At the Highwayman's Pleasure

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘With my life, sir.’

  The two men stared at each other while the longcase clock in the corner ticked slowly. At last John Armstrong nodded and looked back at the letter.

  ‘I had word from London only yesterday that Bonaparte crushed the Russians in a sea battle at Friedland. The Czar must now sue for peace, of course. We did send a fleet to hit the French lines of communication, but we were too late, dammit, and Bonaparte will use the fact that we did not come to the aid of our allies to blacken our name. Perhaps I should not be sharing this with you, but I’ve no doubt it will be in all the newspapers in a day or two.’ He tapped the paper in his hand. ‘The reference here to his previous correspondence and “Cousin George” sending some of the family ahead of him two weeks ago might refer to the contingent that set sail from Yarmouth in mid-June—the timing is certainly correct.’ He paused again, frowning over the letter. ‘Very well. Leave this with me. I shall take it to those who will know better than I if there is something amiss here.’

  ‘Would you like me to—?’

  ‘No, no, my boy, just because I haven’t yet regained my sea legs doesn’t mean I can’t travel at speed.’ John heaved himself out of his chair. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I must make my arrangements. You take yourself back to Wheelston and sit tight.’ He held out his hand, gripping Ross’s fingers tightly and giving him a faint smile. ‘Pity you are no longer in the navy, Durden. Your talents are sadly missed.’

  * * *

  Charity could find no rest. She prowled around the little house in North Street, jumping at every noise outside the door, hoping it might be Ross.

  ‘Although why you should expect him I don’t know,’ she told her reflection when she went upstairs to change her gown. ‘He said he would not come, not yet.’

  But remembering that last, lingering look he had given her when she had left Wheelston, she hoped—prayed—that he would not be able to stay away.

  She was engaged to dine with Hywel that night at Beverley House, where her hostess had promised her a quiet evening.

  ‘Just the four of us,’ said Lady Beverley, when she welcomed Charity into the drawing room. ‘I hope you do not mind.’

  ‘No, indeed, ma’am,’ Charity assured her, relieved that she would not be expected to converse with dozens of people when her mind wanted to dwell only upon one dark individual.

  ‘And we shall not be keeping late hours,’ added Hywel. ‘Mrs Weston must be at her best for her benefit evening at the end of the week.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course,’ murmured Sir Mark. ‘What is it you are doing again?’

  ‘We are replaying The Rivals,’ said Hywel. ‘We opened the season with it.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course, of course. Lady Beverley and I will be there to see it, will we not, my love? I have no doubt the house will be packed for Mrs Weston’s last performance of the season.’

  ‘We shall see.’ Charity smiled. ‘At this time of the year no doubt many people will have moved away for the summer.’

  ‘Not from Allingford,’ said Lady Beverley comfortably. ‘In town, perhaps, there is some reason for moving out of the heat, but not here. We are all very happy to stay at home, save for those who are gone to try a little sea bathing.’

  They went into dinner and Charity made an effort to converse freely, although part of her mind was constantly thinking of Ross, remembering that parting kiss and wondering how soon he would return to her. She managed to keep up her cheerful pretence until the end of the evening, when the tea tray was brought in, but being allowed a few moments to herself, her mind wandered off again.

  It had been very late by the time she finished writing out the contents of the letter for Ross, but he had refused to let her stay in his house until the morning.

  ‘I would not be able to keep away from you,’ he’d told her, the look in his eyes sending a delicious shiver running down her spine.

  She had dared to tell him that she would not wish him to do so, but although he had laughed at that and kissed her, he’d been adamant.

  ‘You must go back to Allingford and act as if you had not seen me. Every time we meet increases the chances of discovery.’

  ‘We could go away from here, far away, where it would not matter—’

  ‘No.’ Ross held her away from him. ‘I will not do that to you. You said yourself you were tired of being a fugitive, always looking over your shoulder.’

  ‘Rather that than I should lose you for ever,’ she had begged him, but she did not care. When she’d put her hand up to his cheek he had covered it with his own, pulling it down to his mouth to press a kiss into the palm.

  ‘There,’ he had said, folding her fingers over the spot where she could still feel the burn of his lips. ‘Hold that for me until I can come to you again.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Take this letter to a friend who will know how to use it against Phineas.’

  ‘And if it isn’t enough?’ She’d clung to him. ‘Will you give up your quest for justice and come away with me?’

  ‘Perhaps, but let us hope this letter will do the trick. It may take me a while to discover how best to proceed and it will be safer if we do not meet again until I know how the land lies. Now, let us find your maid. You must go home.’

  He had escorted them to the front door, but when Betty walked out to the gig he had pulled Charity back into the shadows and wrapped her in his arms, kissing her long and deep. Charity had responded, holding him close, but when he’d raised his head she had not pulled him down again, accepting that they must part, at least for now.

  ‘Well, Mrs Weston, what is your opinion?’

  Charity stared blankly at Sir Mark. She had no idea what he had just said to her. She smiled sweetly and was about to beg his pardon when they were interrupted by a knock on the door and the butler walked in. He approached his master and held out a silver tray, upon which lay a sealed paper.

  ‘What’s this?’ demanded Sir Mark testily. He fixed his eyeglass in place and picked up the letter. ‘Hmm, now who is sending me messages at this time o’night?’

  Lady Beverley handed a cup to Charity, saying with her easy smile, ‘Being a magistrate’s wife, one grows accustomed to a constant flow of letters that cut up one’s peace.’

  ‘But not this time,’ declared Sir Mark. He held the paper out to Hywel. ‘Good news, I think. We may feel more comfortable when we travel in future.’

  Lady Beverley looked up. ‘Oh, why is that, my love? What does it say, Mr Jenkin?’

  ‘It is a note from Mr Weston.’ Hywel flicked a quick glance at Charity. ‘It seems he has caught the Dark Rider.’

  ‘And you will never guess who it is,’ added Sir Mark, his bright eyes twinkling. ‘Mr Ross Durden, no less!’

  It was all Charity could do not to drop the fine porcelain cup when Sir Mark made that announcement. Years of acting and self-control came to her aid. She sank down in her seat, praying that her hands would not shake and make the cup rattle in its saucer.

  ‘Good heavens,’ she said lightly. ‘Does he give any details?’

  Hywel handed the paper back to Sir Mark, who shrugged.

  ‘Merely to say the fellow is safely in the lock-up. I suppose Weston will deal with him tomorrow.’

  ‘D-deal with him?’ Charity could control her expression to appear mildly interested, but she could not stop her heart thudding so heavily the blood drummed in her ears.

  ‘Weston will question him and then, no doubt, he will be transferred to York for trial.’

  ‘Well, that is good news, indeed,’ declared Lady Beverley. ‘Though I would never have guessed Mr Durden would be the highwayman. All reports I heard said the robber was an Irishman. However, the news may well encourage more people to travel from Beringham for your benefit performance, Charity.’
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  The conversation moved back to the theatre and Charity took her part, although she could never afterwards remember what was said. She was desperate to get away and when at last it was time to leave she made no objection when Lady Beverley offered the use of her carriage. She did not think her legs would support her for much longer.

  ‘I am very sorry that note arrived from your father,’ said Hywel, as they rattled through the empty streets. ‘I could see that the mere mention of his name upset you.’

  ‘It was most unwelcome,’ she responded, with perfect sincerity. ‘I only hope our hostess did not notice.’

  ‘Oh, I think not. Lady Beverley is kindness itself, but not the most acute of observers.’

  Charity forced a little laugh and engaged him in idle chitchat until the carriage pulled up at her door. With a smile and a cheerful word of farewell she went inside, but as soon as the door was closed she sank down onto the nearest chair, shaking. She wanted to burst into tears but she fought against it. Crying would not help Ross now. She must act.

  * * *

  Ross woke to the sound of a distant cock crow, but did not move immediately. He tried to work out why he was not in his own bed. An attack, riders coming at him in the dusk, blows. Opening his eyes, he found himself staring up at bare stone walls and a square of light where the sun struggled through the grimy glass of the single barred window, high up in one of the walls. His hands were manacled and he sat up carefully, flinching at the pain of his bruised and aching limbs. Raising his arms, he put a hand to his temple and touched his hair. It was sticky with blood.

  He heard footsteps and the rasp of bolts being drawn back, but his head was throbbing and the sudden squeal of metal hinges made him wince. He opened his eyes, expecting to see his gaoler. Instead he saw Charity standing in the doorway.

  ‘Oh, dear heaven, what have you done to him?’ she demanded in outraged accents.

  The man standing behind her shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘He was brought in like that, Mrs Weston.’

  ‘And you have done nothing to ease his suffering?’

  ‘It ain’t my job to—’

  ‘It is your Christian duty,’ she told him roundly. ‘And this—this hovel is not even provided with a jug of water. You will fetch one immediately, if you please. And a cloth, that I may clean up his wounds.’

  The constable goggled at her. ‘But I can’t—’

  ‘You can and you will, Constable. If you have nothing to hand, then Mrs Rigg will assuredly provide you with what you need. And do not worry about your prisoner escaping. You may lock me in here with him while you are gone.’

  It was a masterly and assured performance, and at any other time Ross would have appreciated it greatly, but for now he was merely thankful when the constable withdrew, shutting the door behind him and returning the lock-up to the gloomy half-light that did not make his eyes hurt.

  ‘You should not have come here,’ he managed.

  ‘How could I not, once I knew?’ She put down her basket on the stone bench and drew out a flask. ‘I have brought you a little wine and bread. Will Stamp has been locked up several times after a—what do you gentlemen call it?—after a spree and he always complains about the lack of food and drink.’

  ‘I cannot say I had noticed until now,’ said Ross, but took the flask and drank deeply before tearing off a piece of the bread she held out to him.

  ‘How did you know of this?’ he asked her.

  ‘I heard last night that you had been arrested.’

  ‘Arrested?’ He laughed, wincing as the pain lanced through the bruises on his face. ‘I was waylaid on my way back to Wheelston. I know I had crossed the county border, but once they had overpowered me they dragged me here—I take it I am in the Beringham lock-up?’

  ‘Yes.’ She sat down beside him. ‘My friend Jenny is the constable’s sister-in-law.’

  ‘And does the constable know whose daughter you are?’

  ‘There are rumours, of course, but no, he thinks not. You see, he interviewed me when the Scarborough mail was held up and asked me then if I was the magistrate’s daughter. I told him it was a stage name.’ She clasped her hands in her lap. ‘Jenny knows, of course, because we grew up together, but she has told no one. However, she did persuade her brother-in-law to let me in.’

  ‘I would she had not done so,’ he retorted bitterly, then reached across to grip her hand. ‘Not for my sake, love, but for your own. It can only do you harm to ally yourself with me—’ He broke off as the constable returned with a small jug of water and a rough cloth folded over his arm.

  Charity immediately picked up her basket. ‘Put it here. Since there is no furniture, I take it this stone bench must be bed, chair and table for your prisoner.’

  ‘Well, madam, it ain’t supposed to be cosy.’

  Only Ross saw Charity’s eyes flash with anger at the constable’s surly response. She said cheerfully, ‘No, indeed, Mr Rigg, I quite understand that. But do you think you could allow me a little more time with Mr Durden?’

  ‘I don’t think I should. Justice Weston wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘I doubt if he would like you letting me in here at all,’ replied Charity in the voice of sweet reason. ‘However, he need not find out. You know we were very careful to make sure no one saw me come in here. And there is no need for you to neglect your other duties. You have seen that there is nothing more dangerous in my basket than a little food and drink, so you may safely leave me here.’

  The constable blinked, clearly dazzled by her smile.

  ‘I told you, Mrs Weston, he’s due up before the Justice at noon—’

  ‘Then I shall help him make himself more presentable. What harm can there be in that?’

  Ross held his breath—surely this staid officer of the law would not be swayed by her charms?—but to his amazement the constable retired, saying he would give her an hour, no more. When they were alone he uttered a short bark of laughter.

  ‘By heaven, how did you manage that?’

  ‘Flattery, a few kind words and a little money,’ she said, dipping the corner of the cloth into the jug. ‘Not that I attempted to bribe him, but I did leave a small purse with his sister-in-law.’

  She put her fingers beneath his chin and gently turned his head to the light so that she could bathe away the dried blood on his face.

  ‘Are there any other injuries?’ she asked, her voice trembling a little. ‘Did they hurt you very much?’

  ‘They were not gentle, but then, I did not give in without a fight.’ He touched her arm as she drew in a sharp, hissing breath, as much to prove to himself that she was real as to reassure her. ‘It is not so very bad. Apart from the cut on my head I am merely bruised, I think.’

  ‘I was afraid when Sir Mark told us you were caught. I thought perhaps Phineas—’

  ‘I have not yet seen him, although I have no doubt it was he who arranged my capture.’

  ‘Sir Mark said the message came from Phineas, so he was most certainly involved. There.’ She stepped away. ‘I have cleaned up your head as best I can, but I can do nothing about the dark stubble or the fearful mark on your cheek.’

  ‘Do I look very dreadful?’ he asked her.

  The pain in her eyes told him the answer, but she replied with admirable calm. ‘Quite frightful. You would attract far too much attention if you left here in such a state. However, with your hat pulled low and once we have brushed the dirt from your coat I think you will look tidy enough for us to make the attempt.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When the constable returns we must, er, persuade him to let you go.’ She reached into the pocket of her travelling cloak and pulled out a pistol. ‘That is why I brought this. Thankfully Constable Rigg was so embarrassed when I told him to check the basket that he did not ask to searc
h my person.’

  ‘Is it loaded?’

  ‘No.’ She handed it to him. ‘It is one we use on stage and does not work, but I hope it will do the trick.’

  ‘And just what had you in mind?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘When Rigg comes back we will take him prisoner. I will fetch my carriage, which is waiting at the inn in the square, and when we drive slowly by the lock-up you will run out and—’

  ‘Pure folly,’ exclaimed Ross, getting to his feet. He held up his manacled hands. ‘How far do you expect me to get like this?’

  ‘I have no idea, but I have money. I thought we could bribe a blacksmith to remove your chains, and then we might head towards Scotland...’

  ‘No!’ He threw down the pistol and grabbed her arms. ‘My darling girl, we would be caught within days, and if we were not, we would be outlaws, never able to rest—is that what you want?’

  ‘If it is the only way to be with you, then yes.’

  His heart lurched as he saw the tears in her eyes. He dragged her to him and kissed her roughly, but the way she clung to him only convinced him that he must get her away from there. Steeling himself, he broke off his kiss.

  ‘I cannot be party to this madness. When Rigg comes back you must go and do not come near me again until this is all over.’ He added, with far more confidence than he felt, ‘We were fortunate I was attacked on my return from Scarborough and not on my way there. The letter you wrote out for me is now on its way to the Admiralty. I am convinced there is enough substance to our suspicions for them to act. The net will soon close upon Phineas Weston.’

  ‘But not soon enough, Ross. Phineas will see you hanged at the first opportunity, we both know that.’

  ‘I only know that you are in danger every moment you stay here with me.’ He cupped her face. ‘Oh, my love, do you think I could ever forgive myself if I thought I had brought about your downfall? I love you too much to allow that. Go back to the theatre, my dear, enjoy your success there and forget me.’

  ‘Never.’ She stared up at him, her eyes deep blue pools of tears. ‘I cannot leave you, Ross, I cannot forget. I love you, there is no life for me without you.’