At the Highwayman's Pleasure(7)

Having presented Charity to Sir Mark and Lady Beverley and spent a few  minutes in conversation, he led her away to meet a bluff, rosy-cheeked  gentleman in a powdered wig, whom he introduced as Mr John Hutton.

‘Mr Hutton has travelled from Beringham to be here,' said Hywel.

Conscious of her duty, she gave the man her most charming smile.

‘I am sure we are very grateful to you for coming so far.'

‘And I am glad to see you here,' replied Mr Hutton, taking her hand and  pressing a whiskery kiss upon her fingers. ‘Especially glad to know  that you did not take any hurt getting here.' He laughed at her look of  confusion and squeezed her hand. ‘Why, ma'am, it's all over Beringham  that the Scarborough coach was held up.'

‘Ah, yes.' So that was where she had heard his name before. Her  excellent memory recalled the coachman mentioning that a Mr Hutton had  been robbed by the same highwayman.

‘There is no doubt that this "Dark Rider" is having an effect on  business,' Hutton continued. ‘Many are afraid to make the journey  between Beringham and Allingford.' The whiskery jowls quivered with  indignation. ‘The sooner the fellow is caught and strung up, the better  it will be for all of us.'

Such serious talk was not what was needed, so Charity summoned up her brightest smile.

‘I am very glad you were not discouraged from coming tonight, sir. I hope you enjoyed the performance and will come again.'

‘Aye, I did enjoy it, ma'am, very much, and very pleased I am that Mr  Jenkin here has seen fit to open his theatre in Allingford.' He made a  little bow towards the actor/manager. ‘By Gad, sir, we need something to  distract us from this dashed war.'

‘And there is nothing like a good play to do that, Mr Hutton,' agreed Hywel. ‘Let me tell you what else we have planned....'
                       
       
           



       
With a word and a smile Charity left the gentlemen to their  conversation. She worked her way through the crowd, smiling and charming  them all in the hope that they would return to the theatre for another  evening. There were a couple baronets and one knight, but the rest were  landowners or wealthy tradesmen from the town, many with their wives who  were prepared to be jealous of a beautiful actress, but a few minutes  in Charity's company persuaded these matrons that there was no danger of  the celebrated Mrs Weston stealing their husbands away from them.

As an actress in London, she had grown accustomed to fighting off the  admirers who wanted to make her their mistress. It had not been easy,  but with skill and quick thinking Charity had managed to maintain her  virtue, generally without offending her admirers, and in the past few  years while she had been touring under her own name, she had perfected  her role. To the married men and their wives she was charmingly modest  and at pains to make them understand that she was interested only in her  profession and would take compliments upon her performance, but not her  person. She succeeded very well and all the ladies agreed that she was a  very prettily behaved young woman, although not, of course, the sort  one could invite into one's home.

However, the single young men who clustered about her were treated to a  very different performance. She gave each one her attention for a short  time, laughed off their effusive compliments and returned their  friendly banter, refusing to be drawn into anything more than the  mildest flirtation. Yet each one went away to spend the night in  pleasurable dreams of the unattainable golden goddess.

The crowd in the green room showed no sign of dispersing. Charity  smothered a yawn and was wondering how soon she could slip away when she  was aware of someone at her shoulder. Summoning up her smile, she  turned to find herself staring at the snowy folds of a white neckcloth.  She stepped back a little to take in the whole man. He was soberly  dressed in buckled shoes and white stockings with the cream knee  breeches that were the norm for evening wear, but his plain dark coat  carried no fobs or seals and he wore no quizzing glass. Yet he carried  himself with an air of assurance and she guessed he was one of the  wealthier inhabitants of Allingford.

His athletic figure and deeply tanned skin made her think he had spent a  great deal of time abroad. His face was not exactly handsome, but it  was arresting, with its strong jaw, hawkish nose and those dark eyes  fringed with long black lashes that any woman would envy. When he bowed  to her she noticed that his black hair was cut fashionably short and  curled naturally about his head and down over his collar.

‘May I congratulate you on an excellent performance, Mrs Weston?' The  words were slow and measured, very much in keeping with his sober  appearance, but there was something in his voice that was very  attractive and strangely familiar. A memory fluttered, but was gone  before she could grasp it.

‘Thank you. I am glad you enjoyed it.... Have we met before?'

‘How could that be, when you have only just arrived in Allingford?'  There was an elusive twinkle lurking in his dark eyes that was at odds  with his grave tone. ‘Besides, if we had been introduced before, I would  surely not have forgotten it.'

She wanted him to speak again, just so she could enjoy that deep, velvet-smooth voice.

‘You live in the town, sir?'

‘Close by. At Wheelston.'

‘Ah, I see. Is that very far from here?'

‘A few miles.'

His answers were annoyingly short. She looked up into his face and felt again that disturbing flutter of recognition.

‘I beg your pardon, sir, but are you sure we haven't-?'

He took out his watch and broke in upon her.

‘You must excuse me, Mrs Weston, it is getting late and I must cut and  run. I wanted only to compliment you upon your performance. Goodnight to  you.'

With a bow he was gone, leaving her dissatisfied with the brevity of  their conversation. Sir Mark and Lady Beverley claimed her attention,  but although she responded civilly to their praise and conversation, her  eyes followed the tall stranger as he made his way across the room.

‘Tell me, Sir Mark,' she interrupted the magistrate's flow of small talk. ‘Who is that gentleman?'

‘Who?' Sir Mark glanced up.

‘The one by the door.' Charity felt a slight ripple of disappointment.  The man had sought her out, but had obviously not been enamoured, since  he was leaving so soon.

‘Oh, that's Durden, not the most popular man in Allingford.' Sir Mark  turned back to her, his whiskers bristling. ‘He wasn't rude to you, was  he, ma'am?'                       
       
           



       

‘No, not at all. I was merely...curious.'

‘You are intrigued by his blackamoor appearance,' suggested Lady  Beverley. ‘That comes from his years in the navy, I believe. He was a  sea captain, you know, but he came home two years ago, when his mother  died.'

‘He is certainly not popular,' Charity remarked, watching his progress  towards the door. People avoided his eye, or even turned their backs as  he passed. ‘Why should that be?'

Sir Mark hesitated before replying, ‘His taciturn manner, I shouldn't wonder.'

‘Poor man,' murmured Lady Beverley. ‘I am surprised, though, that Mr  Jenkin should invite him-he has no money to invest in the theatre.'

‘Jenkin invited him for the same reason I make sure you send him a card  to each of your parties,' replied Sir Mark. ‘The property may be run  down and its owner may not have a feather to fly with, but Wheelston is  still one of the principal properties in the area. Unusual for Durden to  turn up, though. He keeps to himself as a rule.'

‘Is that any wonder, given what happened?' said Lady Beverley, shaking  her head. ‘But I am not surprised that he should come this evening when  we have such a celebrated actress in our midst! Ah, Mr Jenkin-let me  congratulate you on your new leading lady. I was just telling Mrs Weston  that I have never laughed so heartily at one of Mr Sheridan's  comedies...'

Charity wondered exactly what had happened to make Mr Ross Durden so  unsociable, but the conversation had moved on and the moment was lost.  Stoically, she put him from her mind and returned to charming the  theatre's patrons.

* * *

By heaven, what a damned uncomfortable evening! Why did I put myself through it?

Ross strode back to the livery stable to collect his horse, still  smarting from the slights and outright snubs he had received from the  worthy people of Allingford. Apart from the actor/manager, who knew  nothing about him, and Sir Mark and his good-natured wife, no one else  had made any effort to speak to him. He knew his neighbours thought he  deserved their censure, and that was partly his own fault, for he had  never done anything to explain the situation, but damn it all, why  should he do so?