Outrageous Fortune

by Freda Lightfoot

  James’s look of fury would have shrivelled lesser persons, but Constance Caraddon was made of sterner stuff and impervious to such shafts. The old eyes twinkled knowingly, and she flicked closed her fan to tap her forehead as if indicating that her grandson were not quite right in the head. ‘Go ahead, my boy. You will make a much better job of it than I. But Charlotte, my dear, you must not be upset by anything my roguish grandson has to tell you. It all happened a long time ago, and I vow it is of no importance and certainly need not concern you now. Besides, I never did care for pedigrees,’ she declared. ‘Mongrels are so much more reliable, I’ve always found.’ Following this mystifying statement she swung round upon her fashionably coloured heels and went in search of Alice’s delicious pumpkin pie.

  * * * *

  Charlotte turned at once to Sir James, green eyes ablaze. ‘And what was all that about? I haven’t the first idea what either of you are talking of. Why did you send Lady Caraddon away when I most particularly wished to hear about my mother? Uncle Nathan hates to speak of her to me. I don’t think he has ever recovered from her death.’

  There was a short, uncomfortable silence, during which James looked into Charlotte’s green eyes, trying to put a name to their unusual shade, jade perhaps? He had an almost irresistible urge to take her in his arms again, to stop her small ears with his hands, her lips with his kisses, and all pain from her heart. But such feelings were madness. She was not a child and it was not his place to protect her. Damn his grandmother for getting him involved in the first place!

  ‘You will have ample opportunity to talk later with Lady Caraddon about your mother, but you may, if you wish, follow her this instant. I’m sure I have no wish to detain you.’

  Charlotte very nearly stalked off in high dudgeon but then changed her mind. ‘There is some mystery here and I would know of it without more ado. Does it have some connection with this fortune I’ve been left? If so, then I’d best hear all, though I warn you my mind is quite made up. I shall not accept the money.,

  ‘You are a very stubborn young lady,’ growled James, his sympathy vanishing in a cloud of fresh anger. ‘How can you treat money in such an offhand manner? Do you not know how important it can be? How some people crave the need of a fraction of what you so scornfully toss aside simply to live?’

  ‘It is not important to me,’ she retorted. ‘I would willingly give it away to anyone who begged for it. I do not deny need, I do assure you,’ she finished heatedly, feeling she was being put at fault and unable to work out quite why.

  Deciding this was far too public a place for such an argument, which was growing progressively louder, James grasped Charlotte’s arm in a punishing grip and marched her out of the parlour and along the passage. As James propelled her unceremoniously into the empty study and closed the door, Wilfred Clement Fosdyke stepped out of an alcove to watch them, then strode among the guests with a thoughtful, if somewhat wry smile upon his rubicund face.

  * * * *

  ‘How dare you treat me so - so ruthlessly?’ Charlotte stormed, but the force of her ire was blunted as she shivered in her thin dress in the cold room.

  Stepping to the fireplace where Molly had laid a neat pyramid of sticks, paper and logs ready for morning, James set light to it and at once the study burst into life if not instant warmth. Charlotte lit the lamp upon the desk with a taper held in fingers far from steady. The glow from it and from the flickering fire softened the lean hard lines of James’s face and lit the already dark skin to a glowing bronze. Once again she felt a slight breathlessness, as if she had been chasing Sam over the cliff tops, and she was forced to take several quick breaths in order to steady herself.

  ‘What is it you wish to say to me that is of such importance?’ she demanded, her small blunt chin tilting upwards as if to declare that nothing he could say would be of the least consequence.

  ‘Perhaps you had better be seated,’ said Sir James considerately. ‘I would not have you faint.’

  Charlotte stiffened. ‘I have never fainted in my life and don’t intend starting now.’

  James’s irritation at having this most unpleasant duty thrust upon him began to fade to be replaced by embarrassment, awkwardness and, dammit, he felt sorry for the girl. It was not her fault, none of it. Why did she have to know everything? He remembered the large annuity which Nathan Pierce had been at such pains to tell him of. A vast sum which could take her into the highest echelons of society, and there would be plenty in that quarter more than willing to fill in the details. There would be little hope of respectability for Charlotte without a husband, and who would take her on once they had heard the worst of it? He would certainly think twice himself, wouldn’t he? James considered this for a moment longer, then mentally shook himself. Best to get it over with.

  ‘I have to say from the outset that the news is not good, and I am not really the one to break it to you.’

  ‘You seemed more than willing a moment ago,’ quipped Charlotte in biting tone. ‘You couldn’t wait to take over the unpleasant duty, if that is what it is, from your grandmother.’

  James almost gaped at her. ‘I tried to stop Grandmother speaking of it this evening, on your birthday celebration. It was your idea to have the whole thing brought into the open now.’

  ‘Then what are you waiting for? Have done with the matter. I’m sure you cannot wait for the pleasure of seeing me suffer.’ Charlotte could scarcely think what she was saying, but instinct made her keep up her defences in preparation for this unpleasant piece of gossip about to be revealed, which had evidently been to her mother’s cost. No doubt it was some tittle-tattle that she had taken a lover or some such, a common enough tale and one which Charlotte meant not to allow to concern her in the least. She strode to the window and stared miserably out into the icy blackness, tapping her fingers upon the glass. ‘I am waiting,’ she said coldly, and strode back to the fire to warm her now frost-tipped fingers against the blaze.

  ‘Damn you, Charlotte. Will you be seated! I cannot talk to you if you are skitting about like a demented kitten.’

  ‘Indeed I am not.’ But she sat nonetheless, her legs suddenly feeling weak and tired. How very bad tempered he was. If this was an example of town manners, she’d do best to remain in the country. ‘I do wish you would come out with it before I scream. What is this gossip and how does it concern me?’

  If she were the kind of girl prone to hysterics, she would certainly be having them by now. As it was, she remained calmly seated upon the hard backed chair, almost smiling up at James, however insincerely, with every sign of patience.

  ‘That you are not your father’s child.’

  Charlotte continued to stare at him for a long, silent moment as even her own breathing seemed to stop. So she’d been right; her mother had had a lover. It explained a great deal. She examined her own feelings on the matter and found them fairly uninjured. ‘I can see that such a prospect would worry you, an aristocrat. It does not trouble me in the slightest. I have never known my father, at least, the man I thought was my father. I believed him to be dead. Therefore it is of no real consequence if it should turn out that he was not my father at all.’ With a small smile she got to her feet. ‘If there is nothing else I will return to my guests. It is cold in here.’

  She had her hand on the brass doorknob before he spoke again. ‘Don’t you want to know who your real father is?’

  Until he had suggested it, she was astonished to realise, she had not even considered the matter. The idea caught her off guard. ‘I - I’m not sure. Is it important?’

  James walked towards her and there was a strange compassion in his gaze as, reaching out, he took her small cold hands between his own and led her back to the chair by the fire. ‘I think it may be. The fact is, Charlotte, your mother, Eleanor Pierce, was an actress when she married the man you believed to be your father, Lord Justin Forbes. He was rich and titled and absolutely besotted by her. But he was a jealous and possessive man. It is not known whether
he and Eleanor were lovers before their marriage but…’ James stopped abruptly to glance at the pale face across from him. ‘If I must speak of matters not normally discussed with young girls of your age, you must forgive me. I see no benefit in dressing things up. You are old enough now to learn the truth.’

  ‘I am not a child, I do understand about such things,’ said Charlotte rather primly.

  Apparently satisfied, James continued, ‘Little more than four months into the marriage, you were born.’

  Charlotte swallowed the hard lump that had risen in her throat. ‘That is not so uncommon.’

  ‘Indeed not. Many full term babies are passed off as premature. Nevertheless, Lord Justin did not like it. He claimed the child was not his.’ James sucked upon his lower lip and wished himself a hundred miles away, regarding Charlotte with eyes grown bleak but surprisingly kind. ‘Gossip can be cruel, and in this case ran like fire. Justin’s rabid jealousy convinced him the child was not his and gossip supplied the answers your mother would not give. The scandalmongers decided that Eleanor had truly known only one man before her husband. A man with whom she had ever shown a marked affection, and who was always to be found at her side. That man was her brother, Nathan Pierce.’

  Charlotte stared in disbelief and mounting horror at James. Then she was on her feet, trembling as if with the ague. ‘It isn’t true, it isn’t true,’ she kept repeating over and over.

  James held fast to her hands, desperately trying to return her to her seat as if he were afraid for her sanity and that would in some way restore it. ‘Of course it is not true. It was pure vindictiveness, from someone who, for their own malicious purposes, wanted to hurt Lord Justin. There are many would be glad enough of the opportunity to twist their knives into me. Justin’s jealousy and foolish behaviour gave them the angle they sought. After almost two years of such whisperings, your poor mother, not surprisingly, could endure it no longer and fled back to the people she had known and loved before she met your father. So far as anyone is aware she may still be with them, still acting, still…’

  ‘You mean my mother didn’t die?’

  James could scarcely bear to meet the agony of her gaze. ‘No, Charlotte, she did not die. She returned to the stage where she no doubt hoped to find some remnant of happiness.’

  ‘And left me?’ The soft voice was pitiable and James’s heart tugged painfully in response to it.

  ‘I expect she thought it would be for the best. How could she manage, a woman alone with a child, and an actress at that? At least Lord Justin could feed you.’

  A light exploded in Charlotte’s brain. It was as if everything had slipped into place. She could understand everything now. The reason why her so-called father had gone abroad and never contacted her, why her uncle had sold up everything to bury himself in the country, why no one at Caperley liked to speak of the past. She did not understand why Lord Justin should decide to bestow a fortune upon her, but perhaps it was simply to prevent her from trying to find him. So be it. He was the last person she wanted to see. Her mother, however, was a different matter. Not for one moment did Charlotte believe this dreadful story. But, apart from any other consideration, only her mother could reveal the truth of it, and if Charlotte was to have any hope of happiness or even sanity she must find her.

  She was pushing away James’s restraining hands, heedless of his soft placating words. ‘I won’t believe in her guilt, I won’t! I’ll prove this malicious tale is untrue. I swear I will!’ She ran to the door. Charlotte knew what she must do, and intended to waste no time in putting her plan into immediate effect.

  Chapter Six

  Most of Charlotte’s guests had already left. Some were in the process of taking their leave and her progress was impeded by the need to exchange pleasantries. Her present state of shock meant that she did so with lips which bent only stiffly to her will and many goodbyes were terminated more abruptly than good manners demanded. She saw the look of puzzlement enter her uncle’s face, but she could not meet his gaze. Nor did she have any wish to approach him on the subject. Only too clearly did she understand how much a confrontation would embarrass him. She loved him dearly, despite this most human failing, and would continue to believe in him. But she would discover nothing further here at Caperley. She must go elsewhere to discover the truth.

  ‘Please forgive me, Uncle, but I am quite tired after all the excitement. If you will excuse me, I will go to bed at once.’ She gave him a sweeter, more lingering kiss than usual, then hurried away before he could see her tears.

  ‘Of course, my dear.’ Nathan watched her go, ignorant of the turmoil in her heart.

  In her room, Charlotte changed out of her beautiful new dress into a simple lawn gown in coral and mauve stripe and tied her favourite lace kerchief about her neck. Next she put on her warmest cloak and stoutest boots. Finding a small leather satchel, she packed in a few essential items, then sat herself down to wait with as much patience as she could muster for the house quieten. She dared not wait more than an hour or so, or the players would get too much of a lead on her. When she felt it safe, she crept down the back stairs to the kitchen where she found Alice snoring with exhaustion in the big rocking chair. Creeping stealthily past her, Charlotte managed to unlatch the back door and was halfway across the yard, thinking herself free, when she heard a door bang and a familiar voice call out.

  ‘That you, Miss Charlotte?’

  Charlotte turned, heart beating slow and hard in her breast. She had to get away. Nothing and no one must be allowed to prevent that. ‘Yes, Molly,’ she answered as calmly as she could. ‘Did you by any chance see which direction the strolling players took? I forgot to return the shawl they lent me, so I thought if I hastened after them I could give it back before they got too far.’

  Molly considered this point, painfully slowly. ‘The left fork, I reckon. But I ain’t certain. Would you like me to fetch Dickon? He could run faster ‘n you.’

  ‘No, no. Dickon is no doubt busy shutting up the animals for the night. They can’t have got far and I’ll be glad of a little fresh air before I retire for the night. Leave the kitchen door on the latch, Molly. I won’t be long.’

  ‘Right you are. I’m near dropping on my feet, I can tell you.’ Molly ambled off about her late duties, sighing of how beautiful the play had been and what a fine feast they’d had.

  Charlotte did not stop to listen to her rambling. She was running on winged feet, stumbling over the icy ruts but determined to catch up with the players before they got too far. If she was any judge, they would be making for a new town tomorrow and, if she was lucky, eventually for London. She wondered where they would be spending the night and was thankful that Uncle Nathan had not offered them the use of his barn. The further she got from Caperley this night, the better.

  Charlotte ran until her sides ached and she was forced to slow to a walk. A mile or two after that her heart skipped a beat as she glimpsed a light penetrating the darkness ahead, and found them huddled together around a tiny fire in the shelter of an old disused barn. It was only as she approached that she began to consider what she would say.

  ‘Who goes there?’ The dramatic tones of the booming voice rang out in the gloom and Charlotte jumped, crying out in terror as a hand grasped her arm. A lantern was swung in her face, blinding her for a second, and she heard an oath of surprise as she was recognised.

  ‘Can it be our talented Miss Birthday Girl herself?’ Wilfred Clement Fosdyke almost licked his lips in delight. This was an unexpected piece of good fortune. Ever since he’d overheard that most interesting piece of information between herself and Sir James he’d been frantic to think how it could best be applied to his own benefit. The old man had obstinately refused to offer them lodging, paid them the price quoted to the penny with not a groat extra as tip. Such miserliness had only served to make Fosdyke wrestle all the harder with the problem. Now here was the solution, standing dewy-eyed before him.

  ‘My dearest girl, you look quite wo
rn out, and more than a little frozen.’ Resting his arm protectively across her shoulders, he led Charlotte closer to the fire. ‘Put on more logs, get a blaze going; the lass is pinched with the cold. Make room there.’ He cuffed and booted one or two recalcitrant members of the orchestra from the choicest positions and settled Charlotte into the space they vacated.

  She gazed about her at the assembled company and wondered at her own daring. There was Fanny, rubbing sleep from her eyes and already glowering curiously at her. A cup of scalding tea was placed in her hands and she sipped it gratefully. Fosdyke introduced the two younger men as Carl and Phil.

  ‘Carl, being so handsome, does the romantic leads and Phil plays the villain. Ain’t that right, Phil?’ chortled Fosdyke.

  ‘Aye,’ agreed the grinning Phil, looking far from villainous. ‘I’m a brilliant actor, Miss Forbes, but I never get the girl.’

  Charlotte laughed out loud, beginning to feel more relaxed now that she had her breath and her toes were thawing out.

  ‘And this here is Sally Drew. She plays some good character parts, does Sal. You should see her Mrs Malaprop, a proper treat that is. And this is her terror of a son, young Peter. He plays page boy roles and such like. Does all the errands, helps put up the scenery and cooks the meals if necessary. What would we do without him? Say hello to the lady, Peter.’ Fosdyke stuck his face close to the boy, who briefly nodded at Charlotte then closed his eyes and went back to sleep, his dusty blond head resting upon his mother’s ample lap.

  Sally Drew smiled lovingly as she stroked his hair. ‘He’ll talk plenty tomorrow. You see if he don’t.’

  ‘And you’ve met Fanny already, of course.’ Fosdyke raised his bushy brows at the black haired Fanny as if to ask if she meant to greet their new guest. Fanny merely sniffed, rubbed her eyes and lay down beside the warmth of the glowing embers. ‘Bit tired just now, she is. Been a long day, as I expect you have found too.’ Fosdyke was avid with curiosity about why Charlotte had followed them, but knew better than to startle this fragile wide eyed fawn. ‘Was there something in particular you wanted us for? Your uncle has paid our account, you can rest assured,’ he said, adopting a polite smile.