Lady Sherry and the Highwayman

by Maggie MacKeever

  “Now!” Sherry said grimly.

  “Right, milady!” Daffodil replied.

  Together they stepped forward. The highwayman, who had not, cursed. It took some time to learn the knack of moving in unison while supporting the man’s weight. But before much time had passed, anyone gazing out the windows of Longacre House would have seen nothing more exceptionable than Lady Sherry and her companion, accompanied by abigail and hound, embarked on a gentle stroll.

  Chapter Four

  The next few moments seemed the longest of Sherry’s life. So weak was the highwayman, so unsteady on his feet, that it took the combined efforts of both women to keep him upright. Prinny did not lend his assistance to this project. Quite the opposite. Prinny knew perfectly well that a stranger was garbed in Tully’s gown, a fact his canine brain immediately translated into an invitation to play hide-and-seek. That his friends did not enter enthusiastically into this game mattered not at all. Prinny was finding this day, with all its unexpected happenings, a rare treat.

  This viewpoint, Sherry could not share. She saw nothing pleasurable in hiding in the water closet to avoid being caught. Nor was she particularly interested to learn that Daffodil vastly mistrusted the earthenware vessel that was constantly washed by rainwater from a cistern on the roof. Even less did Sherry relish their encounter with her brother’s superior butler, Barclay, to whom she ruthlessly blackened Aunt Tulliver’s character by explaining that the old woman’s unsteady gait was due to having once again overindulged in the grape.

  All in all, Sherry was little steadier on her feet than the highwayman. Not much farther now, she told herself. Once in the safety of her book room, she could indulge in vapors to her heart’s content.

  Sherry concentrated very hard on climbing the stairs. And then the greatest of all this day’s disasters—thus far—struck. Her sister-in-law’s voice arrested her in mid-stride.

  “Sherris!” the voice said. Sherry grimaced, though Lavinia’s voice was not unpleasant in quality. Sir Christopher was even prone to claim, in moments of husbandly excess, that it was soft and melodious and soothing to the ear. On Sherry, however, Lavinia’s voice had the effect of fingernails against slate.

  “Now we’re in for it!” Sherry muttered. “Can you support him, Daffodil? Go on, then. I’ll stay and do the civil.” She disengaged her arm. The highwayman’s expression, as he looked at Sherry, was puzzled. Goodness but his eyes were green.

  As Aunt Tulliver’s were not. Hastily, Sherry turned to confront her sister-in-law. If Lavinia glimpsed that swarthy face, those disturbingly green eyes, the fat would be in the fire.

  Lavinia was flushed from her exertions. She was not used to dashing up so many nights of stairs. “Sherris, where have you been? I have been looking for you high and low. Then I saw you in the garden. Whatever were you doing? It certainly looked queer!”

  Sherry took a firm grip on Prinny, so that his furry bulk helped block the stair. “Looked queer?” she echoed vaguely. “I was only taking the air.”

  “In your riding habit?” Lavinia surveyed that shabby garment critically and repressed a sigh. If she had told Sherris once, she had told her a dozen times that it simply didn’t do to go about looking like a dowd. Yet here Sherris was, her unstylish habit embellished lavishly with leaves and twigs and gingerbread crumbs as well as some very nasty-looking damp spots. Whatever she had been up to, in its course she’d lost her hat. “Perhaps,” Lavinia suggested tactfully, “you might wish to change.”

  What Sherry wished to do was remove her sister-in-law as far as possible from the vicinity of a certain highwayman. “Oh, no! I am perfectly comfortable, thank you!” she said, and began to descend the stair. Since she maintained a firm grip on Prinny, the dog accompanied her.

  There being scant room left in which to maneuver, Lady Childe likewise stepped back. Truth be told, Lavinia had scant liking for Prinny, whom she considered too large and rough and altogether rude. She could hardly admit to these sentiments, however, since the beast had been a present from her doting spouse. Prinny, on the other hand, was constitutionally incapable of understanding that all who made his acquaintance were not necessarily immediately smitten with affection for him. He looked upon Lady Childe as a surrogate mama and had done so since the memorable day when Sir Christopher had brought him home and deposited him in Lavinia’s silken lap. The fact that Prinny had immediately christened that silken expanse with various bodily fluids may have partially explained why Lavinia most often responded to the advance of her pet by beating a hasty retreat.

  Today, Prinny appearing even more than usually exuberant, Lavinia descended the steep stairs at such a reckless pace that Sherry feared a nasty tumble might ensue. Sherry did not dislike her sister-in-law so much that she wished for her to suffer a broken neck. She grasped Prinny’s collar and held him back, thus enabling them to continue their descent with some semblance of dignity.

  Lavinia drew a deep breath and sought to calm herself, then awarded her sister-in-law a grateful glance. Sherry—who had no notion that Lavinia suffered recurrent nightmares in which Prinny pursued her to a spent standstill and then licked her to death—in return merely blinked. Lavinia wished Sherris were not such an oddity, going about so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she was hard-pressed to render the observances of civility. Though this freakishness might not have raised eyebrows in the rural area where Sherris used to live, here in London she was out of her element.

  Clearly, it was Lavinia’s duty to bring her sister-in-law up to snuff. Sometimes Lavinia quailed at the task she had set for herself. However, duke’s daughters did not turn tail at the first setback. “You are very quiet,” Lavinia observed as they walked together down the hall. “Is anything amiss?”

  Amiss? At the thought of all that was amiss, Sherry could have wept. Lavinia meant no real harm; if only she had not been so very conscious of her superior breeding, Sherry might have liked her very well. Or if she had not been such a generous little soul, so determined to share with Sherry her superior knowledge of how best to go on in the world.

  “I was merely wool-gathering,” Sherry lied valiantly. “Nothing is amiss. Pray do not tell me that I think too much, Lavinia, because I have already heard that today from Aunt Tulliver.”

  Lavinia might well have expressed such a conviction had not the old woman been before her. Untruthfully, she said, “As if I would. I merely wished to point out that it was very careless of you to forget that Viccars was to call.” How in heaven had Sherris contrived to have so suitable a parti dangling at her shoestrings? “An earl is nothing to sneeze at, after all. Nor is an income of ten thousand a year. Although you, of course, needn’t worry about that! Still, my dear, you mustn’t keep him on tenterhooks too long, lest some conniving female snatch him right out from under your nose!”

  Sherry wished someone would perform that service for her as regarded Lavinia. She released her hold on Prinny, who immediately pressed closer to his surrogate mama, lavishly embellishing her pretty gown with dog hairs and paw prints and inspiring her to a frightened squeal. “Prinny! Bad dog!” scolded Sherry as she gave him a surreptitious pat.

  Lavinia brushed crossly at her skirts. Sometimes she thought Sherris liked that accursed dog better than she liked Lavinia herself. Lavinia had posed this conundrum to any number of her acquaintances, all of whom professed themselves at an equal loss to understand what there was about her to dislike. In appearance, Lavinia was certainly pleasing enough, with eyes of china blue and pale gold hair cropped to cluster in curls around her face in the current mode. Her plump little person was always very stylishly gowned, today in white cambric muslin with flounces of broad lace around bosom and hem and alternate bands of lace and muslin down the arm.

  Ah, well. There was no accounting for some tastes. Lavinia glanced at her sister-in-law, who appeared lost in the clouds once more. To ensure that Sherris did not once again wander absentmindedly off—thus dashing Lord Viccars’s hopes once more, as well as Lavinia’s
own, because she could not help but think that life would be more pleasant if Sherris dwelt elsewhere than in Longacre House—Lavinia took firm hold of her arm.

  Sherry let Lavinia lead her into the drawing room. Cravenly or perversely, she kept firm hold of Prinny, who was not generally allowed admission into this part of the house. Daffodil must be given time to convey their houseguest safely to the attic. Sherry could only shudder at thought of the contretemps that would result were Captain Toby caught masquerading in Aunt Tulliver’s clothes.

  The drawing room was a spacious chamber with polished wooden floors, furnished very elegantly in the latest style. Equally elegant were the trio of people who broke off their conversation as Sherry and Lavinia entered.

  With a sinking feeling, Sherry recognized Lavinia’s dearest bosom bows. The Countess Dunsany was very fine today in a round gown with braces of colored satin and a white satin hat; Lady Throckmorton was equally grand in ruby merino over a cambric petticoat and a flower-ornamented bonnet of moss silk. Both were further rigged out with fans and parasols, scent bottles and handkerchiefs. Both gazed at Sherry with avid expressions. Sherry gazed meekly back at them and released the hound.

  With horrified astonishment, the ladies watched Prinny stroll into the drawing room, give a cursory inspection to the furnishings before collapsing with an exhausted sigh beneath a table supported by luxuriantly carved legs. Then the ladies turned to Sherry, who was immediately and uncomfortably aware of how shabby she must look, particularly in contrast to Lavinia. Not only was Lavinia complete to a shade, but her pale coloring always left Sherry feeling vulgarly vivid. She raised one hand to push the hair off her forehead, thus displaying tan gloves that were shockingly stained—displaying also, to the room at large, the item she still clutched. “Sherris!” Lavinia gasped. “Whatever are you doing with that knife?”

  Sherry looked blankly at the knife. A large number of lethal weapons were certainly passing through her hands of late. “I, um, had an urge to prune!” she said.

  “Pruning! How original!” murmured Lady Throckmorton as if she found this a singularly novel—and perhaps a trifle vulgar—idea.

  Before Sherry could retort, Lavinia cried out. “You wretched beast! Stop that at once!” Lady Throckmorton looked extremely offended. Lavinia hastened to explain that her remarks had been addressed to Prinny, who left off gnawing the table leg and looked abashed.

  During this brief distraction, the only gentleman present in the drawing room made his way to Sherry’s side. Andrew, Lord Viccars, was a very pleasant-looking gentleman of some forty years with enviable side-whiskers, cropped sandy hair, and merry eyes. “Pruning, were you? Trying it on much too rare and thick!” he murmured into Sherry’s ear. For a heart-stopping moment, she wondered what he knew or had guessed about her possession of the pruning knife. He smiled at her, then raised his voice. “Depend upon it; Lady Sherry has been plotting out her next wonderful adventure.”

  The ladies twittered. Sherry regarded Andrew reproachfully. Now that he had introduced the subject, they would feel free to quiz her mercilessly. “Jacobs will be in a tweak when he discovers his knife is missing,” she ventured. “I must return it straightaway!”

  “Oh, not yet!” wailed Lady Throckmorton as Sherry turned toward the door. Both Lavinia and the countess added their voices to Lady Throckmorton’s pleas. Sherry wavered. Uncomfortable as she was as the focus of so much attention, she did not wish to be rude.

  The ladies took quick advantage of her indecision, speaking all at once. One so seldom had an opportunity to chat with Lady Sherry, she being of so very different a temperament from Lord Byron and those other literary sons who put themselves forward to be lionized. Not that one could advocate such conduct, of course! Indeed, one positively wondered what the world was coming to. Byron exposed as a libertine; Brummell living in exile from his creditors in Calais; Sheridan dead, as much from fear of debtors’ prison as anything else; old Grenville’s title up for grabs, shocking in a line as old as God. In times such as these Lady Sherry was virtually a national treasure because she helped one to escape!

  These last words were painfully close to the mark. Sherry was visited by a sudden horrifying vision of the condition in which she’d last seen the gardener’s shed. Blood everywhere and remnants of her tattered petticoat—Heaven only knew what the gardener would think when he came upon the grim scene. He would hardly fail to raise a hue and cry.

  Obviously, no one had yet entered the shed, since no officials of Bow Street had come pounding at the door, demanding to search the house. If only these wretched women would stop chattering at her so she could think! “You refine too much upon my small talent,” Sherry protested.

  “No, my dear, we do not!” responded the countess, in the tone of one who knows indisputably what is what. “You are a genuine celebrity. As you would be aware, had you not rusticated for so long. There’s no need to look embarrassed! You are to be commended for your selflessness. Lavinia has told us how you tended your invalid mama for so many years. It was for her amusement that you began to make up your little stories, was it not? No, do not fidget! You must learn to accept compliments.”

  Prey though Sherry was to numerous anxieties, they almost disappeared in the force of her outrage. How dare Lavinia discuss Sherry’s mama with these cats? “Pray tell us about your next little story!” Lady Throckmorton twittered. “So that we may steal a march on the rest of your fans!”

  Fortunately, Lord Viccars was an astute gentleman, or else Lady Throckmorton might have stolen a greater march than she wished. He plucked the pruning knife from Sherry’s white-knuckled fingers, thereby interrupting her very vivid fantasy of mayhem enacted in Lavinia’s drawing room. “Lady Sherry never gives away a plot,” he said. “It does no good to nag at her about it, because she will not budge.”

  “Nag!” Lady Throckmorton looked extremely offended. “I’m sure I never did!”

  Sherry did not quibble with this clanker. She was deep in frantic thought. How was to extricate herself from the drawing room with all possible speed yet with sufficient politeness so that no suspicions were aroused? Her gaze fell on Prinny, who flopped dejectedly at her feet. Sherry edged surreptitiously closer to the dog and poked him with the toe of her riding boot.

  Prinny came to attention with a yelp. Heartlessly, Sherry gave him another nudge. Poor Prinny jumped, then looked beseechingly at her. Instinct told him that his friend must have good reason for her queer antics, but he couldn’t fathom what that reason might be.

  Nor could the other ladies fathom why the dog was jerking about in that very odd way. Lavinia drew back, remembering the ruination of a silken gown. Oh, why had Sherris brought the brute into the drawing room? He obviously couldn’t be trusted in polite company. “Sister, pray do something with that beast!”

  Sherry needed no second invitation. “So much excitement has been too much for him, I fear. Pray excuse me while I take him for a walk!” She grasped Prinny’s collar and dragged him toward the door.

  Chapter Five

  Thus it came about that Lady Sherry ventured into the garden of Longacre House for the second time that day. If she had been angered by the knowledge that Lavinia had discussed her mama, the conversation that followed her departure from the drawing room would have made her sorely regret that she had refrained from bloody mayhem with the pruning knife. ‘Twas a great pity, Lady Throckmorton ventured, that Lady Sherry’s mama had been so inconsiderate an invalid as to linger on so long, thus selfishly preventing her daughter from jostling for position in the marriage mart. Leaving her, to use the word with no bark on it, an ape-leader, at her last prayers, on the shelf. With these sentiments, the Countess Dunsany murmured agreement. Visited by a vision of herself saddled for the remainder of her days with an unmanageable sister-in-law, Lavinia sighed mournfully. It was left to Lord Viccars to point out, none too gently, that Lady Sherry was hardly in need of anyone’s sympathy, being a celebrity in her own right, of a caliber that the Regent hims
elf had allowed that she spun a rousing good yam.

  The celebrity, meanwhile, made her way toward the gardener’s shed. She did so with no appreciable speed. Though Sherry’s impulse had been to take to her heels the moment she stepped out of the drawing room, she bore in mind that she might be observed. Were Lavinia to see her running through the halls like a hoyden, there’d be no end to the questions she would ask or the lectures Sherry would receive.

  For the same reasons, Sherry kept a firm grasp on Prinny, her excuse for this stroll. But Prinny had strolled around the garden with her once this day already and was in no mood to repeat the exercise. What he had wished to do more than anything was remain in the drawing room with his mama, a wish with which Lady Sherry had interfered.

  Consequently, Prinny was very much out of charity with her. As a result, his pace was very slow. Sherry found herself practically dragging the great beast. She decided that they were far enough from the house now that she could release him. She did so. Prinny immediately sat down with the air of one determined to budge nevermore from the spot.

  Sherry couldn’t have cared less if Prinny passed the remainder of his misbegotten life beneath the lemon tree. Cautiously, she approached the gardener’s shed. So stealthy were her movements that Prinny’s interest was roused. He lumbered to his feet and trod stealthily in Sherry’s wake, causing her to think for a dreadful moment that she was being followed by an officer of the law. She awarded the dog an irate glare. Scant protection was better than none, however, and Prinny was very large. Together they crept up to the doorway of the gardener’s shed.

  Tentatively, Sherry pushed open the door. It occurred to her belatedly that she might find someone within. What should she do then? Boldly enter and feign surprise at what she found there? Or simply, cravenly, slip away?