The Crimson Cavaliers

by Mary Andrea Clarke

  She ignored the compliment. “Your valuables, sir.” Georgiana instinctively lowered her voice, trusting it wasn’t too recognisable with the muffling effect of the mask.

  Lakesby did not move. Georgiana’s gaze flickered to his companion, presumably a groom. She wondered whether either would follow the example of the postilion from the previous night. She raised her pistol slightly to encourage co-operation.

  Lakesby smiled and tossed her a small coin purse. He then drew off a signet ring and removed a pin from his cravat. He handed both items to his servant and jerked his head towards Georgiana. The man looked at him in puzzlement.

  “Go on, Brackett,” said Lakesby. “Give them to the gentleman.”

  The groom shook his head and handed over the items. Georgiana stowed them in her black velvet bag, glad the bandage was no longer on her hand. She nodded her thanks and signalled in dismissal. Lakesby immediately raised his whip.

  Georgiana’s fleeting glance away from the carriage was enough. The weapon was in the groom’s hand and aimed as she started to turn Princess.

  “Brackett, no!” came Lakesby’s strong tones. He acted as swiftly as his groom. Lakesby’s hand grasped the one holding the pistol, fingers closing firmly around the other man’s wrist. The shot went wide, startling Georgiana’s horse and setting a collection of birds on a speedy flight path. The groom stared at his master in astonishment. Georgiana gave Lakesby a swift, involuntary glance, reining in Princess and digging in her heels to gallop away.

  Georgiana arrived home breathless and stood against the back door for a moment. Tugging off her hat and mask, she ran up the stairs. By the time she reached her bedroom, her coat was flung over one arm and she was already starting to unbutton her shirt. Emily’s eyes widened at this disarray.

  Georgiana tossed her black velvet bag on the bed. Emily frowned as she noticed the weight of it.

  “That can’t all be from Harry. Miss Georgiana, you promised–”

  “I know,” said Georgiana. She paused, put a finger to her lips and silently opened the bedroom door to look into the corridor. Peace seemed unbroken. Closing the door quietly, Georgiana turned to her maid.

  “I was afraid I might have woken my cousin. Fortunately, she is not the light sleeper she imagines.”

  “Miss Georgiana, what happened?”

  “I encountered a curricle on the road on my way home,” Georgiana said in as light a tone as she could manage.

  “You didn’t…?” Emily’s horrified eyes said she already knew the answer.

  “Yes, Emily, I’m afraid I did,” Georgiana acknowledged. “I know the sensible thing would have been to take cover until they were out of sight. There was little time to make a considered decision.”

  “That’s all very well, miss, but with this murder…”

  “Yes, I know, Emily. I promise, I did not set out with the intention of holding up anyone. I’m afraid I just took advantage of the opportunity.” She paused. “The driver of the curricle was Mr Lakesby.”

  Emily paled.

  Georgiana continued. “I already had my pistol out when I realised.”

  “Did he recognise you?”

  “I hope not,” said Georgiana with feeling. “Although…” She paused thoughtfully.

  “Although what?”

  “He stopped his groom from shooting. It was quite deliberate. Mr Lakesby pushed his hand away so the shot went wide.”

  “Heaven help us!” said Emily.

  “Thank you,” said Georgiana with a laugh.

  “Oh, miss, of course I don’t want you shot, but why would Mr Lakesby save you unless he recognised you?”

  “Perhaps he has a genuinely compassionate nature. He did assist in saving Tom.”

  “Maybe,” said Emily doubtfully, putting away the clothing her mistress had so hastily discarded. After despatching her for the wine decanter, Georgiana sat at her dressing table with her head in her hands. Raising it after a few moments, she looked at her reflection. She could not rule out the possibility that Lakesby had penetrated her disguise. He had been too co-operative, almost amused. He had also probably saved her life. Georgiana had no doubt that left to his own devices, Lakesby’s groom would have lost little sleep over inflicting a potentially fatal wound.

  It was not many minutes before Emily returned with the wine, a sight of which filled Georgiana with disproportionate relief. She had not realised how shaken she was until she felt its warmth coursing through her. With the second swallow, her brain began to clear. She glanced towards Emily who was looking at her anxiously.

  “What now, miss?”

  “All we can do is wait, Emily.”

  “Until the Runners are knocking on the door?”

  “Until we have some idea what Mr Lakesby intends to do.”

  Emily shook her head. “And if he sends the Runners right away?”

  The same thought had occurred to Georgiana. Yet she suspected Lakesby would derive a certain amusement from keeping her on tenterhooks. Besides, although he might have suspicions, he had no real proof. Georgiana could not imagine him taking action without it. He would look remarkably foolish accusing a respectable lady of highway robbery without evidence. Georgiana did not think Lakesby was a man to make himself look foolish. Of course, if she were found in possession of his property, things could be different.

  She would have to get rid of her booty quickly. About to tell Emily to retrieve her highway clothes for a return to the Lucky Bell, she paused as another idea occurred to her. The ghost of a mischievous smile played about her lips. Emily looked uneasy.

  “What are you planning, miss?”

  “Do we have any paper in the kitchen?” Georgiana asked. “Maybe something used to wrap bread or cheese.”

  “I think so,” said Emily.

  “Would you see if you could find me some?” asked Georgiana, tipping the contents of her velvet bag on to her bed.

  Emily did as she was bid, returning with a piece of plain brown paper. She watched fascinated as Georgiana brushed away the few lingering breadcrumbs. Tearing it in two, she placed the items taken from Mr Lakesby on one of the pieces. She rolled the paper around them and twisted the ends securely. Folding them down, she put the little parcel on the second piece and repeated the process.

  “This is all that ties me to the robbery,” said Georgiana. “I shall have to dispose of it.”

  “How?” asked Emily.

  “Return it to its owner,” said Georgiana promptly.

  “What?” Emily was horrified. “Beg pardon, miss, but are you mad?”

  “I hope not,” said Georgiana cheerfully.

  “But how can you do that?” asked Emily.

  Georgiana did not answer immediately. A number of ideas were tossing around in her mind. She was not certain of their feasibility. Direct contact with Lakesby was best avoided, so it seemed expedient to engage a third party. Georgiana’s problem was in determining whom she dared trust. Emily could be recognised, as could any other member of her household, many of whom offered the added risk of gossip below stairs.

  “I’m not entirely certain. Perhaps we could engage one of those street urchins. I doubt they’d ask questions.”

  “Is that wise, miss? You don’t know anything about those children.”

  “True, but more importantly, they don’t know anything about us. Those poor souls are usually near starvation, they’ll be glad enough to earn a few coppers.”

  Georgiana fell silent, looking thoughtful. Emily’s own expression was resigned recognition, warily watching her mistress.

  “You can’t save the whole world, Miss Georgiana.”

  “I know, Emily, we can only do what we can. It just doesn’t seem enough.” She grew businesslike again, handing Emily the small parcel with sixpence.

  “Try to slip out of the house. Give this to one of those urchins, ask them to take it to Brooks’s, to be given to Mr Lakesby.”

  “Sixpence seems a lot to offer a street urchin.”

 
“Perhaps. It’s little enough for what they need. In any case, it may prompt the child to carry out the task. If Mr Lakesby’s property is restored to him, he has no evidence of a robbery and no reason to pursue any inquiry.”

  Emily was able to report success on her errand the next day as far as her part was concerned. Georgiana nodded with satisfaction and tried to busy herself with a number of tasks which needed her attention. Despite her cool demeanour she felt on edge, wondering whether the heavy brass knocker would fall and announce the arrival of Mr Lakesby with a party of Bow Street Runners. Although not entirely surprised it did not come, Georgiana dared not succumb to relief. It was usually fair to assume a traveller would act immediately if they knew where to find the highwayman. However, Lakesby was not like most travellers. She could not be certain whether he had not recognised her, or whether he had some other course in mind.

  Georgiana’s earliest opportunity of judging Lakesby’s behaviour came in the course of a morning call on the following day. For some inscrutable reason, he had chosen to accompany his cousin on a visit to the same elderly acquaintance on whom Georgiana decided to call. He gave her an affable good morning and returned his attention to the elderly lady’s middle-aged daughter.

  Louisa immediately laid claim to Georgiana, taking advantage of their brief conversation to seek her opinion on a pair of gloves she had seen that very morning. Georgiana had little time to reply and barely an opportunity to invite Louisa to tea before Lakesby called Louisa to take leave of their hostess.

  As Lakesby put his hand to his cousin’s arm, Georgiana noticed he wore the signet ring she had taken. She had never before been aware of its glint, although she had previously seen it on Lakesby’s finger. Wondering whether its owner was deliberately trying to draw it to her attention, she affected not to notice and bid him good day with fair composure.

  To Georgiana’s surprise, when the day arrived for Louisa to take tea with her, she appeared without her mother although accompanied by a retinue of servants. Georgiana despatched Louisa’s maid to the kitchen to be regaled with refreshment and instructed James to ensure the coachman and groom were similarly well-provided. She then turned her attention to Louisa, happily ensconced in a chair in the drawing room. Miss Knatchbull sat opposite, hands folded.

  “I think we can serve ourselves, can’t we?” Georgiana smiled.

  “Oh, yes,” chirped Louisa.

  “Pray, let me, Georgiana,” said Miss Knatchbull. “You should rest your hand.”

  “Yes of course, you must,” said Louisa, all concern. “How is it?”

  “It’s perfectly well now,” said Georgiana, allowing her cousin to dispense the tea through a flow of inconsequential chat. It was not long before Louisa offered up more interesting subject matter.

  “Did you know Sir Robert Foster’s funeral is tomorrow?” she asked ingenuously.

  Selina was all polite attention. Georgiana’s pause was barely perceptible.

  “No,” said Georgiana. “I had not heard. How did you come to learn of it?”

  “I heard Mama mention it. She wants Max to go.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “Georgiana, how can you ask?” said Selina, a hint of reproof in her voice.

  Louisa glanced towards Miss Knatchbull before answering Georgiana. “She thinks it would be proper, to show respect.”

  “Quite right,” approved Miss Knatchbull.

  “What does your cousin say?” inquired Georgiana. “Does he agree with your mother?”

  Louisa sighed. “He does not care to go. I cannot blame him. It sounds very dreary.”

  Miss Knatchbull gave a horrified gasp. She opened her mouth to speak but was forestalled by her cousin.

  “Yes, I daresay. However, funerals are bound to be sad occasions.”

  “I know,” said Louisa. “But it seems foolish to go and pretend sadness when it is the funeral of someone one did not like and will not miss.”

  Selina’s eyes widened, but Georgiana privately agreed with this sentiment. She could not imagine Lakesby indulging in the hypocrisy of displaying grief for a man he made no secret of disliking.

  Louisa was biting on her bottom lip. The girl seemed hesitant, a half-ashamed expression in her eyes. It was clear no confidences would come while Miss Knatchbull was within hearing. Georgiana sought for an excuse to send her cousin from the room.

  “Selina, would you be kind enough to fetch my shawl? I am feeling a draught.”

  “Why, yes, of course, Georgiana, anything you wish.” Selina almost jumped from her chair in her anxiety to fuss and be of use. Georgiana hoped that if Emily found Selina in the bedroom, she would realise the errand was a pretext and keep her occupied for as long as she could manage.

  Georgiana smiled encouragingly. Louisa returned the smile, but her hesitancy of manner continued. When she did speak, her words were sudden, with a slight breathlessness which seemed unnatural, telling Georgiana of a ball dress illustrated in a ladies’ periodical. Georgiana made appropriate noises of interest, her mind speculating on where Louisa’s thoughts really were. Such sense of discretion had not seemed in the girl’s nature.

  Georgiana’s mind went back to the meeting with Brandon Foster, particularly the item which Louisa had appeared to have secreted into his hand. Georgiana wondered how close the two were. Louisa had exhibited none of the symptoms of being violently in love which were characteristic of a girl of her age, but Georgiana suspected the intrigue of a clandestine affair would appeal. Louisa’s naiveté could easily incline her to take any overtures seriously. Georgiana realised that Sir Brandon’s present situation might tempt him to consider marriage with a girl of some wealth, but his wild lifestyle would not make him a welcome suitor for the daughter of any ambitious mama.

  “Do you think your mama will persuade your cousin to attend Sir Robert’s funeral?” Georgiana inquired.

  Louisa shook her head.

  “I shouldn’t think so,” she said. “Max did not care for Sir Robert.”

  “So I gathered.”

  “Besides, Max always does as he pleases.”

  This did not surprise Georgiana. “Why did he not like Sir Robert?” she inquired.

  Louisa shrugged. “He never told me. I know he was very angry when Mama consented to Sir Robert’s offer of marriage. In fact, he seemed out of reason cross.” She paused, as if trying to decide whether to say more. “He does not like Sir Robert’s son either.”

  Georgiana’s ears pricked with attention. She wondered whether she imagined the slightly aggrieved tone behind Louisa’s forced casual manner.

  “Your cousin seems very thorough in his dislikes,” said Georgiana, picking up a biscuit. “Does he always encompass the whole family?”

  “Oh, no,” said Louisa. “But he is not very tolerant, you see.”

  “Oh?”

  Louisa hesitated. Georgiana wondered whether she was going to remember discretion.

  “Max does not consider Mr Foster – I mean, Sir Brandon – a proper person for me to know.”

  “I see,” said Georgiana. “I am only slightly acquainted with him. Do you know him well?”

  “Oh, no,” said Louisa a little too quickly. “Not very well…that is… I know him a little.”

  Georgiana was sure Louisa could tell her something if the girl would just come to the point. Georgiana decided to be specific.

  “Does he drink?” she inquired.

  “Well, yes, I believe so,” said Louisa. “But, then, most men do, don’t they? Even if they don’t let one see them foxed.”

  “Perhaps it is his gambling your cousin does not like?”

  Louisa’s eyes widened. “Does Sir Brandon gamble? I know he is often without funds, but I thought that was because of his quarrel with his father.” She paused. “It is not his fault; he needs assistance.”

  This caught Georgiana’s interest. Had Louisa been giving Brandon Foster money? If so, she must have a generous allowance. It occurred to Georgiana that if Lakesby susp
ected this, Louisa’s pursestrings could be substantially tightened.

  “Miss Grey, do you know what happened about that highwayman who tried to rob Max’s carriage?”

  An icy hand gripped Georgiana’s heart before she realised Louisa was talking about Tom.

  “He’s the merest boy, Louisa, no more than twelve or thirteen, I imagine.”

  “Really? I did not notice in the dark, though I suppose he was quite small, and he was masked, wasn’t he?”

  Georgiana eyed Louisa speculatively, wondering how to phrase her point of concern.

  “Has your cousin mentioned whether he means to hand the boy over to the law?”

  Louisa’s eyes widened. “You mean he has not done so?”

  “No,” Georgiana replied. “At least, not yet. The boy is upstairs, recovering from his injury. Two of my servants are looking after him.”

  “Oh, heavens!” said Louisa. “Aren’t you afraid, keeping him in the house?”

  “Of course not,” said Georgiana impatiently. “He’s nothing more than a child, and is injured as well as unarmed. He isn’t going to do any harm.”

  “I wish I could share your certainty, Georgiana,” remarked Miss Knatchbull, returning at that moment with the requested shawl. “Can you imagine, Miss Winters, a highwayman under our very own roof? I’ve barely had a wink of sleep while he’s been here. Even when I have managed to close my eyes, I have visions of the rogue sneaking around the house, looking for valuables.”

  “I’m sure you have no need to worry,” said Georgiana. “As I said, he’s hardly in a condition to persecute us.”

  “But he will recover,” said Selina earnestly, “strengthened by our food and waited on by our servants. Perhaps I should push a chair against the door,” she mused.

  Georgiana rolled her eyes. “Whatever makes you comfortable, Selina,” she said in a colourless tone.

  “My dear Georgiana, I shall not be at all comfortable until the cut-throat is out of the house.”

  “What is he like?” asked Louisa. “Is he really a cut-throat? Is he very handsome? Has he tried to escape?”

  “I’m not holding him prisoner, Louisa.” Georgiana tried to drag the girl’s mind back to the question of Tom’s fate. “I believe he’s asleep at the moment. I must confess, I have not had very much to do with him since he’s been here. However, I am concerned about him being taken off to prison as soon as he recovers.”