The Crimson Cavaliers

by Mary Andrea Clarke

  Lakesby appeared at her side to escort her to the box. “I should not wear the willow for Foster if I were you, Miss Grey,” he whispered in her ear. “He is a poor prospect.”

  “Yes, I know,” Georgiana replied absently. “His only inheritance is his title and his father’s country house.”

  “How do you know that?” Lakesby sounded startled.

  Georgiana turned and met his questioning look. She felt suddenly taken unawares.

  “He – told me,” she said, trying to sound casual.

  “Really?” He looked searchingly at her. “I would not have imagined you on such terms with him as to be in his confidence,” he remarked coolly.

  “I would hardly call it a confidence, Mr Lakesby,” said Georgiana, irritated. “It was merely something he happened to mention.”

  “I see.”

  The rising of the curtain put an end to further conversation. Georgiana was irritated by the sensation of wanting to justify herself. There was no need for her to explain her actions to Mr Lakesby. It took an effort to concentrate on the first act.

  This effort was lacking in many parts of the theatre, where interest seemed to lie more with the vagaries of fashion among the audience than the stage. Lady Winters and Louisa bore their share in this exercise, leaving Georgiana to feel quite sorry for Hamlet, having to endure the trials of an inattentive public as well as his father’s troubled spirit.

  As the curtain came down on the first act, Georgiana caught Lakesby’s eye. He was an attentive host, ensuring his guests were comfortable and well provided with refreshment.

  Louisa yawned. “Mama, may I take a turn about outside? It is growing very hot in here.”

  “On your own, Louisa? Certainly not,” responded her mother.

  “No, not on my own, Mama. Susan and her mother will be there. It is just the corridor outside the box.”

  Lady Winters’s expression remained stern. “Even so...”

  “Oh, please, Mama.”

  “Oh, very well. But don’t be too long.”

  Georgiana caught the merest hint of suspicion in Lakesby’s eyes. However, he made no comment nor attempted to detain his cousin. His attention was claimed barely a minute later when a tap on the door of the box brought a message for him. Georgiana found herself alone with Lady Winters. Attempts at conversation bore no fruit and after a very few minutes, Georgiana abandoned the struggle.

  “If your ladyship will excuse me, I think I shall follow Louisa’s example and get a breath of fresh air,” said Georgiana.

  Far from raising any objection to this plan, Lady Winters gave a cursory nod. Georgiana made her escape as speedily as dignity would allow. Moving from the box to the corridor, she expressed a sigh of relief. Her eyes adjusted to the light of a generous quantity of candles, burning at oddly irregular intervals. Even the closeness of the corridor was better than the icy atmosphere of the box. She opened her fan and began to walk slowly, glad of the opportunity to stretch her legs. Suddenly she halted, closed her fan and stood with eyes fixed on the odd little tableau ahead.

  Louisa stood a few yards away, clearly unaware of Georgiana’s presence. Since the girl was engaged in earnest conversation, Georgiana could not be surprised at this. What did surprise her was the sight of Sir Brandon Foster standing close to Louisa. Georgiana’s eyes widened as she noticed Louisa give a quick glance about her before slipping a piece of paper to Sir Brandon.

  “If I don’t end by strangling that girl,” came an impatient voice in Georgiana’s ear, “it will not be my fault.”

  Georgiana turned. She felt obliged to defend Louisa and made no mention of what she had seen. However, she did not know how Lakesby could have failed to notice what was undoubtedly a billet-doux.

  “She is doing no harm, Mr Lakesby. It is hardly improper for her to speak with Sir Brandon in a public place.”

  “True enough,” responded Lakesby. “But if I know my cousin, considerations of propriety are not paramount.”

  “You are hard on her, sir.”

  Lakesby did not answer immediately, but frowned as he looked at Louisa. “I’m not sure I don’t prefer her foolish infatuation with the Crimson Cavalier. At least he is unlikely to try eloping with her.”

  Georgiana tried to read his expression. “Elope?” she inquired. “Surely not.”

  Lakesby drew his attention away from Louisa to look at Georgiana. “Yes, Miss Grey. My cousin has a comfortable portion and is prey to fortune-hunters.”

  “Surely she would not...”

  “As I said, Miss Grey, my cousin, unhappily, is not always alive to the consequences of her actions.” Lakesby’s eyes were back on Louisa. “I beg you will excuse me; I must put a stop to this nonsense. If you would wait here a moment, I shall escort you both back to the box.”

  “Of course.”

  Georgiana watched as Lakesby put his hand firmly to his cousin’s elbow. It seemed a curiously proprietorial gesture for simply a guardian. While his manner had been almost dismissive of her in some ways, he was clearly fond of the girl. Georgiana was too, and could see that her gold ringlets and delicate blue eyes could go a long way towards compensating for lack of brains.

  As the cousins walked towards her, Georgiana caught sight of Brandon Foster’s form disappearing towards his own alcove. She thought he looked fairly satisfied with himself. Turning her attention back to Louisa and Lakesby, Georgiana smiled at their approach.

  “Are you enjoying the play, Miss Grey – I mean, Georgiana,” inquired Louisa.

  “Yes, Louisa, and you?” said Georgiana, convinced the girl had not taken in one word in ten of the performance.

  “Oh, yes,” responded Louisa enthusiastically.

  “Well, we shall miss the second act if we do not hurry,” said Lakesby. He offered Georgiana his free arm. “Miss Grey?”

  Georgiana accepted with a smile and Lakesby managed to settle his party in the box in good time for the second act. As the curtain rose, Georgiana found her mind less on the play than the encounter between Louisa and Sir Brandon Foster. Could the girl be in love with him? From what Georgiana had heard, the female company kept by that young man consisted primarily of opera dancers and others of questionable background. Even if his intentions towards Louisa were honourable, the prospects for marriage were not good. Although the obstacle of his father’s rival suit had been removed, Sir Brandon was hardly an eligible suitor.

  Georgiana’s mind went back to her conversation with Sir Brandon and his confidently expressed view that he would manage. She wondered whether Sir Brandon planned to use the girl to solve his problems.

  Georgiana was thankful none of this was her concern.

  The supper arranged by Mr Lakesby after the final curtain could not be faulted even by his aunt. The soup was excellent and the guinea fowl was roasted to the perfect stage of tenderness. Georgiana had so far not regretted acceding to the persuasions of Mr Lakesby and his cousin in accepting the invitation.

  Conversation was desultory on the drive home; the hour was late and the occupants of the chaise were tired. The sharp jolt of its sudden halt dragged each into immediate wakefulness.

  “Stand and deliver!” came a determined voice.

  Georgiana closed her eyes, unable to believe what she had heard. The voice coming through from the darkness was unmistakably Tom’s. The fool, she thought to herself. After all Harry and I have said to him. He’ll get himself killed.

  Louisa could not resist peeking out of the chaise, to be pushed back in her seat by the forceful hand of her cousin.

  “Stay where you are, Louisa,” he said.

  Georgiana sat very still, as far back against the seat as she could force herself, not daring to speak. She could not afford even the slightest risk. She had complete faith in Tom’s ability to blurt out something crashingly indiscreet. She glanced towards her companions. Lakesby’s unwavering eyes were on the masked figure outside. Lady Winters sat simmering in indignant disbelief.

  “Now then,” said
one of the postilions. “Be off with you. We’re armed, you know. You’ll get no booty here.”

  “Hand over the gewgaws,” said Tom, undaunted.

  Georgiana ventured a glance out of the window. Tom’s skinny form was cloaked in what she suspected was an old curtain from the Lucky Bell. His hat was too large and his mask tied slightly askew. He appeared lost in the ensemble. Georgiana noticed his pistol shaking slightly. It chilled her to see him in this guise.

  “On your way and let us pass, lad,” said the postilion, anger beginning to creep into his voice, “unless you want to get yourself shot. I’ve told you, you’ll get nothing here.”

  “Mr Lakesby, for heaven’s sake, stop them,” said Georgiana, her hand involuntarily gripping his forearm.

  Lakesby looked at her curiously. “Stop them, Miss Grey? My servant is doing the job for which I pay him.”

  “He’s only a boy,” she said urgently.

  “If he is old enough to hold up a coach, he is old enough to face the consequences,” said Lady Winters in withering accents.

  “You asked for it,” said Tom.

  Lakesby looked thoughtfully from Georgiana to his aunt. Georgiana suspected he could be persuaded to support her rather than Lady Winters. She had no opportunity to put further argument to find out.

  “I’ll give you one more chance,” said Tom, “or I’ll pop you culls.”

  Georgiana knew the note of bravado in his voice was intended to mask his fear.

  The postilions laughed. “Do you hear that?” said the one who had addressed Tom. “He’ll give us one more chance. That has me quaking in my shoes. On your way, Master Jack-Sauce.”

  Georgiana knew it would be a mistake to taunt the boy. A moment later she was proved right. Georgiana saw him level his pistol. He handled it awkwardly as he battled determinedly to still its misbehaviour. A shot cracked out through the darkness. Georgiana let out a little cry. Before anyone could stop her, she had pushed past Lakesby and out of the coach, to drop on her knees next to Tom’s limp form.

  “How could you?” Georgiana looked accusingly at the astonished postilion. “He’s barely a child.”

  “But, miss, he...”

  Georgiana was paying him no attention. Moving the makeshift cloak out of the way, she swiftly tore open the corner of Tom’s shirt as the blood began to spread over it. The ball had gone clean through the shoulder, which was bleeding profusely. Relieved to see it was not fatal, Georgiana began to tear strips off the boy’s already ragged shirt, folding them into a pad to cover the wound. She looked up to see Lakesby standing behind her.

  “Mr Lakesby, I should be grateful for your handkerchief to bind up this wound.”

  Lakesby silently obliged, watching thoughtfully as she bound the injury with brisk efficiency.

  “I thought he was going to fire, sir,” said the postilion, apologetically addressing his master.

  “I know,” said Lakesby, his eyes still on Georgiana, immersed in her task.

  Satisfied the wound was as secure as she could make it Georgiana took Tom’s pistol and emptied it in businesslike fashion. She turned to Lakesby.

  “We can’t leave him here. He’ll bleed to death.”

  “What do you propose, Miss Grey?” Lakesby asked quietly.

  “If you would be good enough to have your servants lift him into your chaise, he could be conveyed to my home. I’ll arrange for a surgeon.”

  The coachman and postilions stared at her, dumbfounded. It was Lady Winters, looking out the window in horrified stupefaction, who spoke.

  “Allow that ruffian to travel with us? Most certainly not.”

  “He is injured, Lady Winters,” Georgiana informed her. “Hardly in a position to do any harm. Besides,” she continued, “look at the condition of him. He’s no more than skin and bone. What I’m suggesting is simply common charity.”

  Her ladyship remained adamant in her refusal, declaring nothing would induce her to travel in the company of such a cut-throat.

  “Very well,” said Georgiana calmly. She turned to Lakesby. “Perhaps you would be good enough to have one of your postilions ride ahead to my home and ask for my carriage to be sent. I’ll wait here with the boy.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary, Miss Grey,” said Lakesby. He looked towards his aunt and spoke with a dangerous calm. “Will it, Aunt Beatrice?”

  Lady Winters made no reply. With pursed lips, she retreated inside the chaise. Lakesby turned towards his servants. “Do as Miss Grey asks.” His attention went back to Georgiana. He gestured towards the pistol. “Er – shall I take that?”

  Realising she had betrayed too much expertise, Georgiana handed it to him with what she hoped was a grateful smile.

  “Oh, yes. Thank you, Mr Lakesby.”

  Tom groaned slightly as he was lifted into the chaise. To Lady Winters’s horror, Georgiana positioned the boy’s head on her lap, his shoulder cradled protectively by her left hand while the right stroked his head in soothing manner. Smears of blood were daubed in garish contrast to the soft blue of Georgiana’s dress.

  While Horton’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of his mistress arriving home with an injured urchin, his rigorous training curtailed any comment. James, for his part, accepted the situation with calm, gently carrying Tom to one of the spare bedchambers. Leaving the boy in the care of Emily, he immediately set off for a surgeon.

  Having seen Lakesby’s carriage drive away, Georgiana stood alone in the hall for a moment. She could not suppress a slight smile as she contemplated her blood-smeared hands and dress. She was certain both Lady Winters and Mr Lakesby would do their utmost to prevent further association between Louisa and herself. It was a pity, but could not be helped. Of more concern to Georgiana, as she walked slowly up the stairs to join Emily, was the fact that she had demonstrated a knowledge of firearms unusual for a lady of her position. It had not escaped Lakesby’s notice.

  Emily did not look up from her task of cleaning the wound as her mistress entered the bedchamber. Closing the door softly behind her, Georgiana looked at the small figure in the bed. Tom was still very pale and unconscious. Emily seemed to have staunched the flow of blood and placed a clean pad over the wound, and was tying the ends of a fresh bandage.

  “He’s very weak, miss.”

  “Yes,” Georgiana responded, her unwavering gaze on Tom’s face.

  Emily looked towards Georgiana as she finished her task. “What happened?”

  “He tried to hold up Mr Lakesby’s carriage.”

  “What?” Emily was startled.

  Georgiana nodded. “He hadn’t a hope of succeeding. As far as I know, this is his first attempt. I don’t even know where he got the pistol.”

  Emily looked at Tom with a thoughtful expression on her face. Before either could speak again, James quietly entered the room followed by a middle-aged man whose expression conveyed his lack of amusement at being dragged from his bed to attend a wounded urchin. The expression soured as he took in Georgiana’s bloodstained attire. Irritated by his pompous scrutiny, she raised her eyebrows with an air of superior inquiry. Better men than this grizzled physician had quailed under this unexpectedly withering gaze, and he muttered something about examining the patient. Georgiana asked James to remain with him and signalled Emily to follow her out of the room. She asked quietly whether her cousin had returned home, to be answered with a nod and the news that Miss Knatchbull had retired immediately to bed.

  In the sanctuary of her own bedchamber, Georgiana regaled her maid with the full story of Tom’s misadventure, prudently excluding any mention of her own handling of the pistol. Removing the blood-spattered dress, Georgiana breathed a sigh of relief. She told Emily she never wanted to see it again and poured some water into the bowl on her washstand. The splash of clean water on her face and arms began to refresh her, but the lingering aroma of gunpowder and blood refused to be banished from her nostrils. She sat down on the cushioned stool and stared at her reflection. Her normally brigh
t complexion looked pale and her face drawn. Yet through this, the germ of anger held in check by her anxiety for Tom began to grow. Travellers had to protect themselves, none knew that better than she, but what had been done to Tom was little better than attempted murder. A frightened boy who could barely hold a pistol was hardly a threat to three sturdy and sober men, four if one counted Lakesby.

  With a shawl disposed comfortably around her, Georgiana sent Emily back to the sick chamber. She began to pace her own room, teeth clenched, fists closing and opening with every step. Part of her wanted to teach Mr Lakesby’s postilions a lesson, but her sense of justice acknowledged his intervention had probably saved Tom’s life. The question now was what he planned to do next. Had Tom been saved from the bullet only to be handed over to the noose?

  Emily’s soft tread outside the door caused Georgiana to pause in her tracks.

  “Well?” she asked as the maid entered.

  “James is seeing the surgeon out. The boy will live, but he’ll have to rest a while.” Emily paused. “Miss, have you thought about this? That boy knows you, doesn’t he? If he’s to be here for long, he could guess the truth.”

  “Possibly,” Georgiana acknowledged. “However, I don’t think Tom is quite sharp enough to suspect any link between the Crimson Cavalier and Miss Georgiana Grey, particularly in his present condition.”

  “Well, perhaps,” said Emily doubtfully.

  “The problem is,” said Georgiana, “he will be missed. Cedric and Bess can easily find another errand boy, but Harry might be more concerned. He might suspect Tom has done something rash and been taken in charge.”

  “So he might be yet,” said Emily.

  “I know,” nodded Georgiana. “I wish I knew Mr Lakesby’s intentions. The thought of going to him on bended knee...Still, if that is what must be, it must be.” She turned her mind to more immediate concerns. “Is Tom comfortable for the moment?”

  “As much as he can be, miss. James is going to sit with him now and I’ll take over in a few hours.”