The prize that was to place Faith under his roof with instructions that she must make him fall in love with her.
Why? So she could break his heart, of course.
And what choices other than to obey would be available to a vulnerable young girl with a threat of prosecution hanging over her head?
“Where will I find her?” he asked, and Charity cocked her head.
“She’s gone to see Lord Harkom, of course. I thought you knew. But, I suppose you had to be told that Faith’s not the girl you thought her, otherwise you’d not want to rush over there now. Which you really ought to do.”
“She’s with Harkom? By God, I ought to—!” He raked his fingers through his hair. “She’s with him…now, you say? Why not tell me this earlier!?”
“I just told you, Mr Westaway. You came here believing Faith used you as an opportunity to better herself. You didn’t believe she loved you, which I assure you, she does. Otherwise, she’d not risk herself with Lord Harkom in order to salvage those letters he says are so damaging to you.”
Crispin shook his head. “I have nothing to hide. No love letters that I’ve ever written which run the risk of sullying my reputation. I can’t imagine what Lord Harkom thinks he can hold over me. Unless…!” He moved quickly to the door. “Unless he was using it as a ruse in order to lure Faith to him. She refused him before so…”
Charity fidgeted with her necklace. “Lord Harkom doesn’t like to be turned down; it’s true. So maybe what you say is right. But nor would it have been right for me to say nothing if there really was something to those letters.”
“But why wait so long? Why did you not write immediately, if that was your fear?”
“I’m not stupid, sir, but the letters do have a way of mixing themselves up before my eyes. And no, Faith was careful that no one knew where she was so as not to put me, or her friends, in danger. Besides, I was hoping I’d see you myself so I could tell you about Faith. Like I’m doing now.”
“How unlucky I missed her if she was here earlier tonight!” He strode to the door. ““Thank you, Charity. I shall go there now. I just hope to God I’m not too late.”
Faith looked at the prone form of Lord Harkom with satisfaction. Sprawled on the sofa, arms outstretched, legs splayed, he did not look the kind of specimen she’d consider worthy of her, for all he was handsome in a cruel, effete kind of way. And rich.
He would have set her up, nicely.
If she were that kind of girl.
Carefully, she assessed her opportunities. She could only trust that Charity had been right.
She hurried to the large bed and went down on her knees to scrabble underneath. The light was too dim to see, so she rose and quickly carried the lamp to aid her search, going down on her belly to feel about in the dark.
Perhaps Charity had mistaken the chest from something else?
Perhaps Lord Harkom had moved it?
Lord Harkom made a loud snoring noise and his body convulsed, making Faith jump, too.
But as her arm swung wide, it found a handle of an object which, drawing it towards her and into the light, turned out to be a small, neat chest.
With no lock.
Her hands were trembling so much, and her heart beating so fiercely she felt sick, but time was not on her side, so she set to her search with as clear a head as she could.
The letters were arranged in bundles, and the top few seemed to be correspondence from various women to Lord Harkom. Tied up in ribbon, they all seemed similar she decided as she slipped each from its envelope and read the first couple of sentences. Mistresses and spurned lovers. There seemed a lot of those.
As she neared the bottom, her spirits fell. Perhaps she was looking in the wrong chest for there was no sign of anything that suggested an interest in Mr Westaway.
Until she reached the very bottom and found the only envelope not addressed to Lord Harkom or from Lord Harkom.
Faith rolled back on her haunches and closed her eyes a moment. Could this be the letter she was after? Her fingers seemed not to work as they should, and it was difficult not to tear the cheap, single sheet of paper she pulled from its envelope before quickly scanning its contents.
Lord Harkom groaned in his sleep, and Faith’s fingers went slack. She stared at the letter, its words a jumble in front of her face. This must be how Charity had felt every time Faith had tried to teach her the alphabet.
But it wasn’t that Faith couldn’t understand the contents. There was nothing ambiguous about the information, or about the demands for satisfaction or else public disclosure would follow.
Putting a hand to her bosom to try and still the rapid rise and fall, she closed her eyes. She felt sick. This wasn’t what she’d expected to find. Not at all.