The Crimson Cavaliers

by Mary Andrea Clarke

  “I’ll have the horse sent back as soon as possible,” wheezed Sir Robert. “Goodnight, my dear.”

  As the heavy bolt slid behind her guests Georgiana gave herself permission to feel relief.

  “My goodness,” said Miss Knatchbull. “What a dreadful experience.”

  “Yes,” said Georgiana. She looked towards her footman, about to enter the drawing room. “There’s no need to tidy up now, James. Tomorrow will do.”

  “But, miss … ”

  “No, I insist. It’s three o’clock in the morning, far too late to worry about it. If Horton or Mrs Daniels say anything, tell them you were following my orders. Go back to bed. I’m sorry you’ve been disturbed.”

  James smiled. “Glad to oblige, Miss Georgiana. How is your hand?”

  “Sore, but it will do well enough.”

  “Nasty thing to happen.”

  “Yes, it was very clumsy of me.”

  “Goodnight, miss.”

  “Goodnight, James.” Had Georgiana imagined the quizzical look in his eyes? She must have. There was no way he could guess the truth, and Emily was no tale-bearer, not even to her brother.

  Georgiana turned towards her cousin, waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs.

  “You too, Selina. You must be exhausted.”

  “Oh, I am well enough, Georgiana. But your poor hand. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, don’t concern yourself.”

  “Good heavens, how can I not concern myself? Isn’t that why I’m here, to take care of you?”

  Georgiana closed her eyes, not speaking immediately. She knew Selina meant kindly, but sometimes she found it a little overpowering. She had wanted her own life and the need for a female relative to lend her countenance rather curtailed this. Not that there was any escape; she cared little for gossip, but to be ostracised from society could have unpleasant consequences. Selina Knatchbull was generally an inoffensive creature, anxious to please – a consequence of being the only child of a clergyman in reduced circumstances, Georgiana supposed. It was an upbringing which promised few prospects and little reason to put herself forward. However, she was inclined to fuss, a quality which irritated Georgiana intensely. Looking at Selina now, Georgiana responded teasingly, “Really, cousin? I thought you were here to make me respectable.”

  Selina looked shocked. “Why, Georgiana, I hope I am more use than that.”

  “Yes, of course, you are, Selina, only do, pray, go to bed. If you are not tired, I am.”

  “Of course. What a goose I am. Goodnight, my dear.”

  Georgiana allowed her cousin to go up ahead of her, and picked up the candle from the hall table to follow. Exhaustion and the fire in her hand began to get the better of her.

  Emily was waiting in her bedroom.

  “You managed it?”

  Emily nodded. “I had to promise to spend my afternoon out with him.” She eyed her mistress hopefully. “Would that be my normal afternoon, miss?”

  Georgiana smiled. “No, of course not, Emily. Did you have any difficulties?”

  “Mr Richardson didn’t seem too happy about me being there. But I managed to keep them away from Princess. They didn’t even notice. You were right about the drink, the coachman had definitely had a drop in.”

  “Not surprising.”

  A mischievous grin hovered about Emily’s mouth. “He wanted to tell me how he stood up to the Crimson Cavalier.”

  Georgiana let off a peal of laughter. “The number of brave men on that coach is quite overwhelming. I feel fortunate to have escaped.”

  Her scalded hand was the only further threat to her night’s rest. Georgiana fell asleep immediately, and did not rouse until Emily appeared with her chocolate at ten o’clock.

  She stretched her arms, and her left hand rebelled against the movement. She was going to suffer for the impulse of the previous evening. The injury had stiffened overnight and the scald had given birth to a collection of tiny needles pressing against her skin.

  “You should send for the doctor,” said Emily, opening the curtains.

  “Certainly not. I am not such a poor creature.”

  “It could turn nasty.”

  “What a joy you are, Emily.”

  A day of unusual tedium followed; all of Georgiana’s servants seemed determined to cosset her into the invalidity she had scorned. An attempt to discuss the household accounts with her housekeeper brought forth all Mrs Daniels’s maternal solicitude. Any exertion triggered a willing servant or the over-protective Selina to take the strain from her. Her achievements for the day consisted of writing a letter and reading two chapters of a novel from the circulating library.

  By dark the boredom was more unbearable than the pain of her hand. She itched to escape to the road, and ignored Emily’s protests about the unwisdom of venturing out on two consecutive nights. Some delicate manoeuvring as she changed her clothes kept the bandage undisturbed. Disapproval piercing the silence, Emily tied the mask into place, and Georgiana stowed her pistols and picked up her hat.

  Cavendish Square was quiet, and Georgiana was grateful for the erratic lighting outside its few occupied houses. She met no one as she and Princess picked their way carefully through the streets towards the Bath Road.

  The moon was full, and she kept out of its betraying light as she gazed along the length of the road, looking for the Mail Coach.

  Her eye caught something in the road, and she peered down for a closer look before slowly encouraging Princess forward a few tentative steps. Her heartbeat increased as she listened for signs of a trap; there was no sound, and she dismounted, looking about cautiously before approaching the inanimate figure which lay face down. She knelt and with one final quick glance around, turned him over towards her.

  She looked at her glove. Moisture glistened at her fingertips.

  Sir Robert Foster’s unseeing eyes stared up at her.

  2

  Instinctively, Georgiana checked Sir Robert’s pockets. Irritated to find her hands shaking, she paused, clenching her fists to regain control. Taking a deep breath, she resumed her task, carefully averting her gaze from Sir Robert’s greying face. As expected, nothing of value remained. The area was notorious for highway robbers. Georgiana had often been astounded at the number who seemed to operate in the same area with so little apparent rivalry.

  Sitting back on her heels, Georgiana frowned. She knew Harry Smith worked this stretch of the road, but murder wasn’t his style. In fact, most highway robbers wouldn’t shoot unless provoked. In her experience, co-operative travellers were allowed on their way, sometimes with thanks, and in one case of which she had heard, even an apology.

  Georgiana looked back to the recumbent figure in front of her. What was he doing out here by himself? The whole thing was decidedly odd, and the well-born lady of the road could smell a rat.

  Swallowing her distaste, Georgiana continued searching the body, avoiding the incriminating red stickiness which gradually spread over Sir Robert’s waistcoat. Finding no weapon about his person, she raised her head to look into the still night. There was no sign of a horse. Georgiana could only assume it had bolted when its owner was shot.

  With the forefinger of unease tantalising the back of her neck, Georgiana’s sense of self-preservation urged her to escape. Yet conscience held her rooted to the spot. She had not liked Sir Robert Foster, but could not bring herself to abandon his lifeless body with no more concern than a broken branch blocking her path. The death had to be reported. How to do so was the difficulty. She bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. Could the thing be done anonymously? Georgiana wasn’t sure if this was feasible, but it would be the ideal solution. She had no wish to devise a creative explanation for her presence on the Bath Road at this time of night.

  The dark silence was broken by a rattle vibrating through the road. Georgiana stood, sensing her quandary was resolved. As the carriage approached, she moved swiftly to her horse. She took hold of the reins, flinching as she absentmind
edly began to twist them around her left hand. The slip cost precious seconds. Georgiana cast a look along the road as she bent to retrieve the ribbons from under the animal’s neck. Her reward was the sight of a coach bearing down hard upon Sir Robert’s still form, horses protesting against its sudden halt. Georgiana needed no further encouragement. While the darkness was her friend, the least sound could arouse the travellers’ suspicions. Tugging the reins insistently, Georgiana began to walk Princess away from the road, towards the few trees offering cover. On the moonlit road, she saw two figures leap from the carriage just as she hauled herself up to the saddle. She turned away, sacrificing speed for stealth. Startled by the sudden brush of low branches, Princess gave a little cry, silencing the babble of travellers’ voices. Georgiana bit back her own near scream of frustration. Her erratic heartbeat took on a more insistent quality. She could feel the eyes of the travellers boring into her as they tried to look around in the darkness.

  “Who’s there? Hello!”

  There was nothing else to do. Georgiana urged Princess to a gallop. The cries of “Stop!” and “Murder!” caught her ears.

  “Who is it?”

  “I’m not sure. One of those highway robbers.”

  “I saw red on the hat.”

  “The Crimson Cavalier.”

  “Untie these horses. Let’s get after him.”

  Georgiana pushed Princess harder, her heart pounding in her ears in time with the horse’s heavy footsteps. The report of a pistol cut through the rhythmic sound and Princess reared. Georgiana held her seat with difficulty. The bullet had missed by inches, its whistle remaining trapped in her head. She bent and stroked her horse’s neck, offering breathless reassurance.

  Concentrated in the shelter of the woods, the hue and cry sounded nearer. Georgiana could not afford to waste time. Taking a deep breath, she urged Princess forward.

  Emily had left the candle in the usual place. Its light offered some comfort. Georgiana hastily stabled the horse, rubbing her down quickly, but sacrificing an impulse to do a less than thorough job. She ascended the backstairs swiftly, ignoring the near bursting sensation in her chest. Within a very few minutes, she was locking her bedroom door, flinging her hat across to the bed and turning to face a surprised Emily, engaged in putting away clothes. Her back to the door, Georgiana waited for her heart to steady.

  “What’s happened?” the maid asked, blank astonishment in her expression as her eyes followed her mistress’s movements.

  It was a moment before Georgiana’s limited breathing allowed her to speak.

  “Sir Robert Foster’s dead. Murdered. I found his body on the Bath Road.” She drew off a bloodstained glove.

  Emily gave a horrified gasp.

  “No!”

  “I’m afraid so. Help me with this, will you? I found him on the road about halfway between here and the Heath. He’d been shot.” She winced as the glove dragged over her injured hand.

  Emily came to her assistance and watched silently when Georgiana threw both gloves into the fire.

  “Were you seen?” Emily asked quietly.

  Georgiana nodded. “A coach party. I didn’t recognise them.” She moistened her lips. “I did hear them mention the Crimson Cavalier. Fortunately, I got away fairly quickly.”

  Emily paled. “Oh, miss, what are we going to do?”

  Georgiana remained silent, looking into the fire as the black gloves took on the glow of orange embers. Her head was spinning. Emily was right. What had begun as an exciting piece of daring suddenly took on a hideous complexion. She pulled off her cravat and began to unbutton her shirt. Emily swiftly removed the boots and within seconds was assisting her mistress into the white cotton nightgown which had been folded neatly under the pillow.

  “I need to think,” said Georgiana. “The Crimson Cavalier will be blamed for this.” She knew she had to keep calm. Panic would be suicidal.

  Emily slipped out of the room and returned a few minutes later with a tray bearing a decanter and glass. She filled it and wordlessly handed it across to her mistress. It was accepted with an absent smile as Georgiana sat down on the bed. She drank gratefully, appreciative of the warmth against the shiver she had been trying to suppress. She closed her eyes momentarily and rubbed a cool hand across her forehead. Georgiana was not squeamish, but the shock of finding Sir Robert’s dead body had brought a cold reality into her life of adventure. Emily began to tidy away Georgiana’s discarded wardrobe.

  “You heard no movement outside?” Georgiana said at last.

  Emily shook her head. “No.” She fell silent for a moment before speaking again. “How well did they see you?”

  “Not very,” Georgiana responded. “I kept my mask on and got away quickly when I heard the coach. They could only have got a glimpse from the back at best.” She paused. “One of them did take a shot, but it went wide.”

  Emily groaned.

  “There’s no need to worry,” said Georgiana, attempting a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. I think they fired more in hope than expectation. They probably wanted to scare me.”

  Shaking her head, Emily put away the remainder of the highwayman clothing.

  “Well, it scares me, I don’t mind saying,” she remarked, a worried frown taking shape on her brow. Georgiana glanced at her. Fretting wouldn’t help.

  “Don’t look so anxious, Emily. If they had guessed, surely they would have been here by now.”

  “Yes, miss.” Emily’s frown deepened. “But it doesn’t mean they won’t.”

  “No.” Emily was right, of course. She always talked sense. “I know. One way or another, I shall be blamed.” Georgiana took a sip of wine and continued, half to herself. “Even if we manage to keep the Crimson Cavalier’s identity a secret, no one will hesitate to shoot me the minute I stop a coach.”

  “The minute you…? Miss Georgiana, surely you don’t mean to go back on the road?”

  Lost in thought, Georgiana had been giving her maid little attention. However, Emily’s words and anxious expression pierced her mind.

  “What? No, of course I can’t at the moment.” It was to be hoped Emily didn’t see through the half-truth. It might be necessary to go back. However, there was no point in both of them worrying about it. She looked towards her maid. “Go to bed, Emily. There’s nothing useful to be done tonight.”

  Emily hesitated, her face reflecting the doubts Georgiana was trying to clear from her own mind.

  “Go on,” Georgiana urged. “Get a good night’s sleep. We’ll think about it tomorrow.”

  Pausing only to remove the hot brick from her mistress’s bed, Emily did as she was bid. Georgiana slid under the quilt and lay for a few moments thinking about her dilemma. She had known there would be risks in taking to the road, of course, but that had only added to the excitement. Holding up successive carriages of spoilt aristocracy, often her own acquaintance, offered release from the frustrating restrictions imposed on a woman in her position. The delicious irony had appealed to her sense of humour, especially sharing her spoils with the less fortunate, often neglected, dependents of her victims. The talent she discovered offered a challenge to her ingenuity and she had given very little thought to the possible dangers. Perhaps she had grown complacent. She had certainly never expected any horror such as this. With her brain in turmoil, Georgiana decided she was too tired to consider her problem constructively tonight. She extinguished the candle and turned sideways with eyes closed.

  A good night’s sleep was not forthcoming, however. Sir Robert’s glazed, grey face floated in front of her eyes, dreams of her grim discovery invading what little rest she did get. While Sir Robert’s death had not been her fault, she could feel his reproach. Sitting up in bed as dawn broke, she put her hand to her forehead. The night had brought no counsel.

  Georgiana reached across and poured some water from the pitcher on her side table, taking a grateful drink before sinking back under the coverlet. It was too early to disturb anyone else in the household. Sh
e abandoned all attempts at sleep and stared up at the top of her four-poster bed hoping for inspiration. Emily was right; this looked like the end. It would take every shred of ingenuity she possessed to disentangle herself.

  Despite the hour, Georgiana was not surprised to see a well-scrubbed Emily peeping cautiously around the door not many minutes later.

  “Come in, Emily. I am awake.”

  Emily entered the room and closed the door. Georgiana smiled and asked, with a fair idea of the answer, whether anyone else was up. Emily shook her head.

  “Well, at least no one’s been here looking,” said Georgiana.

  “Not yet.”

  “There’s no sense worrying until they do,” said Georgiana. “We had much better keep calm; it will arouse unwelcome curiosity if we both seem anxious.”

  “I suppose,” said Emily. “Would you like me to fetch your chocolate, miss, or would you rather go back to sleep?”

  “I’ll have it now, thank you, Emily. I’m not likely to go back to sleep.”

  Georgiana sipped her chocolate as she reflected on her position. With no one yet beating down the door in search of her, it seemed safe to assume she had not been discovered. However, she knew better than to tempt fate by giving in to waves of relief. She watched Emily take a morning dress from the wardrobe. Even at this moment of crisis, Emily’s pride in her work was undiminished. She was unquestionably a first-class maid. Georgiana knew of at least two ladies who had tried to tempt her away. Despite the alarm of the previous night, standards would not be compromised. Looking in the mirror when Emily had finished her labours, Georgiana could not help but be pleased with the result. As she rose from the dressing table, the pale green chiffon morning dress accentuated the effect of the copper ringlets dropped at the side of each smooth cheek, bringing to life the rich green of her eyes.

  Emily studied her mistress critically. “You look a bit pale, miss,” she ventured.

  “Do I?” said Georgiana. “Well, I’ll be better once I’ve breakfasted.”

  Emily hesitated. “Perhaps a little rouge?”