The Crimson Cavaliers

by Mary Andrea Clarke

  Tom looked uncomfortable. “Not exactly, miss. I didn’t tell him where this ken was, just that I was safe.”

  Georgiana gave him a measured look. “I only have your word you can be trusted,” she said. “I have not forgotten there was a murder a few days ago. How can I be certain neither you nor your friends were involved?”

  Tom looked uneasy. “I weren’t,” he said in a strangled tone.

  “My cousin is convinced you are going to murder us in our beds.”

  “Well, she’s daffy,” he muttered.

  Repressing a desire to laugh, Georgiana responded with severe disapproval. “Tom, I must insist you show some respect.”

  He hastily begged pardon, looking down at his shuffling feet.

  “Did you know Sir Robert Foster?”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “The gentleman who was killed.”

  “Oh, aye, had me round for tea, he did.”

  “Tom.” There was no mistaking the warning note in Georgiana’s voice. Tom gave way before it.

  “Beg pardon, miss.”

  “I’d like a truthful answer, please. Did you know the gentleman who was killed on the road?”

  “Not to speak to.”

  “But?”

  Tom remained silent for a moment or two, the sweat on his forehead showing increasing uneasiness.

  “I – I held him up, miss. Didn’t get nothing, though.”

  “That’s all?”

  Tom nodded vigorously.

  “When did this incident take place?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Really?”

  Tom shrugged but remained obstinately silent.

  “The night he died, perhaps?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Tom, if it was, you’d best tell me right away. It will be all the worse for you if someone saw you there.”

  Tom’s response was swift. “No, there weren’t no one there.”

  Georgiana raised an eyebrow. “Go on,” she invited.

  Tom glowered but continued, “I just wanted to stop him for some gewgaws, like the Crimson Cavalier. Only he wouldn’t give me anything, said something about being took by a highwayman the night before.”

  “That’s quite true,” said Georgiana. “Sir Robert and his party called here after the robbery.”

  Tom’s eyes widened. “Lor’! Really, miss?”

  Georgiana’s expression brought him back to the point.

  “The pistol went off and the old cove fell. Took to me heels back to the Lucky Bell. Didn’t know if I’d hit him, thought I’d just spooked his horse, only then I heard he was dead.”

  “I see. Have you told this to anyone?”

  “Just my friend Harry.” Tom moistened his lips. “He said they been looking for me. Reckoned I should come back here.”

  “Really?” She paused but received no response. “Very well. Please don’t mention it any further,” she said. “You can go.” Georgiana needed time to think.

  Tom looked at her apprehensively. “Are you throwing me out, miss?”

  “No. Get back to your duties. But Tom,” she said as he turned to depart.

  “Yes, miss?”

  “I mean it. Don’t go back to that tavern, or you shall leave this house and very likely Mr Lakesby shall hand you over to the authorities.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  As soon as the door closed behind Tom, Georgiana sighed. It was the scenario she feared. Faced with it, she had to determine her course of action. Foremost was establishing the truth of the incident. It was possible Tom’s original surmise had been correct, Sir Robert’s horse had thrown its rider on being startled by the noise of the pistol. However, it was equally possible Sir Robert had been hit by a mis-firing weapon, which left Georgiana with the problem of whether protecting Tom would put her own neck in the noose. She would have to speak to Harry.

  While to all appearances, Georgiana received no different a reception from usual in the Lucky Bell, she thought she could sense some surreptitious glances and the odd whisper as she walked through the taproom. There was clearly as much speculation here as in Polite Society as to whether or not the Crimson Cavalier had murdered Sir Robert Foster. She noticed one or two faces she didn’t recognise and wondered whether they were Edward’s informers, glad she had decided against wearing the identifying badge of the bright red scarf. Even without enough evidence to charge her with murder, there was no sense in encouraging anyone to follow her home.

  Georgiana found Harry in their usual parlour. She paused on the threshold, noticing he was not alone. Sitting comfortably on his knee was the saucy tavern maid who had shown such an interest in Georgiana at their earlier encounter.

  “Ah, here we are,” said Harry as Georgiana entered. “Fetch us another bottle, lass. This young cove and I have business.”

  The girl bounced off, casting a look of mischievous flirtation at Georgiana. Her cold glance apparently had no discouraging effect; the bubbly, curly-haired girl gave her a wink as she left the room.

  Harry laughed. “You’ve made a conquest, there, my lad. A fine blow to me, that is.”

  “You’re welcome to her, Harry. I’ve no time for that now,” said Georgiana, striding over to Harry.

  “Lord, it’s only a bit of fun,” said Harry. “No one’s asking you to wed the girl.”

  Georgiana ignored this. “Have you seen Tom?” she asked.

  “Aye, that I have,” said Harry, growing serious. “The lad’s had a stroke of luck.” He paused, scratching his stubbled chin. “That carriage he held up, you know you thought one of the nobs felt sorry for him?”

  “Yes,” said Georgiana cautiously.

  “Seems she’s offered him a place.”

  “What?” Georgiana hoped she managed to inject the right amount of surprise into her voice, not wishing it to sound overdone.

  Harry nodded. “Would you believe it? The boy’s her page. Right smart he looks, too. Cleaned up, I almost didn’t know him.”

  “Well, well,” said Georgiana. “He’s been lucky.”

  “That he has,” agreed Harry. “Still managed to get himself shot in the shoulder, but I suppose that’s better than dancing at the end of Tyburn’s rope.”

  “Is that all he said?” asked Georgiana, her back to Harry as she looked out of the window into the darkness. The heavy black cloak she wore masked her trim, too feminine figure.

  “That was all,” Harry responded. “Didn’t say who she was or where the ken was.” His eyes narrowed in amused suspicion. “So if you’re thinking of taking a crack at it...”

  “Not my line,” said Georgiana briefly as she turned around.

  “Nor mine. A man’s safer on the high toby. Easier to get away in a hurry.”

  Before Georgiana could respond, the door opened and the curly-haired maid entered, bearing a tray with the wine Harry had ordered.

  “You took your time,” he complained.

  “Sorry, sir,” the girl replied. “It’s been that busy since that rascal Tom went off.”

  Georgiana refrained from comment.

  “Yes, well, never mind,” said Harry. “Put it down and be on your way. We’ve business here.”

  The girl obeyed. Harry waited for a moment after the door had closed before speaking again, seemingly wanting to be certain no one was within earshot. He held up the bottle and looked inquiringly at his companion. Georgiana shook her head.

  “At least Tom’s all right,” she said.

  “For now,” said Harry.

  Georgiana looked closely at her companion. “What is it?”

  Harry seemed reluctant to speak for a moment, then relented.

  “Tom told me – the night the old beak was killed, it seems he took it into his head to turn bridle-cull.”

  “Oh?”

  Harry nodded. “Popped the old gent, knocked him off his horse. Didn’t even seem sure how. Took off and said he’s been worrying ever since.”

  “I can imagine,” said Georgiana, feeling the col
dness of the blood running through her.

  “I told him to stay in this new ken of his and keep quiet about it.”

  “Seems a sensible course.”

  “He wasn’t even sure the old man was dead, seemed as though he’d just been thrown off his horse and winded.”

  “Where did Tom get the pistol?”

  “Oh, it was Sid’s. One of those jailers slipped it to him for a few glasses of rum.” Harry laughed. “It’s a good job Cedric or Bess didn’t find out.”

  “Indeed,” said Georgiana.

  “People been looking for him anyway. Cedric saw him today and didn’t grudge the boy his luck, but we thought it best to say nothing, not even to Bess. Tom’s better off where he is.”

  “Yes,” said Georgiana, conscious of the compliment Harry paid her in passing on this information. “Have you heard anything else?”

  “Some. A couple of strangers’ve been asking questions. Narks, I reckon. Don’t know as anyone’s told ’em anything, but keep your daylights open.”

  “I will. Obliged to you, Harry.”

  Harry raised a glass in acknowledgement.

  “You won’t do anything foolish, will you?” said Harry, taking a couple of coins out of his pocket as he stood.

  “Such as?” said Georgiana, her eye on Harry as he tossed the money on to the table.

  “Getting yourself hanged,” Harry retorted.

  “I shall certainly try to avoid it.”

  Unthinkingly, Georgiana had slowed Princess to a ladylike pace wholly unsuited to the animal’s temperament. In the overpowering quiet, she gradually realised she was not alone. Georgiana sensed rather than heard a near presence, and instinctively picked her way into the cover of the trees, eyes scanning the darkness for some sign of life. An uneasy sense of a trap took possession of her. Despite her caution in omitting her scarf, could someone have pointed her out to the informers? There was no sense in turning back; she would probably be no safer in the Lucky Bell.

  Georgiana held her breath, forcing herself to think clearly as she tried to slow her speeding heartbeat. Before she had a chance to make a decision, she became aware of a new factor in the game. Experience of the road enabled her to pick up the vibrations of wheels before the carriage came into sight. She wondered whether she could use this to her advantage. She drew her pistol and cast her glance cautiously to the road.

  The shot rang out before Georgiana could judge its direction, closely followed by another in response. The blow to her shoulder knocked her off balance, and she kept her seat with difficulty. She was dizzily aware of the cold trickle of blood on her skin before she registered the burning pain.

  Keeping tight hold of Princess’s reins, Georgiana concentrated on escape. The carriage was bearing down upon her, preventing all possibility of crossing the road to freedom. She pulled further back into the cover of the trees, casting her eyes towards the road as she went, fighting against growing nausea. Staring with blank astonishment at a blurry shape appearing from the opposite side of the carriage, Georgiana wondered if she was delirious. Forcing her eyes to focus, she saw a masked, dark-caped figure astride a horse. He pulled up at the edge of the road, seemingly awaiting the carriage, pistol at the ready. As it drew level, the rider pointed his weapon upwards and fired. It was enough to scare both beasts and passengers and Georgiana was surprised to see the hand with the pistol gesture along the road, sending the coach hell-for-leather onwards. Georgiana did not move. As the noise of the carriage wheels receded, she saw the masked figure looking in her direction.

  17

  Georgiana held her breath, not daring to move, but not sure how much longer she could keep still. She did not recognise the horseman, although this was a popular area for the clientele of the Lucky Bell. As he moved towards her, Georgiana found the lightness in her head had spread to her knees. They seemed in danger of giving way. She couldn’t urge Princess on, and the pain in her shoulder was growing worse. It took every strain of effort to hold fast to the pistol.

  “Be calm. You have nothing to fear.” A vaguely familiar voice cut through her hazy state.

  She made no protest as the newcomer took hold of Princess’s bridle and led her further into the cover of the trees. They found a quiet clearing where her companion dismounted. Georgiana felt herself eased from the horse’s back and seated against the support of a nearby tree. A flask which smelled of brandy was held to her lips. She pulled away and shook her head.

  “No, please...”

  “Drink it,” he commanded.

  His tone clearly brooked no argument and feeling too weak to dispute the matter, Georgiana obeyed. The brandy sent a reassuring warmth through her, and she felt sufficiently restored to object when he started to unbutton her coat.

  “You’re losing a lot of blood,” he said peremptorily. “We’ve no time to waste.”

  Georgiana was beginning to feel weaker, and allowed herself to be eased out of her coat. A handkerchief was folded into a pad with businesslike efficiency. He commanded her to hold it against her wound. A second handkerchief was used to secure the pad, tying it around her shirt sleeve tightly but with a gentle touch. The activity around her shoulder aggravated the throbbing. Georgiana began to feel dizzy again and leaned back against the tree, closing her eyes.

  “Stay with me. Nearly done.”

  Georgiana opened her eyes and smiled.

  “Excellent.” He nodded encouragingly. “Do you think you can ride?”

  Georgiana nodded, then rose a little unsteadily, holding the tree for support. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Looking for you.”

  “What?” Georgiana screwed up her eyes, trying to absorb this information. “I don’t understand.”

  “Never mind that now. Time enough for explanations when you’ve had a chance to recover. I think perhaps you should ride with me, and I will lead your animal.”

  “Certainly not! I am not such a poor creature,” said Georgiana scornfully, although she did accept the hand he held out for support.

  With aid, Georgiana managed to re-mount Princess, sitting straight on the animal as she faced determinedly ahead. Her wound still pained her with its sickly throbbing, but felt slightly easier now the bleeding was stanched by the hurriedly fashioned bandage. He handed her the brandy flask again. She took a grateful sip, conscious of an anxious glance cast in her direction. There was no further comment, however, and Georgiana took up Princess’s reins briskly. As her companion set forth to check the road, she nodded her thanks and rode away quickly before he could stop her.

  The ride home was longer than Georgiana had ever remembered it. The pain in her shoulder and increasing blurriness of her head gave a heaviness to every step Princess took. Holding her balance was a gargantuan effort. She sat up straight in the saddle, refusing to succumb to her injury.

  The reassuringly familiar light in the back window rallied Georgiana’s spirits when at last it came into view. Sliding off Princess’s back, her legs acquired a disturbingly jelly-like quality when she attempted to put her weight on them. Emily gave a stifled cry at the sight of blood on her mistress’s clothes. As Georgiana sank on to a chair just inside the door, she became aware of Emily leaving the room briefly and returning with James, looking as if he had dressed in haste. Emily held a cup of water to her lips. She drank gratefully then leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

  “We must get her to her room,” said Emily, picking up the candle from the window ledge.

  “Can you walk, miss?” asked James quietly.

  Georgiana nodded and with her footman’s aid, stumbled up the stairs to her room. She sank gratefully on the bed, closing her eyes as the blessed softness of feather pillows and mattress melted against her bruised body.

  The whispered conference between James and Emily sounded unnecessarily loud in her throbbing head. A moment or two later the door opened and closed again. One of them had gone out. Georgiana found she didn’t care. She heard the splash of water in the basi
n and then felt Emily’s capable hands laying a cold compress on her head. She smiled her thanks at the maid and cried out in protest as Emily began to unbutton her shirt.

  “Leave me, Emily. Just let me sleep.”

  “I have to get you out of these clothes and cleaned up, miss. Come along, you’ll be more comfortable.”

  Georgiana knew her maid was right, but her injury protested at further disturbance. She bit her bottom lip as the fire raged through her shoulder. Georgiana saw a fleeting look of shock cross Emily’s face as she began to clean the wound, noting in a detached way that it must be worse than she had thought.

  It seemed an eternity later when Emily finished her task and Georgiana settled gratefully against her pillows in a fresh nightgown. She was glad of the chance to rest at last and closed her eyes. She was not sure how long or indeed if she had slept when she became aware of the murmur of voices in the room again. She thought one was Emily’s, but she did not recognise the other. A moment or two later, she felt a touch on her wrist; she decided her pulse was being checked, and raised no objection to this. However, she thought she would resist strongly if anyone were to attempt touching her injured shoulder again.

  This was tested almost immediately. Georgiana groaned. The hands which examined her wound had a gentle but firm, almost professional touch. The murmur of indistinguishable voices came to her ears when the examination was finished, and a moment or two later she felt herself lifted from the pillows, a glass containing some evil-smelling brown liquid held to her lips. Emily’s gentle insistence overcame her reluctance, and she finished the draught obediently. Georgiana noticed the unknown figure on the other side of the room rolling up his shirtsleeves in businesslike fashion. It occurred to Georgiana through her disorientated state that the bullet was probably still in her shoulder. She assumed the strange man to be a surgeon. Just before drifting into unconsciousness, concern gnawed at her over the advisability of this unknown person being admitted to her predicament.

  Georgiana woke just about able to make out the daylight through the curtains. Emily stood by her dressing table folding a towel, a prosaic action Georgiana found oddly comforting. As she stirred, the stiffness in her shoulder gave way to pumping pain and the almost forgotten incident came flooding back. She winced and Emily turned.