At the Highwayman's Pleasure(39)

‘You are taking the waters, I believe,' said Ross, pulling up a chair. ‘Is that aiding your recovery?'

‘Aye, it's kill or cure, my friend. Have you seen the place? The spring  is at the bottom of a cliff. It's ironic that one needs to be fit as a  fiddle to get up and down all the damned steps! But enough of  this-tedious stuff, to be talking of one's ailments. Tell me instead  what brings you back to Scarborough again so soon.'

‘A serious matter, John. You've stood by me since I left the navy in  disgrace, so I wanted your opinion.' Ross frowned. ‘All the way here I  have been wondering how much to tell you,' he said heavily. ‘It will  make no sense unless you know the whole-'

‘Wait.' John stopped him with an imperious hand. ‘Is this going to take  long? Hmm, and if it is serious, too, then we will need to refresh  ourselves. Will brandy suit you, or would you prefer grog?'

Having called to his maidservant to bring in the brandy bottle, the  captain poured a generous helping into two glasses and handed one to  Ross, commanding him sternly to tell him everything and look lively  about it.

* * *

‘So there you have it,' said Ross, some time later. ‘You may brand me  for a villain, John, but my deeds pale into nothing compared to what I  believe Weston is involved in.'

‘I'll brand thee a fool,' growled the captain. ‘Taking to highway  robbery is the road to the gallows, nothing more, but I admit this  Weston sounds a nasty piece. Never did like preachers using the Lord's  word to justify their bullying ways. But you say he's been corresponding  with someone in Yarmouth?'

‘Aye, someone purporting to be his brother, although Char-Mrs Weston  says her father is an only child.' Ross drew a folded paper from his  coat and held it out. ‘This is the copy she made of the last letter we  know of, the one that arrived for Weston two days ago.'

He waited in silence while his friend took out his spectacles and read the document.

‘And you think this is all coded references to the military preparations?'

‘Isn't it obvious?' replied Ross. ‘Weston has no Cousin George and the  family he says are gathering in Yarmouth could well refer to soldiers  and ships.' He saw the frowning look in his friend's eyes and gave a  snort of impatience. ‘Come, John, any naval man worthy of the name would  know that Yarmouth is the ideal place from which to launch an attack  upon Bonaparte's northern fleet. And look at the names he cites-he says  Richard and Robert are in town. Captains Dacres and Stopford, perhaps?  And he says Uncle Sam is expected any day-that could be Commodore Sir  Samuel Hood. And his very last line-he says James is expected to  organise the festivities and he will advise him of the arrangements! If  that isn't a reference to Admiral James Gambier and the date he plans to  sail, I don't know what is.'

John returned his frowning gaze to the paper.

‘It could be so and you make a good case for it, Ross, but-'

He broke off, shaking his head, and Ross said sharply, ‘Well? Out with it, man.'

John took off his spectacles and fixed Ross with a solemn gaze.

‘This is not proof, Ross, it is no more than hearsay, since it was  written out by Weston's daughter. Have you considered that this young  lady-if she is so estranged from her father as you suggest-might be  seeking to punish him? She may have made it all up-'

‘No, never!'

‘Let us say she embellished it, then. Do you truly believe that she  read this letter only once and remembered it all so perfectly?'                       
       
           



       

‘Remembering lines is her trade.'

John sat back in his chair, smiling slightly.

‘I know. I saw her when she played in Scarborough last year and was  captivated. She is certainly a beauty, Ross, but for all that, can you  trust her?'

‘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.