But the very notion that the Cavalier was a woman had blown his careful, though naïve, plan from here to Kingdom come. Said plan being to capture the ringleader and toss him around a bit till he either confessed or led Edmund to the counterfeiters’ lair. Edmund acquitted Kate of being a counterfeiter with no evidence at all, aside from the fact that she couldn’t possibly have time to be both a thief and pressing false coin.
The Lady Carolyn, on the other hand--
Edmund seriously considered this idea, only to dismiss it. Lady Caroline would undoubtedly grow up to be an assassin, but at the moment she didn’t possess the subtlety necessary for an elaborate counterfeiting ring.
He wasted several minutes on the contemplation of various members of Oaksley, with particular attention to the Countess Malford, before coming to the conclusion that he didn’t know nearly enough to compare personalities. He’d not find the ring leader that way.
Now he just had to devise another plan, one ripe with cunning, to bust up the ring, save Britain, bestow honor and glory on his family name, and perhaps steal a kiss or two before the object of his increasing affections ended up on the gallows.
And then there was the small matter of the clue he’d found in the cavern the previous night.
***
Edmund spent what remained of his day cultivating the goodwill of the village. This was not as difficult as he first thought due to three factors: his purported friendship with Lady Katherine, for no matter how poor the Thoreaus were, no one denied they were the first family of the parish; his putative status as a wealthy bachelor hungering for True Love; and his incarceration on charges of impersonating the late Captain Harrison. The villagers considered this a compliment of the highest order and were eager to embrace a gentleman of such discerning intelligence.
Edmund himself was surprised, but pleased, and felt his first attempt at spying was not going too poorly, despite the efforts of one Lady Katherine.
Which reminded him of Lady Alice’s kind invitation to call.
***
“I say, Gladys, if the Dragoons do manage to capture the Cavalier, we’re sunk,” predicted Mrs. Dogget with chilling accuracy at the next morning’s meeting of the Ladies Aid Society. Normally a group whose deeds were regularly noted from the pulpits of both St. Agatha’s (on one side of the green) and All Souls (on the other), the meeting had been called in order to work out arrangements for the pageant and related festivities. All the most influential ladies of the neighborhood were gathered in the drawing room of Mrs. Dogget’s snug home overlooking the green, feasting on plumb cake and tea.
“Not necessarily,” chirped Miss Radish. “The publicity of an arrest alone would likely be enough to draw all sorts of spectators.”
“But what then? If the fellow, whomever he is, is clapped up in Newgate, he’s of no use to us. They’re much more likely to hang him in London this time.” Mrs. Appleby helped herself to another slice of plum cake and munched gloomily.
Rarely did it take the Countess of Malford such a long time to air her views. “Piffle. If the man is tried, Horace will see to it he is transported, if he cannot buy--er--scrape him an outright pardon. It’s quite the least we owe the rascal.”
The ladies, who each, secretly and not so secretly, nursed a tendre in their bosoms for the dashing gentleman, breathed sighs of relief.
Mrs. Kendall’s eyes lit up. “If anything happens to the Cavalier, we might hire an actor and stage robberies ourselves!”
There was a hushed silence.
“Matilda!” thundered the Countess. Mrs. Kendall looked apprehensive. “That’s the best idea you’ve come up with in a decade!”
Mrs. Kendall turned pink with pleasure as the rest of the ladies nodded their approbation.
After that, such rollicking good humor pervaded the group that it took barely an hour for plans to be laid, the chairmanships of various committees to be bestowed, and the remaining parts in the pageant to be cast.
“--and Father Flannery will play the judge.” The Countess checked off another item on her list. “Now, we only need a Cavalier and someone to manage the production. Suggestions, anyone?
Miss Radish stood. “I nominate Mr. Dalrymple.”
"This is not an election, Barbara,” the Countess reminded her pointedly, though with less force than was her wont. "Still, the idea has merit.”
“Physically he fits the Cavalier to a fare-thee-well,” opined Mrs. Kendall.
"His shoulders are certainly broad enough,” added the Countess. These ladies’ words carried great weight, they being the only two present who had actually had the honor of being accosted by the highwayman. The rest knew his appearance by reputation alone, which lost nothing in the telling.
"Hair that shade of gold is wasted on a man,” said Mrs. Dogget dreamily.
“Those legs,” sighed Miss Letitia, wistfully.
“Leading all the way up to his--”
“Jeanne!” trumpeted the Countess. Really, the conversation was skating round the edge of vulgarity. She called for a vote.
“Are we all agreed then, that Mr. Dalrymple should portray the Cavalier?”
There were eager ayes all round.
“What if he says no?” Mrs. Appleby asked sensibly. The ladies frowned at this spanner thrown into their plans.
“He would not refuse if Katherine were in charge.”
Everyone stared at Lady Alice, who had been unusually quiet this afternoon, even for her.
Lady Alice, though amazed at her own temerity, could not let such a golden opportunity pass by, not if she wanted to see Kate married and settled before she was a confirmed ape leader. And to attach such a one as the dashing Mr. Dalrymple -- her maiden heart fluttered beneath her serene countenance.
“Katherine has had a great deal of experience in managing amateur theatricals,” she said, and it was no more than the truth. “Also, she and Mr. Dalrymple are old friends from London. If she asked him to participate as a personal favor, I cannot think he would refuse.”
Once more that afternoon, the Countess was moved to unconditional praise.
“An excellent notion, Alice.” She bent a commanding eye around the room as though daring anyone to disagree.
But since all the ladies with unmarried daughters were secure in the knowledge that these daughters all had positions in the pageant, from which it would be easy to get them in the way of Mr. Dalrymple, or failing that, perhaps one of the officers or titled tourists who were certain to come, they were content. The only one who had any objection was Miss Radish, who rather fancied herself an authority on the theatre, having once seen the great Kemble in her youth.
Her opposition was voted down and the matter settled. A celebratory sherry was poured all 'round, and the meeting was adjourned.
***
“You what?” Kate started up from the settee, The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders tumbling unheeded to the floor.
“I was able to secure for you the directorship of the pageant,” repeated her aunt with admirable composure.
“Aunt Alice, I have no time to do anything with the pageant,” protested Kate.
“My dear, the harvest is in, the quarterly books are done. On what, precisely, do you need to spend so much time?”
"So many things,” Kate replied vaguely, searching for an excuse which didn’t involve highway robbery or the capture of desperate, murdering counterfeiters. It was a task which taxed even her fertile ingenuity, but pickings would be ripe with the hordes of tourists expected for the festivities. Kate had no intention of missing such marvelous opportunities for filling the family coffers.
Besides, and this was a reason she didn’t like admitting even to herself, but her dramatic soul craved the excitement, though uncredited, which the appearance of the Cavalier during the festival would cause. To take that away would reduce her to a mere -- she shuddered at the term -- spinster.
Lady Alice continued to coax. “You work so very hard, Katherine, I thought
this might be a bit of a holiday for you. And with the dragoons--”
“Dragoons?”
“--coming into the village, not to mention your nice Mr. Dalrymple, it would be the perfect opportunity to--to expand your social circle,” Lady Alice offered, as an inducement to tempt her recalcitrant niece.
Kate narrowed her eyes, but could not refuse her aunt, who so seldom asked for anything.
“Very well,” she conceded. “I accept.”
“There is just one more thing, Katherine.” Lady Alice colored faintly, her fingers carefully smoothing the pages of the book Kate had dropped. She frowned when she saw the title, but was too preoccupied to lodge what she knew would be a futile protest.
Kate couldn’t remember a time when her aunt had been unable to meet her eyes. Warily, she asked, “And what might that be?”
“We, that is, the Ladies Aid, have decided that Mr. Dalrymple should play the Cavalier and you must ask him.”
Kate couldn’t help it. She snorted with laughter.
“Oh, I think not.”
Lady Alice straightened and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. After all, the wild blood of the Thoreaus flowed in her veins, too. But Kate forestalled her before she could speak again.
“Auntie,” she said faintly, “did you say there were Dragoons in the village?”
“Yes, my dear. They are quartered here for the winter. Or perhaps they are looking for the Cavalier. Miss Radish wasn’t quite certain.”
Lady Alice, concerned when her niece fell back amongst the cushions, immediately took her pulse. That she pronounced it slightly elevated was of no surprise to Kate. Pork jelly was suggested and refused with loathing, so Lady Alice bustled off, returning with Caro’s medical supplies. Luckily, Kate heard her light footstep returning to the drawing room, so that when Lady Alice opened the door, Kate was feigning sleep in order to forestall offers of saline draughts, camphor liniment for her bruises, Balm of Gilead for muscle aches, or Daffy’s Elixir for general well-being.
In truth, she ached all over and wanted nothing more than to sleep for days and wake up to piles of money, an obedient family, and no Mr. Dalrymple. But that was obviously impossible, so instead she concentrated on unraveling the mystery of the counterfeiting gang while Lady Alice moved softly about the shabby drawing room.
Eventually her aunt covered her with a worn quilt, shutting the door quietly as she left. As soon as she’d gone, Kate flung back the quilt, dragging herself to the desk where a suitable amount of digging unearthed a stubby pencil and a sheet of foolscap which she proceeded to cover in a list of all those who might be involved in treason.
It was obvious to the person of the meanest intelligence, which Kate assured herself she was not, despite her lack of success with the family accounts, that there had to be someone in the gang, who had knowledge of the area, the people, and Castle Wallingford. Someone local. So she immediately put on the top of her list Adam Weilmunster, for the simple reason that she disliked him so greatly. Second was the Countess of Malford, who, though regrettably respectable, certainly had the gall necessary for a successful operation. The third was Ethan Douglas. Unfortunately, though Ethan was more rambunctious than all the Thoreaus combined, even his own mama predicting her son would end up hanged or transported, Kate had to admit a thirteen year-old would be hard pressed to mastermind such an elaborate scheme.
Kate sighed. No. None of the above had the correct combination of brass-faced cunning and ruthlessness to do something so dastardly, so she scribbled through their names, drumming her fingers to aid in thought.
Turning the paper over, she sketched in a crude map of the village.
At the east side of the green, far below the hill on which perched the vulture-like pile of stones which made up the castle, stood the venerable St. Agatha’s Church. On the west side, just past the road which ran directly north to south, stood the comparatively new All Souls. Immediately south of that was the Lady and the Scamp. The Inswith river wound past Wallingford Castle, west through the farmlands of Appleby Manor, then east, circling the village on three sides. Crinkum’s Lane led east, at right angles to the post road, past the various shops, the green, and finally the sacred spot on which Captain Harry had been hanged. The oak tree which had given the village its name, and Kate her cover during various highway hijinks, stood, most massive of all, in a wooded area in the triangle formed of post road and river. Directly over the river to the west lay the lands of Bellevue. Opposite, on the other side of the road, lay the Malford estate.
Kate was utterly certain that this told her something, but was unsure what that something might be, so she studied the map for a hint, a sign, a clue of any sort. Outside, she could hear the children playing Astley’s Amphitheatre.
Quite recently, she had made the error of describing her two trips to the circus during her one, glorious Season in London five years before. The children asked for the story over and over again. It never failed to inspire in them the desire to be clowns, or ride standing on a galloping steed round the makeshift ring on what used to be the west lawn. This last, after she herself had taken a scary tumble off the galloping steed, Kate had vetoed firmly. However, even Lucy had been known to join in an occasional game of leapfrog. How she wished to take them all to the city she loved and show them Astley’s, the theatre, the Tower, and for Lucy and Caro, the balls and the glittering ton.
Shameful though it might be, Kate had few qualms about what she was doing. Certainly banditry was morally wrong, and she still got a twinge every now and again when she thought of what her mama might say. But, she reasoned, if Papa hadn’t wanted her to become a thief, he could have refrained from frittering their money away on horses, cards, or ill-considered investments. Not to mention her grandfather, and her great-grandfather before him. In fact, she thought with a wry grin, the two were quite likely beaming with pride at her exploits from heaven above. If they’d been allowed past St. Peter, pranksters that they had been.
A governess’ salary wouldn’t begin to keep a roof over their heads and it wasn’t as if Uncle Richard was of any use whatsoever. The last she’d heard he was on another jaunt to America or the West Indies, or the North Pole, for all anyone knew.
When matters had become clear to her after the reading of her father’s will, their uncle’s grand suggestion had been to split the children up amongst various relatives. This, when they were in the throes of the deepest of grief for their parents. His second suggestion was that Kate marry a dear friend of his who was doddering on the brink of the grave and might just welcome such a luscious armful as Kate. But Kate had managed to resist this tempting offer, as genteel prostitution, though legal, held no interest for her.
As matters now stood, her family was beginning to unravel. Simon and Meg would go along merry as grigs for several more years, but please heaven, let nothing happen to the money needed for Bertie’s schooling. As the heir, he was the only member of the family who was officially Church of England, as was traditional in the family, to allow him to take his seat in the House of Lords one day. It was imperative for his own good that he attend Harrow, then Cambridge. It was Kate’s and Lady Alice’s intention that he have every advantage, not to mention that he learn the social niceties necessary to keep him on the straight and narrow.
The young boy, outwardly steady and calm, nevertheless occasionally showed signs of the wild blood of the family. Without the proper education among his peers, with no guiding male hand, Kate was worried her brother would kick over the traces and run away to take the King’s shilling or some such thing. Yes, they all needed a steady influence, something to look forward to, something which would help them out of this shabby poverty. If highway robbery of those who could well afford it was making the village in general, and the Thoreaus in particular, wealthy again, not a hair would she turn over the illegality of it.
Kate wound up her internal diatribe of blame, guilt, and self-justification with an utterly sincere promise to God of all manner of saintly behavi
or as soon as money was less tight, when a sudden burst of screams cut through the open French doors. Her heart in her throat, she hobbled to the terrace overlooking the lawn.
But no vision of spurting blood, severed limbs, or unconscious siblings met her eyes. It was merely the usual altercation between Meg and Simon. Faint with relief, she leaned against the doorway, eyes closed, to regain her composure. Seeing her, hearing her cry of alarm, Caro and Bertie rushed over. Ignoring her protests, they each took an arm and settled her back on the settee. As Caro fussed with the quilt, Bertie went to the desk for the marble-covered novel she’d been reading earlier.
“Is this a good book, then, Katie? May I read it after you’re done?”
“Yes, it’s wonderful,” Kate enthused, then frowned. “And no, you may not read it ever.”
Bertie grinned.
Kate, meekly, and not ungratefully, accepting Caro’s ministrations, didn’t see him flipping through the volumes until it was too late. There was an odd sound in his voice when he turned to her.
“What is this map for, Katie?”
Kate’s eyes flew open. “Ah--it’s for--er--” Inspiration struck and not a moment too soon. “It’s for the pageant. I was planning on having the Roundheads gallop in from the east and the Royalists from the west,” she babbled. The she realized what a magnificent spectacle it would make and sat up, excited. “They could meet on the green and clash, swords flashing in the breeze, tunics of red and blue, gleaming armor--”
Bertie’s eyes glowed. “Oh, yes! And the Cavalier could actually rob a coach! On horseback! With guns and cannon! Wait till I tell Simon.” He threw down the map, but before he reached the doors, Cook announced visitors.
“Mr. Weilmunster, Mr. Dalrymple.” Then she turned and stomped back across the marble floor to the kitchen stairs.
It was all Kate could do to stifle a laugh as the two men entered. Mr. Weilmunster in sober country attire which matched his sober country face, Mr. Dalrymple swathed in rich purple and green, enhancing his reputation as peacock.
The Counterfeit Cavalier, Volumes One Through Four: The Complete Edition Page 10
