At the Highwayman's Pleasure

‘Don’t know how you can be thinking of food when you were ravished by that scoundrel! Still, it couldn’t have been that bad, since you didn’t have to make use of your hatpin, and I know full well that you’ve used it on more than one occasion when an admirer has been a bit too familiar.’

Charity did not reply, but settled back in her corner and closed her eyes. To be truthful, she had not even thought of her hatpin when the highwayman had pulled her close. She had not thought of anything. She had known ladies in the audience to swoon at the sight of a particularly handsome actor, but had always considered them very silly beings. Now she could understand them a little better, for the powerful attraction she had felt for the audacious rascal had made her light-headed, and she had come very close to swooning herself.

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.’