‘I would not have come had I not heard such disturbing intelligence.’
Phineas glared at her, his fleshy jowls working angrily. She thought he had aged considerably since she had last seen him. His whiskers were grey and he had put on weight, but he still had an imposing presence, and now he pulled himself up to his full height to declare, ‘How dare you come back here, dragging my name through the mud?’
She remembered that deep, resonating voice of outrage—she had heard him use it many times to great effect from the pulpit—and was obliged to ignore the chill it sent running through her.
He cannot hurt me. He has no power here.
She raised her brows and forced herself to remain calm.
‘It is my name, too, and if the reports are to be believed I am raising it out of the mire. Not that I have told anyone of the connection between us.’
His eyes snapped.
‘When people told me that an actress—’ he almost shivered with revulsion as he spoke the word ‘—that an actress calling herself Mrs Weston was playing in Allingford, I could not believe it was you. Then I heard talk that my daughter—my daughter!—was exhibiting herself on the stage. I tried to put an end to such rumours, but it is too widely spoken of, so I judged it was time to come and see for myself.’
Charity spread her hands.
‘And now you have seen,’ she said coldly. ‘Are you satisfied?’
His brow darkened. ‘Still the same pride, still that same stubborn wilfulness that I tried so hard to dispel—’
‘That you tried to beat out of me!’
‘Aye, and I should have thrashed you harder,’ he snarled. ‘As it is I have to watch you prostituting yourself—’
‘I am acting. That is all it is.’
‘It is a monstrous abomination and you are the purveyor of evil.’
She managed a laugh.
‘Good heavens, one would think you were speaking of Bonaparte himself!’
Phineas drew back, glaring at her from under beetling brows.
‘The Emperor has his faults, but he is God’s instrument.’
‘Bonaparte?’ she said, surprised. ‘He is a tyrant. An enemy of England.’
‘England has more enemies within,’ roared Phineas. ‘Sinners and those who wish to see the country once again under the heel of the Pope! Bonaparte is the scourge of the papists. There are some who think he is an agent of the Messiah, whereas you, madam, are an agent of the devil!’
‘Now, Phineas, don’t you be getting yourself in a bother about this.’
The woman standing beside Phineas spoke for the first time. Charity assumed this was his wife, the third Mrs Weston, and when she took a moment to study her she was surprised how young she was, possibly even younger than herself, but a constant look of dissatisfaction had left permanent lines upon her once-pretty face. She smiled, although her brown eyes held a calculating look.
‘My dear Charity—may I call you that? After all, I am your mama now.’ Her affected laugh grated upon Charity’s ears. ‘We did not come to quarrel with you, dear, but you must see that to have you here, not fifteen miles from our home, is a little difficult for your papa. After all, he is a justice now.’
‘I don’t see that my being here has any bearing upon you at all,’ replied Charity. ‘Allingford does not come under your jurisdiction.’
‘But to have you parading yourself on the stage, for all the world to gape at and ogle—’tis an outrage.’
‘I am an actress, and a respectable one,’ retorted Charity, putting up her chin.
‘You are little better than a trollop from the streets,’ Phineas declared. ‘If you had any proper feeling, you would be using a different name rather than disgracing mine.’
‘It is my name, too, and I am not ashamed to use it,’ she said coldly. ‘No one has asked me yet if we are related, but if they do I will deny it, if that is what you wish.’
‘So you would add lying to your many sins.’
Charity raised her brows and said sweetly, ‘If you denied the rumours, were you not just as guilty? Now, if you will excuse me, I have to prepare for my next performance.’
Phineas glared at her, his nostrils flaring.
‘Unfeeling, unnatural child. To be flaunting yourself in this den of vice—’
‘If you are so disgusted with my performance, I suggest you leave now,’ Charity interrupted him.
‘I shall, immediately, but don’t think you have heard the last of this—’
‘Now, now, my dear, let us not be too hasty.’ His wife caught his arm. ‘We should stay for the farce, don’t you think? After all, we paid good money for our box and I wouldn’t want to waste it.’
Charity watched as her father was torn between his righteous indignation and his dislike of wasting money. She had to give his latest wife some credit for being able to handle him so well. She watched as the new Mrs Weston said in a coaxing tone, ‘Come, sir, let us go back to our box and leave dear Charity to think over her position.’
‘There is nothing to think over,’ retorted Charity. ‘I do not intend to leave Allingford.’
Scowling, Phineas stalked to the door.
‘Come, my love. I shall escort you back to your seat.’ He ushered his wife out of the room, then turned once more to Charity.
‘So you will not leave, eh?’ His smile and the final softly spoken words chilled her more than all his earlier raging fury. ‘Dear little Charity, the Lord has brought you back into my sphere. I should be thanking Him, for it is clearly His will that you are here and He means for me to deal with you once and for all. Daughter.’
* * *
From his place in the shadows Ross heard only the final word but it was enough. He gave a little grunt of satisfaction. So she was his child—but there was no time to ponder how that might help him just yet. Phineas and Hannah were walking his way and at any moment they would come upon him. There was no way to escape without being seen. Then, suddenly, the problem was solved. A distant voice called for the chorus to go on stage, and the gaily costumed flock of laughing, chattering dancing girls crowded past him. Phineas and his wife were obliged to flatten themselves against the wall to make way. Grinning, Ross slipped back through the now-empty space and was out of sight even before Phineas and Hannah had moved.
* * *
Long after her father had left the room Charity remained rooted to the spot, fear charging through her limbs and leaving her trembling. She barely heard the excited chatter of the chorus as they rushed by her door. She should have expected this. She had always known that in coming to Allingford she risked contact with her father. What she had not expected was the raging, unreasoning fear that she had experienced in his presence. It was as if she was a child again, in his power and unable to defend herself any more than she had been able to defend herself or her mother from his savage punishments, delivered while he recited passages from the Bible.
You are a woman now. You are of age. He has no power over you. He has no power over you.
She repeated the words over and over again, but still her limbs would not work and it was not until Betty came in that the spell was broken.
‘Bless us and save us, madam, what are you doing standing there?’ She took one look at Charity’s face and said quickly, ‘Oh, my lord, whatever is the matter?’
Charity forced her stiff, aching throat to work. ‘My father was here.’
Betty threw up her hands. ‘What, that gentleman and his wife who came to see you? Well, I never did. You may be sure, Miss Charity, if I’d known I would never have left you alone with him. But come now, dearie, the singing and recitations are finished and you have to be on stage in five minutes!’
‘I do? Oh, yes, of course.’ Charity struggled to bring her mind back to the present. ‘Quickly, Betty, help me
into my gown.’
* * *
Charity made her way up to the wings, all the time taking deep, steadying breaths. If she faltered, then the other actors would suffer, too. She forced herself to think of nothing but the performance. It worked. She was word perfect as always, paying no heed to the audience, concentrating upon the stage, upon the next line. Afterwards, she joined the others in the green room and was relieved to find that Phineas and his wife were not there. She circulated amongst the patrons, smiling and laughing as if she had not a care in the world. Only Hywel noticed anything amiss.
‘You are very pale, my dear. Are you quite well?’
She took his arm, leading him aside to say quietly, ‘My father was in the audience tonight. He came backstage during the recitations.’
‘The devil he did! What in heaven’s name was Smudgeon thinking of—!’
‘You mustn’t blame Elias, he did not know.’ She tried to smile. ‘Most likely he thought my father was a rich patron that we should butter up.’
‘Well, I’ll make dashed sure he doesn’t let him in again,’ muttered Hywel. He realised that she was upset and covered her hand with his own. ‘Don’t worry, my dear. He can’t hurt you here. He has no authority in Allingford.’
‘That is what I keep telling myself. And with Betty and Thomas living in I know there is nothing to fear.’
He squeezed her fingers.
‘My house has rooms and to spare—you could always move in with me.’
‘Thank you, Hywel, but no. I came here because I wanted to settle down, to be done with running away. I have faced my father. He was all bluff and bluster, nothing more. As you say, he cannot hurt me now.’ She straightened her shoulders and smiled up at him. ‘He is merely the ogre of my nightmares, and I will not allow him to intimidate me. I shall go on as I have done so far and...and be damned to him!’
* * *
After the performance, Ross collected his horse and rode home slowly. He had been tempted to remain for the reception, but had decided against it. Charity Weston was too alluring, and he needed to be free of her presence if he was to decide what to do with the knowledge he had gained that evening—the knowledge that she was the daughter of the man he hated most in the world.
Chapter Four
Charity tried to push all thoughts of her father from her mind and was helped considerably by her busy life. There were theatre performances every evening and any number of breakfasts and suppers with friends from the theatre, to say nothing of the invitations to parties and soirées from Lady Beverley, who liked to fill her house with the writers, poets and artists living in the area. She thought occasionally of the Dark Rider and found herself wondering where he was and what he was doing. She had not seen him since he had appeared in her bedchamber and returned the brooch.
‘And that is a very good thing,’ she told herself, putting him resolutely out of her mind. ‘Consorting with a highwayman would do your reputation no good at all!’
The current production continued to play to packed houses and Hywel reported that even more people than usual were coming over from Beringham. When Charity learned of it she wondered aloud why, if that was the case, none of the newspapers had picked up that she had the same name as Beringham’s repressive magistrate.
‘I had expected some rumours and gossip by now,’ she told Hywel. She threw a shrewd glance his way. ‘As manager of the theatre I thought you might have made use of the connection.’
They were sitting in his office at the theatre, taking a glass of wine together before preparing for the evening’s performance.
‘That you are Phineas Weston’s daughter?’ He grinned and gave one of the expansive gestures that were his trademark. ‘I might have done so if he had been a justice in Allingford, but our local newspaper is not interested in what happens in another town. However, in Beringham it is a different matter.’ He reached around to pull a folded newssheet from the shelf behind him. ‘This is a copy of the Beringham Courant from a few weeks ago. You will see that it hints at a connection between you and Phineas Weston.’ He continued in a colourless voice, ‘The editor of the Courant is now in the House of Correction for one month’s hard labour.’
Charity stared at him, aghast.
‘You think there is a connection, that Phineas punished him for this? Why, that is preposterous.’
Hywel shrugged. ‘Preposterous or not, the day after that piece was published the editor was charged with stealing a bundle of wood and brought before the justice. The landowner, Sir James Fryton, just happens to be a close acquaintance of your esteemed father. After last night’s performance I got talking with a group of men from Beringham, respectable tradesmen. They told me that the editor is an honest man and not a poor one, either. He has no need to steal wood.
‘They believe Fryton and the witnesses to the act were all in Weston’s pay. The Courant has been challenging Weston’s iron grip on the town for some time and attacking his extreme religious views—the penalties of which always seem to favour Weston and his friends financially, I might add. It would appear Phineas was eager to bring down the editor. However, it is also a warning to prevent anyone else taking up the story.’
‘But that is monstrous!’
‘The man is mighty powerful within his own area.’ Hywel chuckled. ‘However, in this case his little scheme has not worked, because word has spread and Beringham is now rife with the rumour that the justice’s daughter is an actress and is performing here in Allingford. That is why the theatre is so full, night after night—the people of Beringham are coming in droves to see you.’
Charity’s eyes twinkled. ‘Oh, dear, poor Papa will not like that at all!’
‘No, and there is nothing he can do about it,’ declared Hywel. ‘His jurisdiction ends at the county border and Sir Mark Beverley, our own magistrate, is a great supporter of the theatre and will have no truck with Weston’s religious bigotry. But it is all good news for us. The play still has a week to run and we are already showing a healthy profit.’ He grinned. ‘Perhaps we should send complimentary tickets to Phineas and his wife to thank him for helping us to fill the theatre.’
‘I pray you won’t. He is so grasping he would feel obliged to use them.’ Charity gave an artistic shudder, but it was not completely false. ‘I would not have that man within a mile of me again if I can help it!’
Charity tried to put Phineas Weston completely from her mind, but when Mr Smudgeon pressed a note into her hand a few nights later, as she was returning to her dressing room, she felt a chill of apprehension.
‘It was given me by a young woman, ma’am,’ the doorman quickly reassured her. ‘She’s waitin’ at the stage door now to know if you will see her.’
Charity’s initial fear changed to pleasure, and she said now, ‘Yes, yes, of course. Give me time to change my gown and I will send Betty to the door.’
Some ten minutes later she sent her maid out and waited, her mind full of nervous excitement. She heard a soft knock upon her door and a plump young woman peeped in, her eyes wide with apprehension.
‘Charity? Is it really you?’
‘Jenny!’ Charity pulled her into a fierce hug. ‘Oh, my dear, it is so good to see you again after all these years! Let me look at you.’ She held her friend away and studied her carefully. The thin fourteen-year-old she remembered was gone, replaced by a plump matron, dressed in a sensible gown of sober hue. However, Charity was reassured to see the same kindly twinkle in those green eyes.
‘I didn’t think you’d remember me,’ Jenny confessed. ‘After all, it’s been so long, and you never wrote—’
Charity pulled her into the room, saying contritely, ‘I know, Jenny, and I do beg your pardon for that.’ She scooped up a pile of abandoned skirts from the velvet-covered daybed and tossed them aside. ‘Come and sit here with me and tell me how you got on
.’
‘Nay, I’ve nothing to tell,’ said Jenny shyly. ‘You are the famous one and must have seen and done so much since you left Saltby. I did envy you, you know, walking away from everything like that. The shearers talked of it for weeks after.’
‘I hope you did not suffer for it.’
‘Nay, not a bit. Your father was furious, of course, but Papa gave him a generous donation to the church so he never bothered me more, save to ask if I had any news of you.’
‘That is why I did not write to you,’ said Charity. ‘I guessed he would try to find me. I was very lucky when I left Saltby. I met Mr Jenkin, who took me on with his travelling players, and I found the life suited me very well. But what of you, Jenny? You are looking very well indeed.’
‘Well, I’m married now, you know, with three lads of my own. I married Jedediah Rigg—do you remember him? His father was the clog and patten maker and Jedediah has taken over his business. We are doing very well, although you wouldn’t recognise Beringham now, Charity. ’Tis not the happy place it was when we were children. The inns are closed, and there’s no music or dancing allowed in the town.’
She looked uncomfortable and Charity said quickly, ‘You need not be afraid to tell me that this is all down to my father.’
Jenny nodded. ‘He closed all the places of entertainment and has withheld licences from all but a couple inns—those that can pay him a generous fee for his goodwill! We don’t like it much, but what can you do? He has the richer townsfolk in his pocket, and as long as they support him...’ She plucked at her gown. ‘Jed says it is forcing everyone to find their amusements out of town, or outside the law, which is not a good thing. I worry so for my boys...’ She shook off her melancholy and smiled at Charity. ‘But enough of this, tell me instead all about you!’
They spent a comfortable hour together, chattering non-stop, until Jenny jumped up, glancing at the little bracket clock that Charity kept on her dressing table.
‘Heavens, I must go. I told Jed I would be no more than a half hour! However, he was going to wait for me in the tavern opposite, so perhaps he hasn’t missed me all that much.’ She pulled Charity into her arms and hugged her. ‘Eeh, but it’s good to see you, Charity. I’m right glad you’ve been successful. I shall not come again—oh, it is not the ticket money, Jedediah is very good and denies me nothing, but he is a strict churchman, you see, and although Mr Weston is no longer parson Jed won’t want to incur his displeasure by too much frivolity. Besides, his brother is the constable in Beringham, so there is another reason he wouldn’t want to cross your father.’
At the Highwayman's Pleasure Page 7
