At the Highwayman's Pleasure. Sarah Mallory
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know that, Hywel. You have always been a good friend to me. But enough of this dull talk. Tell me how you go on here and what you have chosen for my first role!’
‘The theatre is doing very well—my players are good and reliable. I thought, for your first appearance, you should play Mr Sheridan’s sentimental heroine, Lydia Languish.’
‘And will you be Captain Absolute?’
He shook his head, laughing. ‘I am too long in the tooth now to play the lover. Will Stamp takes those roles now.’
‘Young Will? I remember he had just joined you when I left.’
‘And proved himself a good actor,’ said Hywel. ‘I shall play his father, Sir Anthony.’
‘Do you have a script for me? It is a while since I played Lydia.’
‘Of course. I shall furnish you with one tomorrow when I take you to the theatre to meet my cast.’
‘And I must find myself somewhere to live.’
‘You are quite welcome to stay here for as long as you wish.’
‘Thank you, Hywel, but I thought to rent a little house for myself.’
‘You will need a manservant. I know just the fellow—’
‘No, no, at least, not yet. Betty can do all I need—Betty Harrup, my maid and dresser. She has been with me for several years and is upstairs even now unpacking for me. We have been used to fending for ourselves and I shall be quite content.’ A mischievous chuckle escaped her. ‘And I shall not be asking you to fund me, Hywel. I have invested well enough and have a comfortable income now.’
‘In that case, I shall find for you all the most suitable properties for a woman of substance. I shall puff off your fame quite shamelessly and Allingford’s landlords will be falling over themselves to provide a house for you. We have three weeks before we open again, so you have plenty of time to make yourself at home here. But enough of that. I had dinner put back and I am sure you must be hungry.’
‘Ravenous, my dear. Shall I go upstairs and see if Betty has unpacked for me, or will you allow me to dine with you in all my dirt?’
He laughed. ‘Let us dine now, by all means! A little dust on your skirts will do no harm.’
They passed the rest of the evening comfortably enough, catching up on all that had happened since they last met, and despite the nagging worry of knowing her father lived in the neighbouring town, when Charity retired to bed there were no nightmares to disturb her slumbers. Instead she dreamed of a masked man on a black horse.
* * *
Charity soon found a home of her own in Allingford. In less than a week she had moved into a snug little house in North Street. It took only a couple days to make it comfortable, and on the third evening Charity was able to sit down in the little sitting room to study her script of The Rivals, ready for the rehearsals, which were to start in earnest the following day.
‘I’ve brought in more coals for the fire, Miss Charity.’
‘Thank you, Betty. You need not wait up for me, I shall see myself to bed.’
The maid dropped the bucket on the hearth and straightened, bending a fond but frowning gaze upon her mistress.
‘Now, don’t you be sitting up ’til all hours straining your eyes, ma’am.’
‘I promise you I won’t,’ said Charity with a smile. ‘Goodnight, my dear.’
Betty went out again and soon she heard her stumping up the wooden stairs. Charity turned back to her script, but she could not give it her full attention, for she was aware of the creaks and sighs as the unfamiliar house settled down for the night. Once she heard a soft thud and she took her candle into the back room to check that the door into the yard was secure. Her candle flickered and she looked around a little nervously.
Everything was strange and new, but she comforted herself with the thought that soon she would know every nook and creaking floorboard of the little house. She went back to the sitting room, but the fire had died down and she decided she would not waste more coal on it.
‘I shall go to bed,’ she told the shadowy corners. ‘The Rivals must wait until tomorrow.’
She went upstairs and as she passed the first door she heard the rhythmic snores coming from her maid. There were two more rooms in the attic, but Charity had insisted Betty should sleep in one of the two chambers here on the first floor. Smiling, she made her way to her own chamber. It was at the back of the house, and she had chosen it because she thought it would be much quieter than the room overlooking the street. As she entered, her candle flickered and she saw that the window was not fully closed. She crossed the room, leaving her candle on the dressing table as she passed. She pushed down on the heavy sash and was just slipping the catch into place when she heard a soft chuckle behind her and a deep voice said, ‘Faith, me darlin’, but I’d forgotten how beautiful you are!’
Charity swung round, a startled cry catching in her throat. Behind the door was the shadowy figure of a man in riding dress, a tricorn pulled low over his face.
‘The Dark Rider!’
She saw the flash of white as he grinned.
‘The very same, me lady.’
‘Get out.’ She backed against the window. ‘Go now before I call my maid.’
‘Sure, now, I’m thinking you’d have screamed before now if you was going to.’
Charity was wondering why she had not done so. She said, ‘So are you a common housebreaker, too, or did you know this was my house?’
‘Oh, I knew, Mrs Weston. Word travels fast when a celebrated actress takes up residence in a small town like this. Are ye not going to ask me what I’m doing here?’
A trickle of fear ran down her back as she supplied her own answer to that question. She kept her eyes resolutely away from the bed as she stepped closer to the dressing table. ‘I want to know how you got in.’
He waved to the window. ‘Over the lean-to roof.’
She rested her hand on the silk-and-velvet bonnet thrown over one of the mirror supports.
‘Well, you may leave the same way.’
‘I will, when I’m ready.’
‘Now.’ She pulled a hatpin from the bonnet. Its steel shaft was some eight inches long and glinted wickedly in the dim light. ‘Do not think I will not use this to defend myself,’ she added, when he did not move. ‘It would not be the first time and I am quite adept, you know.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ he said, his voice rich with laughter as he strode over to the window. ‘But you mistake me, Mrs Weston.’ He put his hand in his pocket. ‘I came to return this.’ He held out her cameo brooch. ‘Well, take it, me darlin’, before I change my mind.’
Warily she reached out and plucked it from his open palm.
‘I thought to see it adorning some pretty young serving wench,’ she told him. ‘Why did you bring it back?’
‘Guilty conscience.’ He moved a little closer. ‘And the prospect of a reward.’
Suddenly she felt very breathless, gazing up into the masked face and seeing the glint of the candlelight in his eyes. There was only the length of the hatpin between them. She did not resist when he took her wrist and deflected the sharp blade away from his body.
What was she doing? Alarmed, she dropped the brooch and put her free hand against his chest, but even as she opened her mouth to scream he captured her mouth, kissing her so ruthlessly that her bones melted under the onslaught. It was over in an instant. She was still gathering herself to resist him when he released her.
‘Yes,’ he said, his breathing