Outrageous Fortune

by Freda Lightfoot

  * * * *

  Charlotte was nervously excited about this her first visit to a live theatre. To attend with James himself was more than she dared contemplate.

  ‘But what can I wear?’ had been her first thought, for she had brought nothing with her from Cornwall fit for such an occasion, and what she had thought to bring was in her room at Woodley Terrace.

  ‘I shall find you something, never fear,’ Lady Susanna had promised, and so she had; but, studying herself now in the mirror, Charlotte could not help but feel acute disappointment at the picture she presented. The dress was fine enough in its way, she supposed, made of silk and in the very latest style. But it was simply too much. It was just too big, too long, too full at the waist, too colourful, too loud for Charlotte’s comfort. In bright tangerine and yellow, it did nothing for her whatsoever. Even Clara agreed when she saw the final picture.

  ‘Heavens above, they’ll see you coming in that thing a mile off!’ she clucked, then slapped one hand over her mouth as if wishing she could bite her tongue off.

  ‘My sentiments exactly,’ mourned Charlotte. ‘But what am I to do, Clara? I have no clothes or money of my own at present, and no way to get any. At least...’ For the first time Charlotte began to understand the folly of her rash decision not to touch a penny of her father’s money. She had to have clothes, didn’t she? And independence, she had also discovered, was hard to establish without adequate funds. It was a galling revelation.

  Clara was thoughtful. ‘I’d lend you my own best frock since we are of a size, but it wouldn’t be half so grand as this one.’

  Charlotte seized upon the offer with relief. ‘Oh, Clara. I have no wish to look grand, only not to be laughed at.’

  Clara glanced at the much plumed tangerine turban she held in her hand and burst out laughing. ‘Oh, I do see what you mean, miss! Wait there.’

  Moments later Charlotte again confronted the looking glass and this time the reflection brought a smile of relief. True, it was a simple frock, as Clara had said, of cream spotted muslin with full elbow length sleeves and a neat square neck.

  ‘If you wear this blue sash about your waist and a matching shawl you’ll look as pretty as a picture,’ announced Clara, well pleased. ‘And I’ll dress your lovely hair so you won’t need a hat.’

  ‘Where did you find this?’ cried Charlotte. She had heard stories of maids being better dressed than their mistresses, but the blue shawl was made of the finest silk and not likely to belong in such a wardrobe.

  ‘I borrowed it,’ mumbled Clara. ‘But don’t you worry, it’ll be all right.’ She hoped it would anyway, since it belonged to Lady Susanna herself. But it had quite fired Clara up to see how her ladyship had been prepared to let the innocent Charlotte take her first visit to the theatre looking like an over-ripe piece of fruit. It would serve her right, for she dared say nothing if Sir James liked the effect, as Clara meant him to do.

  Sir James was indeed appreciative. His gaze roved over Charlotte’s slender figure in her simple cream gown, at the curve of her dark lashes that lay so beguiling upon her flushed cheeks as she cast her shy gaze floorwards, and at the soft fall of brown ringlets, lit with golden lights, that nestled against her bare neck. He could recall kissing that neck and it was with immense strength of will that he restrained himself from repeating the action. ‘You look quite enchanting.’

  Charlotte risked a glance into his eyes and as her insides melted, wished she had not. For long moments she was held by his gaze and nothing else seemed to exist for her until a loud voice cried out.

  ‘Well, there’s gratitude for you! Did I not leave one of my best gowns for your use?’

  Swirling about, Charlotte faced an outraged Lady Susanna. ‘I’m sorry; it simply didn’t fit. Clara was kind enough to lend me hers. I do hope it will be suitable.’

  ‘A trifle provincial for the Drury Lane, I think. Go and put on the silk.’

  Charlotte turned back to James, a pleading look in her eyes, to find him still smiling at her. ‘It is absolutely suitable. And the blue shawl sets it off quite perfectly, I think.’

  Susanna opened her mouth to protest for she recognised it at once as her own, and a favourite too, but closed it again at the warning light in James’s eye. She would never feel able to wear it again of course. But then, if this child liked it, it was clearly quite unsuitable for herself. Clara would hear the edge of her tongue later on the matter.

  * * * *

  Charlotte gazed about her, entranced. Never had she seen anything quite so grand in her life before. The theatre was bigger than she’d imagined with three tiers of seats seeming to reach right up to the circular crested ceiling, each supported by fluted pillars. The whole was lit by hundreds of candelabra, giving a luminous, magical glow. Even the smell of the place thrilled her: a mixture of warm mustiness, floor polish, gin and candle-fat which was not altogether unpleasant. She stared at the gallants with their quizzing glasses; a young woman in a most horrendous yellow dress and wig with huge blue beads hung about her scrawny neck; a man all in black and white in one of the side boxes with his feet upon the cushions, cracking nuts in his palms, tossing them into his cavernous red mouth and throwing the empty shells upon the poor unsuspecting folk occupying the benches in the pit below.

  To be in Drury Lane, waiting to see the fabled Sarah Siddons appear, was excitement enough. But to sit beside James, so darkly handsome, in one of these side boxes Charlotte felt almost like a queen. Nothing could dampen her delight, not even the frosty glances coming from the direction of Lady Susanna. She felt quite breathless with the joy of it all.

  It was only too apparent that Lady Susanna did not like her, which was not to be wondered at, but Charlotte was so grateful to James for bringing her that she meant not to worry over it. She had made it so abundantly plain in those last few days that she wanted nothing to do with him that it was a wonder he had permitted her this favour. And Charlotte hoped she was adult enough not to embarrass herself, or him, by revealing how she felt about him.

  Lady Susanna had no such reticence and clung to James’s arm, pressing her supple body against his as she gazed adoringly up into his face. Charlotte turned her own face away, for she could not bear to see his response, although moments later she did notice that there was a good arm’s length between their two chairs. Had he moved when she wasn’t looking?

  The orchestra was playing the opening bars, the play was about to begin and, as Charlotte gave her full attention to the stage, and to the players who entertained with such consummate skill, she was ashamed to find her cheeks wet with tears. Under cover of darkness, she brushed them angrily away with the back of her hand.

  The play was certainly no masterpiece and would have failed to impress utterly had it not been for the skilful acting of Sarah Siddons, who proved to be every bit as charismatic as Charlotte had been led to believe. She was a fine figure of a woman with her noble straight nose, full shapely lips and mass of curly hair. Handsome rather than beautiful, her great skill lay in the sincerity of her acting.

  Despite herself, Charlotte was transported beyond her own problems, held captive by the actress’s brilliant performance. Siddons seemed to float across the stage, her simplest utterances reaching every spell-bound corner of that great theatre and she evinced such power in the portrayal of the character that Charlotte felt humbled at her own earlier efforts. Here was the very height of dramatic interpretation. Here was pathos, passion and such intensity that Charlotte could only marvel as she experienced with the actress every mood, every nuance of meaning she was intended to feel. It was an episode in her life she would never forget.

  But this great performance taught her much more. It showed Charlotte that she could never reach such a height of creative emotion in her own acting, such natural skill as was displayed on this stage tonight. It was a sobering thought. Charlotte realised that much of the pleasure she had experienced from performing with the Fosdyke Players had been simply from the fun of it. And, even
more telling, the presence of James Caraddon in the wings. For it was for him she had given her best performances. It was because of him she had made the audience cry and laugh, for James was the one she had wished to impress, not herself, not her own vanity at all.

  And yet she could not have him, for he belonged to another.

  Charlotte glanced across the box to Lady Susanna and recognised the look of triumph in the older woman’s face. She had seen Charlotte’s tears and guessed her thoughts. But Charlotte saw no help for it. Delighted as she had been to be rescued from those unseen attackers by James himself, she could not refute the fact that Lady Susanna was not only present in his house, but had evidently been living there for some time.

  ‘Did you find the scene moving?’ whispered James. wiping a tear from her cheek at the first interval.

  Charlotte shivered, wishing he would keep his distance or how could she control her traitorous emotions? ‘A little,’ she whispered.’

  ‘You seemed so sad and it is meant to be a comedy.’ James’s feeling of unease about Charlotte had deepened and he regarded her now with some degree of anxiety, which he did his best to hide. ‘Were you remembering our own days on the road? We had some fun, did we not? Remember when Fosdyke died and Phil forgot his lines so that Fosdyke miraculously came to life again long enough to prompt him? I thought I would die from laughing,’ said James. ‘It was the funniest thing I ever saw, though the play was supposed to be a tragedy. Ah, we had some fun,’ he said again, a hint of regret in his voice.

  Charlotte had seemed different then. Not cold as she had been those last few days, or withdrawn as she was tonight. He wished he could understand her behaviour. Women were indeed creatures of mystery, and since he had always avoided becoming embroiled in their emotional problems how could he hope to understand Charlotte’s now?

  She met his gaze at last, with reluctance, and smiled. ‘Yes, we did have fun.’

  Susanna was edging forward, trying to overhear their conversation and failing, much to her chagrin.

  ‘I suspect you could play Siddons’s part,’ James told her. ‘For all the play is a froth of nonsense, I hope your first taste of this great theatre is not a disappointment to you.’

  ‘I am loving every moment,’ said Charlotte. ‘But I shall never tread the boards again.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘I shall go home to Cornwall as soon as it can be arranged. You were right about my mother. It was a foolish quest to start and one impossible to finish.’ As soon as she had spoken, a deep sense of despair descended upon her, but not for the loss of her quest, from the knowledge that once she had returned to Cornwall it was doubtful whether she would ever see James Caraddon again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Charlotte had reckoned without James. Realising something was troubling her, by the time they had left the theatre that night he was determined to discover the cause. The next morning over coffee the question of Charlotte’s return to Caperley was once more broached, by Susanna.

  ‘Since tomorrow is Monday and usually a quiet day for travelling, I thought it would be ideal for Charlotte’s return home, don’t you think so, James? I have arranged for ample provisions to be packed for the journey and Clara has agreed to accompany her.’ Clara was only too pleased to offer. Life with the Lady Susanna had grown decidedly difficult since the incident of the shawl.

  Both Charlotte and James stared at Susanna for a moment without speaking. Then Charlotte quietly nodded. ‘Whatever you say. I have no wish to be a nuisance, nor to rob you of your maid.’

  ‘Think nothing of it. She was becoming tiresome in any case.’ Susanna smoothed out the silken folds of her lemon yellow shot silk gown. She had chosen it specially today to look beautiful for James, but he seemed scarcely to notice. His eyes would keep constantly straying across to Charlotte. It was most vexing. She got up and started to parade about the room, to allow him ample opportunity to admire it and, of course, its wearer. But since it had the opposite effect she gave up and came to sit on the sofa beside him. ‘Fortunately the weather is clement at the moment with no sign of fog or ice, so I see no reason for delay.’

  ‘Except that Charlotte has seen so little of London,’ put in James in a voice so quiet that had Susanna possessed any sensitivity at all she would have recognised the danger in it. But her head was filled with her own needs, which made her clumsy.

  ‘I see no reason why she should, even if she had the clothes for it, which she does not.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ said James, tartly, ‘I would like her to stay a little longer. Will you do so, Charlotte?’

  Before Charlotte could frame a reply there came a rap upon the door and a footman entered, bearing a card upon a silver tray, announcing a caller.

  James glanced at the card. ‘George Bletherington? Tell him I’m not at home.’

  Susanna was horrified. ‘You cannot refuse to see Lord Bletherington! He is a very important politician.’

  ‘He is an old gossip and will have come to discover what I’ve been up to. I’m surprised it’s taken him so long to discover I’m home. He loves nothing better than to slander anyone with his razor sharp tongue, me in particular since we do not agree on the question of government reform.’

  ‘Then we must win him round, not rebuff him,’ declared Susanna anxiously. ‘He will poison Pitt against you, make no mistake about it, and then where will you be? Show him in, John.’

  Hot anger surged through James and speaking directly to the young footman, said, ‘Pray tell Lord Bletherington, if you will, David, that I am indisposed and will call upon him next week when I am more myself.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ Knowing when best to make a speedy departure, the young footman quickly withdrew, not daring to glance at Lady Susanna’s scarlet face. He heard her angry voice though as he softly closed the door.

  ‘How dare you show me up in front of the servants,’ she cried, jumping up and stamping a foot in temper. ‘How dare you embarrass me so?’

  James gazed up at her dispassionately for some seconds before answering. ‘I believe they are my servants, ma’am, and this is my home.’

  In the appalling silence which followed, Susanna realised that she’d gone too far, but it was too late now to retreat. Pride must be saved and her only salvation was to throw herself upon James’s good nature. She well knew he possessed a soft heart beneath that gritty exterior. It was this very softness which made him such an effective, if unusual politician since he was far too caring of people to fob them off. Yet his outspokenness would keep him on the back benches unless he permitted her to help him. Sending away the powerful Lord Bletherington was typical of his blindness.

  Susanna flung herself on to her knees before him, her eyes suffused with ready tears. ‘James, my darling, forgive my lack of tact. It is only that I care so much for your well-being, for your political future, that I cannot bear to see you endanger it. You know I would do nothing to hurt you.’ Susanna stroked a fingertip over his cheek, tracing the outline of his lips. James took away her hand and held it for a moment in his own before getting up from the sofa and walking away from her.

  It was a bitter blow to her pride.

  ‘I do understand, none better,’ James said quietly. ‘But you must allow me to arrange my own affairs, Susanna.’

  Very quietly, not daring to fracture the evident fragility of their relationship, Charlotte slipped from the room.

  Susanna, seeing the tactful withdrawal, was fired with a new fury. Were it not for that irresponsible silly child gallivanting half across the country, James would have married her by now, she was sure of it. She had come to believe this fiction so firmly that to Susanna it was as real as the truth.

  Turning to James, she met his coldly assessing stare with fire in her own eyes. ‘I thought you would enjoy being looked after while you were laid low,’ she said. ‘You and I were once close and I thought it might bring you a pleasure. Instead of which I have received nothing but ingratitude and criticism.’r />
  ‘I’m sorry; I never meant to hurt you.’

  How she wanted him. He had never looked so desirable as he did at this moment, so strong, so imperious, so much latent passion in his glorious powerful body. Surely he would soften towards her. As she leaned closer, wanting him to fully appreciate the intoxicating delicacy of her highly expensive perfume, Susanna put on her most seductive smile which had never failed her before. ‘You can leave me to deal with Lord Bletherington since he is an old friend of mine. I will see he starts no nasty rumours about you.’ Then she kissed him full upon the lips. It was a kiss full of promised passion; soft, teasing, meant to awaken the darker reaches of his mind. It left James quite unmoved.

  His lack of response finally penetrated and she stepped back, away from him, a small gasp upon her lips. ‘It is her, isn’t it? That chit of a harlot.’

  James took Susanna’s wrist in a grip so strong she knew that if she tried to escape it would break. ‘Don’t ever let me hear you call her that again.’

  But Susanna was beyond caring now. James had not only deserted her at Christmas, but spent it with some undeserving chit with doe eyes. She wanted only to inflict as much hurt upon him as she could. ‘Why not, she is a harlot!’ she spat at him. ‘Lottie Forbes, an actress who travelled half across the West Country with a group of strolling players, and yourself, for no good reason that I can think of. Are you trying to tell me that your relationship with her was entirely innocent? That her relationship with this Fosdyke was entirely innocent? I do not believe it.’

  ‘Believe what you will,’ James snapped, ‘But Charlotte is innocent, and I’ll not have you make suggestions to the contrary.’

  ‘You’ll not have?’ Susanna was enraged. No one spoke to her in that manner, the daughter of an earl. ‘How dare you tell me what to do? You have no rights over me. I’ll say what I like. Charlotte Forbes is indeed a harlot, like many an actress before her. Have her as a mistress if you will, but you’ll not have me as a wife if you do!’ There was triumph in her voice.