At the Highwayman's Pleasure Page 3

  Heavens, what was she about?

  You are growing old, my girl, she told herself sternly. Old and lonely, if you must needs faint at the attentions of a stranger.

  The lights of Allingford interrupted her musings and Charity was grateful to put aside her disturbing thoughts. A servant was waiting to escort them the short distance from the inn to a modest house where they were admitted by a very superior manservant who announced that Mr Jenkin was waiting for Mrs Weston in the parlour. As the servant opened the door she saw a tall, distinguished-looking man with silver hair standing before the fire. Upon her entrance he came forward to greet her.

  ‘I was beginning to think you had changed your mind about coming to work for me.’

  Laughing, she gave him her hands and pulled him close to kiss his cheek.

  ‘Not a bit of it, Hywel! And good evening, my dear. We were delayed on the road. A highwayman, no less!’ She turned away to remove her cloak and bonnet so that Hywel would not see her face; he knew her so well he would see in an instant that there was more to the encounter than she was telling him. ‘He is well known in this area, I believe—the Dark Rider. A very poor example of his kind, in my opinion.’

  ‘I have heard of him.’ He handed her a glass of wine as she came back towards the fire. ‘What did he take from you?’

  ‘He stole a trinket, a cheap brooch of mine.’

  ‘And did he demand a kiss from all the ladies?’

  She blushed.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Of which you were by far the prettiest.’

  Her mouth twisted in a little moue of distaste.

  ‘Blonde curls and blue eyes! You know I do not rate my milk-and-water colouring.’

  ‘You are a fine actress, my dear, but your beauty—your milk-and-water colouring, as you call it—has contributed no small part to your success.’ He invited her to sit beside the fire and lowered himself into a chair opposite. ‘How did you like Scarborough?’

  ‘Very much.’ She sent him a twinkling look. ‘I was compared very favourably with Mrs Siddons.’

  ‘And now you will take Allingford by storm. I am very grateful that you have deigned to grace my little theatre with your presence.’

  ‘Nonsense, you know I owe everything to you. When you wrote to tell me you had lost your leading lady, how could I refuse to help you? After all, I owe you everything, for taking me in and looking after me all those years ago.’

  ‘I had my reward—you are a natural actress and your success reflected well upon my travelling players, so well that investors were persuaded to join me in building the theatre here.’

  ‘Yet still you encouraged me to try my luck in London.’

  ‘Your talent deserves a wider audience.’ He sat back, smiling. ‘I looked out for you in the newspapers—Agnes Bennet, darling of Drury Lane! How long ago was it, five years?’

  ‘About that, yes.’

  ‘But you quit London just as you were making a name for yourself. Why was that, my dear?’

  Charity cradled her wine glass in her hands.

  ‘I fell in with a bad crowd. When I realised how bad I was disgusted, with myself as well as with them. I decided to leave that life, and Agnes Bennet, behind me.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘It was a miracle that I escaped with my virtue intact.’

  ‘So you are Charity Weston again.’

  ‘Yes, and I have spent the last few years touring the country, building a new career for myself.’

  ‘And doing very well, if the reports are to be believed.’ Hywel got up to fetch the decanter and refill their glasses. ‘So why did you come to Allingford, my dear?’

  ‘Why, because you asked me—your leading lady had contracted inflammation of the lungs and retired to Worthing with her husband.’

  ‘When I wrote I hardly expected you to accept.’

  She spread her hands. ‘I wanted to come back to the north.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Being able to play in a theatre rather than an inn or a barn is very welcome, Hywel, and when you told me you were the owner and manager here I could not help myself!’

  ‘Away with your flattery, baggage! Please do not mistake me, my dear, I am delighted to have you rejoin my theatre. Many of your old friends are still working for me. But it is very close to your old home. And to your father.’

  She shrugged. ‘Saltby is several miles away. I doubt Phineas ever comes to Allingford, and it is even more unlikely that he would visit the theatre.’

  ‘But he is no longer at Saltby, my dear. He lives in Beringham now.’

  She sat up. ‘So close?’ She chewed her lip, frowning, then said slowly, ‘It matters not. I am no longer afraid of him. Besides, I am tired of my wandering life, Hywel. I am minded to settle down, and where better than Allingford, where I can continue to work in the theatre?’

  ‘But using your real name—is that not rather a risk? Weston is bound to take it amiss when he discovers you are here.’

  ‘I have hidden behind a stage name for too long. I have accepted the courtesy title of Mrs Weston, but I will go no further. I want to be myself now.’ She sipped her wine. ‘I have heard nothing of Phineas since I left.’ His brows lifted and she continued, ‘I stopped calling him “Father” years ago. He does not deserve the title. Is my stepmother still living?’

  ‘No. She died several years ago, before he moved to Beringham. He is a man of property now. It appears your stepmother left him a tidy sum.’

  Charity looked up, surprised. ‘Really? I knew he had married her for her dowry, but I had thought it was all spent.’

  ‘Apparently not, since he came to Beringham a man of some means. He has married again and his wife brings with her a small fortune. He is now a magistrate, too.’

  ‘Is he indeed?’ She grimaced. ‘Poor Beringham.’

  ‘Very true. Thankfully we have a county border between us. He rules with a rod of iron and will allow no theatres or entertainments in his area.’ He grinned. ‘All the better for me, of course, since those who want to see a play must come to Allingford.’

  ‘It must irk him dreadfully to know people are free to enjoy themselves here. I wonder if he is aware that the theatre in Scarborough was built by a clergyman? He would certainly not approve of that! Phineas believes salvation can only come about through suffering.’

  ‘As long as it is not his own.’

  She laughed and said bitterly, ‘Of course. He was always able to justify his own comfort.’

  ‘He and his wife live in very grand style now,’ Hywel told her. ‘He has a fine house in Beringham. It is stuffed full of works of art, I am told, some of quite dubious quality, but expensive nevertheless. And he has set up his own stable, with a fancy carriage to take him and his lady about the country.’

  Charity gazed into the fire, wondering if this third wife was any happier than the first two. She had never forgotten her mama’s anxious careworn face, the way she would jump at shadows, always afraid of incurring her husband’s wrath. When she died, Phineas had immediately taken another wife, a kindly woman who had soon been broken by his cruelty and become a meek, silent figure in the house. Charity shuddered.

  ‘Thank goodness I am no longer part of that family.’

  ‘Yet the connection is sure to be made,’ said Hywel. ‘Some in Beringham will remember that Phineas once had a daughter.’

  ‘That was thirteen years ago, Hywel. I will never acknowledge the connection and I doubt Phineas would want it known. The past is dead to me.’

  He looked unconvinced.

  ‘Do you still suffer the nightmares?’

  She shrugged. ‘Rarely. Although, I did wonder, coming here—’

  Hywel laid his hand on her arm.

  ‘You are safe enough here, Charity. Weston has no jurisdiction in Allingford. And you can rely upon my pro
tection.’

  She reached out and briefly took his hand.

  ‘I know that, Hywel. You have always been a good friend to me. But enough of this dull talk. Tell me how you go on here and what you have chosen for my first role!’

  ‘The theatre is doing very well—my players are good and reliable. I thought, for your first appearance, you should play Mr Sheridan’s sentimental heroine, Lydia Languish.’

  ‘And will you be Captain Absolute?’

  He shook his head, laughing. ‘I am too long in the tooth now to play the lover. Will Stamp takes those roles now.’

  ‘Young Will? I remember he had just joined you when I left.’

  ‘And proved himself a good actor,’ said Hywel. ‘I shall play his father, Sir Anthony.’

  ‘Do you have a script for me? It is a while since I played Lydia.’

  ‘Of course. I shall furnish you with one tomorrow when I take you to the theatre to meet my cast.’

  ‘And I must find myself somewhere to live.’

  ‘You are quite welcome to stay here for as long as you wish.’

  ‘Thank you, Hywel, but I thought to rent a little house for myself.’

  ‘You will need a manservant. I know just the fellow—’

  ‘No, no, at least, not yet. Betty can do all I need—Betty Harrup, my maid and dresser. She has been with me for several years and is upstairs even now unpacking for me. We have been used to fending for ourselves and I shall be quite content.’ A mischievous chuckle escaped her. ‘And I shall not be asking you to fund me, Hywel. I have invested well enough and have a comfortable income now.’

  ‘In that case, I shall find for you all the most suitable properties for a woman of substance. I shall puff off your fame quite shamelessly and Allingford’s landlords will be falling over themselves to provide a house for you. We have three weeks before we open again, so you have plenty of time to make yourself at home here. But enough of that. I had dinner put back and I am sure you must be hungry.’

  ‘Ravenous, my dear. Shall I go upstairs and see if Betty has unpacked for me, or will you allow me to dine with you in all my dirt?’

  He laughed. ‘Let us dine now, by all means! A little dust on your skirts will do no harm.’

  They passed the rest of the evening comfortably enough, catching up on all that had happened since they last met, and despite the nagging worry of knowing her father lived in the neighbouring town, when Charity retired to bed there were no nightmares to disturb her slumbers. Instead she dreamed of a masked man on a black horse.

  * * *

  Charity soon found a home of her own in Allingford. In less than a week she had moved into a snug little house in North Street. It took only a couple days to make it comfortable, and on the third evening Charity was able to sit down in the little sitting room to study her script of The Rivals, ready for the rehearsals, which were to start in earnest the following day.

  ‘I’ve brought in more coals for the fire, Miss Charity.’

  ‘Thank you, Betty. You need not wait up for me, I shall see myself to bed.’

  The maid dropped the bucket on the hearth and straightened, bending a fond but frowning gaze upon her mistress.

  ‘Now, don’t you be sitting up ’til all hours straining your eyes, ma’am.’

  ‘I promise you I won’t,’ said Charity with a smile. ‘Goodnight, my dear.’

  Betty went out again and soon she heard her stumping up the wooden stairs. Charity turned back to her script, but she could not give it her full attention, for she was aware of the creaks and sighs as the unfamiliar house settled down for the night. Once she heard a soft thud and she took her candle into the back room to check that the door into the yard was secure. Her candle flickered and she looked around a little nervously.

  Everything was strange and new, but she comforted herself with the thought that soon she would know every nook and creaking floorboard of the little house. She went back to the sitting room, but the fire had died down and she decided she would not waste more coal on it.

  ‘I shall go to bed,’ she told the shadowy corners. ‘The Rivals must wait until tomorrow.’

  She went upstairs and as she passed the first door she heard the rhythmic snores coming from her maid. There were two more rooms in the attic, but Charity had insisted Betty should sleep in one of the two chambers here on the first floor. Smiling, she made her way to her own chamber. It was at the back of the house, and she had chosen it because she thought it would be much quieter than the room overlooking the street. As she entered, her candle flickered and she saw that the window was not fully closed. She crossed the room, leaving her candle on the dressing table as she passed. She pushed down on the heavy sash and was just slipping the catch into place when she heard a soft chuckle behind her and a deep voice said, ‘Faith, me darlin’, but I’d forgotten how beautiful you are!’

  Charity swung round, a startled cry catching in her throat. Behind the door was the shadowy figure of a man in riding dress, a tricorn pulled low over his face.

  ‘The Dark Rider!’

  She saw the flash of white as he grinned.

  ‘The very same, me lady.’

  ‘Get out.’ She backed against the window. ‘Go now before I call my maid.’

  ‘Sure, now, I’m thinking you’d have screamed before now if you was going to.’

  Charity was wondering why she had not done so. She said, ‘So are you a common housebreaker, too, or did you know this was my house?’

  ‘Oh, I knew, Mrs Weston. Word travels fast when a celebrated actress takes up residence in a small town like this. Are ye not going to ask me what I’m doing here?’

  A trickle of fear ran down her back as she supplied her own answer to that question. She kept her eyes resolutely away from the bed as she stepped closer to the dressing table. ‘I want to know how you got in.’

  He waved to the window. ‘Over the lean-to roof.’

  She rested her hand on the silk-and-velvet bonnet thrown over one of the mirror supports.

  ‘Well, you may leave the same way.’

  ‘I will, when I’m ready.’

  ‘Now.’ She pulled a hatpin from the bonnet. Its steel shaft was some eight inches long and glinted wickedly in the dim light. ‘Do not think I will not use this to defend myself,’ she added, when he did not move. ‘It would not be the first time and I am quite adept, you know.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ he said, his voice rich with laughter as he strode over to the window. ‘But you mistake me, Mrs Weston.’ He put his hand in his pocket. ‘I came to return this.’ He held out her cameo brooch. ‘Well, take it, me darlin’, before I change my mind.’

  Warily she reached out and plucked it from his open palm.

  ‘I thought to see it adorning some pretty young serving wench,’ she told him. ‘Why did you bring it back?’

  ‘Guilty conscience.’ He moved a little closer. ‘And the prospect of a reward.’

  Suddenly she felt very breathless, gazing up into the masked face and seeing the glint of the candlelight in his eyes. There was only the length of the hatpin between them. She did not resist when he took her wrist and deflected the sharp blade away from his body.

  What was she doing? Alarmed, she dropped the brooch and put her free hand against his chest, but even as she opened her mouth to scream he captured her mouth, kissing her so ruthlessly that her bones melted under the onslaught. It was over in an instant. She was still gathering herself to resist him when he released her.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, his breathing a little ragged. ‘I was not wrong.’

  ‘A-about what?’

  Her eyes were fixed on his mouth, fascinated by the sculpted lips and the laughter lines engraved on each side that deepened now as he gave her a slow smile.

  ‘You kiss like an angel.’<
br />
  In one swift, fluid movement he turned away from her, threw up the sash and slipped out into the darkness.

  Charity ran to the window, but there was no sign of anyone, only the soft drumming of hoofbeats fading into the night.

  * * *

  Hywel clapped his hands. ‘Very well, everyone, let us begin by reading through the first act. Mrs Weston—are you with us?’

  Charity started. ‘I beg your pardon, Mr Jenkin. I am ready to rehearse, of course.’

  He looked closely at her. ‘Did you not sleep well last night?’

  ‘No, as a matter of fact.’ She paused and said casually, ‘You told me you could recommend a manservant for me. Someone to be trusted.’

  ‘Aye. There is a fellow called Thomas who is presently doing odd jobs for me, but he would prefer regular work, I know.’

  ‘How soon can he start?’

  ‘Today, if you wish. Shall I send him to you when we have finished rehearsals?’

  Charity nodded.

  ‘If you please, Hywel.’ She touched the little cameo pinned to her gown. ‘I shall feel happier with another servant in the house.’

  Chapter Two

  It was opening night and the theatre was packed for the new production of The Rivals. The playbill pasted up at the entrance announced boldly that the role of Lydia Languish was to be played by the celebrated actress Mrs Charity Weston, fresh from her successful season in Scarborough. Ross Durden took his seat on one of the benches in the pit and soon found himself squashed by bodies as the pit filled up.

  ‘Should be a good night,’ remarked the man in the brown bagwig who was sitting beside him. ‘I read that this new leading lady’s being compared to Mrs Siddons.’ He pulled a nut from his pocket and cracked it expertly between his fingers. ‘We shall soon find out.’