A Desire to Hide Part 52

Peter had expected Mr. Percy to be an older man, he was after all a lawyer. Mr. Percy was only about the age of Mr. Seay however, fifty at the oldest. Whereas Mr. Seay had the muscles expected of a man who spent his days lifting kegs, it was clear that the heaviest thing that Mr. Percy lifted was a soup ladle. Peter found his eyes constantly wandering to watch the man’s double chin wobble. Still, Peter was determined to make a good impression, so he stepped forward, hand out.

“Mr. Percy? My name is Peter Wells,” said Peter. Mr. Percy however was clearly not in the mood to greet him, and ignored the outstretched hand until Peter lowered it. Instead Peter found himself the recipiant of a glare with more hostility than any look he had ever received, even from Charles.

“How much have you been paid, Mr. Wells, to offer marriage to Ms. Seay?” demanded the lawyer. Peter recoiled from the man, shocked by the accusation from a complete stranger.

“Sir?” asked Peter, trying not to take instant offense, and finding it difficult.

“By Mr. Hendley. Your interference is a masterful destruction of our case against Charles Hendley.”

“Only if the jury is willing to believe what has been written in the papers,” said Charity, glaring back at Mr. Percy.

“It is well known that Mr. Wells here has been in the employment of Mr. Hendley for some time.”

“And dismissed from his service after the attention I received from the papers,” said Peter, his voice cool.

“A fine act,” said Mr. Percy, his voice dismissive.

“I trust Peter entirely,” said Charity, her voice firm.

“The foolish sentimentality of a woman,” said Mr. Percy, waving his hand. Peter felt his hand ball in a fist but then he felt Charity’s hand reach for it, and he relaxed his muscles so he could hold her hand.

“If I cooperate entirely with your case against Charles Hendley, what harm can I do?” asked Peter.

“All the harm in the world,” said Mr. Percy, laughing harshly, something that caused his second chin to jiggle wildly. “Even if I am to assume that you mean us no harm on Mr. Hendley’s behalf, you still cause the destruction of our case. The nature of the case against Charles Hendley is breech of promise. That is when a woman sues a man for promising that he will marry her.”

“I do not see how I stand in the way of that,” said Peter.

“The reason it is such a serious crime, Mr. Wells, is because a woman is unlikely to find a worthy man who is willing to marry her after being engaged once. If you are the worthy man that you claim, then she has no need for the monetary reimbursement to support herself.”

“You mean that you think that Charles Hendley will be able to escape for free after what he did to me?” asked Charity, tightly gripping Peter’s hand.

“I cannot imagine your breech of promise case being well accepted after the attention that you have received in the papers, even without this man standing by your side. People are likely to be suspicious. I will naturally continue to represent you so long as you decide to continue, I have been paid, but it is my duty to tell you the chances that you face.”

“It does not seem right that Charles should escape,” said Peter, his voice angry. “Nor is it right however, that he should stand in the way of Charity and I getting married.” Charity let go of his hand and looked at him.

“I think I would like my family, and your sisters, to be here after all,” said Charity, walking towards the door. “You wait here, while I go and call them.” She was only gone for a moment, but being left alone with the lawyer, who clearly still thought he was an enemy agent, made it seem like a long time indeed. Charity marched back into the room, their relatives in tow, like a general marching into battle however. Though she was less pale than when he had first met her, Peter recognized the facial expression as the one that she had had when they first met. This was Charity marshaling her resources for a battle.

“I thought you should all be here to hear this,” Charity announced, once they were all in the room, “I mean to drop my charges of broken promise against Charles Hendley. Mr. Percy has advised me that there is little chance of my winning the case, and I am willing to trust in his legal expertise.”

A Desire to Hide Part Sixteen

A storm rolled across the city as Peter walked the short distance from the office to Charles’s rooms, in the esteemed company of that gentleman. It did nothing to add to the comfort of the day, which was oppressively hot again, as the last several days had been. Instead the water steamed on the streets, and on the people it drenched. Peter could feel his cotton undershirt become itchy, and almost unbearable, but if he excused himself to go home now, he was concerned that he would not get another such opportunity. Neither he or Charles had brought an umbrella, it having been so dry the several days previous that no one had even considered rain a possibility. Charles did not seem any more comfortable than Peter, and they half ran to his rooms where Charles excused himself into his bedroom for a moment to change. Peter, who did not have such a chance, was forced to stand in the parlor and wait. He was not willing to sit down and risk spoiling the fine upholstery on the chairs next to the unlit fireplace.
“Here you are, old chap,” said Charles, coming out finally in a smoking jacket and carrying a bundle of letters. Peter, still not daring to sit in one of the chairs, instead stood at the mantel to read them. Charles himself lounged in on of the arm chairs and looked amazingly smug. Peter tried his best to ignore him, he was worried that if he paid him too much attention he might want to punch him.
Peter had dreaded the contents of the letters, being much afraid that they might be so scandalous that he would find he could no longer think of Charity Seay in the manner in which he had since meeting her. This was not the case however. It was true that they were very incautious, and certainly likely to cause a scandal if they were printed, but they were all written to her dearest, and first love, Charles. They were not the letters of a fast woman, or a woman after money and power through Charles’s family. Instead they were all of the proof that Peter needed, had he needed any additional proof, that Charity had truly believed that she was going to marry Charles, that she had been in love with him while he had toyed with her. As Peter read each letter he was careful to not refold them or place them in their envelops. Instead he placed each one flat in a stack on the mantel. As he finished reading the last one he could not help himself he turned and grinned at Charles.
“Good, are they not? I am rather fond of the one where she speaks of how she enjoyed our time together in the parlor, about how I gave her such happiness, she could hardly contain it. The whore,” Charles added. Peter nodded, he had read that passage several times before putting that letter with the others.
So Charity had been indiscreet, the letters made that very plain. He had thought that learning such a thing might cool his ardor for her, and had promised himself that if such was the case he would walk away from it all and pretend none of this had ever happened. Instead however, he found the fact only made him more angry and determined. She had thought of Charles as her husband, and she had given him everything, and he had betrayed her. Yes, she had been innocent, naive, and over eager, but then she was practically at an age where she was destined to be an old maid, and suddenly a wealthy man had shown an interest in her. That was something that stories were made of. Peter made his decision, he snatched up the letters from the mantel, and before Charles could stop him, he ripped them in half. Having stacked them as he had, by the time that Charles was out of his seat, Peter had shredded them even more. Bits of them floated through the air, but most of them he shoved into his pockets. He would have been happier had there been a fire that he could throw them into, but that could come latter. What was important right now was that Charles knew the letters to be destroyed.
“I shall give my notice to your father tomorrow,” Peter said. “My month is up in two weeks time however, and I will stay on until then. Be assured that if you in any way interfere with me during that time, or attempt to prevent your father from giving me references, I will be forced to tell him about what you intended to do with these letters. He is an honorable man, and I doubt he would condone either your use of the letters, or what they contain in them. I remember that you have a younger brother, it might be well to insure that he is not the only one remembered in your father’s will.”
“You resort to blackmail then?” said Charles, sinking back into his chair now and looking at Peter with great scorn.
“When I am dealing with a blackmailer,” said Peter, trying to make an equal show of outward calm. He wished that he could simply resign from his position and leave, but references were important and he would never get them if he left suddenly. He did have sisters to support after all, and he already had some doubts about his ability to get an immediate job. The gauntlet had been thrown however, and the challenge issued. He supposed he could only consider himself lucky that he was not of Charles’s social set, or a far more formal challenge to duel might have been the response. As it was however, Charles would never duel a man who was so much lower than he was. Charles would never consider Peter to be a gentleman.
Charles had meant to return home after the meeting with Charles, and to write to Charity Seay the next day to tell her what he had done. He found he could not stand the idea of more waiting however. No matter how improper it might be, he needed to see her. He suspected that he would have to resist the urge to throw himself at her feet, the way that men did in some of the romantic books Ann did, and beg her for forgiveness. His mind rebelled at that image, but at least he could hold out the scraps of her letters as an offering, and perhaps she would look on him with some favor. He wished it was something more appropriate, like a necklace.