At the Highwayman's Pleasure(4)

‘Aye,' agreed the farmer. ‘Definitely Irish, no mistaking that brogue.'

Charity said nothing. She had spent her life working with actors and  mimics and suspected that lilting Irish accent had been as false as the  inflection she had adopted in London to make everyone think she had  grown up south of the Thames. The landlord, who had been hovering by all  the while, nodded sagely.

‘The Dark Rider. They say he comes from Dublin.'

‘Oh, Lord bless us!' exclaimed the farmer's wife, falling back in her chair. No one paid her any heed.

‘Nay, I thought it was Shannon,' said the coachman, ‘But that's who I guessed it might be. I've never seen him afore, though.'

‘The Dark Rider?' asked Betty nervously.

‘Aye.' The landlord nodded. ‘He's been working the roads around  Beringham for a year or so now. Robbed Absalom Keldy and his wife afore  Christmas, he did.'

‘And I was told he took fifty guineas off Mr Hutton only last month,' put in the coachman.

The farmer snorted. ‘Well, he can take what he likes off Hutton, with my blessing. Self-serving old scoundrel that he is!'                       
       
           



       

‘Aye,' agreed the landlord, ‘but the Dark Rider's capricious, see. You  never know what he will take. It might be no more than a kiss from a  pretty woman, other times it's a purse.'

‘He always takes the mailbag,' added the constable, ‘although they turn  up again at the roadside after he's looked through 'em. Searching for  money, I dare say, although who'd be foolish enough to send money in a  letter, I don't know.'

The landlord winked at Charity. ‘He's got the ladies around here all of  a pother. They all wants to meet 'im. Many think he's a gentleman in  disguise, kicking up a lark.'

‘Gentleman or no, he'll be dancing on the gibbet when he's caught,'  growled the constable. ‘I think that's all I needs for now, so you can  be on your way.' His unhurried gaze swept over the passengers. ‘You'd  best tell me your direction, in case we needs to speak to you again, or  to ask you to identify the culprit.'

‘Well, you'll find us at Broad Ings Farm.' The farmer's buxom wife  stood up and shook out her skirts. ‘And we've paid our fare to the next  crossroads, so the quicker we get moving the better.'

‘And you, Mrs Weston?'

Charity spread her hands.

‘I have no idea where I shall be living in Allingford, but you can always find me at the theatre.'

They were ushered back to the coach. The driver was anxious to make up  time and they rattled quickly through the darkness to the crossroads,  where the farmer and his wife alighted, leaving Charity and her maid  with the carriage to themselves.

‘Well, well, what a to-do, mistress! We should have been in Allingford three hours since.'

‘I know, Betty. I hope Hywel has a dinner put aside for us. All this excitement has given me an appetite.'

Betty gave a disapproving sniff.

‘Don't know how you can be thinking of food when you were ravished by  that scoundrel! Still, it couldn't have been that bad, since you didn't  have to make use of your hatpin, and I know full well that you've used  it on more than one occasion when an admirer has been a bit too  familiar.'

Charity did not reply, but settled back in her corner and closed her  eyes. To be truthful, she had not even thought of her hatpin when the  highwayman had pulled her close. She had not thought of anything. She  had known ladies in the audience to swoon at the sight of a particularly  handsome actor, but had always considered them very silly beings. Now  she could understand them a little better, for the powerful attraction  she had felt for the audacious rascal had made her light-headed, and she  had come very close to swooning herself.

Heavens, what was she about?

You are growing old, my girl, she told herself sternly. Old and lonely,  if you must needs faint at the attentions of a stranger.

The lights of Allingford interrupted her musings and Charity was  grateful to put aside her disturbing thoughts. A servant was waiting to  escort them the short distance from the inn to a modest house where they  were admitted by a very superior manservant who announced that Mr  Jenkin was waiting for Mrs Weston in the parlour. As the servant opened  the door she saw a tall, distinguished-looking man with silver hair  standing before the fire. Upon her entrance he came forward to greet  her.

‘I was beginning to think you had changed your mind about coming to work for me.'

Laughing, she gave him her hands and pulled him close to kiss his cheek.

‘Not a bit of it, Hywel! And good evening, my dear. We were delayed on  the road. A highwayman, no less!' She turned away to remove her cloak  and bonnet so that Hywel would not see her face; he knew her so well he  would see in an instant that there was more to the encounter than she  was telling him. ‘He is well known in this area, I believe-the Dark  Rider. A very poor example of his kind, in my opinion.'

‘I have heard of him.' He handed her a glass of wine as she came back towards the fire. ‘What did he take from you?'

‘He stole a trinket, a cheap brooch of mine.'

‘And did he demand a kiss from all the ladies?'

She blushed.

‘Yes.'

‘Of which you were by far the prettiest.'

Her mouth twisted in a little moue of distaste.

‘Blonde curls and blue eyes! You know I do not rate my milk-and-water colouring.'

‘You are a fine actress, my dear, but your beauty-your milk-and-water  colouring, as you call it-has contributed no small part to your  success.' He invited her to sit beside the fire and lowered himself into  a chair opposite. ‘How did you like Scarborough?'                       
       
           



       

‘Very much.' She sent him a twinkling look. ‘I was compared very favourably with Mrs Siddons.'

‘And now you will take Allingford by storm. I am very grateful that you  have deigned to grace my little theatre with your presence.'

‘Nonsense, you know I owe everything to you. When you wrote to tell me  you had lost your leading lady, how could I refuse to help you? After  all, I owe you everything, for taking me in and looking after me all  those years ago.'

‘I had my reward-you are a natural actress and your success reflected  well upon my travelling players, so well that investors were persuaded  to join me in building the theatre here.'

‘Yet still you encouraged me to try my luck in London.'

‘Your talent deserves a wider audience.' He sat back, smiling. ‘I  looked out for you in the newspapers-Agnes Bennet, darling of Drury  Lane! How long ago was it, five years?'

‘About that, yes.'

‘But you quit London just as you were making a name for yourself. Why was that, my dear?'

Charity cradled her wine glass in her hands.

‘I fell in with a bad crowd. When I realised how bad I was disgusted,  with myself as well as with them. I decided to leave that life, and  Agnes Bennet, behind me.' She gave a wry smile. ‘It was a miracle that I  escaped with my virtue intact.'

‘So you are Charity Weston again.'

‘Yes, and I have spent the last few years touring the country, building a new career for myself.'

‘And doing very well, if the reports are to be believed.' Hywel got up  to fetch the decanter and refill their glasses. ‘So why did you come to  Allingford, my dear?'

‘Why, because you asked me-your leading lady had contracted  inflammation of the lungs and retired to Worthing with her husband.'

‘When I wrote I hardly expected you to accept.'

She spread her hands. ‘I wanted to come back to the north.' Her eyes  twinkled. ‘Being able to play in a theatre rather than an inn or a barn  is very welcome, Hywel, and when you told me you were the owner and  manager here I could not help myself!'

‘Away with your flattery, baggage! Please do not mistake me, my dear, I  am delighted to have you rejoin my theatre. Many of your old friends  are still working for me. But it is very close to your old home. And to  your father.'

She shrugged. ‘Saltby is several miles away. I doubt Phineas ever comes  to Allingford, and it is even more unlikely that he would visit the  theatre.'

‘But he is no longer at Saltby, my dear. He lives in Beringham now.'

She sat up. ‘So close?' She chewed her lip, frowning, then said slowly,  ‘It matters not. I am no longer afraid of him. Besides, I am tired of  my wandering life, Hywel. I am minded to settle down, and where better  than Allingford, where I can continue to work in the theatre?'

‘But using your real name-is that not rather a risk? Weston is bound to take it amiss when he discovers you are here.'