At the Highwayman's Pleasure

by Sarah Mallory

  Ross left Robin in the stables and made his way into the house through the service door. He stopped in the passage and took off his greatcoat, shaking off the rapidly melting snowflakes before entering the kitchen.

  The warmth hit him immediately, as did the savoury smell of cooking. Charity was stirring a large pan set upon the coals, but she looked round when he came in. He felt an overwhelming relief to see her there and could not prevent his lips curving upwards. Her answering smile lit up the room. The heat from the fire had brought a becoming flush to her cheeks, very like the delicate colour that had painted them this morning after she had clutched his arm, when he had wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss away all the hurt and anguish he was causing her. He thrust aside the thought, since it could lead nowhere. He had promised himself he would behave like a gentleman while she was in his house, but it was proving surprisingly difficult. Thank heaven she would not be here for very much longer.

  ‘I hope you do not mind, but Jed killed one of the hens for me,’ she told him. ‘He said the bird was a poor layer and would not be missed. I searched the larder and found a little cream and some lemons, so I have made a chicken fricassee. And there is a potato pudding to serve with it.’

  ‘You have been busy,’ he remarked.

  ‘I had to find something to do.’ She bit her lip in the nervous little habit he was beginning to recognise. ‘I hope you do not mind, but I also kindled a fire in the little parlour. I thought, perhaps, we might sit there after dinner.’

  Charity waited for his response, half expecting him to refuse, to insist that she should return to her room upstairs. However, after a brief hesitation he shrugged.

  ‘Why not? That is a good idea, especially since we have something to celebrate.’ She raised her questioning eyes to his and he nodded. ‘Your father has responded. I should explain that he has a much-coveted bust of Caesar in his hall—I know of it because I have spoken to people in Beringham who have seen it and heard him boasting of how much it cost him. You will recall, in the letter you wrote, I instructed him to move the bust to an upstairs window if he was ready to talk terms. Well, he has done so.’ He paused. ‘You do not look very happy about it, madam. It means you are a step nearer to being free.’

  ‘Of course, I am quite delighted,’ she said in a hollow voice.

  ‘Good. Now I will go and change—a fricassee of chicken deserves that I should wash off the dirt from the road, I think!’

  Charity watched him go. She had almost been enjoying herself, playing at housekeeping, but his news had changed all that and now she was chilled with apprehension. She had no idea what Ross would demand for her release, but she did not want to be beholden to her father. As she prepared the sauce for their dinner she tried to think why Phineas would have agreed to talk to Ross. Not to buy her freedom, she was sure of that.

  * * *

  Dinner was excellent and Charity accepted Ross’s compliments with a nod and a little smile. She cleared the kitchen while Ross banked up the range for the night and went off to see to the fire in the parlour. When she joined him there a little later she found he had pulled two armchairs up to the hearth and set wine and glasses on a small side table.

  ‘Madeira,’ he explained, seeing her eyes resting on the decanter. ‘I thought you might like it.’

  ‘I would like to try it, thank you.’ She sat down in one of the chairs and waited for him to serve her. The wine was warm and smooth with a rich, nutty flavour. She sipped it appreciatively. The atmosphere was relaxed, and a quick glance at her companion suggested that he, too, was at ease, his long legs stretched out towards the fire and crossed at the ankle. He was gazing into the flames and appeared lost in thought. She drew a breath.

  ‘So my father has agreed to meet you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘May I ask where and when?’

  ‘It is better that you do not know the details.’

  ‘Why not? I have already told you that I could pay you—’

  ‘It is not just the money.’

  There was bitterness in his voice and a note that warned her not to continue, but her curiosity was too great to give up now. She ran her tongue across her dry lips and pressed on.

  ‘Mr Durden—the first night you brought me here, you said you wanted Phineas to return your property. What is it that he has taken from you?’

  ‘My wife, for one thing.’

  ‘Your wife?’ Charity jerked upright, her eyes wide with surprise.

  He laughed harshly. ‘Do not look so shocked, madam. Perhaps I should have said my intended wife. Hannah—the present Mrs Weston—was my mother’s companion.’

  ‘Yes, I had heard that.’

  ‘I met her when I was home on leave and we...became very close. Or at least I thought so.’

  He fell silent, his brow dark and furrowed. Charity remembered that Jed had mentioned the companion and in the most unflattering terms. She said gently, ‘Will you tell me?’

  She thought at first he had not heard her, but then he exhaled softly, like a sigh.

  ‘Six years ago my father died. I was in the West Indies at the time and it was several months before I could come home. My mother’s health had never been good, but she wrote to tell me that she was coping well and had taken on a companion—Hannah—to help her. When I returned to Wheelston I discovered that my father had made some unwise investments just before he died and had left very little, apart from land. My mother was distraught. She did not want anyone to know of the change in her fortunes. I used my prize money to pay off the debts and left her with sufficient funds to tide her through until the next harvest, when the rents would come in. Mama and Hannah both insisted I should return to sea, because the ongoing war meant there was every chance of more prize money. They convinced me they could run Wheelston. After all, we had tenants for the two adjoining farms and a good body of servants, so there was no physical work to be done. Hannah was the perfect companion, or appeared to be. My mother adored her and I—’ His fingers tightened around his glass until the knuckles gleamed white. ‘I thought we were doing the right thing. I was confident that I could make more money at sea than if I stayed at Wheelston.’

  ‘And did you?’ she asked, when he fell silent. ‘Did you win more prize money?’

  ‘Aye.’ His hand resting on the arm of the chair clenched into a fist and his frown deepened into a scowl. ‘I sent it all home, along with every penny I could spare.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I heard little from Wheelston, but that did not worry me, correspondence between home and ships is generally very good, but there can be problems. There was the occasional letter from my mother, accompanied by a note from Hannah telling me that all was well. Then nothing.’

  His chair scraped back as he got up abruptly and fetched the bottle from the side table. Charity allowed him to refill her glass and waited in silence for him to take his seat again and resume his story.

  ‘My mother died in the spring of ’05, but it was a full month before I heard. I received a letter from an old family friend in Allingford who sent his condolences and expressed regret—and some disapproval—that I had not seen fit to come home when she became so very ill. I requested immediate leave and sailed for England.’

  He stopped, his gaze fixed on the fire. The flames danced in his dark eyes like tiny red devils.

  ‘I came back to find Wheelston a mere shell, the estate neglected and the tenant farmers gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘Yes. Their rents had been increased and when they could not pay they had been driven off the land.’

  ‘Wait,’ she said, frowning. ‘You did not order the rents to be raised?’

  ‘No, of course not. Is that what you were told?’ His lip curled. ‘I have never spoken of it to anyone in Allingford, so I assume they had that information
from Hannah. I can only conclude that she was behind it all, squeezing every penny out of the estate and running it into the ground. I learned that my mother’s funeral was a poor affair with her friends paying for her to be interred beside my father, but her name had not been added to the headstone. Only then did I realise the restraint in that friend’s letter! Only a selfish, uncaring brute would leave his mother to struggle on in such circumstances. I came back to find bills outstanding with tradesmen in Allingford, and the stonemason would not engrave the headstone without being paid first. Of Hannah and my prize money there was no sign.’

  ‘But how can that be?’ asked Charity, frowning. ‘Did the money never reach here?’

  ‘Oh, yes, it reached here.’ His mouth thinned to an angry line. ‘I know the Prize Agents can be tardy in paying out, but that was the first thing I checked when I got into port. I have no doubt my money arrived, but not a penny of it was spent on Wheelston. When I had returned to sea that last time, Mama suggested Hannah should have access to the account, too, in case anything should happen. From the little information I could glean it seems my mother’s health deteriorated rapidly after I left and Hannah took over the running of the estate—or, I should say, the ruining of it,’ he ended bitterly. ‘I also discovered that she left Wheelston before my mother was even buried, telling everyone that she had not been paid and could not afford to remain. A few months later she was Mrs Phineas Weston and the Beringham Courant reported that she brought with her a dowry of three thousand pounds.’

  ‘Three thousand—!’

  He looked across at her, his mouth twisting into an unpleasant smile.

  ‘Her wages as companion to my mother were less than fifty pounds a year. So how do you think she came by such a sum, Mrs Weston? A sum that is almost exactly the amount I had sent home over the past three years?’

  Chapter Seven

  Charity stared. ‘You think she stole the money?’

  ‘I don’t think, I know.’

  ‘But surely—did no one question this at the time?’

  ‘Why should they? No one knew of the prize money, save Hannah and my mother. When Hannah married Weston she told everyone she had come into an inheritance.’ He pushed himself out of the chair and began to pace up and down the little room, the candles flickering as he passed them. ‘The money I sent went into the family account in York. Enquiries showed that Hannah had made regular withdrawals from the account, but I swear none of it went into this house or the land. Instead everything of worth was sold, tenants’ rents were raised until they could not afford to live in the farms any longer and servants turned off. Only Jed refused to leave. He was devoted to my mother and stayed on to do what he could.

  ‘I went to see Dr Jarvis—he had been the family doctor since I was a boy—and he did not mince his words. Told me I was a damned scoundrel for going off and leaving my mother at Wheelston without the money to run the place. It is clear from what you say that that is pretty much what everyone in Allingford believes.’

  ‘But surely you told him the truth?’

  ‘I tried, but he thought I was merely making excuses. My mother had not told anyone of my efforts to repair the damage caused by my father’s ill-judged investments. And there was no formal engagement between myself and Hannah. God knows I wanted to make it official, I suggested we should marry before I returned to sea, but Hannah would not. At the time she said she wanted to wait until my mother’s health had improved, but looking back I think she was already weaving her plans. After all, why tie herself to me when I had already given her access to all the money I possessed?’

  ‘So what did you do? Did you go to Sir Mark Beverley?’

  ‘What was the point? I had no hard evidence. Hannah had made sure everyone in Allingford knew that she had done her best to keep Wheelston running.’ His lip curled. ‘How fortunate for her that Phineas Weston needed a housekeeper in the same week that my mother died, and even more fortunate that shortly afterwards Hannah’s aunt died and left her a fortune.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I decided I must talk to Hannah. She kept avoiding me, until at last I ran her down at a reception in Beringham. I challenged her, there and then. She denied that there had ever been a betrothal between us and said she had no idea what had happened to the money I sent home. Weston stepped in then and warned me off, as if I had been some errant schoolboy making mischief. That is when I lost my temper.’ He dropped onto the chair again and rubbed a hand across his eyes. ‘I am not sure now just what I said—having lived mostly at sea for more than ten years one learns to curse quite roundly and I have no doubt I gave vent to my feelings when Weston began to trot out those biblical texts and spewed forth all manner of self-righteous balderdash.’

  Charity nodded slowly, understanding more than most what he had gone through, for she remembered her father holding forth on many occasions in that overbearing, bombastic manner that made one smart with rage and humiliation.

  ‘Your anger was understandable, given the circumstances.’

  ‘But it was my undoing. Hannah brought a charge of blasphemy and I was summoned to appear before Phineas the very next day. I could not recall exactly what I had said, but I am certain it was not blasphemous. However, several of Weston’s cronies were at that reception and only too willing to testify otherwise. Even then Phineas had not finished with his plotting and planning. He offered to buy Wheelston from me, hinted that if I accepted his absurdly low price he would quash the charge. I swore at him then and told him in no uncertain terms what I thought of him and his wife.

  ‘After that there was no going back. I was still raging when I was found guilty. I paid my fine and thought nothing more of it. I packed up my things and headed to Portsmouth, determined to go back to sea. It was high summer and everyone was preparing for a big offensive against Bonaparte. I was going to throw myself back into my life in the navy, to serve my country or perish in the trying. However, when I got to port I realised that Weston had outmanoeuvred me. He had written to the Admiralty.’ He looked across at her. ‘Anyone convicted of blasphemy cannot hold a civil or military office. I was no longer a captain and I received a stinging letter from Lord Barham, the First Lord himself, accusing me of bringing the navy into disrepute and informing me that he would not countenance my presence on any ship under his command, even as an ordinary seaman. My character was ruined, my career ended.’ He exhaled slowly. ‘And I was therefore prevented from playing my part at Trafalgar, one of the most important naval engagements of this damned war.’

  Charity realised her hands were tightly clenched around the wine glass. A scheming woman had tricked Ross of his money, but it was her father who had deprived him of his career and his good name—everything he held most dear. Was it any wonder he wanted revenge upon Phineas? A chill ran through her. He might well think himself justified in taking revenge upon any member of the Weston family.

  ‘I am surprised you did not return intent upon murder.’

  ‘Oh, I did think of it, but I wanted more than that. I wanted justice. So I came back to Wheelston.’ He looked around the room. ‘The old place was still my home and I wanted to build it up again. It was difficult, for shopkeepers in Allingford and Beringham were cautious about extending me credit.’

  ‘So you became the Dark Rider.’

  ‘Yes. So far no one has guessed my identity, save you.’ For the first time since they had sat down together some of the anger left him. ‘Everyone is looking for an Irishman on a black horse. I thought I had disguised my voice quite well.’

  A wry smile tugged at one side of her mouth.

  ‘You must remember, Mr Durden, I am an actress and used to playing a part. And the black horse?’

  He grinned. ‘More theatricals. It is Robin, wearing a little make-up. I black out the blaze on his nose and his white feet. It has been very successful thus far. And I am ac
hieving my aim. The tenant farmers are reinstated and little by little I am beginning to turn the place around, with a few—ah—donations.’

  ‘Would that be from the likes of Mr Hutton and—’ she searched her memory ‘—Absalom somebody?’

  ‘Keldy.’ Ross laughed. ‘Aye, they are two of Weston’s closest cronies and were only too pleased to bear witness to my misdemeanour when Hannah brought in the charges against me, along with Sir James Fryton, a miserly baronet who lives in Beringham. I have no doubt he was persuaded to back up Hannah’s story by the promise of a fat purse. They have all fallen foul of the Dark Rider and have forfeited a few hundred guineas between them. Weston himself is proving more difficult, since he travels with an armed guard. I have caught him twice so far, during his frequent trips to Filey—’

  ‘Filey!’ Charity looked up. ‘Why should he go there?’

  ‘Why should he not?’

  She rubbed her arms. ‘He had the living there for a short time when I was very young, but it is a small fishing village and his congregation was not particularly interested in his preachings of hellfire and damnation. It was a very poor living, too, and when my mother died he married again, used his new wife’s money to better himself and buy the living at Saltby.’

  ‘Perhaps he has friends still in Filey.’

  ‘My father has no friends,’ she said shortly. After a short silence she added, ‘My mother is buried at Filey.’

  ‘Perhaps he visits her grave.’

  ‘Not unless he has changed out of all recognition.’

  Charity could not keep the bitterness from her voice. She had driven to Filey and visited the little graveyard during her stay in Scarborough, and thought now of the neglected plot with its simple headstone. There was no sign that anyone had been there for years. She gave herself a little shake.

  ‘I beg your pardon, we are digressing. You were saying you took a purse or two from Phineas?’