Unfortunately for this paragon, his courtesy toward ladies was also his undoing. One night he was caught in flagrante delicto in the coach of a certain lascivious Marchioness on the heath just north of Oaksley.
Though the lady herself pled passionately for her lover’s life, the officials of the court, generously bribed by her cuckolded husband, found themselves able to withstand her plea, and sentenced the libidinous Harry to death.
And not just any death, but a traitor’s death. He was hanged, drawn, and quartered on 19 October, 1659, on a gallows at the crossroads on the heath, just yards away from his capture.
His last words, that gallant Royalist, was his signature phrase.
“For King and for country!”
“Good God,” Mr. Dalrymple muttered. The man at the next table glanced over. “Sounds like a dashed loose screw, but drawing and quartering--” he shuddered delicately. All around him agreed and began to debate anew the subject of “Our Harry’s” unfair treatment at the hands of the law. Mr. Dalrymple prudently turned back to his pamphlet.
Scanning the list of attractions in and about town, he was considering the merits of an afternoon tour to the spot on the heath where Captain Harry was captured and later hanged, when the shop door tinkled.
He looked across the room and saw a sight which perked up his spirits immensely. A young woman was just sitting down. In the golden autumn light, her eyes gleamed turquoise, her cheeks were delicately touched with a hint of peach, and her rich auburn hair, plaited with grey ribbons, glowed.
His appreciative gaze was lingering on the alluring curve of her bosom when a furious scowl from her companion burned its way into his consciousness. Recollecting his manners, he looked quickly back to the pamphlet in his hand, but not before his gaze met hers. The woman sized him up with a clear, steady gaze, then dismissed him with one contemptuous curl of her full lip.
Damnation! He’d forgot what a prancing puppy he must look. Mr. Dalrymple, furious to be judged a fool by a country mouse, felt his ears burn with embarrassment. The sooner this mission was completed, the better, he thought firmly, and decided then and there to be robbed that night.
***
The Lady Katherine Thoreau turned her back on the lecherous fribble at the other table and smiled at her younger sister, Lucy.
After giving their order to the serving girl, Jane, Lucy continued to chat cordially, while Kate, prudent to the core, surreptitiously scanned the prices on the printed menu. What she saw almost caused her to choke. That was almost triple what one might normally pay for a pot of tea and a few pastries, newly listed as Captain Harry’s Cream Buns.
Gimlet-eyed Jane saw the direction Lady Katherine’s eyes looked and bent down to brush imaginary crumbs off the sea-green tablecloth. Born and raised at Bellevue, the Thoreau’s estate, back in the days of milk and honey, she was intimately acquainted with their current monetary woes.
“Don’t you be a-worrying, milady,” Jane hissed. “Those prices be for the foreigners. Our regular folks pay just the usual.” Beaming, she headed for the kitchen.
Her face tight with embarrassment, Kate darted a furtive glance around the room.
“Did anyone hear?” she breathed.
Across the table, Lucy smiled. “It wouldn’t matter a bit if they had,” she fibbed stoutly.
Kate laughed. “It might matter to poor Mrs. Rigby. Just think of the angry tourists swarming in, demanding their money back.”
A feeble joke, but it served. The two sisters laughed, in spirits once more.
Jane returned with their tea and buns, bobbed a respectful curtsy, and was gone again.
“Let’s not allow silly money worries to spoil this afternoon,” Kate commanded. “I have marvelous news.”
Her mouth full of cream bun, Lucy looked inquiringly at her sister.
“I’ve gone over and over our accounts, Lu. We’ll be able to afford to send you to London for the Little Season,” Kate announced, delighted with her news. She poured herself a cup of tea and waited for her sister’s tears of joy, her cries of thanks.
Lucy swallowed, wiped her mouth daintily, and said, “No, thank you.” She took another bite.
Kate blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Lucy again swallowed cream bun. “I said, no,’” she repeated cheerfully, reaching for another bun. “Thank you,” she added politely. Lucy was always polite.
Kate pushed the plate out of Lu’s reach.
“I heard what you, dearest. What I don’t understand is why you said it.” She tried without success to keep the disappointment out of her tone.
“I’ve decided to marry Adam Weilmunster.”
Kate gasped. She goggled. She choked on her tea. “You most certainly will not! That man has no chin!”
“Kate!”
“But, Lucy, dearest, just think of your children. Good heavens, I sometimes wonder how he manages to chew his food.”
Lucy glared at her sister. “What an unkind thing to say, Katherine.”
Kate hid her exasperation and begged pardon.
“It’s quite likely we may not have children at all,” Lucy continued calmly. “He and his first wife were not blessed.”
Kate was more than happy to add that argument to her arsenal. “Aha! Then you see--”
“I don’t believe I especially care to have children.”
“That’s ridiculous. Of course you want children. Every woman does.”
Lucy gave her sister a steady look. “You don’t.”
“That’s because I have children,” Kate said drily.
Lucy smiled suddenly, her whole face lighting up. “Only five! How can you say you don’t want more?” she teased gently.
“I certainly cannot imagine,” Kate answered, even drier.
Lucy laughed, secure in her sister’s devotion to their siblings, despite her occasional grumbles.
With difficulty, Kate swallowed her disappointment at Lucy’s refusal of a Season in London. “Children are beside the point,” she coaxed. “We’ve talked about your presentation before. You were so excited to see the city and go to the theater, have a little fun for a change.”
“That was before I knew Adam. He says London is full of Misery and Vice, and no pure-thinking woman would want to go there.”
Kate gritted her teeth so as not to favor Lucy with her opinion of Mr. Adam Weilmunster. “End of discussion. You will not marry Mr. Weilmunster. I forbid it.”
“You can’t forbid me. You’re not my legal guardian. I’ve written Great-uncle Richard and he approves.”
Kate took a deep breath. Her feelings of betrayal, that Lucy would go to Uncle Richard instead of herself, fueled her anger. If she could ever do her sister a favor, it would be to save her from marrying that smug, sanctimonious maw-worm of a Weilmunster.
“In one month, you will pack your trunk for London.” Kate’s voice got quieter with every word. “You will stay with Cousin Harriet. You will buy pretty clothes, dance every dance, and be accepted at Almack’s. You will enjoy yourself. At the end of the Season, if you have found no one to your taste, we will have this discussion again. I have now said all I am willing to say upon this subject.”
Lucy, recognizing her sister’s mood, poured herself a cup of tea and said nothing.
Kate, recognizing her sister’s mood, felt her nostrils flare in frustration. “Do you understand me, Lu? You will go and you will have a splendid time. And that is my final word on the subject. Good afternoon!”
This last was directed to Jane, come back to see if “her” ladies cared for more tea. With more haste than was seemly, Kate paid the reckoning and swept out of the shop. Lucy followed, her serene brow marred by the tiniest of frowns.
***
Mr. Dalrymple spent the rest of his afternoon touring the village, visiting such attractions as were listed in his pamphlet concerning the Grey Cavalier.
If his tour seemed to take in a great many of the shops about, well, what could one expect from a London dandy? If oc
casionally one spied him standing just a shade too close to a customer in the act of paying for grey handkerchiefs or any of the various souvenirs being hawked all over town, no one could accuse him of displaying vulgar curiosity in the transaction when his whole attention was absorbed in silver-gilt buttons the size of guineas or paintings of Cavaliers playing whist. On black velvet, no less.
If one were paying special attention, as Kate was not, one might realize that the swell was spending money like a drunken sailor, always in notes of rather large denomination. One might also wonder why a gentleman so interested in the set of his jacket chose to weigh down the pockets of said garment with so large an amount of heavy coin.
One might wonder, but no one did. Tourists were rampant in Oaksley and its environs, and even a peacock of Mr. Dalrymple’s hue soon faded into the horde.
At the B.B. & B. Drapery Shop, he again spotted the beauty from the coffee house. Unfortunately, he also spotted her sister and forced his gaze away from tresses so ravishing they could make a man forget his mission; and a bosom so round he might forget his country, too. He decided after all to purchase the buttons etched with the profile of Captain Harry and stepped behind the ladies queuing at the counter.
When they turned to leave, he lifted his curled beaver politely. Lady Katherine, still in a tantrum, gave him a curt nod. The younger, whose name he hadn’t caught, gave him a distracted nod and hurried after her sister. All in all, not an encouraging beginning.
After paying for the buttons, Mr. Dalrymple slipped out of the shop and around the corner to a quiet alley. After making a notation in a notebook, he tore out the page, folding the paper around the coins he had received from the harried clerk. As he left the alley, he unfurled his parasol and twinkled back up the street to The Lady and the Scamp. There, he repaired to his room where he unloaded various packets of change from his pockets, carefully examining each coin in the sunlight streaming through the diamond-paned window. Some of these coins he placed in his purse. The rest he carefully re-wrapped, numbering the papers with what he hoped were undecipherable notations. Finally, he turned the knob on his parasol and inserted the coins into the shaft, closed it, and stood the fashionable feminine accessory in his wardrobe.
Satisfied with his day’s work, he then struggled into a new ensemble with the help of the boot boy and went down to dinner, magnificent in a ruby-red coat and gold-striped waistcoat. In the common room, cheek by jowl with every example of humanity, he proceeded to enchant the landlord by not raising a dust about the lack of private dining parlors.
So gratified was the landlord that he, Mr. Rigby, even condescended to join Mr. Dalrymple for a glass of his own best port. By eleven of the clock, the London cox-comb and the no-nonsense landlord were fast friends, and Mr. Dalrymple was considerably wiser regarding the methods and habits of a certain road bandit known to operate in the area.
***
At the unfashionable hour of five of the clock, Kate herded her five siblings, Lucy, Carolyn, Bertie, Simon, and Meg, and their paternal aunt, the Lady Alice Thoreau, into the dining room at Bellevue, country seat of the earls of Bellingham since the fifteenth century. The house had been modernized somewhat since, but not so one might notice, Kate reflected gloomily, noting once more the faded wallpaper and threadbare carpets. Some ladies might long for a wealthy and titled husband, but Kate’s daydreams leaned towards a patched roof, school fees, and that new London invention of gaslight. What a saving on candles that would be. And the convenience! Just a turn of a pin and a whole room illuminated bright as day. No more smelly tallow candles or expensive wax ones. The servants wouldn’t need to burn rushlights anymore.
Cheered at the thought that they still had servants, though these consisted only of an elderly butler and cook, she stopped trying to count the cost of gaslight on her fingers and counted her blessings instead.
Smiling at these, Kate settled herself at the opposite end of the table from the Earl of Bellingham and signaled Curtis for the dishes to be served. Rather grandly called the first course, though there were only two, it consisted of neatly dressed joints and dishes of buttered parsnips and beans. Apple tart with cream would follow. Not fashionable, but perfectly wholesome for a growing family. As long as they could manage to put a plow to the fields, the Thoreaus would never starve.
“Margaret, dear, I believe it is your turn to say grace tonight,” Lady Alice instructed, smiling at the five-year-old.
Flushed with pride at being chosen for the honor, Meg sat bolt upright as she delivered her prayer, then looked anxiously toward Heaven.
Lucy beamed at the little girl. “That was lovely, dear.”
Reassured, Meg, the only blonde among a sea of redheads, began to eat.
“Lady Malford says praying before meals is Papist,” announced Bertie, the twelve-year-old peer.
Lucy drew a shocked breath.
“Tell Lady Malford it’s not Papist, it’s Methodist,” Kate advised the head of the family.
“Is that better?” Bertie inquired innocently.
Kate’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Oh, no. It’s much worse.”
“Kate!” Lucy frowned at her sister, who should know better.
Unrepentant, Kate, Carolyn, and Bertie snickered over their parsnips.
Apparently deciding the time was ripe for questions, Simon piped up. “Katie, is it true we're poor mice?”
Kate frowned at him, puzzled. “What do you mean, darling?”
“Ethan Douglas said his nanny told him we’re poor mice.”
“Poor as a church mouse?” She exchanged looks with her aunt.
Simon nodded, his mouth full of roast beef. Kate stabbed her fork into her meat, wistfully wishing it were Ethan’s nanny’s heart.
“Someone who is poor as a church mouse is a person who doesn’t have a great deal of money,” she explained carefully. "Which we haven’t. However, it’s worse to be vulgar than to be poor, and you may tell Ethan’s nanny that with my compliments!”
There was a chorus of “huzzahs” from the children, followed by “Oh, Katherines” from Lucy and Lady Alice. Kate sighed. This wasn’t the way she wanted to make her announcement, but it would serve.
“Hush. While it’s true we aren’t exactly nabobs, things are becoming easier.” With sublime disregard for her sister’s earlier pronouncement, Kate continued. “Lucy will be able to go to London next month, so that will get her out of our hair, at least for a bit.” Kate paused to allow the giggles to subside. “And if everything goes well, Bertie, you will be able to start school next year.”
Gasps of surprise and delight greeted this announcement. On tenterhooks, Kate awaited the inevitable question. It came from Lady Alice.
“Katherine, how much--that is--how--”
Kate jumped in to spare her aunt’s feelings. “The harvest has been phenomenal this year, and we still have a bit left over from the sheep-shearing. Old Ollie says that next year will be the best yet,” she said confidently, hoping that in their excitement no one would realize she was unable to look them in the eye. Bertie was fast growing up, and needed to learn to manage his estates. That would include examining the ledgers. But Lady Alice was no fool. If she or Bertie happened to take a close look at the books, Kate’s fumbling accounting would be pitifully exposed. Kate, who could never quite remember how many shillings in a crown, hadn't realized how difficult it could be to balance accounts to hide ill-gotten gains.
The evening meal was completed to more than the usual merriment, with Carolyn teasing Lu unmercifully with talk of beaux and the ton; Bertie ecstatic to be going away to school at last.
The family adjourned to the shabby library. Shorn of any and every valuable tome it had once held, the shelves still boasted a reasonable number of volumes, and the stone fireplace, which once roasted entire cows, made for a cozy gathering place. Outside, the rain pelted down in an unusually raw September evening, but inside, the Thoreaus were snug as the mice gnawing on the wainscoting. Lucy played the pianofor
te, Carolyn and Bertie sang, and Kate played jackstraws with the little ones, easily quenching a scrap which broke out between Simon and Meg. However, all the while her nerves stretched tighter and her excitement grew apace. Finally, when she thought the evening would never end, Carolyn and Lucy herded the youngsters upstairs to bed. Lady Alice lingered behind.
Promising to be up presently to tuck them in, Kate watched her aunt fuss with the music, precisely tucking it away in the scarred rosewood table by the piano. It seemed whenever she needed them to go to bed early, her family lagged behind on purpose. It was already nine of the clock and she had a robbery -- ah -- an appointment for midnight. She pretended to yawn behind her hand, to encourage her aunt to hurry.
Lady Alice Thoreau, only daughter of the sixth earl and Kate’s pillar of quiet support, never spoke above a ladylike murmur, never lounged about on the furniture like her hoyden nieces, and had no words for the children but ones of love and kindness. A perfect lady. Lucy was very much like her aunt, indeed, and Kate was constantly torn between admiration and annoyance.
“Katherine,” she began quietly, “I know how very hard you have worked to make this estate productive again--”
Kate pretended to look for a jackstraw underneath the settee.
“--but I also know the dreadful state of affairs after my brother died, and how crushing were the debts. I am also not unaware of the exorbitant interest on the second mortgage Mr. Bancock was able to negotiate for you, and I cannot help being concerned--” Once more her aunt paused delicately, unable to form what she saw as vulgar questions into genteel queries.
“Where I'm finding all this money for the children?” Kate came out from under the settee, a dust bunny stuck in her hair.
A tinge of pink touched Lady Alice's face, now looking pensively out the window into the dark night.
“Yes.”
Kate laid her hand on the older woman’s. “Upon my honor, everything I’ve told you tonight is true. The harvest was much better than I’d expected and the sheep are doing splendidly.” She paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “We will certainly not be without debt anytime soon, but there is no longer need to practice such stringent economies as we have in these last years.” She frowned at Lady Alice. “In any case, if you have any idea where I might be procuring money, I would very much like to hear it.”
The Counterfeit Cavalier, Volumes One Through Four: The Complete Edition Page 2
