The Crimson Cavaliers

by Mary Andrea Clarke

  “Oh, ho! So it’s my old friend the Crimson Cavalier. I’ve been hearing some tales about you, my lad.”

  “I imagine you have,” remarked Georgiana, pouring some wine. “How many of them do you believe?”

  “Well, not the one about you killing that old beak. When I heard that one I says to myself, ‘Harry, killing’s not his game, your young friend’s been made a scapegoat, good and proper.’”

  “Thank you, Harry.”

  “Well, everyone knows the Crimson Cavalier ain’t never fired a shot. Gets the gewgaws though. Beats me how you do it.”

  Georgiana shook her head in wry amusement. “The sight of the pistol is usually enough.”

  Harry shook his head. “I often gets one as wants to do the heroics. Never had to kill anyone, mind. A shot in the air gives ’em a good scare.” He took a drink from the glass Georgiana handed him. “What happened with this cove?”

  “I found his body.”

  Harry gave a low whistle.

  “Exactly so,” said Georgiana.

  “Somebody saw you?”

  Georgiana nodded. “A coach party. They gave chase, but I lost them.”

  “You’d best disappear.”

  Georgiana shook her head.

  “I have to find out who killed him.”

  Harry’s surprise was as great as Emily’s, although he expressed it with a greater number of expletives. He scratched his head and looked at her through narrowed eyes.

  “How do you mean to do that? And what are you going to do if you find him? Hand him over to the beak?”

  “I’ll worry about that later,” said Georgiana briskly. “I’ve no desire to hang for something I didn’t do.”

  “If a cove takes up as a bridle-cull, it’s odds he’ll hang sooner or later,” observed Harry. “It’s only the devil’s own luck keeps him alive in the meantime.”

  “Is that how it is with you, Harry?” she asked, shaking her head as he held up the bottle.

  “It’s how it is with all of us,” he said, pouring himself another drink. “Oh, I’ve had my share of the devil’s luck and no mistake. I’ve nearly danced at the end of Tyburn’s rope.”

  “Really?” said Georgiana. In all the months she had known Harry, it was the first time she had heard of this. “What happened?”

  “Slipped a coin to one of the guards,” he said simply. “He got me out in a wine cask. Costly business, but worth it. I’d have made no profit as a gallows-bird.”

  Harry’s turn of phrase was always colourful, but underneath his gruff exterior he had a good heart and demonstrated a sense of protectiveness towards Georgiana which made her a little nervous. Yet he never asked more than she cared to reveal. So it was with all the highway fraternity; none would ask another what they had no wish to tell themselves. Despite the risks, Georgiana found it a breath of fresh air. There had been occasions when common sense told her to give it up; she had even tried to do so once or twice. It did not last; something brought her back.

  A knock on the door startled both occupants of the room. Harry moved to answer it in guarded fashion, one hand poised for his pistol. They relaxed at the sight of an urchin of about thirteen years of age. He looked even skinnier than he was as he staggered under the weight of a tray laden with cold ham, cheese and bread, as well as another bottle of wine.

  “Mistress sent you some supper,” said the newcomer.

  “Bess is a rare good’un and no mistake,” said Harry. “Set it down there, Tom.” He flipped a coin to the boy as the tray was deposited on the table. Tom caught it neatly in a grubby hand. The sight of the food reminded Georgiana that it had been some hours since her luncheon. The fare was simpler than that to which she was accustomed, but it looked wholesome. However, although tempted, she could not afford to remove her mask and shook her head regretfully. Tom lingered, hovering by the door as he looked from one to the other.

  “Picked up any worthwhile booty?” asked Harry, sitting down as he helped himself to some ham.

  Georgiana produced her black velvet bag and emptied the contents on the table. Harry’s eyes widened.

  “Very nice,” he remarked. He picked up Louisa Winters’s bracelet, a loving caress of the smooth white pearls belying his professional manner. “Very nice indeed.”

  Georgiana was watching him dispassionately. “How much, do you think?”

  “I’ll have to talk to old Ben,” he said putting the items together on the table. “Leave them with me.”

  Georgiana’s gloved hand came down on Harry’s wrist. She shook her head.

  “Now, Harry, wasn’t it you who told me never to trust anyone?”

  Harry grinned. “Aye, you’re right, my young friend.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Something as good faith?”

  “How much?” asked Georgiana. Her upbringing had not schooled her in the handling of money, but she had rapidly developed a businesslike approach. She had no need of profit, but her ill gotten gains could be used well, and Georgiana had no wish to appear as a pigeon ripe for plucking.

  Harry looked at her speculatively. “Five pounds?” he offered.

  Georgiana nodded. Despite her guarded attitude, she knew she could trust Harry. He counted out the agreed price and scooped Georgiana’s haul into his own bag.

  “I’ll do the dealings with old Ben. He’s bound to go higher, nip-farthing though he is.”

  Tom had watched the proceedings silently. He now spoke.

  “You didn’t kill that old cove, did you?”

  “No, Tom, I didn’t,” responded Georgiana. “But I need to find the person who did.”

  “I’ll ’elp,” volunteered Tom, coming forward eagerly. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  “Thank you, Tom,” said Georgiana. “Nothing as yet, but I’ll let you know if I need you.”

  “I’d do anything for you gents,” said Tom earnestly. “But I wish you’d teach me about the bridle-lay.”

  “Now, Tom,” interposed Harry, breaking off a hunk of cheese, “we’ve told you before. You’re too young to take to the high toby.”

  “But I need to know. Don’t want to stay here fetching and carrying ’til I’m old.”

  “Time comes soon enough, lad,” said Harry. “The nubbing-cheat’s there for us all in the end. No need to rush to the hanging.”

  Tom began to scowl and seemed inclined to argue. Harry spoke sternly: “Now be off, and see if Bess can spare us another bottle.”

  “Not for me. I’ve lingered long enough already,” said Georgiana. She looked steadily at her compatriot as Tom left the room. “You will let me know if you hear anything, Harry?”

  “Now, you know I’m no tale-bearer,” he said in a reproachful tone.

  “I’m not suggesting you become one,” responded Georgiana. “But after all, this is my neck.”

  “Aye, I’d be sorry to see you hang,” Harry remarked. “Besides, I don’t hold with cold-blooded murder, if that’s what it was.” He narrowed his eyes, looking at her shrewdly. “I’ll keep me daylights open.”

  Georgiana nodded her thanks and stood up. As she picked up her money, Harry noticed the edge of white linen protruding from under her close fitting black gloves.

  “Here, what have you been doing to yourself?” he asked.

  “It’s nothing. A slight accident.”

  Harry raised his eyebrows. “You want to be more careful.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Georgiana. She pulled her glove taut and smoothed it over the errant piece of bandage. Giving Harry a brief nod, she closed the door briskly behind her as she melted into the night.

  5

  The elegant white gloves Georgiana drew on less than an hour after leaving Harry proved more effective in covering the burn on her hand than the practical black ones of the Crimson Cavalier. To her intense relief, it seemed all the guests at the select soirée were blissfully unaware of her injury.

  “Miss Grey, good evening. How is your hand? Not paining you too much, I trust?”


  Chastened, Georgiana turned and met the steady expression of Maxwell Lakesby. She gave him a cautious smile.

  “No, indeed, Mr Lakesby. It is much improved, though a trifle cumbersome.”

  “Perhaps I can assist,” he said, coming forward to relieve her of a plate which threatened to upset a precariously balanced glass of ratafia. “Have you everything you need?”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Georgiana. “I assure you, Mr Lakesby, I can manage well enough. I have no wish to trouble you.”

  “I beg you will put it out of your mind. It is no trouble. In fact, I would be honoured if you would have your supper with my party. My aunt and cousin are over at that table.”

  Surprised by the invitation, Georgiana was instinctively wary. Glancing towards the table she had just left, she met the surprised eyes of her cousin. An oath she had sometimes heard Harry use came into her mind.

  “Thank you, Mr Lakesby, but I am afraid I shall have to decline. I must not trespass on your kindness, and my own party will be wondering about me.”

  “Nonsense,” said Lakesby, brushing aside her protests. “Surely your friends can spare you a little while? I know the prospect of my Aunt Beatrice’s society is perhaps less than enticing, but that should give you reason to pity me. Between her Friday face and Louisa’s limited intellect, I am sorely in need of another companion.”

  Georgiana hesitated. Lakesby was not as high-handed as Edward, but she was disinclined to fall in neatly with his arrangements, setting aside the snub to her own party of friends and the reaction of her cousin. Georgiana’s quandary was not helped by the approach of Selina, looking anxious to protect her charge against whatever designs this stranger might have. Georgiana’s urge to stifle Lakesby’s confident air found a form of expression.

  “Selina, I must make you known to Mr Lakesby, Lady Winters’s nephew. Mr Lakesby, this is my cousin, Miss Knatchbull.”

  Lakesby seemed oblivious to the wariness in Miss Knatchbull’s manner as he bowed over her hand, professing himself charmed to make her acquaintance. She responded in kind, unbending so far as to inquire after Lady Winters and her daughter.

  Lakesby glanced towards Georgiana before smoothly repeating his invitation to Miss Knatchbull. Taken aback at being asked to leave her party, Selina agreed dear Georgiana’s demur was quite proper. However, she annoyed her cousin by saying she thought a few minutes at Mr Lakesby’s table would do no harm. Indeed, it was only civil to pay their respects to Lady Winters and her daughter.

  “Well, it seems the matter is settled,” said Georgiana, begging only a minute to inform their friends.

  Louisa was delighted to see Georgiana, smiling and immediately moving her chair to accommodate the new arrivals. Lady Winters appeared less eager. Louisa made no attempt to speak, confirming Georgiana’s impression that Lady Winters ruled her daughter with iron discipline. The slap her ladyship had given Louisa on the night of the robbery had made its mark with her. While Lakesby attended to Miss Knatchbull’s comfort, Georgiana’s mind was focused on how she could persuade Lady Winters to be a little forthcoming about her acquaintance with Sir Robert Foster. She decided to go for a partially direct approach.

  “It was shocking news about Sir Robert, was it not, Lady Winters?” she said in a compassionate tone. “Just the day after you were all robbed, too.”

  “Oh, indeed, yes,” chirped Selina, to Georgiana’s annoyance. “I was so distressed when my cousin broke the news to me. It made me think of what you said about being murdered in our beds, Lady Winters.”

  “Sir Robert was not in his bed, Selina,” said Georgiana evenly, noting with some irritation Lakesby’s attempt to stifle a grin.

  “No, but for that dreadful highwayman to lie in wait for him is quite appalling. It does make one wonder what they will do next.”

  “Selina, you don’t know if that is what happened,” said Georgiana, a slight mocking laugh in her tone. “Indeed, none of us knows the circumstances, except that Sir Robert was found on the road.”

  “We know a highwayman was seen running away,” interposed Lady Winters with cool authority. “I think that leaves little room for doubt.”

  “But, surely, Lady Winters...” began Georgiana.

  “Can we not think of some more interesting topic of conversation than Sir Robert Foster?” said Lakesby. “The fellow was a confounded nuisance alive; must he continue to bore us rigid now he is dead?”

  Miss Knatchbull stared at Lakesby in scandalised disbelief. Lady Winters was more forthright.

  “Max, that is no way to speak of one who has recently passed away,” she reproved her nephew. “You should show proper respect.”

  “Sir Robert Foster was difficult to respect,” responded Lakesby. “I was not alone in my view. I should be surprised to find above half a dozen people who cared tuppence about him.”

  Louisa gasped. Lady Winters looked at her nephew with horror-stricken disapproval. Miss Knatchbull looked merely horror-stricken. Georgiana was all attention. She looked intently from one member of the party to another. When she spoke, her tone was suitably solemn.

  “You were not a close friend to Sir Robert then, Mr Lakesby?”

  “I was not a friend to him at all, Miss Grey. Were you?”

  Georgiana believed she noticed a thoughtful expression as he addressed her; she could not accept him at face value. She met the challenge squarely, responding without a tremor in her voice. “No, Mr Lakesby. I have met him but a few times. In fact, I had not seen him for a number of weeks before the robbery in which your aunt and cousin were involved.”

  “I see.”

  She found his manner irritating, and tilted her head defiantly. “You must own, murder on the public highway is quite shocking.”

  “Of course,” responded Lakesby politely.

  “But when someone of one’s own acquaintance is involved, it makes the whole thing that much more dreadful.”

  “If you say so, Miss Grey.”

  Georgiana sensed she was being mocked. Annoying though this was, even more galling was the obstruction of her every attempt to coax information from her companions. She turned to Lady Winters.

  “Did you know Sir Robert well, Lady Winters?”

  “We had been acquainted for a number of years,” responded her ladyship loftily. “He and my husband were very old friends.”

  “That must make his death particularly difficult for you, Lady Winters,” said Miss Knatchbull sympathetically. “Such a personal loss.”

  “Yes,” said her ladyship. “Sir Robert has been very kind to Louisa and me since my husband’s death. It was sad to lose such a good friend, especially in so shocking a manner.”

  Hearing of Sir Robert’s friendship with the late Sir Archibald Winters did nothing to ease Georgiana’s distaste over a prospective marriage with Louisa.

  “A modest description, Aunt Beatrice,” said Lakesby. He turned towards Georgiana. “My aunt had given Sir Robert permission to approach my cousin with an offer of marriage.”

  “Maxwell!” intoned her ladyship.

  “Really?” said Georgiana, a note of casual interest belying her astonishment at Lakesby’s revelation. Her eyes caught a fleeting look of imploring terror in Louisa’s expression, as well as stunned disbelief in the face of Miss Knatchbull. “How – how unexpected.”

  “Unfortunately,” Lakesby continued, “she neglected to obtain my consent before doing so, a necessary requirement since I share guardianship of Louisa.”

  “Maxwell, really!”

  Lady Winters’s scandalised exclamation left her nephew unimpressed.

  “Oh, come, Aunt. Miss Grey and Louisa are great friends, you know. I daresay Louisa has already told her about Sir Robert’s offer.”

  Louisa’s colour gradually drained from her face, creeping back with rosily overpowering hue.

  “I – I...” the girl faltered.

  Georgiana felt obliged to support Louisa. “Not at all, Mr Lakesby,” she said smoothly. “You give your cousin t
oo little credit. However, since Sir Robert’s death has prevented the happy announcement of a betrothal, I can assure you of our discretion. Isn’t that right, Selina?”

  “Oh, yes, indeed,” said Miss Knatchbull, who had been silently following the conversation with an expression of increasing uneasiness.

  Lakesby gave a slight bow in acknowledgement of this. “Thank you. I was certain you could be trusted.”

  Georgiana looked directly at Lakesby, a slight challenge underlying her disarming smile. As he met her gaze, Georgiana wondered what was in his mind. In contrast with their first meeting, he was openly volunteering information one would have expected kept private. Georgiana cast a surreptitious look towards Lady Winters’s granite expression; her ladyship’s eyes were threatening to ignite. The relationship between aunt and nephew was clearly not an easy one; Georgiana watched the two thoughtfully, hopeful this could offer an advantage. Lakesby was undoubtedly the sharper witted of the two. His blue eyes missed nothing. Georgiana shrugged off the unpleasant sensation which accompanied this idea. It was not as if he could read her thoughts.

  “I am so very sorry about Sir Robert,” remarked Georgiana, returning her attention to Lady Winters. “It’s most unfortunate.”

  “Thank you, Miss Grey. These things must be borne. Louisa is young yet, and if a mother may be allowed to say so, not unattractive. She will have other suitors. I have not despaired of her making an excellent match.” She cast a look towards Lakesby as she spoke, which he appeared not to notice.

  “No, indeed,” said Georgiana warmly.

  Determined to drag the conversation back to her own point of interest, Georgiana was thwarted by her cousin.

  “I must say, I admire your fortitude in these trying circumstances,” said Miss Knatchbull. “I feel quite shaken by Sir Robert’s murder myself, and he was the merest acquaintance. Don’t you agree, Georgiana?”

  “Yes,” replied Georgiana. “I wonder who could have been responsible?”

  “Why, it was clearly that cut-throat, the Crimson Cavalier, or whatever he calls himself,” said Lady Winters in a tone of superior knowledge.