Free At the Highwayman's Pleasure by Sarah Mallory

may be.’
    ‘And is there a law now about speaking to an old friend?’ drawled Ross. His tone was deliberately taunting and he saw the flush deepen on Hannah’s already rosy cheeks.
    He allowed himself a contemptuous smile as Weston struggled with his temper. A bell rang out, summoning everyone back to the auditorium. Phineas took his wife’s arm.
    ‘Come, my dear, this way. I have fixed it....’
    Ross watched them go, then with a shrug he made his way back to his seat.
    * * *
    ‘Another successful first night, Miss Charity.’
    Charity cleaned the paint and powder from her face while Betty eased the heavy wig from her head.
    ‘It isn’t over yet. We have still to play the farce.’ Charity met her maid’s eyes in the mirror and smiled. ‘But we have made a good start. Can you work your magic on the wig again for tomorrow night’s performance? The papillotte curls looked very well, I think.’
    There was a knock at the door and the stage doorman looked in, his old eyes twinkling.
    ‘Mrs Weston, I have a lady and gentleman here who are very desirous to meet you and don’t wish to wait until tonight’s reception.’
    Charity glanced at the little clock on her dressing table. Smudgeon must consider these patrons important—and very rich!—if he was prepared to allow them backstage between performances.
    ‘Of course, Mr Smudgeon. I have a few minutes to spare before I need to change my gown for the farce.’ She sent Betty away and rose to greet her visitors.
    Her smile froze when the couple walked in. She gave no more than a cursory glance to the woman in her glittering, overdecorated gown and gilded feathers before fixing her eyes upon the man at her side.
    For the first time in thirteen years she was face-to-face with her father.
    * * *
    It took Ross a few minutes to realise that the Westons had not returned to their box. He recalled the magistrate’s words as he led his wife away. I have fixed it.... Mayhap there was some advantage to be gained here. Quickly he slipped out again and made his way to the stage door. He bribed the boy standing guard to let him in and depleted his meagre purse even further to be directed to Mrs Weston’s dressing room.
    He made his way through the main room where the ladies of the chorus were changing their gowns. There were a few good-natured shrieks and one or two saucy comments, but he ignored them and continued on to the narrow passage and series of doors that had been described to him. The first, so he had been told, was for Mr Jenkin, the actor/manager. The second was reserved for the theatre’s new leading lady.
    An elderly man was standing in the doorway to Charity’s room, and Ross recognised him from his previous visit to the green room as Smudgeon, the stage doorman. A shout went up and Ross stepped back into the shadows, rehearsing the reason he would give for being there if he was challenged. Smudgeon stepped out into the corridor and pulled the door closed behind him, then to Ross’s relief he set off in the opposite direction. As the footsteps died away, Ross could hear the rumble of voices coming from the dressing room and was almost certain that one of them belonged to Phineas Weston.
    * * *
    Charity was aware of the familiar icy dread stealing through her when the doorman withdrew. Her smile faded and she remained standing, determined to keep the meeting short.
    ‘This is one place I did not expect to find you,’ she remarked, to break the silence.
    ‘I would not have come had I not heard such disturbing intelligence.’
    Phineas glared at her, his fleshy jowls working angrily. She thought he had aged considerably since she had last seen him. His whiskers were grey and he had put on weight, but he still had an imposing presence, and now he pulled himself up to his full height to declare, ‘How dare you come back here, dragging my name through the mud?’
    She remembered that deep, resonating voice of outrage—she had heard him use it many times to