At the Highwayman's Pleasure(27)

‘Why should he not?'

She rubbed her arms. ‘He had the living there for a short time when I  was very young, but it is a small fishing village and his congregation  was not particularly interested in his preachings of hellfire and  damnation. It was a very poor living, too, and when my mother died he  married again, used his new wife's money to better himself and buy the  living at Saltby.'

‘Perhaps he has friends still in Filey.'

‘My father has no friends,' she said shortly. After a short silence she added, ‘My mother is buried at Filey.'

‘Perhaps he visits her grave.'

‘Not unless he has changed out of all recognition.'

Charity could not keep the bitterness from her voice. She had driven to  Filey and visited the little graveyard during her stay in Scarborough,  and thought now of the neglected plot with its simple headstone. There  was no sign that anyone had been there for years. She gave herself a  little shake.

‘I beg your pardon, we are digressing. You were saying you took a purse or two from Phineas?'

‘Aye, but only small amounts.'

‘And my father has no notion he is your target?'

‘None at all. My attacks are random enough not to rouse any suspicion,  but I only take from those who were instrumental in my conviction.'

‘It is still highway robbery,' Charity reminded him. ‘Is it worth the risk?'

‘What have I got to lose?' He picked up the decanter and refilled their  glasses. ‘That was why I held up the Scarborough mail. I was visiting  an old friend and I left Robin at the stables adjoining the booking  office. Out of habit I checked the waybill for the next coach leaving  the Bell and saw a Mrs Weston. I thought it might be Hannah.'

‘But surely that was unlikely, since she is now rich enough to have her own carriage.'

‘I wondered perhaps if she was up to something without her husband's  knowledge.' He added roughly, ‘I was not sure what I thought-that she  had left him, perhaps. That she had realised just what sort of man he  was.'

Charity wondered if he was still in love with the woman who had betrayed him, if he still hoped she might return to him.                       
       
           



       

‘Instead you found it was me.'

‘Yes.'

‘Why...?' She hesitated. ‘When you knew my name, you could have taken my purse.'

He shook his head. ‘I believed it was a stage name, a mere coincidence.  I did not think anyone as lovely as you could be related to Phineas  Weston.'

Her eyes flew to his face. The words had been matter of fact,  indifferent, but they made her heart hammer dreadfully against her ribs.  She should be used to compliments, there had been occasions when she  was positively showered with them, so why should this one affect her so?  Ross was not looking at her, but staring into the fire. He was not even  aware of what he had said. She had an irrational desire to laugh, but  stifled it and forced herself to think of his predicament, not hers.

‘You said there are tenants in the farms again-surely that will bring in an income?'

‘The farms were empty for two whole seasons; the continuity is broken.  There is an old adage that it takes three years before one can live off  the land-corn seed must be bought two years before one wants to eat the  bread, beef is at least two years a-growing, and a ewe must suckle and  graze her lambs well into a second year before the farmer can have his  mutton. I sought out the old tenants and asked them to return, but they  have no money for seed or stock and cannot pay me until the land is  yielding them a living. Much of the money I have taken from Weston and  his cronies has gone to setting them up.'

‘I am sure those gentlemen would think their money wisely invested.'

Her irony was not missed and the harsh look fled as he grinned at her.

‘And I am sure they would prefer to use it for their own pleasure!'

‘And the woman who took your money in the first place,' she asked him. ‘What of the new Mrs Weston?'

He shrugged. ‘Weston is welcome to her. I want only my prize money.  Which is where you fit into my plans.' He rose, saying in the cheerful,  jaunty voice of the Dark Rider, ‘Faith, m'dear, 'tis near midnight. Time  for me to lock you up again, my fair captive.'

She sighed, wishing he had not reminded her of her situation. He pulled  her to her feet and she stood before him, fixing her eyes on his face  as she challenged him once more.

‘But how can you let me go, even if my father pays the ransom? I know who you are.'

‘And would you tell him?'

They were standing very close. With every breath the muslin scarf that  covered her breasts came within an inch of his waistcoat, yet she could  not step back. It was as if some cord was between them, drawing them  ever closer.

She said unhappily, ‘My father would force me to do so. He has that  power.' She gripped his jacket. ‘Don't trust him, I pray you! Do not  give him an excuse in law to question me. Let me go now, let me escape  and go back to Allingford. I swear I will tell no one your identity-I  will even pay you the ransom. What are you going to ask of Phineas, the  full three thousand pounds? It will take me some time, but-'

‘No!' His face darkened and he reached up to pull her hands away. ‘I  have told you, it is Phineas who must pay for this. No one else.' He  turned and, keeping a vice-like grip upon one wrist, he almost dragged  her out of the room and up the stairs, the companionship they had shared  forgotten. When they reached her bedchamber he thrust a bedroom candle  into her hands and with a brusque goodnight he shut her in and locked  the door.

Charity sank down on the edge of the bed. She could not blame him for  his actions, but she was at a loss to see how he could continue to live  at Wheelston even if Phineas did pay her ransom. Once she was free her  father would pursue her. He would use every means at his disposal to  force from her the identity of her captor. The county boundary would be  no protection; he would summon her to appear before him. A shudder ran  through her-most likely he would interrogate her in private, and she  knew from bitter experience how impossible it was to hold out against  him. Once he knew Ross's identity he would use the full force of the law  against him. Ross might have his prize money, but he would not be able  to live in peace and enjoy it.

The problem went round and round in Charity's head as she made her  preparations for sleep, but as she could find no solution, save to run  away again, she went to bed feeling more depressed than ever.

* * *

The York to Pickering road ran through Stockton Forest, and a wise  coachman would always whip up his horses to get through the woodland  with the least possible delay. The driver sitting on the fringed hammer  cloth of the smart travelling carriage on that icy morning was no  exception. As soon as the trees were in sight he flicked his whip over  the four beautifully stepping bays and exhorted them to ‘Run, damn it!'                       
       
           



       

The trees sheltered the road somewhat, so the heavy snow was not quite  so deep here and a carriage could make good progress. They thundered on,  the trees rising straight and leafless on each side with their branches  overhanging the road, like the columns and roof beams of some great  cathedral. There was only one more bend and then they would be able to  see the open road ahead of them. The coachman slowed a little and drove  his team around the slight curve, only to find the track blocked by an  untidy pile of branches and dead wood. Swearing loudly, he hauled on the  reins and brought the team to a plunging halt.

‘Oho, trouble here, me lad,' he muttered to the guard beside him. ‘Keep  yer eyes peeled.' Even as he spoke a masked horseman appeared between  the trees and he commanded sternly, ‘Right, Joe, let 'im have it!'

The guard pulled the trigger, but instead of the loud reverberation  there was only the click of the hammer on an empty chamber. An angry  bellow came from the carriage below them.

‘What is it? What's afoot?'

‘Highway robbery, Mr Weston,' the coachman called down to his master, adding bitterly, ‘and Joe forgot to load the shotgun.'

‘I did not! I-'

A loud, cheerful voice interrupted him.

‘Whist now, gentlemen, will ye cease yer quarrelling? Don't be blamin'  yer man, there, for he did check his pops right enough and they was  loaded, but that was before you both took yourselves indoors to break  your fast, which was when I removed the bullets-and I also removed 'em  from that little pop gun you keeps in the carriage, too, Magistrate, in  case you was thinkin' to shoot me with it.'