by M C Beaton
The colonel was ushered in. Betty brought him coffee and he waited until she had left, obviously impatient to unburden himself of something.
As soon as they were alone, he said, “My dear, I do not think you should wear that gown.”
Caroline looked at him in surprise. “What is wrong with it?”
“It is… how shall I put it?… a trifle fast.”
She colored up angrily. “I think it exceedingly fine. I am proud of it and know it becomes me. I made it myself.”
“It is too thin and revealing, madam!”
“The day is warm and it is the fashion, you know.”
He tried for a lighter note. “As my wife, you will shock the poor villagers if you appear half-naked.”
“But my dress pleases me!”
He looked at her seriously. “You do not understand. It does not please me. No woman should dress for any reason other than to please her husband.”
Caroline made a bid for independence. “Are you going to choose my clothes once we are married?”
“No, my love. Once we have established what is suitable for you to wear, I am sure you will keep to it.”
“In other words, I am to have no mind of my own?”
“A pretty lady does not need to trouble her head with any decisions. It is her duty to mold herself to her husband’s wishes.” His eyes narrowed. “What has happened to you? I know, you have been listening to that Waverley creature and her stupid ideas. Such women should be put in the pillory!”
Caroline wanted to rage that, yes, she had been seeing Mrs. Waverley—and she would continue to see her when and where she liked. But first, that would be disloyal to Lord Harry, for the colonel would forbid her any more visits.
She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Now, I have put you in a passion and I would not make you angry for the world. See! While you finish your coffee, I shall retire and change my gown.”
The colonel beamed at her. He should have been pleased when Caroline returned wearing a silk gown with a modest neckline. But there was something rebellious in her eyes which annoyed him. They went out for a drive, Caroline prattling away and talking about all the innocuous things he expected her to talk about, unaware that the colonel was studying her closely.
At the end of the drive, Colonel James Bridie came to the conclusion that Caroline had been seeing Mrs. Waverley, and that ogre had been dripping poison into his beloved’s ear.
He went to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon and tried to relieve his feelings with a hearty bout of fisticuffs. It did the trick for a little, but the nagging unease soon returned. He went to his club and drank more than he usually did, and the more he drank, the more he became obsessed with the idea that Mrs. Waverley was poisoning Caroline’s mind against him.
“Study the enemy. That’s the trick,” he said loudly and fiercely, and several of the members eyed him nervously and shied away from his vicinity.
***
Mrs. Waverley, because she had been asleep during the attempted robbery, pooh-poohed the danger of going about London bedecked with jewels. The fact that the rescuer had been none other than that pest, Lord Harry Danger, made her play down the whole thing. A silly little housemaid had merely been trying to get her revenge. She would not dare show her face near Hanover Square again. Lord Harry called, and to Frederica’s fury, was refused admittance. She persuaded herself she did not want to see him again, and yet felt that Mrs. Waverley was being most ungrateful—-and downright unladylike—in not thanking her rescuer. Mrs. Waverley also played down the whole episode to the constable and magistrate and they, having many crimes to cope with, were glad to let the matter drop. She was also not grateful to Lord Harry for paying the builders to repair the damage. It was only right that he should do so. The thieves had used his house as a means of entry just as, she was sure, Lord Harry had rented the house as a means of ingratiating his way into her own.
Mrs. Waverley had been asked to a soirée by a certain Lady Mackay who shared her views. She was sure there would not be any upsetting men there and was anxious to show off Frederica and Felicity in all their finery. Although she said out loud that Frederica was too gypsyish to have any claim to beauty and Felicity was too retiring, she was secretly proud of them.
Felicity and Frederica were delighted at the idea of an evening out even if, as Felicity put it, it was to another room full of old frumps.
When Frederica came down to the drawing room to join Mrs. Waverley, she was finely gowned in gold net over a dark gold underdress, but was wearing only a simple gold chain. Felicity was wearing a magnificent set of emeralds and Mrs. Waverley had a huge diamond brooch in her turban and diamond clasps on her pelisse.
“Why so drab, Frederica?” cried Mrs. Waverley. “Go and put on your rubies. They will go well with your gown.”
“Our constant display of jewels has attracted one thief and will attract more,” said Frederica. “Besides, you know it is not comme il faut for young ladies to wear expensive jewels. The other debutantes, no matter how rich, must content themselves by wearing coral or a simple string of pearls.”
“We do not abide by convention,” said Mrs. Waverley, with a toss of her head. “As neither of you plans to marry, you may wear what you like.”
“Then I shall go as I am,” said Frederica.
“Do as you are bid!” shouted Mrs. Waverley. “How can you be so ungrateful to me? Me!” She struck her bosom so hard that her diamonds blazed and sparkled. Tears came to her eyes. “Oh, how can you be so selfish and uncaring, Frederica? Did I not take you out of the orphanage? Have I not given you everything your heart desires?”
Except freedom, thought Frederica, and went to put on the rubies.
As they left, Lord Harry was just leaving the house next door. He bounded up to them and made a low bow.
“Moving in tomorrow, ma’am,” he said cheerfully to Mrs. Waverley, “so we shall be neighbors.”
Mrs. Waverley gave a stately dip of her head and made to enter the carriage.
“Mrs. Waverley,” said Frederica maliciously, “is most grateful to you, Lord Harry, for your gallant rescue.”
Mrs. Waverley turned about. “Yes, yes,” she said hurriedly. “But such a fuss over a little housemaid.”
“A little housemaid who drugged you and brought her thieving family or thieving companions to rob you,” pointed out Lord Harry.
“Pooh! We were in no danger,” said Mrs. Waverley.
“Well, I was!” said Frederica furiously. “I was tied up and threatened and frightened out of my wits.”
“Come, Frederica,” said Mrs. Waverley majestically. “You must not enact Haymarket scenes on the doorstep.”
She entered the carriage. Felicity curtsied to Lord Harry and said quietly, “Thank you, my lord. I am most grateful to you.” Then she, too, entered the carriage.
“I am sorry, Lord Harry,” said Frederica. “You were most brave, and I can only apologize for my guardian’s churlish manner.”
He smiled into her eyes. “I was amply rewarded. When are you going to marry me?”
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
“Frederica! Come here immediately!” called Mrs. Waverley.
“Can I not see you?” asked Lord Harry, still holding her hand.
“It would not be allowed,” said Frederica.
“I would like to point out that were you married to me, you could go where you liked and do what you liked.”
“Frederica!”
Frederica suddenly felt she owed it to Lord Harry to see him alone. After his brave rescue of her, it was the least she could do. “In the garden, your garden, tomorrow, at three,” she whispered, and then snatched her hand out of his grasp and dived into the carriage.
***
Tyburn Jack, the highwayman, was taking his ease in the Three Bells Tavern in Tothill Fields. No one was hanged at Tyburn anymore, although public executions were still performed outside Newgate Prison, but Tyburn Jack had been thievin
g for a long time, hence his nickname.
He had robbed a coach the night before and had been rewarded by a rich haul. He was still amazed at his luck, for the occupant of the coach had been an elderly vicar and the highwayman had not expected such rich pickings. To save the vicar reporting him to the authorities, he had shot the old man, his coachman, and his servant. The vicar had proved to have a remarkably tenacious hold on life, and Tyburn Jack had to waste two more bullets before the clergyman had decided to go to Heaven.
He was in a good mood and had a good pint of old ale in front of him. There was a family of piggy-looking people in the booth behind him, drinking gin and hot water. He had noticed them before he had sat down and had thought, in an amused way, that they looked just like a family of porkers.
As they drank more, their voices became raised, and Tyburn Jack began to listen in amazement to what they were saying. It transpired, from what he could gather, that there was some rich woman who lived in Hanover Square with her two daughters, and they all went about laden with precious stones. The pig family had tried to rob them and had been trounced. “We daren’t try again,” he heard the girl say, “an’ it ain’t fair, them peacocking about the town with all them jewels hanging off them like ripe fruit. I’d like to kill that old Waverley bitch.”
So the name was Waverley and she lived in Hanover Square. Tyburn Jack continued to listen. This Mrs. Waverley did not employ menservants.
In the smoky gloom of the tavern, Tyburn Jack took out his pistols and began to prime them. He was a gambler and felt his luck with the vicar was only the beginnings of more luck to come. He decided to go to Hanover Square and see what he could see.
***
Colonel Bridie had called at Mrs. Waverley’s and had been informed she was out. He paced up and down the square. He could not leave. He wanted to see this woman for himself. He was determined to wait all night if need be.
And then, just as the watch was calling one in the morning, a carriage drove into the square and stopped outside Mrs. Waverley’s house.
The colonel took up a position by the railings of the house next door.
Three ladies alighted, one matron and two young women. The light burning in the iron bracket over the door of Mrs. Waverley’s house struck fire from the rubies, sapphires, and diamonds the women wore.
Mrs. Waverley dismissed the coach and mounted the steps with Frederica and Felicity behind her.
“Hold hard, ladies,” called a rough voice.
A man had appeared as if out of nowhere. He had a hat pulled down over his eyes and a muffler up over his face. The light, which shone so bravely on the jewels, also shone on the wicked-looking barrel of the pistol the man held in his hand.
Tyburn Jack felt his heart beating hard with excitement. What a fortune they were wearing!
Mrs. Waverley, Frederica, and Felicity stared at him in shock and dismay.
Colonel Bridie, who had been standing in the shadows beyond the pool of light thrown by the lamp, felt in his capacious pocket and drew out a small but serviceable pistol, which he always carried with him, primed and ready.
“Come on,” growled Tyburn Jack.
Mrs. Waverley raised trembling hands to unclasp the diamond brooch from her turban.
The colonel took careful aim and fired.
Tyburn Jack stood stock-still for a moment, a look of utter amazement on his face. Then he crumpled at the knees and fell in a heap at the bottom of the steps.
The colonel advanced, blowing on his smoking pistol. Mrs. Waverley was standing, swaying, looking at him with dilated eyes. He went up to her. “Leave me to handle this, ma’am,” he said. “Get your girls indoors.”
“I—I—” began Mrs. Waverley. Then she put a hand up to her brow and stumbled forward into the colonel’s arms. He dropped his pistol and caught her, and held her tightly. Doors and windows all round the square were flying open. The watch came running. He turned Tyburn Jack over with his foot and held his lantern high.
“Are you the gennelman what done this?” asked the watch.
“Yes,” snapped the colonel, still holding Mrs. Waverley. “The cur was trying to rob these ladies.”
“Blessed if you might not get a medal for this,” said the watch. “That’s Tyburn Jack, that is—a dretful villain.”
“Take the body away, my good man, and tell the magistrate I will talk to him in the morning,” said the colonel. He looked at Frederica. “Please open your door, miss, so that I may carry this poor lady inside.”
But the door was opened by Mrs. Ricketts, who shrieked and exclaimed and tried to relieve the colonel of the burden of Mrs. Waverley. Mrs. Waverley appeared to have recovered her senses, but she still clung tightly to the colonel, who shepherded her inside.
They all helped Mrs. Waverley up to her drawing room and Mrs. Ricketts roused the rest of the servants, demanding the fire to be lit and wine and brandy to be served.
The colonel sat next to Mrs. Waverley on the sofa and patted her hand. “You, sir,” said Mrs. Waverley faintly, “are a hero.”
Mrs. Waverley was a stout matron and normally of a rather intimidating appearance, but the soft glow of admiration in her eyes warmed the colonel’s heart. Here was surely no silly bluestocking, but a lady to her fingertips.
“It was nothing, ma’am,” he said gruffly. “Lucky I was passing.”
“Oh, indeed it was,” said Mrs. Waverley. “Such calmness, such fortitude.”
“It made my blood boil to see such a delicate creature as yourself, ma’am, being held to ransom by that fiend.”
Mrs. Waverley colored faintly and raised her fan to her face.
“My dear sir,” she said in a soft voice, almost babyish, which the girls had never heard her use before, “may I have the honor of knowing the name of my rescuer?”
“Colonel James Bridie, ma’am, at your service. And you are the famous Mrs. Waverley.”
“Or infamous,” said Mrs. Waverley, with a trilling laugh.
“Now I have met you, I realize I have been guilty of listening to scandal and lies,” said the colonel, and he really believed what he said. Of course, Mrs. Waverley could not compare with his beautiful Caroline, and yet there was a solidity about her, a refinement, which pleased his eye.
“Wine, Mr. Bridie?” said Mrs. Waverley. “Yes, I insist. Goodness, shall I ever forget such courage!”
Frederica had recovered from her shock and was becoming highly irritated. Lord Harry had been every bit as brave, and yet Mrs. Waverley had not even done him the common courtesy of receiving him.
“I would suggest, Mrs. Waverley,” said the colonel, “that perhaps it would be wise not to wear quite so many jewels. Not yourself, of course. Magnificent jewels are suitable in your case.” He turned a hard eye on Felicity and Frederica. “But in your—er—daughters’ case, it is not quite the thing for young ladies to wear such jewels.” The colonel had heard all the scandal about the girls being adopted.
“You are so right,” cooed Mrs. Waverley. “I indulge them too much.”
“I did not want to wear them and told you it was not wise,” said Frederica.
“Silly puss,” said Mrs. Waverley, “you do not know what you are saying. Go to your rooms. The hour is late.”
“And what do you make of that?” demanded Felicity as they went upstairs together. “Mrs. Waverley is fawning on that crusty old man.”
“He did rescue us, you know,” pointed out Frederica.
“A simple thank you would have been enough. What has come over her?”
Mrs. Waverley would have been hard put to say what had come over her herself. Her nerves were admittedly overset, but there was something so solid and comforting in the colonel’s presence. Mrs. Waverley had been a beauty in her youth, and all the old flirtatious mannerisms came creeping back as she talked to the colonel.
“To think you have the reputation of being a hater of men,” said the colonel, sipping an excellent burgundy and looking about the pleasant drawing room with
pleasure.
“Not I,” said Mrs. Waverley. “I am an educationalist.”
The colonel gave her an indulgent smile. “What do the fair sex need with education?”
“A lazy, untutored mind in a female can cause misery in later life when she has nothing to occupy herself.”
“Well, well,” said the colonel. “To be sure a lady needs a certain knowledge to make up the housekeeping books and to be able to sew well and sing a song prettily.”
“She also needs independence of mind.”
“Only if she is alone in the world,” said the colonel. The wine, added to all that he had been drinking earlier, was making him feel mellow and infinitely wise. “I admit that. Yes, yes. But when a lady has a strong man to do her thinking for her, she has no need to addle her beautiful head with books. I see what it is that ails you, you know.”
“Thanks to your timely intervention, I am alive and well,” said Mrs. Waverley. “What can you mean?”
“I see now you did a very noble and generous thing adopting these girls,” said the colonel. “But you have been burdened down with responsibilities for so long, you have forgotten what it is like to lean on someone. You have cared for others for so long, you have forgotten what it is like to have someone to care for you.”
His words struck Mrs. Waverley like a hammer blow. Nobody appreciated her. The girls found her dictatorial and tiresome. Not once had one of them put their arms about her or given her one caress. She was indeed alone in the world. The fact that she was the envy of many women because of her wealth and freedom no longer entered her mind. She felt like a little lost and pathetic waif.
“How true. How very, very true,” she said, taking out a handkerchief and giving a delicate sniff.
The colonel pressed her hand, blushed and stared down into the contents of his glass. “I am engaged to a certain lady,” he said gruffly. “But if you would permit, I could take you about a bit. As friends, you know.” With an instinctive cunning he did not know he possessed, he added, “It should appeal to your principles… I mean that men and women can be friends.”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Waverley.
“Good. I shall call on you tomorrow at two in the afternoon and we shall go driving if the weather is fine.”