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For Love Or Money
By Kay Kelly
Rating: K+ | Status:
Completed | Genre: General | Series: None
Summary: Original Series. Tim Shaw wants to marry Charity
Trask...but winning her hand may not be easy.
"Of course I love you," Tim Shaw said wearily. It felt like
he was saying it for the hundredth time that day.
It would probably be a little easier if I meant it.
Charity Trask, sitting ramrod-straight at the far end of the sofa,
continued to pout. "I can't feel comfortable with you, Tim,"
she said primly.
"Why...not?" It had almost come out as, "Why the hell
not?"
"I can't forget your involvement with...Rachel Drummond." The
dowdy young woman spoke the name as if it pained her to say something so
distasteful. A dirty word. "I think you loved her."
"No!" Tim had become such a scoundrel that the memory of that
real, true love no longer troubled him at all. "Rachel and I were
only friends, Charity. And besides, she's dead. How can you feel
threatened by someone who's dead?"
"You don't stop loving a person just because they die!" Her
lower lip quivered. "Everyone s-seems to think my father is dead.
And I still love him. I always will."
"Um, yes." Tim cast his eyes downward, pretending to observe a
few moments' respectful silence in memory of the presumed-dead Reverend
Gregory Trask.
It was hard not to smile, as he recalled following Judith's orders to
wall up the room in which the old hypocrite--her husband--was trapped.
I wonder if he used the gun she provided him, or clung to hope till
he starved to death?
In a sense, he had something on Judith Collins Trask. But he
couldn't betray her without incriminating himself, so blackmail was out
of the question.
His only hope of cashing in was to marry Charity. Judith clearly felt
guilty about having murdered the little prude's father, and intended to
make up for it by lavishing money on her.
He dreaded being stuck with Charity for the rest of his life. He'd liked
her better when she thought she was Pansy Faye.
But he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.
Right now, he was having an unexpectedly hard time getting her to agree
to marry him.
Her father...
"Charity," he reminded her, "your father really wanted us
to be together."
He could tell that had hit home.
"I know," she said in a hushed voice. "And for that
reason, I want to believe in you, Tim. But I still have these
doubts..." Tears brimmed in her eyes.
He tried edging closer.
It hadn't seemed possible she could retreat further into her corner of
the sofa, but she did.
He groped desperately for another idea.
But it was Charity who spoke up. "W-wait! Thinking of my
father...maybe there is something you can do to convince me you love
me!"
Oh-oh. What if she demands I find out what happened to him?
Fortunately, that didn't seem to be it. Deep in thought, Charity
said, "There's someone who really hurt Father. You could help
me...make him pay."
Tim still felt uneasy, but he said, "If it's doable, I'll do it.
What's this all about? Who is the guy, and how did he hurt your
father?"
"You know how much Father loved me," she began shyly.
"Yes." Probably not at all.
"Well, when we first came to live at Collinwood, there was an
artist who was here frequently. Charles Delaware Tate. Father
commissioned him to paint a portrait of me.
"But he never finished it. And he took Father's money, too!"
Tim was perplexed. "Do you want him to finish the portrait, or give
the money back? Tate's left town, but I can probably find him--"
"No! I don't care about the portrait, or the money. Besides,
there's no proof Father paid him. He didn't ask for a receipt. Father
was such a moral man himself that it never occurred to him others might
be dishonest."
Tim nodded solemnly. "Yes, Reverend Trask was a man of impeccable
morals."
As proven by his having drugged or hypnotized or bewitched me to get
me to kill the first Mrs. Trask, instead of doing it himself.
"But if you don't want the portrait or the money," he
asked, "what do you want?"
"He really hurt Father by not finishing that portrait," she
reiterated. "So I want to do something that will hurt him.
"Not physically, of course! That would be a sin. But there's
another way...
"I only know this because Father told me. The reason Mr. Tate
specializes in portraits is that he has a hard time painting other
things, like landscapes. He can't seem to get the perspective right.
"He's only done one landscape that he's satisfied with, and he's
very proud of it. He keeps it with him, not for sale. It's called 'View
of South Wales.' He'd be devastated if he lost that painting."
Tim couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you asking me to steal
for you?"
Charity looked shocked. "Of course not! It wouldn't be stealing!
"I suppose, in the eyes of the law, it would be. But not really.
You and I know Mr. Tate owes me money. It would just
be...compensation."
Tim couldn't quite see the distinction.
Not that he cared.
"Have you seen this painting?" If she hasn't, I can save
myself a lot of trouble. Have some hack paint any old thing and call it
"View of South Wales."
He was sure Charity didn't have any specialized knowledge of Tate's
art.
Or, for that matter, of South Wales.
But it turned out she had seen the painting. She gave him a description.
Still, she'd only seen it once. And she'd described a very bland
landscape. A fake might work.
Then Charity said as an afterthought, "It isn't only important to
Mr. Tate for sentimental reasons. He's becoming more and more famous as
a portrait artist. According to Father, he believes that if he hangs
onto 'View of South Wales'--his one good landscape--for a few years, it
will be worth a fortune."
Tim dropped the idea of settling for a fake.
"Charity," he said earnestly, "I will find that
blackguard. I will prove my love by avenging the wrong done you and your
father!
"And then--" He abandoned the sofa and dropped to one knee
before her. "Then may I dare to hope that you will become my
wife?"
"Oh yes, Tim," she whispered. "You certainly may!"
Aye, Pansy thought wickedly as the door closed behind him, 'e
certainly may...dare to 'ope!
Oi might've been able to steal the bloomin' thing meself. But why not
make some use o' that greedy bloke?
She congratulated herself on the plan. 'E won't fake up a
painting because 'e thinks the genuine article's valuable. And 'e won't
just take off with it, because 'e wants t' marry me an' get at the
Collins money.
Of course, Gregory Trask had never seen "View of South
Wales." It was a new painting whose real importance was that it
concealed Quentin's portrait. Pansy's second sight had told her that.
And she knew where she'd hide it, from her thieving suitor and everyone
else: in the gutted ruin of Worthington Hall, which "Charity"
stood to inherit when Trask was declared dead.
She saw only one potential problem. To stay at Collinwood and maintain
her cover, she might actually have to marry Tim Shaw.
She dreaded being stuck with Tim for the rest of her life. She'd liked
him better when she thought she was Charity Trask.
But she'd cross that bridge when she came to it.
(The End)
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