At the Highwayman's Pleasure (19 page)

‘Well, he has three thousand of my prize money for a start.’

She shook her head. ‘He came into funds before that. Hywel Jenkin said he gave up the living at Saltby and bought his big house in Beringham about five years ago. I remember the Saltby parish—it was not a rich living and the previous one was even poorer. Mama had no money of her own and although my stepmama had a modest dowry, even with the shrewdest of investments that would not be enough to buy a grand house, let alone to live in such luxury as Hywel described to me.’

‘Gambling, perhaps?’

Her lip curled. ‘Phineas thinks gambling even more of an abomination than the theatre. No, I could more readily believe he is involved in some dark deed.’

‘That is what I thought, too,’ said Ross. ‘Which is why I have been checking the mailbags to see if there are any letters for him, anything that might give me some clue.’ Her look of horror made his lip curl. ‘Since I am already holding up the mail coach it seemed a logical step.’

‘And have you ever found anything?’

‘Nothing of any use, a few letters to other clergymen, more to his brother.’

Charity said absently, ‘Phineas does not have a brother.’

‘Of course he does—one Joseph Weston, who is presently living in Yarmouth....’ Ross’s words trailed off.

‘My father is an only child,’ stated Charity, her face set hard. ‘It is recorded in the front of the family Bible. Believe me, I opened that book very often, since he made me copy out so many texts from it.’ She rolled her shoulders, recalling the sting of his riding crop whenever she made an error. Forcing the memory away, she asked, ‘What is so alarming about Yarmouth?’

‘The naval dockyards,’ he said slowly. ‘And if I were First Lord of the Admiralty, it’s Yarmouth I would use to launch an attack on Bonaparte’s northern forces.’

‘And what does this
brother
say—have you read any of his letters?’

‘Of course,’ said Ross, frowning. ‘There is nothing in them but family matters.’

She gave a bitter laugh.

‘My father was never one for family!’

‘Perhaps he is mellowing with age.’

Charity thought of their last meeting and shook her head.

‘I have not seen it. But perhaps I am wrong—after all, you have already told me he is making pilgrimages to Filey, too.’

‘And Filey is on the coast.’ Ross sat up. ‘What if he is passing secrets to the French?’

Charity met and held his eyes.

‘I would as lief believe that as think him mellowing.’

‘There are rumours that Bonaparte is planning an alliance of sea power in the north.’ He began to pace the room. ‘Security must be tight at Yarmouth, so if I wanted to get information out of England, I would send it by a roundabout route—mayhap even to an innocuous little town like Beringham, then to the coast, somewhere small, where a fishing smack might cross to the Continent without notice.’

‘Such as Filey.’

‘Exactly. But why should Phineas help Bonaparte? It seems incredible to me that any true Englishman would do so.’

‘But Phineas might,’ she said. ‘He told me Bonaparte was the... How did he phrase it? “God’s instrument...the scourge of the papists”.’ She clasped her hands tightly. ‘If there is one thing my father hates above all else, it is the Church of Rome. He would consider himself justified in taking any action that helped to destroy it, even supporting the French.’

‘Hell and damnation, then I have missed a trick!’

Ross’s exclamation brought her eyes back to his face and he hastened to explain.

‘I held up the mail last night and there was another letter for Weston from this “brother” of his. I did not even read it, just threw the mailbag back at them and let them continue.’

‘Then it will have been delivered to him this morning.’

‘Yes. Damnation, we must act quickly. I shall have to break in tonight and try to find it—’

‘No. Let me go now and see what I can discover.’

He stared at her.

‘Are you out of your mind? You cannot go to Beringham, it is far too dangerous.’

Her brows rose.

‘It is market day, and if I know Phineas he will be holding a court. He would not miss the chance to fine his fellow men for their misdeeds. And even if he is at home I shall have my maid with me and make sure he knows that I have left word of where I am.’ She smiled. ‘I want to make peace with my new stepmama.’

‘And what do you hope to achieve by that?’

‘At best, to find that letter and at worst—I can at least describe to you the layout of the house.’

‘No. I can as easily find my way tonight. I will not risk your safety.’

‘Please, Ross, let me do this.’ She held his gaze steadily. ‘We will neither of us have any peace until he is brought down.’

It took some time to persuade Ross that she was determined, but at last he agreed, after she had told him that if he would not help her she would make the attempt alone. A swift plan was devised and she went back to Allingford to collect Betty.

As she drove back to North Street, Charity wondered just how much she should tell her maid. Betty had drawn her own conclusions about what had happened in the dressing room the previous evening, but she had maintained an affronted silence on the matter. However, if Charity was going to enlist her aid in this latest escapade, she would have to tell her at least some of the truth.

* * *

‘Ooh, Miss Charity, that is the most fantastical, madcap idea I have ever heard!’

Charity and her maid were in the gig and on their way to Beringham. Time was short so Charity had begged Betty to accompany her, promising to explain everything on the way.

‘To break into a magistrate’s house, to find a letter Mr Durden thinks might be there—’

Charity had said nothing about Ross’s activities as the Dark Rider, only that he suspected Phineas of spying for the French. She had to admit the story did sound implausible.

‘I will understand, Betty, if you do not wish to help us—’

‘Of course I will help you, Miss Charity. From all you have told me of your father, you don’t think I would let you go into his house alone? By heaven, you and Mr Durden are like a pair of star-crossed lovers from one of Mr Jenkin’s plays!’

Charity threw her a wry glance. ‘I suppose we are, only in this instance I have no idea what the ending will be!’

* * *

The afternoon was well advanced by the time they reached Beringham. Charity remembered the town from her childhood, but it had changed considerably in the thirteen years since she had run away. It was still a bustling market town, but she thought it compared unfavourably to Allingford. The town was less colourful, the people far more sober in their dress and countenance. One or two turned to stare as she drove through the High Street and Charity smiled and nodded, happy to acknowledge that she was the celebrated actress from the neighbouring town. She had to work hard not to search the crowds for a sight of Ross, but he had told her he would be close and the knowledge supported her as she raised her hand to knock on the door of Phineas Weston’s grand town house.

‘I don’t like this, mistress, and so I tell you,’ muttered Betty as they waited for the summons to be answered.

‘No more do I,’ murmured Charity through smiling lips. ‘That is why I have brought you with me, for protection.’

They were shown inside through the ornate entrance hall and into an overfurnished drawing room. Charity adopted a stately pace and took the opportunity to note the layout of the hall—drawing room to the left, two closed doors to the right with the bust of Caesar in pride of place between them, sweeping staircase to the upper floors. She gestured to Betty to sit on the bench in the hall and wait for her.

She was left alone in the drawing room and immediately crossed to the double doors, peeping through into the dining room beyond. She had returned to the centre of the room by the time her hostess entered. Hannah was as overdecorated as her drawing room. Her yellow gown was in the latest mode, but bedecked with such an abundance of lace and ribbons that even when she stood still her gown fluttered and trembled of its own accord.

‘My husband is not at home.’

Charity heard the cold tone. She answered pleasantly and with total insincerity, ‘I am very sorry to hear that, but perhaps it is not such a bad thing. I came...’ She paused, looked away, her whole demeanour one of shy uncertainty. ‘I have been thinking about you since your visit to me.’ Hannah’s hostile look became tinged with bewilderment. Charity gave her a sad little smile. ‘Having no family begins to weigh upon one after a while.’

‘If I understand correctly, it was you who ran away,’ replied Hannah. She did not invite Charity to sit down, but continued to watch her carefully.

‘I was very young.’ Charity gave a sigh. ‘I realise now just how headstrong I was as a child. How headstrong I still am and prone to lose my temper all too quickly.’ She fixed Hannah with her most bewitching smile. ‘I hope you can forgive the hateful things I said to you the other day.’

‘I think it is your father you need to see. To give him your apology.’

‘You are very right, ma’am.’

‘But he will not be home for some time.’ Hannah moved towards the door. ‘Perhaps you could come back....’

‘Of course, but please, while I am here—’ She broke off, limpid blue eyes fixed upon Hannah’s face.

‘Yes?’

‘If I might see his Bible?’

Hannah’s brows shot up. Whatever she had been expecting, thought Charity grimly, it had not been this!

‘His Bible!’

Charity nodded, clasping her hands together before her in mute appeal.

‘Yes, if you please. The big leather-bound one. He used to read it to me every night.’ It was an effort not to shudder at the memory. ‘I would draw such comfort from seeing it.’

Hannah stared at her for a long moment, then with a shrug and a nod she went to the door. Charity followed her across the hall and through the second of the two doors. She found herself standing in a book-lined room with a large mahogany desk in the centre. Her father’s study. Her memory had not failed her. All her childhood she remembered her father keeping the family Bible in his study.

Along with the worn leather riding crop he had used to beat her.

No time to let the past weigh down upon her now. She needed all her energies for the task ahead.

‘Ah, here it is!’ She hurried across to a lectern by the window, noting as she did so that the study was above the kitchens and overlooked a small service yard. It was surrounded by a brick wall with a door leading to a back lane. The door would be locked, but the wall, although high, would not be impossible for a man to climb over. She laid her hands on the tooled leather cover of the Bible, saying reverently, ‘Father’s most treasured possession.’

She opened it and stared at the flyleaf, momentarily forgetting her role.

‘The Weston family record,’ said Hannah crisply, following her gaze. ‘Your name has been scratched out, but you will not wonder at that, when you consider the pain you have caused your father.’

Charity was gripping the lectern so hard that her knuckles had turned white, but she hoped the other woman would see that as a sign of grief and not the revulsion she actually felt to see the black scoring through her name, so heavy that it had scratched a hole in the page.

‘You are quite right,’ she answered quietly. ‘I have a great deal to repent, I think.’

But not running away from Phineas Weston. Never that.

She said, her voice a nice mixture of timidity and hopefulness, ‘Mrs Weston—Hannah—I wonder if you would let me...read a little from this holy book? I think it would help to—to soothe my soul.’ Without waiting for a reply, she carefully turned over the pages. From the hall came the faint sounds of knocking at the door. ‘Ah, Psalm Thirty-two, how appropriate.’ She put up her head and declaimed, ‘“Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered”.’

She continued to recite, even when the footman appeared. He murmured something to his mistress, who listened in growing irritation. She looked up at Charity as if to say something, then changed her mind and followed the servant from the room, leaving the door open behind her. As soon as she was out of sight Charity moved across to the desk while the words continued to fall from her lips without pause.

When Hannah returned to the study some five minutes later Charity was sitting at the desk, her head resting in her hands.

‘What in heaven’s name do you think you are doing?’

Charity raised her head and wiped away the tears that trembled on the ends of her lashes.

‘Oh, I beg your pardon, but I was so overcome by the occasion that my legs refused to support me.’ She pushed herself to her feet. ‘I have angered you, I should leave.’

‘You should come back when Phineas is here to see you,’ replied Hannah, clearly uncomfortable. ‘I do not know what he would say if he knew you were here.’

‘Do you not think he would welcome this sinner back into the fold?’ Charity gave a sad little smile. ‘Perhaps you are right, ma’am.’ She went out into the hall, and Betty jumped to her feet at the sight of her mistress.

‘Are you staying in Beringham?’ asked Hannah as she showed her guest out. ‘Can I send a servant to fetch you when Mr Weston comes home?’

‘Alas, no. I will write to my father and we will appoint a mutually convenient time to meet.’ Charity put out her hand, then withdrew it again, saying with an arch look, ‘Ah, no. Perhaps we should not exchange such friendly gestures until we know my father’s wishes upon the matter.’ With a final, sad little smile Charity bid the astonished Hannah goodbye and sailed off down the street.

‘Oh, lordy, I don’t know when I have ever been so frightened,’ muttered Betty, hurrying along behind her.

‘I would have been a lot more frightened if Phineas had been present,’ retorted Charity.

‘Aren’t we going to look for Mr Durden?’ asked the maid as Charity turned into the inn yard to collect the gig.

‘No. It is better if we are not seen together here. We meet at Wheelston, as agreed.’

* * *

Ross was waiting in the stables when the gig drove into the yard. He called to Jed to see to the horse and strode out to help Charity to alight.