At the Highwayman's Pleasure (16 page)

‘Could it be that he has some paternal concerns for you after all this time?’ She threw him a look of disdain and he added quickly, ‘Surely it is not impossible that he has had a change of heart—’

‘Phineas has no heart,’ she retorted. ‘The rumours will be an annoyance and he is afraid I shall publicly confirm them.’

They moved on around the rooms and Charity strove to put both her father and Ross from her mind while she mingled with the crowd. It was late in the evening when she noted the visitors who lived on the Beringham road gathered about Sir Mark, discussing the latest attack on the highway. Charity moved closer.

‘The Scarborough mail was attacked again only last week,’ announced one worried gentleman.

‘But on the other side of the county border,’ explained Sir Mark patiently. ‘I have to defer to Justice Weston to deal with that.’

‘Are we sure it was the same man?’ asked another.

‘Undoubtedly.’ The first nodded. ‘The description was unmistakable. Big fellow with an Irish accent.’

‘And he took a purse off me a couple weeks’ back,’ added Sir James Fryton, unable to contain himself. ‘Damned scoundrel.’

‘I hear Weston has put up a reward,’ put in Lady Beverley.

Mr Keldy nodded. ‘Aye. A hundred guineas. And he is organising patrols to hunt the fellow down. It will only be a matter of time before we catch him.’

‘Well, that will be good news,’ said Sir Mark. ‘We cannot have such disruption on the King’s highway.’ He looked about him, smiling benignly. ‘However, I have had no reports of the fellow being seen this side of Beringham, so you need none of you be anxious about your journey home this evening.’ He caught sight of Charity standing on the edge of the group. ‘And of course those of us who live in Allingford have nothing to fear at all.’

Charity returned his smile.
If only they knew!

She turned away, stifling a sigh. If only she could see Ross, but it was too dangerous, and she would never forgive herself if he was caught because of her. Ross might consider that his cause was just, but if he was arrested he would be hanged like a common felon. So she must keep her distance, act as if they had never been more than casual acquaintances. She tried hard to put the man from her thoughts, but that was not easy when his absence was like a constant, physical ache deep inside.

* * *

A dozen times a day Charity found herself thinking of Ross, wondering what he was doing, hoping he was safe, and a dozen times a day she told herself to forget him. There could be no future with such a man, but somehow he had become lodged in her heart and no amount of reason could remove him.

Charity was glad that there was no break in her work. They were opening with
The School for Scandal
in two days, and rehearsals would soon begin for
All for Love
. This was the first time the company had performed the tragedy, so backcloths had to be painted and costumes selected. Many of the cast wanted hoops and wigs, but Charity argued that since the play was about the Egyptian queen Cleopatra they should wear a more ancient costume. Hywel supported her, citing the example of the great Mrs Siddons.

‘We should dress you all in the Greek style,’ he suggested. ‘For the ladies there will be sandals—no stockings—and muslin draperies. Except for Mrs Weston. For you, my dear, it should be gold tissue, as befits a queen. I will send for the cloth now, if your dresser can make it up.’

‘I can make up anything my mistress requires,’ affirmed Betty, on her mettle.

‘Then that is settled. We will work on the designs tomorrow. The handbills will say that we are presenting an authentic history. And besides,’ he added, rubbing his hands together, ‘the gentlemen will go wild to see the actresses so scantily clad.’

‘Nay, since the fashion now is for these skimpy muslins they’ll be as properly dressed as the audience,’ declared Betty, raising a laugh from everyone.

* * *

The weeks passed in a hectic round of activity, and if Charity was not able to forget Ross, she was at least able to put him to the back of her mind during the day. At night it was a different matter and she was prey to strange dreams, dreams where she was naked in Ross’s arms and he was kissing her, rousing in her such a need that she would wake, crying for she knew not what.

She would recover, she told herself. She was attracted to Ross Durden because he was so different from any other man she knew—dangerous, but kind, too, in his own way—and she had glimpsed a touch of humour in him, a seductive glimmer that had her believing it was more than a mere physical attraction. But it could not be, so she would be wise to forget him.

May brought warmer weather and the opening of Mr Dryden’s play, which was well received. Charity threw herself into the role of Cleopatra. After the recent comedies she found the tragedy much more taxing and returned to her dressing room each night emotionally drained. However, the audiences were appreciative and she raised no demur when Hywel announced they would give another eight performances. Betty was not so sanguine and made no attempt to hide her disapproval.

‘He shouldn’t have done it,’ she grumbled, helping Charity into her wrap at the end of another tiring performance. ‘It’s dead on your feet you are, ma’am, and no mistake.’

‘I am not sleeping well,’ admitted Charity. ‘But that has nothing to do with the play. Indeed, I like being busy.’

‘But ’tis the summer, Miss Charity, and you need a rest, I can see that. Perhaps a little sea bathing. I hear that’s very good for one.’

‘Then mayhap we will go back to Scarborough when this play is finished and take the waters.’ Charity sat in front of her mirror and began to remove her headdress. ‘Betty, would you call upon Mr Jenkin and give him my apologies? He is taking everyone to supper this evening, but I think I should go home to my bed.’

‘Aye, I will.’ Betty nodded. ‘Not that it’s like you to be retiring straight after a performance. Just goes to show—’

She caught her mistress’s eye in the mirror and was silenced. With her lips pressed firmly together she went out of the room.

Charity gave a sigh of relief. She was very fond of Betty; she had been her maid and her dresser for many years and consequently was not afraid to offer her opinions. She thought Charity was working too hard and she said so. However, Charity knew it wasn’t the work that was tiring her, it was the sleepless nights, thinking of Ross Durden. She worried about him, wondering each morning if he had been riding out that night, if he had been caught. The fact that her father was in part responsible for Ross’s situation did nothing to help. She found herself wishing that the kidnap plot had been successful and that Ross had obtained the justice he was seeking. That would have meant her leaving Allingford, disappearing lest her father beat the truth out of her about the Dark Rider’s true identity. It would have brought her no nearer to Ross, of course, but sometimes she thought the price would have been worth it, if it meant Ross could give up his dangerous double life.

I love him.

The words hovering around her consciousness for so long now rang in her head, as clearly as if she had spoken aloud. Brushing out her curls, she thought it ironic that after more than a decade in the theatre, when many men, rich and poor, rakes and nobles, married or single, had offered to lay everything they possessed at her feet, she should fall in love with someone so ineligible, a man who had not courted her or made her promises of undying devotion—in fact, he was so intent upon rebuilding his estates and seeking justice from her father he had no time for her at all.

‘It is a very sad state of affairs,’ she told her reflection. ‘You have fallen for the one man whom you cannot have.’

She heard a knock on the door and immediately straightened, hope rushing through her. Had he come at last? She turned to face the door, but as it opened the smile of welcome died on her lips.

Phineas came into the room, his wife hanging on his arm.

‘No doubt you are wondering why we are here,’ said Hannah with a glitteringly false smile.

‘Not to compliment me upon my performance, I suspect.’ Charity’s cool response made the other woman’s eyes snap dangerously.

‘I have persuaded your father that he should talk to you.’ Hannah came farther into the room, her eyes taking in the colourful chaos of their surroundings. Brightly hued gowns hung on a row of pegs on one wall, while garishly patterned scarves were thrown over the dressing screen, jostling for space with cream and white muslins. Charity hoped Hannah was suitably incensed by the decadence of the opulent robe of gold tissue that she had just removed and which was now draped suggestively over the daybed in the corner. She eyed her visitors coldly.

‘We have nothing to say to each other.’

‘Word is out that you are my daughter,’ said Phineas.

‘Mere rumours. You may be sure that I have not told anyone, not even those friends of yours you sent to question on me.’

‘Perhaps
you
have not spoken of the matter,’ said Hannah. ‘Nevertheless it is now generally understood that Phineas is your father.’ She spread her hands and gave a humourless smile. ‘Your fame is widespread, my dear.’

‘Perhaps it was that damned highwayman,’ snarled Phineas. He came closer, bending to thrust his face close to hers. ‘Did you not tell him your little secret? Did you not hatch that kidnap plot together?’

Charity forced herself not to lean away.

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’

‘The Dark Rider,’ he continued, his mouth contorted with anger. ‘Is he not your lover?’

Her heart gave a little leap of fright, but she reminded herself he had no proof. As long as she remained strong and convincing he would have to believe her. A puzzled frown creased her brow.

‘The Dark Rider,’ she repeated slowly. ‘Ah, yes. I remember that was what they called the man who held up our coach when I first came to Allingford. He stole a kiss—dear me, it would appear that little incident has been magnified out of all proportion.’

She saw the doubt in his eyes and allowed herself a smile.

‘You should check your facts before throwing out such accusations, sir.’

‘Now, now, Phineas.’ Hannah pulled him away. ‘You know we agreed the kidnap threat was all a sham. The fellow backed down quickly enough when you called his bluff.’

‘Kidnap?’ enquired Charity, looking bemused. ‘Who was kidnapped?’

‘Don’t give me that innocent look, girl. I know your tricks!’

‘Phineas, this is not how we meant to go on,’ said Hannah sharply. ‘We came to talk sensibly with your daughter.’

‘Daughter!’ Phineas looked at Charity with undisguised loathing. ‘Do you think I want it known that a child of mine is no better than a common whore?’

Charity drew herself up. ‘How dare you come in here and insult me.’

‘Insult? It is no more than the truth. You parade yourself on stage, sell yourself—’

‘I am an actress, sir, nothing more, nothing less.’

‘Would you have me believe you are a virgin still?’ He spat out the words. ‘I have seen you on the stage. No one could think you an innocent who has seen how you flaunt yourself. And this latest role, an Egyptian queen—pah! A painted Jezebel making love to men, all in full view of your audience—you could not be so convincing if you were not experienced in such matters.’

She rose, keeping one hand on the dressing table to steady herself. She was blazingly angry, but the old terror was fighting to get out as she looked into her father’s livid countenance. She was a woman now, not a girl. He could not harm her; he could not take off his belt and thrash her here in her own dressing room.

No matter how many times she repeated the words in her head, the familiar fears were just under the surface and it was a struggle to keep them down.

‘You have said quite enough,’ she told him. ‘You should go now.’

‘My dear, pray do not be too hasty.’

Hannah addressed her, a patronising smile stretching her mouth while her eyes remained cold. Charity wondered how Ross could ever have loved this woman.

Hannah continued. ‘We do not want to quarrel, Charity, dear, but you must see that the situation is impossible. Your father is a respected man—’

‘Not in Allingford!’

‘A respected man,’ repeated Hannah, ignoring Charity’s interruption. ‘It does his reputation no good to have you here, blatantly flaunting yourself.’

‘That, madam, is nothing to do with me. I have a job to do—’

‘But you should not do it here,’ Hannah retorted, her temper snapping. ‘You must see how...how
degrading
it is for your father to have you plying your trade in the next town.’

‘It is a respectable trade. I am not ashamed of it.’

‘But it would be better if you plied it elsewhere.’

‘Better for whom?’ Charity asked her, noting the flush of angry colour building on the woman’s cheeks.

‘This is getting us nowhere,’ exclaimed Phineas. He turned his venomous gaze upon Charity. ‘I know why you are here. You wish to humiliate me. You know that I am opposed to all forms of play-acting—’

‘But your wife seemed to enjoy
The Provok’d Husband
. Is that not so, ma’am?’

‘Yes, I— No.’ Hannah shot a nervous glance at Phineas. ‘One cannot help but be swept up in the moment....’

‘Aye, that is how the devil works, drawing in respectable people until they cannot see the damage such evil is doing to their souls.’

‘Nonsense,’ retorted Charity. ‘You hate to see anyone enjoying themselves, it is as simple as that. This is a legally licensed theatre, we are breaking no laws and I intend to remain here until
I
judge it is time to leave.’ She pointed to the door. ‘I have had a tiring day and I would be obliged if you would both go. Now.’

Hannah’s eyes narrowed, but she turned on her heel and walked to the door.

‘Come, Phineas, I see that you were right about her. She is sinfully stubborn.’

Phineas glared at Charity.

‘Be warned, madam, you would be wise to go far away from here. If you will not leave willingly, then you must be removed.’

She put up her brows. ‘And just how do you plan to do that? You have no jurisdiction here.’