Miss Charity's Case Read Online Free Page B

should teach them caution before such headstrong behavior brought problems the sisters would not need. Odd that they had not learned such lessons already.
    He had no time to untangle enigmas tonight. The storm was abating, and he must be on his way. Bending his head into the wind and rain, he froze in the middle of the yard as he heard another carriage being whipped up to race away from the inn. The paper-skull on the box risked tumbling the vehicle on the wet night. He hoped his trip would not be slowed more by having to offer help to a mired fool. Enough had gone awry tonight. He must be flying across the Channel before dawn.
    Joyce heard the heated voices even before she opened the door of the simple room she would share with her sister. Her eyes widened when she saw Charity standing at the foot of the iron bed, her arms folded over her chest as she argued with the thin innkeeper. The situation was becoming worse by the moment.
    Charity looked past the innkeeper to her sister. As Joyce tossed her damp cloak onto the room’s sole chair, Charity said, “Forgive me for coming up here without telling you, but, as you can see, I arrived none too soon.”
    â€œWhat is amiss?” Joyce asked.
    â€œI’d as lief you asked what is not wrong.” Charity affixed a frown on the innkeeper who was as thin as a plucked chicken. “That would take less time to tell. Not only has no fire been set on our hearth, but our trunk has vanished.”
    The innkeeper turned to Joyce and pleaded in his nasal whine, “Won’t ye explain to her, miss, for I fear she refuses to heed m’words?”
    â€œWhy should I heed your nothing-sayings?” Charity took a deep breath to calm herself. To lose her temper before this incompetent hosteler would gain them nothing. If she had not been so unsettled by the peculiar encounter with Oliver Blackburn, she might be more in control of herself. Rattling off the innkeeper had gained her nothing, for he refused to answer her questions.
    â€œTell her, miss,” urged the innkeeper to Joyce again, “that yer planning to depart tonight.”
    Charity interjected, “What would give you such a chuckle-headed notion?”
    â€œDidn’t ye want yer trunk removed to that fine carriage in the yard?” The innkeeper’s mouth tightened in a scowl as he stared at Joyce.
    Charity stepped between him and her sister. “I shan’t have you badgering my sister to hide your own inadequacies. Pray, lay us a fire and seek about the inn to discover where our trunk might be.”
    â€œâ€™Tis gone,” he insisted.
    â€œI know that.” He was bird-witted to repeat himself endlessly. Mr. Blackburn must have taken note of the innkeeper’s inability to maintain order. That explained Mr. Blackburn’s anxiety that she should scurry away to hide in her chamber like a rabbit seeking its hole in the hedgerow.
    Bother! she thought. This was not the time to have her head filled with useless thoughts . She would not be seeing Mr. Blackburn again, so she should not let memories of his brash ways distract her. The pulse of dismay at that realization startled her. Why was she letting a stranger consume her mind?
    Her exasperation at her own wayward thoughts sharpened her voice, “I ask only that you find our trunk, sir, and bring it to our room posthaste.”
    Again the thin-gut innkeeper turned to Joyce. “I beg ye, miss, to tell her the truth.”
    â€œAnd I beg of you, sir,” Charity said, furious that he would imply such things about Joyce, “to refrain from suggesting that my sister played some part in your ineptitude. If you are too pudding-hearted to own to your own error, I ask you again to lay our fire and begone.”
    The innkeeper growled something under his breath, but nodded. Stepping aside, Charity watched closely as he arranged the logs on the hearth. He might be as incompetent at this task as he was at every other,