Outrageous Fortune

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘There are many in London who could not claim to be so well cared for.’

  ‘I do appreciate that, and understand your difficulties,’ Charlotte ventured. ‘But if I do not receive my full pay then I am in dire difficulties. I have already asked about work at all these theatres and as yet have found none. I feel I must do all in my power to find my mother, but in the event of there being no acting work at present I will look elsewhere for employment. I must pay my way,’ she said, with the first show of spirit since the accident. ‘I hate being beholden to you.’

  ‘But of course you do, my dear,’ purred Fosdyke, beginning to realise that perhaps he was mistaken in trying to control Charlotte by keeping her short of funds. Unlike Fanny, who clung to him like a limpet, Lottie would take herself off at a moment’s notice if he did not watch out, which would never do. Reaching into his capacious pocket, he reluctantly pulled out a small pouch of coins. He did not miss the gleam in Fanny’s eyes as he handed three golden guineas to Charlotte, still pitifully short of the amount he owed, but it mollified her a little. ‘More than enough to see you safe, I should think.’

  Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. Now she could continue with her search. ‘You are the very kindest of men,’ she said, and Fosdyke beamed, well pleased, for his generosity had won him a smile from those enchanting lips. Now all he had to do was find a venue to establish the Fosdyke Theatre and, with Fanny suitably chastened and Sir James safely out of the way, he would choose his moment to put his proposition to Charlotte and then his future would be settled. He saw no reason why she should not fall in with his plans. Was he not still a fine figure of a man? Excitement pounded in his veins at the thought.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘I swear I am better, Susanna, and will get up today no matter what you say,’ declared James, pushing aside with distaste the breakfast tray which she held out to him.

  ‘How can I let you up if you will not eat?’ Susanna said with almost equal firmness.

  James drew a long sigh, though his patience was fast wearing thin after almost five days of Susanna’s excessive ministrations. ‘It is most considerate of you to nurse me yourself but there is really no more need of it. Bayley has looked after me for years and can continue to do so most efficiently.’ James could well imagine his valet’s opinion of Lady Susanna’s commandeering his role of tending his master’s needs.

  ‘The man is a blunder-head,’ declared Susanna, firmly setting back the tray on its four legs right over James’s lap so that he could not move without spilling something. ‘Whatever I ask for he maintains it is not available. If I say you must have beef broth, he makes chicken.’

  ‘I do not like beef broth,’ said James sourly, but Susanna was in her stride and did not listen.

  ‘I vow the man has deliberately blocked and countermanded all my orders. Do you know that he will not even serve my afternoon tea in the library, saying it is your private sanctum? Yet absolutely no one could be expected to sit in your drawing room. Have you seen the state of it recently, James? I vow the damask is quite peeling from the walls. You should do something about it.’

  ‘I never use the drawing room,’ growled James. ‘I do not entertain.’

  ‘My darling James. It only proves how very badly you are served. Any household worth its salt would not have allowed such deterioration to take place. This place is in dire need of a woman’s touch. Goodness knows what would have happened if I had not taken charge after your injury. I doubt you would have got even a fire in your bedroom and you would have taken weeks longer to recover.’

  James very much doubted it. ‘My staff have their routine. They know how I like things done. And I am well aware the drawing room needs redecorating. That is why we do not use it.’ But Susanna would have none of this and clicked her tongue dismissively.

  ‘They have more idea how things are done now, I do assure you, for I have given those lazy housemaids lessons in cleaning, of which they were in dire need.’

  James bit back on the comments which all too readily sprang to his lips and attempted to thank Susanna for her efforts. Ever since she had insisted on moving in after the incident, even from his sick room he’d been well aware that the whole rhythm of his household had been thrown into uproar. It could not be permitted to continue. ‘I am quite well now, Susanna, so there is no further necessity for you to remain,’ he said, not for the first time.

  ‘Oh, but I do not mind at all,’ she purred, coming to sit on the edge of his bed.

  James sighed and tried a different tack. ‘I doubt it is seemly. Have you considered your reputation?’

  She glanced at him archly. ‘As a widow, one’s reputation is not so easily tarnished as a young maid’s might be. I am a woman of experience and maturity, James, so you need not trouble your head about such matters. Everyone knows I can take care of myself.’

  James did not wonder at it. But he did wonder how he had ever allowed himself to become embroiled with her in the first place. She had once seemed such fun, witty and amusing and undoubtedly seductive. But now quite a different picture was emerging. She was revealing herself as no more than a harpy, and he did not much care for that.

  He thought with longing of Charlotte’s sweet nature and beguiling smiles. He remembered her enthusiasm, her courage when facing the hostility of an audience expecting to see quite another before them. He remembered the pretty sound of her laughter, the teasing expression in her jade green eyes, and knew he would find no peace until he had found her again.

  Picking up the breakfast tray, he almost thrust it into Susanna’s hands in one smooth resolute gesture. ‘If you do not vacate my room upon the instant you shall be the worse for it. I intend to leave my bed and I assure you I have not a stitch on. When Bayley comes in to retrieve my tray, which he is sure to do at any moment for he knows I cannot stomach fish at breakfast, what price your reputation then?’ James made as if to fling back the bedclothes and, with a tiny, high pitched squeal, Susanna abandoned the tray and fled to the door. But even here she paused for a final thrust.

  ‘You can be so cruel, James, but I shall forgive you since you are ill. Do not think I am afraid for myself. It is your reputation I am thinking of.’ Her eyes twinkled mischievously for a second before she continued, ‘Were it not for Bayley, I might be tempted to stay and call your bluff. It could prove entertaining.’

  ‘Out!’ barked James, and Susanna hastily obeyed, deeming it wise not to argue further.

  * * * *

  It was Fanny in the end who told Charlotte where James lived. And, unable to help herself, here she was standing outside the tall white stone town house, wanting to know if he was well but not quite sure how to go about finding out. She had virtually abandoned her search, having visited every theatre and inn yard she could find, some of them not too salubrious. Charlotte had almost hoped not to find her mother in any of them. The names had been given to her by Fanny, who was being especially helpful at the moment. She had even given Charlotte a pair of golden guineas to add to Fosdyke’s three. But Charlotte was under no illusions over Fanny’s sudden generosity. In fact she understood perfectly. If she could pay Lady Susanna off with a pair of golden guineas, would she not do so?

  As for dreams of fame on the London stage, these now seemed foolish and infantile, unconnected with the real world. Charlotte felt she had changed since leaving Caperley Farm where it was easy to fill one’s head with fanciful longings in the secure knowledge that one was loved and cherished. Poor Uncle Nathan. What was he feeling at being so callously abandoned? She would write to him tomorrow and tell him she was safe.

  She had come in the late afternoon to visit James’s house at Fanny’s suggestion, and Charlotte was glad now that she had taken the advice as she had no wish to be noticed.

  The sky was darkening and, gazing up at the brightly lit windows and thick oak door, Charlotte knew she did not have the courage to knock and ask after James’s health, however much she might long to do so. She had not expected it
to be quite so splendid and, rubbing her palms gone damp with perspiration against her home spun skirt, she guessed that even a parlour maid in such an establishment would be better dressed than herself. If only she could see a glimpse of him through one of the tall windows she would be content. She would know that he was well again.

  She stood so long in the street, half hidden behind some railings, that her feet and legs felt stiff with the frost that sparkled on the grass in the centre of the square. Plumes of her frozen breath steamed in the cold air but still she waited, her eyes fixed upon the lighted windows above. A cab came along the street, the clip-clopping of the horse’s hooves echoing in the stillness of the gathering night. Charlotte shivered. She must go soon or she would not be able to move a limb. And then her patience was rewarded. There he was, outlined clearly against a first floor window looking down on to the street, almost straight into her eyes. It sent the oddest tingle down her spine to see him look out so intently. Quickly she drew back into a bush. He must not see her. He must not know how she felt about him.

  The attack took her completely off guard. One moment she was backing into the crisp fronds of a bush, the next she was on the ground, two street urchins robbing her of the last of her money. In her frantic efforts to protect herself and stop them from taking her purse, Charlotte succeeded only in getting her dress torn, her nose bloodied, and her head battered. A scream rang out eerily in the empty square, causing the horses to whinny with fright. It was her own voice, Charlotte realized, and suddenly the night was filled with sound as doors banged and footsteps pounded. Then she was alone as the two youths ran off, pursued by shouts and whistles. She lay winded, hurting in every limb, painfully conscious upon the spiky grass.

  ‘Charlotte? I don’t believe it! What in damnation are you doing here?’

  ‘James.’ She couldn’t believe it either.

  There was no more need of words. She was in his arms and the tears were flowing unchecked, making a dreadful mess, she was sure, upon his silken cravat which had looked so very smart. He was lifting her in his arms and carrying her across the street into the lighted house.

  ‘Your injury,’ she murmured.

  ‘Damn that,’ he said, kicking the door closed behind him and calling out orders as he did so. Charlotte wound her arms more tightly about him and buried her small face into the warmth of his neck. It was like coming home. And she never wanted to leave his arms again.

  However pleased Charlotte might feel to be with James again, and he to receive her, Lady Susanna was less than enchanted with the outcome of her scheming. Fanny had carried out her part of the bargain by procuring a couple of vagabonds ready enough to set upon anyone for a guinea or two. But James himself had overset Susanna’s own part in the plan. He was meant to remain safely ensconced in his bedchamber while she, under the pretext of kindness, would have tended Charlotte’s wounds and provided her with the transport to take her directly home to Cornwall, where she would no doubt think twice before leaving those milder climes for the rougher streets of London ever again.

  Now here was James carrying the girl in his arms as if he would never let her go, and she clinging on to him with no sense of decorum at all. The situation had to be turned back to her own advantage without delay.

  ‘James, really. You must think of your injury. No, not on the sofa she might bleed upon it. Clara! Why, the poor child is frozen,’ cried Susanna effusively. ‘We’ll take her upstairs. Clara shall see that she is bathed at once before she catches a chill, and her wounds tended. What can she have been doing, prowling in those bushes, I wonder? Well, first things first. Give her to me.’

  Reluctantly James abandoned his burden to the ministrations of Susanna and her maid and stood at the bottom of the stairs watching them go. What had Charlotte been doing out there in those bushes? As coon as she was recovered he would make it his business to find out. For the moment he felt a flood of relief that she was safely under his roof.

  * * * *

  While Charlotte slept on the next morning, worn out by her anxieties and the results of her freezing vigil, James and Susanna seated themselves in the library with a fire blazing cheerfully in the grate and a tray of coffee and cakes set before them. James w as well strapped up and doing his utmost to hide any discomfort he felt, while Susanna poured coffee and considered how best to take her plan one step further. She resolved to make herself indispensable to James’s pleasure and comfort, but first of all she must rid herself of Charlotte. It would be less easy now that her plan had backfired. If James had not been so stubbornly determined to leave his sick bed, Susanna would have spirited the child away in the night without his even knowing. Charlotte would have found herself in the West Country before she’d even woken up. Instead of which she was upstairs, asleep, in the guest room.

  Handing James his coffee, milked and sugared just as he liked it, she said, ‘I have arranged for John to drive Charlotte home as soon as she has breakfasted. And then, in view of your excellent progress, I intend to dispatch Bayley to procure two seats for the theatre on Saturday night. ‘There, are you not pleased? I thought an outing would cheer you.’

  The last thing James wanted just now was to pay a visit to a play, to be reminded of the weeks he had spent with Charlotte and the way she had so mysteriously turned against him. At least she was for the moment safe from the machinations of the odious Fosdyke. A state of affairs he meant to maintain. ‘Charlotte is perfectly all right where she is. She is certainly not returning to that Fosdyke character ever again.’ His breath seemed to fill his chest at the mere thought of that fellow touching Charlotte.

  ‘Oh, my, no indeed!’ cried Susanna, setting down her cup with a light clatter. ‘I would not dream of suggesting such a thing. No, no, it was to Cornwall I meant.’

  ‘Cornwall?’

  Susanna adopted an air of flustered confusion. ‘Cornwall is where she comes from, isn’t it?’ She made it sound as if it were the moon.

  ‘Yes,’ said James, beginning to feel irritated. ‘Cornwall is Charlotte’s home, but why on earth should she return just now?’

  Susanna flicked out her wide skirts and pointed one foot so that James might notice how pretty and slender it was in the new yellow satin slippers. ‘She told me herself that she had quite given up this ridiculous quest of finding her mother and was ready enough to return home to her uncle.’ This at least was true, with some clever prompting from Susanna.

  ‘I see.’ James sounded subdued. It was not at all what he had expected, and he was somewhat disappointed. He’d judged Charlotte to have greater stamina than that. ‘I will speak to her about it later,’ he said dismissively. ‘When she is fully recovered. As for the theatre, I confess I do not feel up to jolly jaunts just yet, Susanna. Which play is it?’

  Susanna shrugged slender shoulders, then adjusted the lace scarf draped so artlessly about them though not allowing it to conceal their fineness. ‘I know not. Does it matter? Only you seemed so fond of the drama these days that I thought it might cheer you. Afterwards we can take supper together. Monsieur Rochet shall prepare a delicious meal for us, to celebrate your recovery. And there will be no Bayley to interrupt us at my house,’ she finished, with no attempt at subtlety.

  ‘Monsieur who?’

  ‘My new chef. Really, James, didn’t you know that French cooks are quite the rage?’

  ‘No, I did not know.’

  All James’s instincts cried out against tête-à-tête supper parties at Susanna’s home. Yet he had no wish to be unfeeling. It was largely his own fault that he’d got himself so embroiled with Lady Susanna Brimley, though he had valiantly tried not to allow it to become serious. He must take care to let her down gently, for he was under no illusion that she could do him immeasurable harm. ‘I shall be poor company, I fear. If you are set on this evening out, why not ask a few friends to accompany us, then at least you will have someone to entertain you.’ His face suddenly brightened as he remembered something. ‘And I am sure Charlotte would love a
trip to the theatre. She expressed that wish when I first met her at Caperley Farm.’

  Susanna’s lips set in an uncompromising line. How very unlucky she was. Everything was turning quite topple-tail against her. ‘I have already told you that Charlotte wished to return home.’

  ‘I think she could be persuaded to postpone that desire in return for a night at the Drury Lane.’

  At the sound of a small gasp from the door, James jumped to his feet. ‘Ah, there you are. Now you can ask her to choose,’ said James mildly, smiling from one to the other of them with a touch of asperity in his voice.

  ‘Did you say Drury Lane?’ asked Charlotte, coming slowly into the room. She felt rather shy about intruding since it was such a grand room, lined with books from floor to ceiling. And the two of them had looked so intense that she had been struggling to find the courage to knock for some moments upon the open door, when she’d overheard this snippet of conversation. Her green eyes sparkled up at James as they had once done long, long ago, and he could not fail but smile back in response.

  ‘I did indeed. You would still like to see it, I trust.’

  ‘Oh,’ Charlotte breathed, so stunned that she could find no other words, and James laughed. Then, turning to Susanna with no apparent sign that he had noticed how white and pinched she had become, he said softly, ‘I believe the matter is settled.’