“You see, Mr. Dalrymple,” she spat, her voice low and shaking, “you have no case against me. I suggest you leave now, and threaten me again only at your direst peril.” With that, she turned on her heel and swept away.
In spite of the predicament, Edmund’s lips twitched. The lady, it seemed, had a theatrical flair. He should have known this from the previous evening. “Lady Katherine,” he called, but she ignored him. Striding after her, he caught her by the arm, spinning her about to face him.
“You’re quite right. I have no solid evidence against you.”
Lady Katherine stared unflinchingly back. “You’re hurting me, sir. Must I call a constable?”
Instantly, Edmund released her. “My apologies.”
The lady moved to leave once more. Edmund leapt in front of her, hands up in mute promise not to grab her again.
“Any barrister worth his wig could get the charges against you dropped,” he told her, deadly serious. “I can, however, make your life a misery until that time. I can see to it that your name will appear in every newspaper in the country and your reputation ripped to shreds. By the time the case is dismissed, neither you nor any one of your family will be received in polite society again. You will be vilified beyond redemption the length and breadth of this land. I can do that, Lady Katherine, and I will.” His voice softened slightly. “Unless you cooperate.”
Appalled and frightened for the first time, Lady Katherine stepped backwards, holding the parasol in an unconscious gesture of protection. “But why?” she whispered hoarsely.
Edmund took a deep breath. “Because whether or not you are one of them, the counterfeiting game is known to be operating in the area. As a criminal yourself, you are bound to know something of what is going on, who is doing it, where the coins are being manufactured. The fate of England may depend on this information, madam, and I will have it no matter what the cost to yourself.”
“The war is over. What can a few false coins possibly matter?”
“Napoleon escaped once. He could do so again. The economy of England and the fate of England could be in jeopardy.”
“This is blackmail.”
He shrugged. “Call it what you will. You have the entree to the underworld which I mean to use. And I will use it, make no mistake.”
They stared at each other in a mute contest of wills. Finally, Kate nodded, but they were interrupted by two grubby urchins racing toward them.
Simon reached her first.
“Katie, Katie,” he shouted. “There’s going to be a pageant and we get to be in it!”
“About the Cabalier! About the Cabalier!” Meg squealed, jumping up and down.
“I - what?” Kate had to smile, partly in relief, partly because their enthusiasm was so infectious.
Heedless of sticky fingers and dirty faces, the two hurled themselves at her, tugging at her skirt in excitement. Carolyn and Bertie, looking equally thrilled, ran up. Lady Alice and Lucy followed at a more decorous pace.
“Katie, Mrs. Dogget wants me to be in a coach that gets robbed,” Carolyn said over the squeals of the others.
Not to be outdone, Bertie chimed in, “I get to be on the jury, Katie, just think!”
“I am,” she aswered. “What do you think about this, Aunt?”
“I think there can be no harm in it, Katherine. The village council is sponsoring it and the money is to benefit the poorhouse. After all, it’s simply a bit of fancy dress. It’s not as though they will truly run about robbing people.” Lady Alice smiled at the gentleman beside her niece, including him in her gentle joke. He responded by tipping his hat and laughing warmly.
“Ha, ha,” Kate joined in weakly. To cover her confusion, she took her handkerchief out of her reticule, licked it, and scrubbed a squirming Simon’s face. “Well,” she began, beginning on Meg’s dirty features, “If Auntie Alice feels this is appropriate, you may all be in the pageant.”
“Huzzah!” shouted Bertie. The four children ran back in the direction of the green to join an excited group by the stocks. Lucy frowned and bit her lip.
Kate couldn’t resist the chance to tease her sister. “What part did they ask you to play, Lu?” she enquired wickedly. “The lecherous Marchioness?”
Lucy turned red. “Kate!” she gasped, darting a warning look at the stranger. To his credit, Mr. Dalrymple moved away, courteously appearing to be engrossed in the headstone of one Aloyisous Wallingford, At Rest With The Angels,1701.
Looking uncertainly from her sister to her aunt, Lucy replied in a low voice, “Adam says the pageant will glorify evil and wickedness and no pure thinking person should take part.” She bit her lip with a serious expression. “He says that it would violate several of the Seven Deadly Sins, not to mention--”
Kate, fed-up to the back teeth with “what Adam says” opened her mouth to favor Lu with her opinion. Lady Alice stopped her with a warning hand on her arm.
“Goodness, what a fuss,” she said calmly. “After all, to many people, Captain Harrison was a hero, fighting the Roundheads long after the war was over.”
“He was? He was.” Kate turned her aunt. "And think how much money the pageant will raise. I think it’s every pure thinking lady’s duty to participate. Noblesse oblige.”
Lady Alice nodded thoughtfully. “I shall certainly do my part with the organizing committee. I would not care to have people believe I was shirking my charitable duties.” She turned as if to head back across the green. Kate read her intent and followed. After one agonizing second, Lucy hastened to join them. Kate and Lady Alice stopped.
“Perhaps you’re right. Our duty, after all, is to our fellow man.”
“No, Lucy, dearest. Your scruples do you credit,” Lady Alice assured her.
“But if we are obligated--”
Kate chimed in. “No, Lu, you’re correct. You wouldn’t want to disobey your future husband, would you?”
Lucy shot her sister a narrow look. Kate kept her composure and her innocent gaze. It was an exercise which required a great deal of effort.
“Katherine, will you join us on the committee?” Lady Alice turned to Lucy. “My dear, I shall depend upon you to look after the children while Katherine and I take on new responsibilities.”
“Yes,” Lucy blurted out. “I’ll do it. The pageant, I mean. I shall make Adam understand. For such a praiseworthy cause, of course.” She stood irresolute, biting her lip. A relieved smile lit her face. “Mrs. Dogget said Belinda and I could play the Duchess of Ortranto and her abigail. Because I dance well, she said.” Lucy blushed and beamed. “May I stay to luncheon at Belinda’s?”
Lady Alice nodded and smiled as her niece hurried over to her friend, waiting at the gate to the graveyard. In an instant, the two had their heads together and were chattering like magpies.
“Well done, Aunt!” Kate turned back to her aunt to hide her grin. “But I am surprised you think it’s seemly for her to participate.” She watched the two young ladies as they practically skipped back to the village in their enthusiasm. “She’s seventeen. Not a girl anymore.”
Lady Alice looked troubled. “Believe me, I do not think this is in any way seemly. However, it is less appropriate that she is under the thumb of Mr. Weilmunster. If it takes a public performance to remove his influence, the price must be paid. And no one shall hear of it outside the village.” She cleared her throat gently to remind her niece of the social niceties.
Amused at this heretofore unknown manipulative streak in her aunt, Kate called to Mr. Dalrymple and presented him to Lady Alice, for all the world as if there were in a London drawing room. He bowed over Lady Alice's hand, agreed that it was indeed a rare coincidence to meet his friend Lady Katherine again after so many years, and accepted an invitation to call.
“And now,” Lady Alice announced, eyes twinkling, “I had best visit Lady Malford and volunteer to help with the pageant. I should not like to be exposed for telling taradiddles. So happy to meet you, Mr. Dalrymple. I shall see you at home, Kathe
rine.”
Mr. Dalrymple waited until Lady Alice was out of hearing range. “Do you attend the assembly tonight?” he inquired.
Kate nodded.
“We’ll meet there.” Mr. Dalrymple took her hand in his. “Your country will thank you for this.”
Kate wrenched her hand from his. “I need no thanks to help my country,” she replied icily.
“I didn’t mean--” he began.
“What sort of a person do you think I am?”
“Well--” Mr. Dalrymple tried again.
“Just because I’m a thief doesn’t mean I am without honor!”
“Yes, it--”
“Why didn’t you simply ask for my help from the first?”
Edmund glared at her. The answer, of course, was that he was new at this espionage lark, and it wasn't proving as easy as he'd imagined. However, he’d be nibbled to death by ducks before he admitting such to her. “It is standard operating procedure of the War Office,” he lied loftily.
Kate threw him a glance which spoke volumes. She obviously didn’t believe a word he said.
She handed him his parasol. It was an odd-shaped trifle, quite heavy and with a large handle. A clumsy object for a dandy of his stripe to carry, though the lace was exquisite, she thought idly.
“I need time to think.”
“There is a reward of five thousand pounds.”
Kate gripped a headstone to keep from staggering.
“Five thousand pounds?” Her mind reeled as though she’d had too much wine. Five thousand pounds--it was a fortune.
Edmund nodded, bowed, and strode away. Kate watched as he paused, unfurled the parasol, and changed his stride to a mince.
Oh, for pity’s sake. What was the War Office thinking?
Her thoughts whirling, Kate plucked a rose from the bush on the late Mr. Wallingford’s eternal resting place and mangled the petals absently. Chief amongst the thoughts chasing each other around her brain was the idea of a reward. “For it just so happens I know where those counterfeiters might be,” she bragged to Mr. Wallingford. Aloyisious, however, was keeping his own counsel, so Kate strolled out of the graveyard and down the path to the green, scheming happily.
Behind her, the eavesdropper emerged from the concealing shadow cast by the Wallingford mausoleum and stood, fingering a rosary.
“Do you now, Lady Katherine? What a fragile flower of saintliness you are, lass. And such a generous soul, to share with the likes of me."
The End of Volume Two
THE COUNTERFEIT CAVALIER, VOLUME THREE:
A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT
“Lady Alice, Lady Katherine, Lady Lucy, Lady Carolyn Thoreau!” announced Mr. Hubert Throgmorton, veteran of the war and, glory of glories! new Master of Ceremonies, hired by the village elders to give the local assemblies an elegant touch.
As Kate descended the three shallow stairs to the newly refurbished hall, awash in gilt and ferns, she darted a sharp glance about for Mr. Dalrymple. The rooms were already full to bursting even as more attendees promenaded down the stairs. It seemed as though the whole county had come to celebrate the opening of the assembly rooms, a testimony to the newly refurbished village coffers. Even the highest sticklers, who last year would have made an appearance for form’s sake only, believing the tourists made it Too Vulgar for words, were in attendance. Though money was not spoken of openly in their rarified atmosphere, they knew as well as anyone on which side their bread was buttered and socialized accordingly.
Entry to the dance was a mere token for the locals, for no one wanted to be left out of the fun. Hardworking trade folk mixed with yeoman farmers, who rubbed shoulders with eager tourists and satin-clad nobility, glittering with gems that usually saw the light of day only at the most fashionable of London parties. All were gathered in the same cause: the survival of Oaksley and the surrounding lands and estates.
In front of a stand of potted palms, Miss Belinda Dogget waved frantically, pointing to four empty chairs between her and her mother. As the Thoreau ladies slowly greeted their way through the crowd, Kate glanced surreptitiously into the supper and card rooms. Satisfied her prey was not yet present, she settled herself beside Mrs. Dogget on a chair as elegant as it was uncomfortable, wondering how long it would be before she was able to claim a megrim and go off in search of counterfeiters.
“Well, Kate, who were you looking for just now?” asked Mrs. Dogget roguishly. “A new beau?”
"The Honorable Mr. Frederick Dalrymple!” trumpeted Mr. Throckmorton.
The crowd glanced casually to the new arrival; a hush fell as the gaggle of persons in the entry formed into a line and proceeded down the stairs and into the room.
First came a parade of servants from the Lady and the Scamp, carrying, respectively, an upholstered chair, cushions, more cushions, a footstool, a small table, a decanter of brandy which had never paid duty at any port, and a pillow. There was a brief pause as the servants arranged these comforts in the corner across from Kate and her party. Then, missing only a fanfare of trumpets, Mr. Frederick Dalrymple tottered down the stairs and across the floor, kindly supported on either side by two stout young fellows more usually seen in the inn’s stable.
Gently, the sufferer was escorted to the chair. Reverently, he was eased down on the cushions. Tenderly, the footstool was placed beneath his feet. The loving hands of a serving wench adjusted his pillow, her lavish bosoms billowing in his face. Only a blind man could fail to glimpse the charms she so generously shared, and Mr. Dalrymple certainly was not. To the rest of the room, he appeared merely to wince and place a limp hand on his forehead, but Kate, who knew, caught the gleam of mischief in his eye as he looked her way.
“Why, Katherine, isn’t that your friend from London? The one you introduced us to this afternoon?” asked Lady Alice, in all innocence.
The three girls took one look at the new arrival, another at Kate, then tried politely to hide their laughter. Kate turned a fulminating glance in their direction, which only served to send them into gales of giggles. Even Lady Alice had to bite back a smile.
In truth, Kate couldn’t blame them. If she hadn’t been so astounded by the ostentatious display, she would have joined them.
"No,” she lied.
One of the manservants from the inn came up to Kate and bowed. “Your ladyship, Mr. Dalrymple has requested your company for the first dance.”
“Oh, I am sorry. Please inform Mr. Dalrymple my dance card is full.”
Before the last words were out of her mouth, Carolyn had whisked away Kate’s reticule and pulled out her dance card. The small rectangle was innocent of any scribbled names of hopeful gentlemen.
“It doesn’t look full to me.” Carolyn smirked at her sister. Kate knew that look of old, when Carol felt secure that any retribution would come tomorrow, long after Caro had had time to enjoy her first grownup ball without Kate hissing, “Behave,” if she, Caro, so much as she flirted with a gentleman.
Kate rose with outward good grace, glaring a warning to her sister over her shoulder as she walked to Mr. Dalrymple’s lair. On reaching the invalid’s side, the servant pulled out the chair for Kate and fussed over the disposition of the brandy glasses, then left with the other servants by the back door. Now the couple was alone, but with everyone in the room watching them avidly from the corners of their eyes, various degrees of envy, curiosity, or unholy glee in their expressions.
Outwardly serene, Kate plastered a smile on her face as Mr. Dalrymple, a vision all in black more suited to a funeral than a ball, lounged back against the cushions. He made a dramatic picture, the only colour in his toilette the crimson of the scarf tied around his head, which contrasted hideously with his bruises. He signaled for a waiter.
“Unless you care for brandy,” he said, gesturing at the decanter.
“Certainly not!” Kate returned primly. “A lady, Mr. Dalrymple, does not imbibe brandy, certainly not at a public function.”
Mr. Dalrymple waited until the waiter had p
laced a glass of lemonade on the table next to Kate and left.
“I have it on the highest authority that ladies will do any number of things when a gentleman’s back is turned.”
“How fortunate, then, that there is not one present.” Kate glared at him frostily.
Mr. Dalrymple choked on his brandy. Kate reddened. “I meant, that I am not addressing one. A gentleman, that is,” she added. “By the by, I am so sorry to see how your condition has deteriorated since this morning. Your greasepaint needs another coat of powder. It’s beginning to look a trifle shiny.”
The sufferer lifted a limp hand to his brow, adjusting the crimson silk to cover most of his cosmetically-enhanced contusion.
“Yes, I do seem to have had a relapse.” He allowed his head to loll back against the pillow. “Would you care to know why?”
"Not in the least,” Kate fibbed, wondering furiously what he was up to. Surely spies crept about under the cover of darkness and were at pains to conceal their spy—er--activities.
The invalid, undeceived by her taradiddle, grinned. “If I were well enough to dance and do the pretty, I’d have no time to investigate. This way, people will go out of their way to entertain an invalid. A heroic invalid.”
Behind her fan, Kate rolled her eyes in a way which would have had caused Lady Alice to faint had she seen it.
Mr. Dalrymple continued smoothly, though his mouth quivered. “I plan to know everything which is going on in this village by the supper break.”
“It is news to me that a man who captures a criminal only to be bashed on the head, allowing the criminal to escape, is a hero,” returned Kate, feigning boredom. “Furthermore, people will be too busy dancing to have time to coddle you.”
“In that case, I depend upon you to introduce me about.”
Kate’s fingers tightened on her glass. “Under no circumstances--”
“Lady Katherine, Lady Katherine,” twittered a voice in her ear. “Oh, dear, have I interrupted?” Miss Barbara Radish appeared in front of them, fluttering her handkerchief. “Please do excuse my poor manners, sir.”
The Counterfeit Cavalier, Volumes One Through Four: The Complete Edition Page 5
