When she had told Hywel she was giving up the stage and putting him in charge of all her properties and her money, he had been so astounded that she had ended by telling him everything.
‘At most it will only be for seven years,' she said, trying to make light of it. ‘I should be thankful that neither my father nor his greedy wife considered that I might have funds of my own, or they would have made me sign those over to them, as well as making me their servant.'
‘If you think Phineas Weston is a spy, you should take your information to Sir Mark Beverley,' he had told her furiously. ‘There is no need to put yourself through this.'
‘He could not act on the contents of one letter, which is not even in my possession,' she explained. ‘And although the evidence against Ross is equally insubstantial-more so, in fact-Phineas would make sure he was hanged. I could not allow that.'
Now, as she heard the familiar opening lines and prepared to make her appearance on the stage, Hywel squeezed her fingers and gave her a pitying smile.
‘You are giving up all this for a highwayman?' he murmured. ‘We should be repeating Mr Dryden's tragedy tonight.'
‘All For Love or the World Well Lost?' Even through her sadness Charity managed a smile. ‘Not at all,' she said, holding her head high. ‘I shall leave my audience with the memory of laughter, not tears.'
* * *
The cheers, shouts and stamping would not stop. Charity made her curtsy again and again, and she brought back the rest of the cast to share the applause, but in the end she was left alone, centre stage, to say goodbye. She looked past the limelight and saw the flash and glitter of a bejewelled costume in the box nearest the stage. She knew it was Hannah, overdressed for the occasion as usual. She and Phineas had insisted upon coming to Allingford to watch her humiliation. Well, this was her world. Phineas might control her words, but not their delivery. She straightened her shoulders. Nothing she did now would help Ross. She could only pray that he was safe.
She began by thanking Mr Jenkin and her friends in the theatre. Then she expressed her gratitude to the people of Allingford for their kindness and generosity.
‘And those of Beringham, too!' shouted someone from the benches.
‘Of course.' She smiled. ‘You have made my time here such a pleasure and I shall remember you always. Because this is to be my last performance.'
There were gasps and cries from the audience, a muttering that swelled to a roar of disapproval. Charity put up her hands for silence.
‘Please, my friends, I am most gratified by your reaction, but it must be.' She began to speak the words her father had insisted upon and that she had sworn upon her honour to repeat. That she had sinned to show herself so brazenly on the stage, to allow men to lust after her body. That the plays encouraged fornication and lewdness and should be denounced by any true Christian.
The audience went quiet as the oration continued, listening to her with growing uneasiness. Angry mutterings began to run around the auditorium and someone from the pit called out, ‘This ain't you, my dear. You don't mean what you're saying.'
She recognised the voice as that of her leading man, Will Stamp, and glancing down she saw that there were people standing in the aisles between the benches-people who looked suspiciously like her fellow players, although they were dressed in the rough clothes of working people. A woman ran forward, a shawl thrown over her head. It was the actress who earlier that evening had played Mrs Malaprop.
‘Aye,' she shouted now, ‘she's been bullied into this!'
Her heart swelled at their support, and it gave her courage to finish her speech.
‘I am returning to my father's house,' she concluded, raising her hand towards the box where Phineas and Hannah were sitting in regal splendour. She drew herself up, curling her lip and declaring with all the derision she could convey, ‘My father, Phineas Weston, Justice of Beringham. An honourable man, committed to bringing God's will to this land!'
Her voice rang to the rafters and was followed by a stunned silence. Peering past the flare of the limelight, she could see Hannah and Phineas leaning forward and smiling, her irony quite lost upon them.
‘Weston's tyranny more like!' cried a man from the benches, jumping to his feet.
‘He won't succeed in Allingford!' shouted another.
‘No! By God, he can't browbeat you into leaving us!'
The protests were growing. The wrathful audience turned their attention away from the stage and began ranting at the box.
Charity slipped into the wings. Hywel was waiting for her.
‘Did you plan this?' she said, catching his hands. ‘I fear you may have caused a riot.'
‘I could not let the audience think you were doing this willingly.' He hurried her to her dressing room. ‘Quickly now. I have a coach-'
He broke off when he saw the three men waiting outside her dressing room.
Sir James Fryton stepped forward and made a bow.
‘Ah, Mrs Weston. Hutton, Keldy and I are here to escort you to your father. Good thing he arranged it, for the crowd is rather boisterous tonight, what?'
* * *
Lights were blazing from the magistrate's house in Beringham as Phineas Weston's elegant travelling coach pulled up at the door. Charity ignored her father's hand as she alighted from the carriage and walked into the house with her head held high. Her nerves were at full stretch. She had spent the journey from Allingford crushed into a corner of the carriage while Phineas and Hannah gloated over their success, but beneath their smug laughter Charity felt the animosity growing and she wondered just what horrors awaited her.
Hannah led the way into the study and ordered Charity to take off her cloak.
‘Hmm, very nice.' Hannah snatched if from her and threw it around her own shoulders. ‘It will do very nicely for me, since you will not be needing a satin-lined wrap in future.'
‘And just what have you in mind for me?' asked Charity, shocked by the hatred in the other woman's glare. ‘A sackcloth gown, perhaps, or a hair shirt? And am I to sleep amongst the ashes?'
‘It would be no more than you deserve,' growled Phineas, coming into the room and closing the door. ‘But my wife is inclined to be merciful.'
‘Yes,' added Hannah, although there was nothing merciful in the poisonous look she gave Charity. ‘You shall be my personal servant. I thought of putting you in the kitchens, to help the scullery maid, but then who would know how low you had fallen? No, it is better to keep you with me, so that when we have visitors or when I am out of doors, others might see your disgrace.'
‘As you wish,' said Charity. ‘But it is past midnight, can we not continue this tomorrow?'
‘We will discuss this whenever I choose!' snapped Hannah. ‘And you will address me as "madam" in future, and with a curtsy. Do you understand?'
‘Yes.'
Charity's head snapped back as Hannah slapped her cheek.
‘Insolent girl!'
‘It seems my daughter is still very proud, and "led away by divers lusts".' Phineas pushed her roughly down onto a chair. ‘She needs humbling.'
Charity cried out as he grabbed her hair, pulling her head back so that she was forced to stare up into his savage, cruel face.
‘Fetch me the scissors, wife. Let's see how proud she feels once her head is shaved like any doxy!'
She protested and he put his hand around her throat, squeezing tightly.
‘"Let a woman learn in silence",' he snarled. ‘"I suffer not a woman to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence".'
He released her. Charity struggled to breathe and fought off the encroaching blackness. She would not faint.
‘Here.' Hannah handed him the scissors. ‘Cut off her hair, Phineas, but cut it at the root, the wig maker will give us good money for such fair locks.'
He was tearing the pins from her hair, all the time muttering texts from the Bible. Charity felt the familiar, shuddering terror freezing her blood, just as it had when she was fourteen, and she had sobbed, cried and begged for mercy. He had given none then and there would be no mercy now, especially not with Hannah at his side, urging him on. Summoning every ounce of courage, she threw herself out of the chair and ran behind the desk. Phineas lunged for her, his fingers missing her by inches.
As he came after her she grabbed the lectern and sent it crashing down across his path. He tried to jump over it, but the heavy Bible caught between his legs and brought him to his knees. It gave her the precious seconds she needed to reach the window and throw up the sash. She tried to recall what she had seen from this window when she had come to the house in daylight. A high wall, but not too high to be scaled, although her skirts might be a hindrance, but before that there was the drop into the yard. Twelve feet, fifteen perhaps, and she was likely to break a leg in the fall.