he heard her gasp, and saw the fear in her eyes; even through the darkness. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you of a time we would both be better off trying to forget. I am sure that they got out; really. I am not just saying that to pacify you – it’s the truth. One thing I do know about your brother is that he is very capable.” He gave her a nudge. “We were the ones who had most of Derby jail after us, not them. It was the chance they needed to get Mabel out of danger.”

Hetty nodded. She wished that she could see him a bit more clearly through the gloom because she was certain that she had heard a hint of doubt in his voice. She frowned into the darkness. She was cold, fiercely hungry, and worried sick, but it all seemed inconsequential given the ordeal he had so recently endured.

A gentle breeze teased her cloak. She felt, rather than saw, him shiver. She leaned up enough to remove the cloak before she shuffled closer to him. He hugged her tighter while she drew the cloak over both of them and snuggled down against his chest.

It felt incredibly wanton to lie against him. As soon as she was nestled against his side, he draped one long arm around her shoulders and drew her closer still. There was nothing else she could do, so she rested her head on his shoulder. Immediately, warmth encased her and she started to relax for the first time in several very long and worrying days. More importantly, he had stopped shivering as well.

“Can I ask you something?” She whispered when silence settled around them. He shifted to find a more comfortable position.

“You can ask me whatever you want to, darling,” he murmured softly.

“What did you do that drew Meldrew’s attention to you? I mean, if you were Reverend Pott’s friend, and just came to his church in remembrance of him, there is nothing untoward about you that Meldrew could be worried about.”

Charlie sighed and stared blankly into the darkness. “My friend, Arthur, was a good friend of mine whom I had known for years. He was the third son of Lord Upton of Keddlesham. As the third son, he was given the choice of going into the army or joining the Church.”

“He chose the Church?” she prompted when he lapsed into melancholy silence, and didn’t seem inclined to expand on his explanation.

“Yes. A couple of months ago, I received a letter from him that was full of worry. He said that he was being pressured to pay someone a lot of money to keep the church safe and, when he had refused to pay the demand, the church had been ransacked. Bibles had been burned, and valuable items smashed. He felt that he was being pressured into handing over a huge amount of the funds to pay thugs to stop wrecking the church.”

“Didn’t he tell the authorities; the Bishop, or anything?” Hetty suspected that she knew what was coming even before he spoke.

“The church Arthur worked at is in Hemsley, sweetheart. Meldrew is the authority.” Charlie’s words echoed around the stone walls. “I don’t know if he wrote to the Bishop, or told his father. Nobody knew that he was the third son of Lord Upton, as far as I can tell, so I doubt it. He kept that a secret because he wasn’t very close to his father. Now that I think about it, I doubt that he would have written to Lord Upton to tell him.”

“He could have written to the Bishop though.”

Charlie nodded, but doubted that she could see him in the gloom. “Yes, he could have. I was on my way to visit the Bishop next. I had intended to find out whether Meldrew was likely to have been involved when Simon and I got arrested.”

“Reverend Potts was found in the church with a head wound. Everyone just thought that he had fallen over, and hit his head on one of the gravestones,” Hetty explained.

“I know, darling. I wouldn’t have thought it anything about it either.”

“If it hadn’t been for your friend’s letter,” Hetty finished for him.

Charlie sighed and hugged her closer. “There is no proof that it was anything other than a trip which resulted in Arthur hitting

his head on a gravestone, and dying before anyone found him.”

“You think it is linked to Meldrew’s demands for money,” she sighed.

He shrugged. “The verger, Snetterton, showed me the spot where Arthur died. There was nothing around it that he could have hit his head on. Given that letter, I just had to start to ask questions. I spent some time in the village tavern, and overheard enough conversations to know that Meldrew was a despised bully who was extorting money out of anyone and everyone he could. If his victims didn’t comply, they had their goods stolen or smashed beyond repair, just like Arthur. They were hounded at all hours of the day and night until they gave in and handed over the money.”

“Why would they kill Arthur though, if they wanted money from him? Wouldn’t it have been better to keep him alive and get the money?” Hetty scowled, and wondered what it was that she wasn’t seeing.