At the Highwayman's Pleasure(40)

‘There,' he had said, folding her fingers over the spot where she could  still feel the burn of his lips. ‘Hold that for me until I can come to  you again.'

‘What are you going to do?'

‘Take this letter to a friend who will know how to use it against Phineas.'

‘And if it isn't enough?' She'd clung to him. ‘Will you give up your quest for justice and come away with me?'

‘Perhaps, but let us hope this letter will do the trick. It may take me  a while to discover how best to proceed and it will be safer if we do  not meet again until I know how the land lies. Now, let us find your  maid. You must go home.'

He had escorted them to the front door, but when Betty walked out to  the gig he had pulled Charity back into the shadows and wrapped her in  his arms, kissing her long and deep. Charity had responded, holding him  close, but when he'd raised his head she had not pulled him down again,  accepting that they must part, at least for now.

‘Well, Mrs Weston, what is your opinion?'

Charity stared blankly at Sir Mark. She had no idea what he had just  said to her. She smiled sweetly and was about to beg his pardon when  they were interrupted by a knock on the door and the butler walked in.  He approached his master and held out a silver tray, upon which lay a  sealed paper.

‘What's this?' demanded Sir Mark testily. He fixed his eyeglass in  place and picked up the letter. ‘Hmm, now who is sending me messages at  this time o'night?'

Lady Beverley handed a cup to Charity, saying with her easy smile,  ‘Being a magistrate's wife, one grows accustomed to a constant flow of  letters that cut up one's peace.'

‘But not this time,' declared Sir Mark. He held the paper out to Hywel.  ‘Good news, I think. We may feel more comfortable when we travel in  future.'

Lady Beverley looked up. ‘Oh, why is that, my love? What does it say, Mr Jenkin?'

‘It is a note from Mr Weston.' Hywel flicked a quick glance at Charity. ‘It seems he has caught the Dark Rider.'

‘And you will never guess who it is,' added Sir Mark, his bright eyes twinkling. ‘Mr Ross Durden, no less!'

It was all Charity could do not to drop the fine porcelain cup when Sir  Mark made that announcement. Years of acting and self-control came to  her aid. She sank down in her seat, praying that her hands would not  shake and make the cup rattle in its saucer.

‘Good heavens,' she said lightly. ‘Does he give any details?'

Hywel handed the paper back to Sir Mark, who shrugged.

‘Merely to say the fellow is safely in the lock-up. I suppose Weston will deal with him tomorrow.'

‘D-deal with him?' Charity could control her expression to appear  mildly interested, but she could not stop her heart thudding so heavily  the blood drummed in her ears.

‘Weston will question him and then, no doubt, he will be transferred to York for trial.'

‘Well, that is good news, indeed,' declared Lady Beverley. ‘Though I  would never have guessed Mr Durden would be the highwayman. All reports I  heard said the robber was an Irishman. However, the news may well  encourage more people to travel from Beringham for your benefit  performance, Charity.'

The conversation moved back to the theatre and Charity took her part,  although she could never afterwards remember what was said. She was  desperate to get away and when at last it was time to leave she made no  objection when Lady Beverley offered the use of her carriage. She did  not think her legs would support her for much longer.

‘I am very sorry that note arrived from your father,' said Hywel, as  they rattled through the empty streets. ‘I could see that the mere  mention of his name upset you.'

‘It was most unwelcome,' she responded, with perfect sincerity. ‘I only hope our hostess did not notice.'

‘Oh, I think not. Lady Beverley is kindness itself, but not the most acute of observers.'

Charity forced a little laugh and engaged him in idle chitchat until  the carriage pulled up at her door. With a smile and a cheerful word of  farewell she went inside, but as soon as the door was closed she sank  down onto the nearest chair, shaking. She wanted to burst into tears but  she fought against it. Crying would not help Ross now. She must act.                       
       
           



       

* * *

Ross woke to the sound of a distant cock crow, but did not move  immediately. He tried to work out why he was not in his own bed. An  attack, riders coming at him in the dusk, blows. Opening his eyes, he  found himself staring up at bare stone walls and a square of light where  the sun struggled through the grimy glass of the single barred window,  high up in one of the walls. His hands were manacled and he sat up  carefully, flinching at the pain of his bruised and aching limbs.  Raising his arms, he put a hand to his temple and touched his hair. It  was sticky with blood.

He heard footsteps and the rasp of bolts being drawn back, but his head  was throbbing and the sudden squeal of metal hinges made him wince. He  opened his eyes, expecting to see his gaoler. Instead he saw Charity  standing in the doorway.

‘Oh, dear heaven, what have you done to him?' she demanded in outraged accents.

The man standing behind her shifted uncomfortably.

‘He was brought in like that, Mrs Weston.'

‘And you have done nothing to ease his suffering?'

‘It ain't my job to-'

‘It is your Christian duty,' she told him roundly. ‘And this-this hovel  is not even provided with a jug of water. You will fetch one  immediately, if you please. And a cloth, that I may clean up his  wounds.'

The constable goggled at her. ‘But I can't-'

‘You can and you will, Constable. If you have nothing to hand, then Mrs  Rigg will assuredly provide you with what you need. And do not worry  about your prisoner escaping. You may lock me in here with him while you  are gone.'

It was a masterly and assured performance, and at any other time Ross  would have appreciated it greatly, but for now he was merely thankful  when the constable withdrew, shutting the door behind him and returning  the lock-up to the gloomy half-light that did not make his eyes hurt.

‘You should not have come here,' he managed.

‘How could I not, once I knew?' She put down her basket on the stone  bench and drew out a flask. ‘I have brought you a little wine and bread.  Will Stamp has been locked up several times after a-what do you  gentlemen call it?-after a spree and he always complains about the lack  of food and drink.'

‘I cannot say I had noticed until now,' said Ross, but took the flask  and drank deeply before tearing off a piece of the bread she held out to  him.

‘How did you know of this?' he asked her.

‘I heard last night that you had been arrested.'

‘Arrested?' He laughed, wincing as the pain lanced through the bruises  on his face. ‘I was waylaid on my way back to Wheelston. I know I had  crossed the county border, but once they had overpowered me they dragged  me here-I take it I am in the Beringham lock-up?'

‘Yes.' She sat down beside him. ‘My friend Jenny is the constable's sister-in-law.'

‘And does the constable know whose daughter you are?'

‘There are rumours, of course, but no, he thinks not. You see, he  interviewed me when the Scarborough mail was held up and asked me then  if I was the magistrate's daughter. I told him it was a stage name.' She  clasped her hands in her lap. ‘Jenny knows, of course, because we grew  up together, but she has told no one. However, she did persuade her  brother-in-law to let me in.'

‘I would she had not done so,' he retorted bitterly, then reached  across to grip her hand. ‘Not for my sake, love, but for your own. It  can only do you harm to ally yourself with me-' He broke off as the  constable returned with a small jug of water and a rough cloth folded  over his arm.

Charity immediately picked up her basket. ‘Put it here. Since there is  no furniture, I take it this stone bench must be bed, chair and table  for your prisoner.'

‘Well, madam, it ain't supposed to be cosy.'

Only Ross saw Charity's eyes flash with anger at the constable's surly  response. She said cheerfully, ‘No, indeed, Mr Rigg, I quite understand  that. But do you think you could allow me a little more time with Mr  Durden?'

‘I don't think I should. Justice Weston wouldn't like it.'

‘I doubt if he would like you letting me in here at all,' replied  Charity in the voice of sweet reason. ‘However, he need not find out.  You know we were very careful to make sure no one saw me come in here.  And there is no need for you to neglect your other duties. You have seen  that there is nothing more dangerous in my basket than a little food  and drink, so you may safely leave me here.'