Outrageous Fortune

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Leave her be!’ cried one. ‘She be innocent!’

  ‘Kill Iago!’ cried another.

  Before anyone could prevent it, one of the sailors had leapt upon the stage and, grabbing Othello by the throat, flung him sprawling across the floor. From the pit below a veritable roar broke out and soon there were a dozen or more sailors all milling upon the narrow, makeshift stage, some crying for Iago’s blood so that poor Phil had to flee out into the night if he was not to be murdered in very truth himself. Others grew a mite too familiar with Desdemona, even for Fanny, who was no innocent where men were concerned. Fights broke out, knives appeared and the air was filled with the screams and squeals of women fleeing for their lives if not their virtue up the congested aisles and falling out on to the dockside in a ferment of stinking humanity.

  The tattered green curtains fell to the ground, covering a dozen sprawling, unidentifiable figures, and had it not been for the unruffled and incredibly quick thinking Peter, who had snatched up the candles at the first sign of trouble, the situation might well have been worse. But it was bad enough so far as Charlotte was concerned. One moment she was watching the riot in a daze of disbelief, the next she’d been swept from her feet by an evil smelling, hairy individual and was being carried off, her fate most surely sealed. Then she was pitched forward, and the sound of shrill whistles were all about her. Hands were pulling at her and in desperation she tried to fight them off.

  ‘Have done, Charlotte. It is I.’ She looked up into a pair of familiar and, at this moment, beloved grey eyes. She cried his name once before blackness closed in upon her.

  Chapter Seven

  James Caraddon had been the last person Charlotte had expected to see, but when consciousness returned a moment later she found herself clinging very tightly to his hand.

  ‘I thought you said you never fainted?’ He sounded amused, and Charlotte thrust his hand away in disgust.

  ‘Must you score points at a time like this?’ Heartless monster, she thought. ‘Where are the others? What has happened to Sally, and young Peter?’ The building seemed deserted. Broken chairs lay everywhere. The homemade stage, divested of its candles and green curtains, was nothing but a sad collection of fish crates and planks of wood. Suddenly anxious, she tried to scramble to her feet, but James put out a hand to restrain her.

  ‘Don’t hurry. You’ve had a nasty crack on the head. You’ll have to take things quietly for a while.’

  ‘There is no need to tell me what to do!’ retaliated Charlotte, pushing his arm away and then having to grasp it again as she wobbled uncertainly.

  ‘There is every need,’ he said, placing his arm very firmly about her slender waist. It was surprisingly pleasant leaning against him, drawing in the scents of the outdoors and the horse he had ridden. When the room had stopped spinning she focused more steadily upon his blue coat and then upon the lean lines of his face, which looked so strong and suddenly so dear to her that she had a most dreadful urge to weep. ‘And what on earth are you doing here?’ she asked crossly, though she rather thought she could guess.

  ‘I’ve come to take you home, Charlotte.’

  The sound of her name so softly spoken upon his lips was almost her undoing. In truth the rabble had terrified her, and her first night on stage had not been at all as she had imagined. Nevertheless she managed to suppress her fears, for home was no longer the haven it had once been: it was filled with dark secrets and threatened insecurity. She broke away from him in an instant. ‘I won’t go. Nothing you can say will make me. I have things to do in London and Mr Fosdyke has kindly agreed to take me there.’

  ‘Then what are you doing in a fish shed in Plymouth?’ He was standing, arms akimbo, glaring at her and she had forgotten how very angry he could look.

  ‘I’m paying for my fare. I have no wish to be beholden to anyone and if Mr Fosdyke is kind enough to allow me to accompany him the least I can do is to work for my keep. Fosdyke Players carry no passengers,’ she repeated.

  ‘I’ll warrant they don’t,’ said James caustically. ‘And what exactly does this work entail? And why are you so ill dressed?’

  Charlotte leaned over to dust down her dress, or at least the dress she had borrowed from Sally for the part of Bianca. Guessing that Sir James would disapprove, she was toying with the idea of finding some way to avoid telling the truth. But she had forgotten that the dress was slightly too large for her, since Sally was not so petite as she. It was a gown of cheap blue satin with a wide neckline far lower than she usually wore, and this imprudent action afforded James an enticing view of a pair of firm rounded breasts. He made no effort to disguise his interest, and as Charlotte became aware of his gaze she clapped her hand to her bosom and flushed scarlet to the roots of her disordered hair.

  She met his wickedly gleaming gaze with as much injured fury in her own as she could muster. ‘I was acting the part of Bianca, if you must know,’ she said with a large measure of defiance. ‘The play was Othello and I loved every minute of it.’

  ‘Evidently the audience did not agree with you.’

  ‘That is not true. It was because they became so involved…’

  ‘That they wrecked the place?’ James swept out one hand in a condemning arc, encompassing the scene of destruction.

  ‘They were only defending Desdemona,’ said Charlotte miserably, knowing he would not understand.

  ‘Whatever the reason, this is not the place for you.’ Taking a firm grip upon Charlotte’s wrist, he set off for the door, heedless to her protests as she staggered behind him.

  The door opened just as they reached it. ‘Ah, Charlotte, my dear. There you are. I was wondering what had become of you.’

  ‘Mr Fosdyke, you are all right?’ Charlotte gabbled thankfully. ‘What about the others? Sally, Fanny, little Peter?’

  Fosdyke beamed at Charlotte while shooting a speculative glance in James’s direction. ‘All well. All well, and enjoying a pint of porter in the Drunken Duck. But we missed you and I elected to search you out.’

  ‘Charlotte banged her head when she was dropped to the floor by a ruffian who was attempting to carry her off. Have you only now thought to look for her?’ asked James pointedly.

  The white teeth gleamed. ‘As a matter of fact I was told that a fine young gentleman was assisting our Lottie in her moment of need, so I had no wish to intrude upon what might have proved to be a tender scene.’

  ‘Or in point of fact the very opposite,’ replied James stonily, and Charlotte began to squirm with embarrassment.

  ‘Really, there is no need to champion me in quite such a high-handed manner. I am perfectly well able to take care of myself. And I am sure Sally and the others would never have left me if they’d thought for one moment that I was in any danger.’ Charlotte tugged at his arm. ‘Perhaps a glass of something would make you feel better too,’ she suggested.

  ‘Indeed yes, young sir. The hostelry serves a most excellent French brandy.’ Fosdyke tapped his nose. ‘Though how they come by it none dares ask.’

  * * * *

  Later, when James had confirmed Fosdyke’s opinion on the brandy, he began to consider how he might succeed in extracting Charlotte from the players. Already she seemed to be a part of them, laughing and joking, and accepting food and drink without paying a penny piece. The silly girl might well have set out without money, so upset had she been. James sighed with fresh exasperation. If he returned without her no one would be at all pleased with him, and his grandmother had a way of making her displeasure most strongly felt. Up to her old tricks of trying to match him off under threat of running off with that old reprobate Major Dunskin herself, she’d embroiled him in a convolution of family skeletons he’d much rather not inspect and landed him with the responsibility of a wayward innocent he’d much rather not have. But he could only do his best. If the child refused to accompany him that was the end of the matter. He had better things to do with his time than chase foolish females half across the West Country. In his op
inion it only made the matter all the more annoying that she held such a bewitching charm about her. But it would take more than charm to move him.

  Worst of all, there was no knowing how long this state of affairs would go on.

  It was rumoured that Pitt was thinking of changing one or two positions in his Cabinet and if James was away too long he might well be forgotten. Though he had friends to speak up for him. A vision of Lady Susanna in the cream lace ball gown she had worn on their last outing came to mind. He could not for the life of him describe the gown but he remembered it paid considerable tribute to Susanna’s shapely figure with its incredibly small waist and high rounded bosom. She had worn it to indicate how she was at last out of mourning for her little-lamented husband, and James had to admit that she was not a woman one easily overlooked. The balls she held at Courtly Place were readily attended by everyone who could procure themselves an invitation, for, as well as all her other attributes and a title in her own right, Susanna had all the right connections. When the time came she would make him an excellent wife should he so choose, and a willing bedmate. What more could a man ask?

  He found himself gazing at Charlotte’s animated face. He’d forgotten how very pretty and appealing it was. She was describing, in loquacious detail, her feelings when the audience had applauded her first efforts on stage. What an innocent she was. She might well have some talent for all he knew, and he felt a tinge of regret that he had missed her performance. The piece she had done at Caperley had been pleasing enough, but those ruffians watching tonight had been more interested in her physical attributes, he was sure of it, than the expression she put into her blank verse.

  ‘Though I did dry up at one point, and would have gone to pieces completely had not Carl rescued me,’ Charlotte was saying. ‘And I felt far too wooden in places, as if I had three hands!’

  ‘We all feel that way at first, m’dear,’ chortled Sally. ‘It’ll pass. Just relax and enjoy yourself.’

  Then, turning to Fosdyke, Charlotte continued more urgently. ‘I shall work on the part so that I can do better next time.’

  ‘No need,’ he said. ‘We’ll be doing Much Ado About Nothing when we get to Exeter. You can play the part of Hero, the much maligned daughter of Leonato and cousin to Beatrice, who will of course be our own dear Fanny.’ He pinched Fanny’s cheek since she sat so close beside him, and for the first time Charlotte saw her smile. ‘Now that play requires lightness of touch, and though it is not as bawdy as some of Will’s plays we have our own ways of livening it up a little, eh, Fanny dear? Particularly since it will be Christmas.’

  ‘Charlotte will not be with you in Exeter, I’m afraid,’ interposed James coldly. ‘So you must make alternative arrangements.’

  The smile froze upon Fosdyke’s face. ‘Not with us? Why ever not? She ain’t ill. Not that sickness is allowed to interfere. Rain or storm, packed house or one flea-bitten boy, sick or healthy, alive or near dead, the show, as they say, must go on.’ Satisfied that these platitudes had made his point, Fosdyke called for another brandy. But James was not so easily put off.

  ‘Nevertheless she will not be there. Charlotte will be accompanying me back to her home where her uncle waits most anxiously for her return.’ Not accustomed to being crossed, James took it for granted that his decision would be accepted without question and, getting up from the table, spoke across it to Charlotte. ‘If you will gather your things together we’ll be on our way. I’d like to be home before morning.’

  Charlotte was struck momentarily speechless, then, as all eyes turned upon her, she fired up with indignation. ‘I’ll not go home. Nor will I be spoken to in such a manner. I have already told you that I have important matters to attend to in London. Matters of a most delicate and personal nature and I’ll not return until I’ve dealt with them, so there,’ she said, acutely aware that her voice had grown petulant at the finish but determined not to be browbeaten.

  ‘In the meantime you intend to demean yourself before half the louts in England when it is not at all necessary. If you must go to London, do so, but after Christmas and in a civilised manner.’

  The cold reasonableness of his voice made her feel instantly foolish, as she guessed it was designed to do, and stoked her ire all the more. The assembled company held their collective breath in fascinated anticipation. But she was nothing if not stubborn. Charlotte raised her small blunt chin, green eyes glinting with feline ferocity. ‘I do assure you that I have never demeaned myself in front of anyone and I take great exception to the implication, as I am sure do these good people here.’ There were grunts of approval around the table as they realised they too were being slighted. ‘Shakespeare is one of the greatest playwrights the world has ever known, and will no doubt remain so. I see nothing to be ashamed of in performing in his plays; indeed I deem it an honour so to do. I only hope I can do them justice.’

  ‘Bravo! Bravo!’ cheered Fosdyke and began to applaud, bringing a flush of embarrassment to Charlotte’s cheeks.

  ‘It showed a poor resemblance to the Shakespeare I know, from the little I saw of it,’ growled James, pressing his fists upon the table as he leaned ominously closer. Charlotte was forced to push herself back in her chair, looking anywhere but into his eyes, which had the strangest weakening effect upon her resolve. ‘Now get your cloak and we will leave this instant. I’ll not have you lose all your character.’

  ‘How dare you suggest such a thing?’ cried Charlotte, jumping to her feet. There was one bright spot of feverish scarlet upon each pale cheek. ‘I have not at all lost my good character as you are implying. Nor will I meekly go with you like some naughty child who must be taken back to the schoolroom. You can return without me.’

  ‘I’ll not.’

  Fosdyke looked from one to the other as an unquenchable silence grew between them, neither willing to back down. ‘An interesting situation,’ he dryly commented. ‘One evidently chivalrous young man taking his responsibilities seriously, and little Lottie here showing great spirit, and anxious to stay.’ After scratching his chin thoughtfully for some seconds, Fosdyke hooked his thumbs in his yellow waistcoat and beamed upon them. ‘I believe I have the solution.’

  Both James and Charlotte looked at him in surprise. They had both been so engrossed in glaring fiercely at one another that they had quite forgotten Fosdyke’s presence, and anyone else’s for that matter. And almost, in Charlotte’s case, the point of her argument. There had been a brief second in that long-held gaze when at a word she would have gone with James anywhere. But as she dropped back into her seat to listen to Fosdyke’s suggestion she was relieved that hadn’t happened, for she surely would have regretted it. Sir James Caraddon was far too bombastic to allow her a moment’s consideration, and she was quite determined to find the mother she’d so long believed to be dead, and put an end to a pernicious piece of scandal at the same time.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Sir James could accompany us, at least as far as Exeter, and act as your chaperon since he seems to think you need one. After our performance at Exeter the matter can be reconsidered. He may well feel that his fears are allayed by that time. There, is that not the perfect answer?’

  James stared at Fosdyke in grim silence. The last thing he wanted was to prolong this journey further or he would miss Christmas entirely, the weather would close in and the roads would become impassable, even on horseback. Yet he could hardly bring himself to abandon Charlotte to the clutches of this rapacious hog.

  ‘Naturally, since Sir James would not be a performing member, it would be necessary for him to pay for his keep.’

  Ah, so that was it, thought James. Money. If there was a way of making more, Fosdyke knew of it.

  ‘I need no chaperon,’ Charlotte said, frustrated at being haggled over as if she were a piece of property. ‘Sally will stay by me, will you not, Sal? I shall be perfectly safe.’

  Sally cackled with laughter, her merry eyes twinkling. ‘I’ve never refused the protec
tion of a handsome young gentleman yet and I wouldn’t commend you to do so either. Not without very careful thought. Aw, let him stay. He can afford it, I’ll warrant. Besides which, there’s plenty of work I can find him to do. With shoulders like that he’ll be a wonder at lugging scenery back and forth.’ She grinned disarmingly at James, and despite a gap in her teeth showed herself still to be an attractive woman for James smiled back. The matter, it seemed, was settled.

  The only person to be less than satisfied with the whole arrangement was Fanny, though since no one asked her opinion she did not offer it. But that was not to say that she did not have one.

  * * * *

  The walk to Exeter was long, wet, and immensely tiring. Charlotte’s legs ached so much that she was sure they would collapse beneath her. She had not known there was so much mud in the entire world. It took three long, tedious days before their first sight of the city and, were it not for her resolute determination to complete her quest, and a desire not to appear beaten in front of Sir James, she would have given up long since and begged a lift of any passing cart, had there been one, to take her home at once. The players did own a cart, pulled by a scraggy, nondescript pony, but none was allowed to use it as it was piled high with scenery and props.

  James made one more attempt to persuade Charlotte to return. He was not successful, so contented himself with staying close beside her as a protection against Fosdyke, whom he did not trust. His gallantry was not particularly well received, for whenever he walked too close or took her arm to help her over a rut or through a bog he could feel her quiver as if with revulsion.

  It was with relief all round that they came at last to their lodgings, which comprised three rooms over a milliner’s shop. Charlotte was to share with Sal and Fanny and, though the room contained nothing beyond three narrow beds and a jug and basin on a rickety table, they welcomed it as if it were a palace.

  ‘You all make yourselves at home,’ instructed Fosdyke, ‘while I investigate the location of the Temple of Muse. Adieu, fellow thespians.’