The Crimson Cavaliers

by Mary Andrea Clarke

  “Very unfortunate.”

  “It was the night we were at Miss Grey’s house,” interposed Louisa, “after the robbery. I expect she was tired.”

  “Yes, I imagine she would have been,” he remarked apparently absently, but something in Lakesby’s expression belied his tone.

  Time to depart, Georgiana thought, and smiled pleasantly. “Well, the situation was rather exceptional. Now I really must take leave of you. Do give my compliments to Lady Winters and tell her I was sorry to miss her. Pray do not trouble to ring for the footman. I can see myself out.”

  Lingering in the hallway, Georgiana paused by the looking-glass near the door, eyes fixed on her reflection as she twisted a copper curl loosely around her finger, ears pricked for voices in the drawing room, in the hope of learning something to the purpose.

  “Louisa, you grow daily more incorrigible. What I did to deserve to be saddled with the care of you … ”

  “Max, what have I done that is so dreadful?” said Louisa. “I just gave Miss Grey tea. What is wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, except for your unfortunate tendency to let your tongue run away with you.”

  “I don’t,” she said indignantly.

  “Ah, but you do, Louisa. I live in constant fear of your saying something indiscreet with no one to stop you.”

  “Miss Grey is a perfectly respectable person. The fuss you’re making, anyone would think I was entertaining a gentleman alone. Perhaps you and I ought to be chaperoned, Max.”

  “Perhaps you ought to have your ears boxed. As for entertaining gentlemen alone, if I ever catch you doing any such thing…”

  “Should you be jealous?” she inquired.

  “I should feel deuced sorry for him, minx.”

  “Oh, you are a horrible person.”

  “I daresay. I have no doubt you’d torment the life out of any gentleman unfortunate enough to admire you. However, my sympathy would not prevent me from ejecting him forcibly from the premises.”

  “What is it you want anyway? You normally have a reason for coming here.”

  “I have.”

  At last, thought Georgiana, wondering when they would come to the point. She gave a quick glance down the hall, to ensure no servant was likely to catch her hovering.

  “I thought perhaps Mama had sent you to propose,” came Louisa’s voice. “You needn’t. I shall only say no.”

  “You shall never get the opportunity. It’s bad enough having you as a ward. I can think of no worse fate than to be encumbered with you as a wife.”

  He paused. Georgiana thought she heard footsteps cross the room.

  “Now, what’s this I hear about you being infatuated with a highwayman?”

  4

  Georgiana stayed to hear no more. She had regarded Louisa’s fascination with the Crimson Cavalier as nothing more serious than a tedious annoyance, so why Lady Winters was sufficiently concerned to ask her nephew to speak to the girl was a small mystery.

  Of greater concern was the attitude of Maxwell Lakesby, apparently not a man who accepted things at face value. The notion that he could leap to the assumption that Georgiana was responsible for holding up the carriage which had carried his aunt and cousin was absurd, but she could believe him capable of divining a truth with fewer pieces of the puzzle than most. This uneasy theory made him a person to avoid, no easy matter if she was to pursue acquaintanceship with Louisa. And it was quite evident Lakesby would not allow his cousin to let slip anything he regarded as an indiscretion.

  As she stepped into her carriage, Georgiana found her mind resting on Mr Lakesby for another moment or two. The question writ large in her brain was why he would consent to his cousin’s marriage with someone he held in such low regard.

  Perhaps he hadn’t. In fact, had Lady Winters even told him about Sir Robert’s offer? Georgiana had no difficulty in believing Lady Winters as the prime force in promoting the project and suspected there would be sparks between aunt and nephew over the subject. Recalling with distaste how Sir Robert’s leering eyes had devoured Louisa’s petite form, Georgiana wondered at Lady Winters’s equanimity in witnessing such behaviour. Could she be hoping to provoke her nephew into a declaration? Or had she just allowed money to win over propriety?

  Georgiana’s reflections were pierced by a sing-song voice bleating her name. She looked towards the sound and found her fears confirmed.

  “Oh, no. Lord Bartholomew Parker. Drive on,” she hissed at her coachman. “Now.”

  The coachman raised his whip, but too late, and Georgiana found herself facing the unwelcome figure of Lord Bartholomew beside her carriage. As usual, he was dressed with exaggerated care. The points of his collar appeared even more extreme in the wake of Mr Lakesby’s understated elegance.

  “Ooh – ooh, Miss Grey! I was afraid you wouldn’t hear me,” he gasped breathlessly as he lurched against the side of her carriage, abandoning dignity in his eagerness to catch her attention.

  A forlorn hope, Georgiana thought, smiling with forced politeness.

  “Good morning, Lord Bartholomew. I trust you are well? Was there something in particular you wanted?”

  “Oh, no, that is, of course, there is always one subject – but on that I shall remain silent for the moment. This is not the time or place.”

  Oh, please not that, thought Georgiana fervently.

  The threat of a marriage proposal from Lord Bartholomew Parker had been looming like a damp depression these six months, all Georgiana’s best efforts at discouragement steadfastly ignored. She had suspected on more than one occasion that Edward had virtually promised her hand, her own consent only a matter of form. Yet even with the curse of her brother’s approval, some artful arrangements on her part had ensured evasion of capture.

  “Well, since there is nothing in particular, Lord Bartholomew, I must beg you to excuse me. I am in rather a hurry.”

  His lordship seemed not to hear.

  “I understand you and your amiable cousin will be dining with us on Friday.”

  Georgiana looked fully at him. “I beg your pardon?” she said levelly.

  “I saw Edward a little while ago and he mentioned it.” His confidence evaporated under her withering gaze.

  There was something galling about this man’s use of her brother’s Christian name, even with Edward married to Lord Bartholomew’s cousin. Presumably Edward did not object, but it gave his lordship an excuse for familiarity with Georgiana which stretched her patience. Now, Edward had apparently committed her to his wretched dinner party despite her refusal. She looked at Lord Bartholomew, forcing herself to be calm. Edward’s high-handedness was not his lordship’s fault.

  “Edward mentioned it?”

  “Why, yes,” said Lord Bartholomew. “He said he had called on you this morning. I must say, I am looking forward to it. Amanda and Edward’s cook is quite exceptional.”

  “I am aware,” said Georgiana brusquely. “Unfortunately, I shall not be able to join you, though my cousin may. I find I have another engagement. However, I trust you will have a pleasant evening.”

  The dismay on Lord Bartholomew’s face was comical as he clung to Georgiana’s carriage. She looked in some irritation at his stricken expression.

  “What? Not – not coming?” said Lord Bartholomew. “Oh, but you must. The party will not be the same without you.”

  “It’s very kind of you to say so. However, I am unable to change my plans. Perhaps another time.”

  “But Edward was most definite that you would be there,” his lordship insisted. “You must come.”

  Georgiana felt her anger rising. Edward was most definite, was he? She could cheerfully strangle her brother for putting her in such a position. Looking at the annoyingly persistent little man fastened to her carriage, Georgiana drew in her breath. She forced herself to stifle an increasingly strong impulse to favour him with her opinion of her brother’s encouragement of his suit. Her voice was remarkably steady.

  “Unfortunat
ely, Edward was mistaken. We must have been talking at cross-purposes. I told him quite positively I would not be able to dine with you all on Friday.”

  “Well, why not?” said Lord Bartholomew, growing petulant. “What is this important engagement that keeps you from your family?”

  This was too much even for Georgiana’s self-control.

  “Lord Bartholomew, that is hardly your concern.” The irritation in her tone was unmistakable, but Lord Bartholomew remained oblivious to it.

  “How can it not be my concern?” he demanded. “When you are aware...”

  “Lord Bartholomew, you have said quite enough. Please let me go on my way.” Hands clenched tightly in her lap, she struggled to subdue the impulse to slap him.

  “But...”

  “Can I be of assistance?”

  Lord Bartholomew whirled around to identify the owner of the coolly confident voice interrupting his entreaties. Georgiana could barely hide her astonishment. Maxwell Lakesby stood idly swinging his cane back and forth, his expression one of tolerant amusement.

  “You need not concern yourself, sir,” said Lord Bartholomew. “This is a private matter.”

  “In that case,” said Lakesby, walking down the front steps of the house in leisurely fashion, “may I suggest you refrain from discussing it on the public thoroughfare?”

  “It is of no consequence,” said Georgiana. “We are quite finished. Lord Bartholomew was just taking his leave.”

  “I see,” said Lakesby.

  Unwilling to accept his dismissal, his lordship’s mouth was set in mulish lines.

  “What about Friday?”

  “Friday?” inquired Lakesby, looking from one to the other of the disputants. “My dear sir, there seems to be some misunderstanding. Miss Grey is to give my cousin and myself the pleasure of her company at the theatre on Friday.”

  “I – I beg your pardon, sir?” sputtered Lord Bartholomew “Miss Grey is to be of your party?”

  “Why, yes,” responded Lakesby, coming forward.

  Lord Bartholomew drew himself up. “May I ask how you are acquainted with Miss Grey?”

  “You may ask, but I fail to see why I should be obliged to answer,” remarked Lakesby, absently picking a speck of white thread from the sleeve of his perfectly tailored coat.

  Lord Bartholomew struggled for words through his indignation.

  Lakesby turned to Georgiana. “Is this gentleman your guardian, Miss Grey? Should I have applied to him for permission before inviting you to accompany my cousin and me on Friday?”

  Torn between relief at this unexpected rescue and amusement at being in the centre of such a scene, Georgiana had recovered sufficiently to give a composed reply.

  “No, Mr Lakesby, Lord Bartholomew is my sister-in-law’s cousin. In any case, I am quite at liberty to make my own arrangements.” She turned to address his lordship. “Your pardon, Lord Bartholomew, but it is impossible for me to break my engagement with Miss Winters and Mr Lakesby. It has been arranged for some time.” Absolutely seconds, she thought.

  “I see,” said Lord Bartholomew tightly. He returned his attention to Lakesby. “That does not mean, sir,” he continued through clenched teeth, “that I may not take an interest in Miss Grey’s welfare.”

  “No, indeed,” said Lakesby. “I trust all Miss Grey’s friends are so gallant. Please don’t let me detain you further. I will escort Miss Grey home.”

  Lakesby’s tone, though pleasant and conversational, clearly admitted no argument. With Georgiana smiling in a manner that bade him farewell, there was nothing Lord Bartholomew could do but grit his teeth and continue walking. Georgiana leaned back against the seat and let out a sigh.

  Lakesby sauntered towards the carriage. Georgiana smiled.

  “Thank you, Mr Lakesby. Your timing was fortuitous.”

  Lakesby bowed slightly. “I’m happy to have been able to help. It would have been most undignified to have driven home with the poor fellow dragging from your door.”

  Georgiana laughed. “Slow too, no doubt, with an unnecessary weight for the horses.”

  “Most uncomfortable for them,” commented Lakesby. “I trust you have no need of an escort, Miss Grey?”

  “No, thank you, that won’t be necessary,” she replied.

  “Very well, I shall wish you good day,” he said. “And look forward to your company on Friday evening.”

  About to give her coachman the instruction to move, Georgiana paused to stare at Lakesby, taking no trouble to conceal her astonishment. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “Ah, you thought I was bluffing his lordship?” He shook his head. “Not so. I left my cousin on the point of writing to you. I hope you will accept.”

  “Oh?” Georgiana responded. “Well, I regret, Mr Lakesby, but I am afraid...”

  “Surely you do not mean to disappoint her?” His tone was irritatingly disarming. “She seems quite fond of you. Strange.” He smiled. “I beg your pardon, how unflattering. I have no doubt you are an excellent person, but I had rather gained the impression you and Louisa were not well acquainted.”

  Georgiana could hardly believe her ears. Lakesby’s entire manner began to irk her. She felt tempted to tell him to go to the devil.

  His assurance was unwavering as he stood, looking at her with the ghost of a smile. She answered it with one of her own, of pure uncommitted sweetness.

  “Thank you so much for your assistance, Mr Lakesby. Now I really must be on my way. Good day to you.”

  The coachman wasted no more time, and the neatly matched greys set forth, leaving Lakesby standing, his thoughtful gaze following until the carriage was out of sight.

  “Insufferable man!” Georgiana fumed. “Of all the arrogance. How dare he assume...?” She gazed unseeing at the elegant residences along the route. Having Louisa Winters’s confidence could prove useful, but Georgiana could not afford to arouse Lakesby’s suspicions, and the notion of acceding to his plans infuriated her. She wondered whether he flattered himself she was pleased to be included in his party. Georgiana was not sure; he probably just enjoyed the jape. With some unease she sensed it would be difficult to deceive him. She would have to be careful. Nevertheless, if Louisa wished to pursue a friendship with her, it would be foolish to let slip the opportunity.

  Georgiana wore a preoccupied expression as she absently thanked James for opening the front door. She was surprised when he followed her to the drawing room.

  “What is it, James?”

  “Mr Richardson was concerned about something, miss, and didn’t have an opportunity to speak to you.”

  “Oh?” said Georgiana, puzzling over why her groom should be conferring with her footman.

  “He – um.” James gave a slight cough. “He noticed some blood on Princess’s rein.”

  Georgiana became aware of her grip tightening on the back of the chair where her hand had rested lightly but a moment earlier. Cursing her own carelessness, she cast about in her mind for an explanation.

  “Really? Oh, dear, how remiss of me. I know what must have happened. I went for an early ride this morning. I did not wish to disturb anyone so attended to Princess myself. Unfortunately, I had difficulty managing with my injured hand and it started bleeding. I had not realised it had marked the reins. Do give Richardson my apologies.”

  “Yes, miss. I told Mr Richardson that was probably the case.”

  Georgiana looked at him curiously. Surely he couldn’t have guessed? She knew Emily would not have betrayed her confidence. However, James was no simpleton. Georgiana knew she was not anyone’s first idea of a highway robber, but had occasionally suspected he noticed more than he allowed anyone to think.

  Forcing her mind in a different direction, she turned her attention towards her acquaintances on the alternative side of the law. Apparently accepting her mistress’s determination, Emily made little protest while aiding Georgiana to dress for her visit to the Lucky Bell as dusk fell. Georgiana knew the risk, but needed to talk to Harry Sm
ith.

  For all Emily’s fears, caution was her second nature, and she kept well out of sight of the road on her way to the inn known as a highwaymen’s haunt. She closed the door quickly on entering its sanctuary. Beyond looking to see who had entered, no one gave her more than a glance. Despite the dusty windows and worn furniture, the tavern had a welcoming atmosphere. The brightly lit candles and comfortable warmth were equalled by the ruddy landlord who asked Georgiana her pleasure without indicating he noticed the mask she still wore.

  “Have you seen Harry?” she asked.

  “Harry Smith?”

  Georgiana nodded.

  “Not yet. But I expect he’ll be in shortly.”

  Cedric never asked questions of his clientele, a virtue which made him a popular figure. He was careful about what he answered, too. Representatives of the law had often been frustrated in attempts to find out whether he had seen a particular villain in the vicinity, encountering only a blank stare. His customers were loyal in their turn, freely spending the proceeds of their illicit employment while never leaving evidence to connect him with their crimes. Georgiana was no exception. While she did not drink much, her generosity had prompted Cedric on more than one occasion to remark that she “was a real gent, that Crimson Cavalier”.

  “The small parlour’s free if you want to wait,” Cedric said.

  Georgiana nodded. “Yes. Send in some wine, would you?”

  Accepting the two shillings held out to him, Cedric gave a smile of acknowledgement. Georgiana made her way to the parlour and sat in a comfortable, if threadbare, maroon chair next to the fire. She looked up as a rosy-cheeked maid entered, bearing a tray with a bottle and two ordinary glasses a world away from Georgiana’s own delicate crystal. She responded to the girl’s pert toss of curls with a silent nod of dismissal. Georgiana had had more than her fill of admirers, though the odd coquettish gesture could still raise an ironic smile. She was used fending off amorous overtures from both genders; at least Harry would be no problem in that respect.

  She had not many minutes to wait. The door fell open and a sturdy, badly shaven individual stood in its shadow. He cast her a knowing look.