‘She knows better than to ask,’ he said shortly. ‘I told you not to come. There is nothing here for you.’
His roughness flayed her and she responded bitterly.
‘Don’t worry, I have not come to weep all over you and demand recompense for my lost virtue.’
The harsh look fled.
‘Charity, how can I—?’
‘Stop!’ She put up her hand, knowing if he showed her any sympathy her fragile control would crumble. ‘There is no more to be said about that. I came here because I need to know the truth.’
She untied the strings of her cloak. Ross was still glaring at her and she feared he might yet manhandle her out of the house. She was relieved when he took the cloak and threw it over a chair.
‘What happened when you met my father to demand a ransom?’
‘I told you. He would not pay.’ He would not meet her eyes.
‘But there is more, isn’t there? He proposed some other plan, did he not?’ His silence and the grim set of his mouth sent a chill down her back. ‘Did...did he suggest that you deliver me up to him?’
He strode towards the door. ‘You should go now—’
‘No. I am not leaving until you tell me what occurred. Do you think it too dreadful for me to contemplate?’
‘He is your father.’
‘Father?’ Her lip curled in disdain. ‘He lost the right to that title when I was still a babe.’
Ross was at the door, but he turned back to her, a frowning question in his eyes. She shook her head, quick, jerky movements that showed how tense she was.
‘It was n-not so very bad, really. Not compared to the beatings and being locked in the c-cupboard and s-seeing him destroy my mother and my stepmother, bit by bit, with his petty tyranny.’
Her voice shook and the effort she was making not to break down tore at his heart. He said softly, ‘Tell me.’
She did not answer immediately but chewed her lip, a darkling, faraway look on her face, as if she was recalling some unpleasant memory. At last she raised her chin, resolutely meeting his eyes.
‘He cut off my hair. Mama used to call it my crowning glory. She would spend hours, when I was a child, brushing it until it shone. She said it was a gift from God.’
Ross looked at the honey-pale locks that gleamed beneath the frivolous little bonnet, framing her face like a gilded halo. He remembered them fanned out loose and abandoned over the pillow of the daybed, or running heavy as silk between his fingers. His skin tingled at the memory, but the sensation turned to a shiver as he stood, silent and unmoving while the words tumbled out of her.
‘It was summer, such a hot day, and I thought nothing of letting the sun dry my hair, but Phineas said I was being provocative. Shamelessly immoral.’ She wrapped her arms across her breasts, as if suddenly aware of him. ‘I was fourteen years old and just beginning to think that I might one day find a man—a kind, gentle man who would want me for a wife. Someone to look after me.’ She dropped her head. ‘There were plenty of men at the sheep washing that day, but not one of them was prepared to stand up against Phineas. He...he made them hold me down while he cut my hair off with the sheep shears.’
Ross clenched his fists and raged silently at Phineas Weston. How could anyone, especially a man of God, humiliate a child in such a way? She had even then needed someone to protect her.
Charity pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. A prosaic gesture that made her seem even more vulnerable, but when she spoke again her voice was stronger.
‘I vowed then that Phineas would never touch me again. I did not go home—my stepmother was by then such a browbeaten, timid woman and so in thrall to her husband that I knew I could never persuade her to come away with me. I just walked, away from Saltby and Beringham and all the places I had known. Heaven knows what would have become of me if I had not met Hywel Jenkin and his travelling players. He bade me join them, asked no questions of my appearance or my history until I was ready to tell him. I changed my name to Agnes Bennet and found I had a natural talent for the stage: I began by playing boy’s roles, for which my short hair was no impediment, and through Hywel’s kindness and care I learned all the arts of the theatre. He encouraged me to go to London, to seek my fortune in Drury Lane.’ She smiled. ‘I did very well there.’
‘So why did you leave?’
She gazed at him for a long moment, as if trying to decide how much to divulge.
‘I behaved very badly,’ she said at last. ‘I persuaded a young man to fall in love with me.’
He paused and waited patiently for her to speak again.
‘Gideon. He was very sweet.’ The faraway look in her eye and gentle smile sent jealousy pounding through Ross like a battering ram.
‘Then to bewitch him would not have been difficult, given your charms.’
Her eyes flew to his face when he spoke so roughly, and he saw the pain in them. She said quietly, ‘It was all a charade, and I am not proud of it. There was a crowd of young bucks who came regularly to the theatre. I was flattered by their attentions and when they asked me—paid me very well—to participate in a practical joke I agreed. I was to captivate a young man and trick him into thinking he was marrying me, when in fact his bride was someone completely different. It was a very mean-spirited thing to do, and all for a jest.’
‘Then why did you take part?’
‘At first I thought there would be no harm in it. They were all rich young men, spoiled and impetuous. It was to be a prank, a joke. But Gideon was not like the others. He was kind, thoughtful and so charming that I was soon regretting I had agreed to trick him.’ She would not meet his eyes and a blush of shame mantled her cheek. ‘Unfortunately by then it was too late. I had put myself in the power of a very unpleasant character. At first I had been flattered by his attentions, but... He was a bully, no different from my father, in many ways.’ She shuddered. ‘I was fortunate that I managed to keep him at arm’s length as long as I did. He was very cruel—it was his own cousin that he coerced into taking my place as Gideon’s bride.’
‘And the trick succeeded?’
She nodded.
‘It was only by the greatest good fortune that disaster was avoided. I can take no credit for it. I knew Gideon’s affection for me was infatuation, that he would recover, and, thankfully, he fell in love with his young bride. It was seeing them together that made me realise what I wanted from my life. A home, good, loyal friends, perhaps even a husband of my own.
‘I knew then I should break free from the hateful man who sought to control me, and I did. I left London five years ago and vowed never to return.’ A flicker of mischief curved her lips. ‘At least, not as Agnes Bennet. Perhaps one day I shall return under my own name.’
‘And did you mind, seeing the young man—Gideon—fall in love with another woman?’
‘Not in the least. I was only thankful that I had not caused him irrevocable harm.’
Ross’s jealousy subsided and his heart swelled as he realised how hard this confession was for her. She wanted no secrets between them: she was laying her soul bare, the ultimate expression of her faith in him.
‘Why did you come to Allingford?’ he asked her gently.
She gave an expressive little shrug. ‘I was tired of touring, of never having a home of my own. I wanted to settle down, to find my real place in the world.’
‘Perhaps that place is with Jenkin,’ said Ross, determined to remove even that one, lingering doubt. ‘He has done a good job of protecting you thus far.’
‘He has been like a father to me, so much more so than my own unnatural parent. But I fear Phineas has not done with me yet.’ She met his eyes with a steady, demanding look. ‘That is why I must know what he planned for me, Ross. How can I protect myself if I do not know the truth?’
Blue eyes met black and held, a clas
hing of wills, both determined. Ross realised she had a right to know.
‘He...suggested...’ He stopped, eventually saying through clenched teeth, ‘He did not want your safe return.’
She looked at him for a moment, uncomprehending, then with a little cry she dropped onto a chair.
‘Oh, dear heaven. Does he hate me so much that he would leave me to my fate?’ She gave a bitter little laugh. ‘Why should I be surprised? He drove my mother to her grave, and my stepmama, spewing texts from the Bible to justify his vicious actions. I warned you he would not lift a finger to help me.’
‘True.’ Ross walked across to the window and stood looking out. ‘But it is worse than that. He offered to pay the ransom, as long as I saw to it that you were not found alive.’ He turned and came to stand over her, fixing her with his brooding gaze. ‘Now do you see just how dangerous it is for you to stay in Allingford? Phineas will seize any chance to destroy you, and we know now he would go so far as to pay someone else to do it for him.’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling and exhaled swiftly. ‘And he calls himself a man of God.’
‘He is a grasping, greedy hypocrite, and always has been.’ She wrapped her arms around herself again. ‘I will not run away. I have spent the past thirteen years as a fugitive, living under a false name, afraid that my father might one day catch up with me. But I am tired of living a lie. For years I have had nightmares about Phineas—I will not live that way any longer.’ Suddenly the fight went out of her and her shoulders slumped. ‘Perhaps I should not have come to Allingford, so close to my old home, but it felt right; Hywel, the theatre and my friends there—I thought I could ignore my father and that he could ignore me. If he was still parson at Saltby then perhaps that would have been possible, but he has wealth now, and power, and his self-importance is such that he will seek to destroy what he cannot control.’
Ross’s heart went out to her, this golden girl with the tortured eyes. He wanted to take her in his arms and promise to look after her, but that was not possible; he could only make things more dangerous. Instead he pulled up a chair and sat down beside her.
‘I have been trying to find a weakness, a way to discredit Weston, but he is shrewd and careful. Perhaps I should put a bullet in him.’
‘But you are not a murderer, Ross.’
‘Not for my own sake, but for yours—’
Charity’s initial horror at learning that her father wanted her dead was fading and she was ever more grateful to Ross for refusing to countenance his plan. She reached out to touch his hand and was heartened when he did not pull away.
‘I would not have you commit such a heinous crime for me.’ She jumped up, exclaiming, ‘Oh, I will not give in! There must be some other way to bring him down.’ She began to pace the room, her brow furrowed. ‘I remember when Hywel told me how rich Phineas had become I wondered how that could be.’
‘Well, he has three thousand of my prize money for a start.’
She shook her head. ‘He came into funds before that. Hywel Jenkin said he gave up the living at Saltby and bought his big house in Beringham about five years ago. I remember the Saltby parish—it was not a rich living and the previous one was even poorer. Mama had no money of her own and although my stepmama had a modest dowry, even with the shrewdest of investments that would not be enough to buy a grand house, let alone to live in such luxury as Hywel described to me.’
‘Gambling, perhaps?’
Her lip curled. ‘Phineas thinks gambling even more of an abomination than the theatre. No, I could more readily believe he is involved in some dark deed.’
‘That is what I thought, too,’ said Ross. ‘Which is why I have been checking the mailbags to see if there are any letters for him, anything that might give me some clue.’ Her look of horror made his lip curl. ‘Since I am already holding up the mail coach it seemed a logical step.’
‘And have you ever found anything?’
‘Nothing of any use, a few letters to other clergymen, more to his brother.’
Charity said absently, ‘Phineas does not have a brother.’
‘Of course he does—one Joseph Weston, who is presently living in Yarmouth....’ Ross’s words trailed off.
‘My father is an only child,’ stated Charity, her face set hard. ‘It is recorded in the front of the family Bible. Believe me, I opened that book very often, since he made me copy out so many texts from it.’ She rolled her shoulders, recalling the sting of his riding crop whenever she made an error. Forcing the memory away, she asked, ‘What is so alarming about Yarmouth?’
‘The naval dockyards,’ he said slowly. ‘And if I were First Lord of the Admiralty, it’s Yarmouth I would use to launch an attack on Bonaparte’s northern forces.’
‘And what does this brother say—have you read any of his letters?’
‘Of course,’ said Ross, frowning. ‘There is nothing in them but family matters.’
She gave a bitter laugh.
‘My father was never one for family!’
‘Perhaps he is mellowing with age.’
Charity thought of their last meeting and shook her head.
‘I have not seen it. But perhaps I am wrong—after all, you have already told me he is making pilgrimages to Filey, too.’
‘And Filey is on the coast.’ Ross sat up. ‘What if he is passing secrets to the French?’
Charity met and held his eyes.
‘I would as lief believe that as think him mellowing.’
‘There are rumours that Bonaparte is planning an alliance of sea power in the north.’ He began to pace the room. ‘Security must be tight at Yarmouth, so if I wanted to get information out of England, I would send it by a roundabout route—mayhap even to an innocuous little town like Beringham, then to the coast, somewhere small, where a fishing smack might cross to the Continent without notice.’
‘Such as Filey.’
‘Exactly. But why should Phineas help Bonaparte? It seems incredible to me that any true Englishman would do so.’
‘But Phineas might,’ she said. ‘He told me Bonaparte was the... How did he phrase it? “God’s instrument...the scourge of the papists”.’ She clasped her hands tightly. ‘If there is one thing my father hates above all else, it is the Church of Rome. He would consider himself justified in taking any action that helped to destroy it, even supporting the French.’
‘Hell and damnation, then I have missed a trick!’
Ross’s exclamation brought her eyes back to his face and he hastened to explain.
‘I held up the mail last night and there was another letter for Weston from this “brother” of his. I did not even read it, just threw the mailbag back at them and let them continue.’
‘Then it will have been delivered to him this morning.’
‘Yes. Damnation, we must act quickly. I shall have to break in tonight and try to find it—’
‘No. Let me go now and see what I can discover.’
He stared at her.
‘Are you out of your mind? You cannot go to Beringham, it is far too dangerous.’
Her brows rose.
‘It is market day, and if I know Phineas he will be holding a court. He would not miss the chance to fine his fellow men for their misdeeds. And even if he is at home I shall have my maid with me and make sure he knows that I have left word of where I am.’ She smiled. ‘I want to make peace with my new stepmama.’
‘And what do you hope to achieve by that?’
‘At best, to find that letter and at worst—I can at least describe to you the layout of the house.’
‘No. I can as easily find my way tonight. I will not risk your safety.’
‘Please, Ross, let me do this.’ She held his gaze steadily. ‘We will neither of us have any peace until he is brought down.’
It took some
time to persuade Ross that she was determined, but at last he agreed, after she had told him that if he would not help her she would make the attempt alone. A swift plan was devised and she went back to Allingford to collect Betty.
As she drove back to North Street, Charity wondered just how much she should tell her maid. Betty had drawn her own conclusions about what had happened in the dressing room the previous evening, but she had maintained an affronted silence on the matter. However, if Charity was going to enlist her aid in this latest escapade, she would have to tell her at least some of the truth.
* * *
‘Ooh, Miss Charity, that is the most fantastical, madcap idea I have ever heard!’
Charity and her maid were in the gig and on their way to Beringham. Time was short so Charity had begged Betty to accompany her, promising to explain everything on the way.
‘To break into a magistrate’s house, to find a letter Mr Durden thinks might be there—’
Charity had said nothing about Ross’s activities as the Dark Rider, only that he suspected Phineas of spying for the French. She had to admit the story did sound implausible.
‘I will understand, Betty, if you do not wish to help us—’
‘Of course I will help you, Miss Charity. From all you have told me of your father, you don’t think I would let you go into his house alone? By heaven, you and Mr Durden are like a pair of star-crossed lovers from one of Mr Jenkin’s plays!’
Charity threw her a wry glance. ‘I suppose we are, only in this instance I have no idea what the ending will be!’
* * *
The afternoon was well advanced by the time they reached Beringham. Charity remembered the town from her childhood, but it had changed considerably in the thirteen years since she had run away. It was still a bustling market town, but she thought it compared unfavourably to Allingford. The town was less colourful, the people far more sober in their dress and countenance. One or two turned to stare as she drove through the High Street and Charity smiled and nodded, happy to acknowledge that she was the celebrated actress from the neighbouring town. She had to work hard not to search the crowds for a sight of Ross, but he had told her he would be close and the knowledge supported her as she raised her hand to knock on the door of Phineas Weston’s grand town house.
At the Highwayman's Pleasure Page 18
