* * * *
Never again was Charlotte allowed to play Lydia Languish. Fanny reclaimed her place in the company, realising her mistake she meant not to repeat it. But there were plenty of other good parts and Charlotte found herself becoming a firm favourite with the audiences who nightly came to view this new star with the pretty voice and natural grace. She rapidly learned all her lines, cautiously keeping a close eye on Fanny’s movements on stage, and several times adroitly circumnavigating a potential hazard.
She was filled with optimism, certain everything would work out right for her. In London she would find her mother, who was probably a famous actress by now. She would fully explain to Charlotte the circumstances of her birth and reasons for abandoning her, and when all that was cleared up who knew what doors might be opened to her? Charlotte could not have explained why she felt so, but her heart was filled with hope. If it had anything at all to do with a certain kiss by a particular gentleman she did not for a moment allow herself to consider it. It was simply that she was at last doing something she enjoyed, involved in the theatre which she had long wanted. What other reason could there possibly be for this glorious sense of happiness?
In view of these feelings, everything should have been quite perfect. And for a while it was. But then one evening as they were about to go on to play The Recruiting Officer, Carl, struggling to mend the curtain from a precarious perch on a wooden stool, slipped and fell, badly twisting his ankle. It was quite evident that he could not go on.
‘What were you thinking of, to do such a thing?’ stormed Fosdyke, beside himself with rage. ‘Haven’t I enough problems with everyone taking more parts than they should, without losing yet another valuable actor? You imbecile!’ He had the greatest urge to knock the stupid boy’s head but there were people watching, not least a grim faced Sir James, so Fosdyke managed, with difficulty, to control himself.
‘I am sure someone else can be found to step in for him,’ said James, but even as he spoke he knew it to be a faint hope. Who else was there? Phil was the only other male besides Fosdyke, and already doing two parts so he could hardly be expected to conduct a dialogue with himself. It was then that he noticed everyone looking at him.
‘Oh, no. Certainly not! I’m no actor.’ He stepped hastily back. ‘I will take Carl to a doctor, pay for his treatment, pull the curtains to and fro and help lift scenery and props back and forth. But as for acting ... No. Never.’
‘But there is no one else, James,’ said Charlotte in a voice he found seriously hard to ignore. ‘And the audience is impatient for the play to begin. Listen, if we do not start soon there could well be a riot.’
‘I’m afraid that’s true,’ came the pained voice of Carl from the floor. ‘My ankle can wait if someone can strap it up for me. But the show can’t. I’ve seen an audience tear a theatre apart and the actors with it when they felt they’d been cheated.’
If this were not enough to sway James, the look of impassioned pleading in Charlotte’s jade eyes would have done it. ‘I must be turning into a sentimental weakling,’ he barked. ‘Find me a costume and a book, then. The sooner it’s started, the sooner it’s done with.’
‘Oh, James, thank you!’ Charlotte couldn’t help herself. She flung her arms about his neck and kissed him, right in front of everyone.
‘Well, well,’ muttered Fosdyke, noting the possessive way James’s hands lingered upon Charlotte’s waist as he put her from him.
James knew he was by no means the greatest actor to tread the boards, but to his great relief he got through the part without mishap, spoke his words in his strong, full-bodied voice and did not, as they say, trip over the furniture. Charlotte seemed to find the whole thing deliciously amusing and teased him unmercifully.
‘We shall have you playing in King Lear next week,’ she chortled, ‘with a full beard, and winning rave reviews.’
‘Have done. Once is enough to last a lifetime. I shall happily leave the acting to you from now on.’ Charlotte’s eyes grew entrancingly wide. ‘Oh, does that mean that you have abandoned your disapproval of my wayward style of living?’
‘No, it does not,’ James retorted sternly. ‘I’d take you home tomorrow if you would allow me.’
‘But I won’t.’
‘So you say.’ James glowered at her, and for once Charlotte did not shake in her shoes but only laughed all the more for she saw that a twinkle lurked in those grey depths, however carefully he might try to hide it. ‘Perhaps I should just pick you up and carry you off,’ he said.
‘Like a maiden in an Arthurian legend?’ she teased. ‘Admit it, James, you are really quite enjoying yourself. You could very easily have gone home without me. It is an adventure and I’m sure far more exciting than politics.’ She wrinkled her small nose and James had the sudden and intoxicating desire to kiss her. Yet again. He really must curb these moments of weakness.
Charlotte saw it, that fleeting, unexplainable change in his eyes, there one moment and then swiftly hooded. In any other person, at any other time, she might have thought that that look had meant something more than simple desire. But how could it? This was Sir James Caraddon, an interfering busybody who seemed set on spoiling her plans and her fun. And this was no society ball. They were sitting in a chop house eating supper with a group of actors neither of them had known until a few weeks ago. Nevertheless, throughout the meal Charlotte’s eyes strayed constantly to James and every time she experienced a small shock to find him looking at her.
‘I’m tired,’ Charlotte said at last, getting to her feet. ‘I shall go to my room.’
‘I’ll take you.’
‘There is really no need, James.’
Fosdyke laughed. ‘The chivalrous knight of the road. Sir Galahad James Caraddon. What can happen to Lottie between here and the corner of the street? Does he carry your silk stockings, Lottie, tied upon his sword for a favour like the knights of old?’
Charlotte made no reply to his teasing, noting how a muscle quivered in James’s cheek as he held his anger in check. But then, as she turned to go, she heard Sal speaking up for her.
‘Leave her be, Wilfred. She ain’t like one of us, nor should she be. If Sir James feels himself responsible for her care, at least it saves you a job. Keep your mind on your supper. That was a good show tonight but I’m ready for a change. What are we doing next?’
Charlotte cast Sally a look of gratitude for so adroitly turning the conversation and, tugging at James’s arm to prevent him expressing the anger that boiled just below the surface, she hurried him from the room. ‘Take no notice of Fosdyke. He loves to plague people. I’ve seen him do it even with Fanny and she’s his…’ Charlotte stopped, a flood of embarrassment colouring her face.
‘His mistress?’ James smiled. ‘I dare say. I like the man not one bit and I wish you would not place so much trust in him, Charlotte.’
Charlotte looked at James in surprise. ‘Why should I not? He has done nothing untoward, nothing to deserve my mistrust.’
‘Nevertheless, I would recommend you keep your family matters to yourself and not discuss them with Fosdyke,’ said James with a severity so earnest Charlotte felt bound to acquiesce, though she secretly considered James to be overly suspicious. Perhaps it was because he was a politician. They fell silent for a while and, as they walked arm in arm to their lodgings on the corner, snow started to fail. They both looked up at the dancing flakes, beautiful as the peace of the night settled upon them, filling Charlotte with a rare contentment.
‘I have nothing particularly against the theatre,’ said James unexpectedly, and Charlotte glanced at him in surprise. ‘It is only the seediness of Fosdyke’s variety which I dislike. If you are going to do Shakespeare, then why not do it as Shakespeare wrote it, and not an adulterated version?’
Charlotte sighed. ‘If only we could, but Fosdyke says it wouldn’t pay. No one would come to see true Shakespeare. It is simply not in fashion.’
James growled his contempt. ‘Fashion!
Theatre could become every bit as fashionable as the opera if it were presented with intelligence.’
Charlotte gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘Listen to the new expert!’ And James had the grace to join in her laughter, acknowledging her teasing.
‘No reason why Fosdyke should have exclusive rights on the theatre. Or on anything, for that matter,’ he said, wiping a snowflake from the tip of her nose. They climbed the stairs in companionable silence to the top floor where the Fosdyke Players had rented rooms, and Charlotte wished life could go on this way forever. But they were drawing nearer to London and soon James would be gone from her life entirely.
James, in fact, was thinking similar thoughts. To his growing astonishment he had found himself enjoying the tour. The company of players was quite talented, even Fosdyke, though it galled him to say it. But the greatest source of his pleasure, he had to admit, came from the developing relationship with Charlotte. Even now he tried not to own to the directions of his feelings, but he knew that he could not simply bid her goodbye when the tour was done. And, oddly enough, he had quite lost his appetite for urging her to return to Cornwall.
He told himself that it was simply her plight that had moved him, that she was undoubtedly sweet and gentle with unbounded courage. What man would not want her? It meant nothing; nothing at all. He did not want it to mean anything. Didn’t he enjoy his life just the way it was? Yet the recollection of the rooms in his town house standing empty, and all the times he had gone out rather than spend another night alone in them, arose to taunt him. For he knew that after these weeks spent with Charlotte they would seem even more empty than before.
At the door of the room which Charlotte was sharing with Fanny - not that she saw much of her since she spent her nights chiefly next door with Fosdyke - she turned to bid James goodnight.
‘Have you considered what you will do when we reach London?’ he asked, somewhat abruptly. ‘It is a big city and it will not be easy to find your mother, even if she is still there. And I have to say that she may not be. Sixteen years is a long time.’
Charlotte lifted her chin obstinately. What was he saying? Was he trying yet again to make her go home? Well, she would not. ‘Nonetheless, I intend to try. I shall make my way around all the theatres asking if they know her. I feel sure I shall find her.’ She smiled bravely at him, not wanting him to see her own doubts. ‘Thank you for walking me home. Goodnight, James.’
But as she would have closed her bedroom door he pushed it open and followed her into the room. ‘No matter what you say, Charlotte, it will not be quite as simple as you think. Your mother is an actress, and actresses have a habit of changing their names for use on the stage. How will you know what she calls herself now? Do you have a picture of her?’
Horrified, as the idea that her mother might use a different name had never occurred to her, Charlotte shook her head.
‘Do you even know what she looks like?’
‘No.’
‘Do you have any other relatives that you are aware of in London? Did your mother have any family besides your Uncle Nathan, for instance?’
Charlotte, annoyed by his pessimistic warnings and guessing them to be very likely accurate, merely shook her head, her throat too full of emotion to trust herself to speak.
‘What about your father, Lord Justin? He must have some family.’
‘He had a brother, I believe,’ said Charlotte tautly, ‘but he died in a tragic accident. Something about a mock duel going wrong. There is no one else that I know of. I am quite alone but I assure you that does not worry me in the least.’ But it did, now that she thought about it. A feeling of quiet desperation swept over her and she glanced wildly about the room as if seeking a solution, an escape from her troubles.
‘Then the answer is obvious,’ he said crisply. ‘It is absolute madness for you to trek around London on your own. I shall certainly not permit it.’
Charlotte gasped. ‘You will not permit it?’
‘Certainly not. The streets of London are riddled with dangers for a woman alone. You must come and stay at my house and I shall make the necessary enquiries.’
Charlotte’s heart turned over in her breast. ‘N-no, I could never do that,’ knowing instinctively that it would be bad for her. Knowing the strength of her feelings for him, how could she bear to be near him and not have them returned?
‘Don’t be stubborn, Charlotte. For once in your life do as you are told.’
‘By you?’
‘Yes, dammit! Why not by me? Have you made any better plans?’
The truth was that she had not thought this through at all. She had simply set off on what was obviously a wild goose chase with no idea how or where to start looking. He must think her a complete fool. Indeed, she was a fool. Charlotte could feel the tears sting the backs of her eyelids, but not for the world would she meet his gaze, which seemed to be searing right through her, reading the very words scarred upon her soul.
James saw only how the eyes stared like dark hollows from an ashen face. ‘Charlotte, Charlotte, you are tired, perhaps unwell. What a fool I am to be lecturing you when you are clearly exhausted.’ He led her over to the bed and, making her sit down, began to unlace her boots. ‘You’ve been overdoing it. I told Fosdyke he was working you too hard and now you look absolutely all in. I’ll speak to him.’
She could not bear him to touch her. If he did not go this minute, she would burst into tears, or else beg him to make love to her. Both of which were quite untenable. Her frozen limbs were shaking yet she was on fire. ‘Please don’t do that.’ Charlotte thrust out a hand and it caught accidentally in his tangled curls as he knelt before her. She pulled it away to clasp it in her lap out of harm’s way.
James looked up, saw the feverish flush upon her cheeks and felt his own throat tighten. Lord but he wanted her. There was no possible doubt in his mind now. With equal certainty he knew it would be a mistake to take advantage of this situation. Yet he could not let her go. Not until he had explored his own feelings with greater care. Perhaps later he could persuade her to agree to come home with him. He knew better than to push her obstinacy too much when she was in this mood. ‘Charlotte, you must take better care of yourself. If you will not, then someone else must.’
‘Do you realise how dreadful it has all been?’
‘I can imagine,’ James said softly.
‘You cannot. You cannot imagine at all. For the last sixteen years of my life I have believed that both my parents were dead, that I was an orphan. Then I am told that no, my father is still alive somewhere, but has no wish to see me. Instead he leaves me a large sum of money on the proviso that I do not ever attempt to contact him. It is quite outrageous that I should be expected meekly to accept it. Then as if that were not enough I learn that my mother too is alive, and apparently wants me no more than my father does. Why? What is wrong with me?’ The traitorous tears spilled gently over trembling lids to slide down her cheeks. ‘I can think of no reason why I should be so treated, unless that dreadful rumour is true.’
‘I’m sure it is not,’ said James, teeth gritted so tightly they hurt. If he could lay his hands on Lord Justin Forbes he knew exactly what he would do to him. How could a man of such standing treat his family so abominably? ‘It cannot possibly be true and you must not for one moment think so.’ He was wiping the tears from her eyes, trying to calm her and scolding her all at the same time. He saw how the beauty of her eyes was blurred almost to silver by those tears. ‘However fond your mother may have been of her brother, I cannot imagine for one moment her taking it further.’
‘But if others believe it...’ Charlotte swallowed the hard lump that had risen in her throat. ‘No one would ever wish to marry me, would they? If I were the child of...’ She could not go on. She could not say that hideous word, and James was hurting her hands fearsomely. ‘What man would want me for a wife with such a doubtful inheritance?’
His arms came around her then and he was stroking her cheek, laying hi
s own against hers, pulling her into the shelter of his warm body. ‘Any man would be a fool not to want you. Hush, no more tears. Have done. You will be safe with me.’
His lips were caressing her mouth with a purring softness, setting a flame of need alight within her. Then moving on to the small hollows in her neck, shafts of longing roared through her veins. James tasted the pulse of that desire with his mouth, felt his own to be as strong, his control fast slipping away. Lost in their own private world of wonder and discovery, neither of them heard the click of the latch or the first steps into the room.
‘Well, well. Begging your pardon, I’m sure. Shall I go away and come back later when you’re done?’
They leapt apart, each stung with quite unnecessary guilt. Fanny was standing in the doorway, hands on hips, lips twisted in wry amusement, her whole expression ablaze with curiosity.
‘So that’s how the land lies, eh? Does Wilfred know? He don’t much care for fraternising ‘twixt his cast.’
James was the first to recover. ‘It isn’t at all what you might think, Fanny.’
‘I’m sure it ain’t,’ she murmured, eyes brilliant with delight. This was exactly what she wanted, for little Miss Prissy to become involved with the handsome Sir James. That way she might leave Fosdyke alone. With luck she might even leave the company altogether and run off with him, then things could get back to the way they were. Fosdyke had always been generous with Fanny, and most attentive in the bedroom department until she had happened along. Now he scarcely noticed her, and there was somehow a lack of warmth and enthusiasm in his lovemaking these days. She didn’t like that, not one little bit. Fanny felt she was getting too old to start looking for a new man, and if she didn’t watch out might miss the boat altogether. ‘It’s none of my concern what you get up to, or why. I’ll leave you to it.’ Shrugging her shoulders, she turned to go, but James strode quickly across the bedroom to catch her by the arm.
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