The Crimson Cavaliers

by Mary Andrea Clarke

  “The Crimson Cavalier has quite a fine horse,” remarked Lakesby.

  “The Crimson Cavalier?” Georgiana was on her guard.

  “Yes. One hears these stories about highwaymen having exceptional horses. I have always imagined them as part of the legend, but having met the Crimson Cavalier, I have to own myself impressed.”

  Georgiana felt her heart beating faster. She wondered Lakesby could not hear it. Her mouth grew dry.

  “You’ve met the Crimson Cavalier?” Her voice held a hint of scepticism.

  “Well, perhaps ‘met’ is not quite the right word. He held up my carriage, not far from where Sir Robert’s body was found, I believe.”

  “Really? That seems a rather dangerous area for highwaymen.”

  “It does seem to keep the Crimson Cavalier well occupied,” Lakesby observed. “However, if he disposes of all his booty in the same manner as that which he took from me, it can’t be very profitable for him.”

  “You have traced your property, then?” Georgiana asked, in a tone of mild interest.

  “More easily than one would have expected. It was returned to me.”

  “Indeed? How odd.”

  “Perhaps.” He looked steadily at her, the hint of a smile appearing. “Perhaps you could enlighten me, Miss Grey.”

  9

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Lakesby smiled. His tone remained pleasant, conversational.

  “It was very sporting of you, I thought, returning my property. You’d done your work well; you earned the right to keep it.”

  Georgiana had sensed an element of suspicion on Lakesby’s part, but had not been prepared for such a direct confrontation. She decided to brazen it out, adopting what she hoped was a convincingly perplexed expression.

  “Mr Lakesby, I am afraid you have me at a loss. Are you accusing me of being a highway robber?”

  “A very good highway robber,” he responded, “much better than that young friend of yours.”

  Georgiana seized on the chance he offered. “You have not yet told me what you mean to do about that boy. Do you intend to notify the authorities?”

  “Certainly not. I’ve no desire to hang a child. However,” Lakesby continued, “I would advise the boy to choose another line of work.”

  “I have suggested that to him.”

  “A wise undertaking. I’m sure he will listen to the Crimson Cavalier.” Lakesby’s tone was cool. “He lacks your flair for the business.”

  Georgiana refrained from volunteering that the Crimson Cavalier had already made several attempts to dissuade Tom from venturing into a career with which he was not compatible. Instead, she looked steadily at Lakesby, the beginnings of a puzzled frown taking shape on her brow.

  “Mr Lakesby, I must confess myself at a loss. I can only assume you are having a joke at my expense, though rather an odd one. You cannot seriously mean to suggest I could be some notorious highwayman. The notion is quite preposterous.”

  “Yes, that’s what I thought at first,” Lakesby mused. “Yet, you know, it’s rather what makes the whole thing so appealing. When I think of my Aunt Beatrice and Sir Robert Foster in such high dudgeon, in your house, not to mention your own brother. I collect he doesn’t know?”

  “There is nothing for him to know,” Georgiana laughed. “How delightful! The sister of a newly appointed magistrate a common criminal?”

  “Oh, not a common criminal, Miss Grey, not by any means. I consider you quite exceptional.”

  “I thank you for the compliment.”

  Lakesby laughed softly.

  When Georgiana spoke again, her tone was more thoughtful. “I suppose it would be quite a coup, discovering the identity of the Crimson Cavalier. I believe the reward is now fifty pounds.”

  “I have no need of fifty pounds.”

  “I am pleased to hear it. Nevertheless, sir, it must be tempting.”

  “That was for the murder, wasn’t it?”

  “Was it?”

  “Did you do it?”

  “What?”

  “Did you kill Sir Robert Foster?”

  “Good gracious, Mr Lakesby, now you’re seeking a murder confession? I really don’t know what to say.”

  Lakesby studied her. “I think you do. However, I don’t think you killed Sir Robert.”

  Georgiana inclined her head in gracious acknowledgement. “You are very kind.”

  “All the stories I’ve heard about the Crimson Cavalier have one thing in common. He, I beg your pardon, she, never fires a shot.”

  Lakesby’s tone was maddeningly matter-of-fact. Georgiana looked at him in curiosity. He smiled.

  “You needn’t fear. I don’t wish to see you hang. Your secret is quite safe, at least as far as I am concerned.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I think it’s quite fascinating. To think of being able to pull off such a feat. It’s quite outrageous and yet you did it. You don’t deserve hanging, you deserve congratulations.”

  It was clear Lakesby would not be easily convinced. Georgiana looked at him with a mixture of wonderment and pity.

  “At the risk of sounding uncivil, you appear to have windmills in your head. I cannot imagine how you came to conceive such a notion.”

  “Can’t you?” Lakesby’s eyes were facing front, focused on coaxing his horses into a tricky manoeuvre of his curricle. Georgiana folded her hands in her lap, looking at him with patient interest. Lakesby glanced towards her and laughed. “To be perfectly frank, Miss Grey, I am more concerned about this business of you investigating Sir Robert Foster’s murder.”

  “What?”

  Lakesby turned his gaze full upon her.

  “All these questions you have been asking, I see no other construction which can be put upon them. Am I mistaken?”

  “You are mistaken in imagining my interest to be an investigation. It’s quite true I am concerned and shocked, but I am hardly the proper person to investigate.”

  “I see,” he said.

  Georgiana suspected he saw only too well. Nevertheless, she was determined not to give way.

  “I do understand your interest,” said Lakesby. “However,I would advise you not to pursue it. Such questioning could be misconstrued and if the killer were to learn of it, even dangerous.”

  “Thank you, Mr Lakesby,” said Georgiana, the barest hint of an edge creeping into her voice. “It is kind of you to show such concern, but I promise you, there is not the least need. I can take care of myself.”

  “I don’t doubt it. I should not have surrendered my valuables with such alacrity otherwise.”

  Georgiana sighed. “Oh, dear,” she said in a bored tone. “Have we not finished with that?”

  “But it’s quite fascinating, Miss Grey. The sheer audacity of it. Holding up the carriages of people you have probably encountered in some drawing room and getting away with it. I make you my compliments.”

  “Thank you,” said Georgiana, “but it sounds ridiculously far-fetched.”

  “That is partly what makes it so fascinating.”

  Georgiana looked at him with an expression which suggested she was growing tired of the joke. However, an idea occurred to her which gave rise to a slow smile.

  “Are you certain that is the reason, Mr Lakesby? Perhaps you are yourself looking for someone who can take responsibility for Sir Robert’s murder.”

  “Why on earth should I do that?”

  “Perhaps you killed Sir Robert Foster.”

  “I?” Lakesby’s astonishment seemed genuine. “Why on earth should I do such a thing?”

  “You didn’t want him to marry your cousin, did you?”

  “No, I did not regard him as an eligible suitor. However, if I were to murder every ineligible man dangling after Louisa, there would be no room to move for bodies strewn about London.”

  While this seemed a little extreme, Georgiana could see his point. Although she gave a small smile in acknowledgement, a thought occurred to her which s
uggested a reason for him wanting to keep his cousin single.

  “It must be difficult trying to sift the fortune hunters from those with a genuine regard for Louisa,” she said sympathetically.

  “I have grown accustomed to it. In any case, Louisa is too young to be thinking of marriage, regardless of my aunt’s views, and there are some ruthless people in the world.” He stole a shrewd glance at her. “As I’m sure you know, Miss Grey.”

  “Yes, indeed,” she sighed mournfully. “Poor Sir Robert’s fate teaches us that. Of course, you would not wish anyone to take advantage of your cousin.”

  “No.”

  Georgiana cast a look at him from under her eyelashes. “It seems unlikely Sir Robert would have needed your cousin’s fortune, though perhaps he would not have made her such a generous allowance as you.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Georgiana folded her hands in her lap. On looking towards Lakesby, she was surprised by an expression of genuine concern in his eyes. It took her by surprise.

  “I understand you are not doing this for your own amusement, Miss Grey. Perhaps I can help?”

  Georgiana was wary.

  “Thank you, Mr Lakesby, but I am not certain…”

  “I find it difficult to believe you uncertain of anything, Miss Grey,” he said lightly. “However, if you are determined to persevere with this business of Sir Robert’s murder, I may be able to assist. I am able to gain access to places which could be denied to you.” He paused fractionally. “And vice versa, of course.”

  Approaching her house, Lakesby drew rein and leapt from the curricle. He walked around to Georgiana’s side and held out a hand to assist her. As she stepped down, Georgiana regarded him steadily.

  “Thank you, Mr Lakesby. It’s been… interesting.”

  “Most definitely. Thank you for your company, Miss Grey.”

  With a smile which appeared to Georgiana a touch enigmatic, Lakesby bowed over her hand and took his leave. Without further speech, he stepped into the curricle and gathered the reins, quickly driving away. As the curricle disappeared, Georgiana gave herself a mental shake and began to mount the front steps, her mind prey to a turmoil of mixed thoughts. She was amazed at the equanimity with which she had faced Lakesby’s disclosure. Georgiana contemplated Emily’s reaction. Her maid would be appalled.

  Horton opened the front door and received an absent-minded ‘thank you’ from Georgiana. She slowly drew off her gloves and ascended the stairs in something of a brown study. Emily was waiting in Georgiana’s bedroom.

  “Is my cousin still in her room?” Georgiana asked as soon as the door was closed behind her.

  Emily nodded. “Mrs Daniels had some hartshorn and lavender water sent up to her, but apart from that, no one’s been near her.” She looked anxiously at her mistress. “What happened with Mr Lakesby?”

  Georgiana looked at Emily uncertainly. She decided to opt for a compromise.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary. We went for a drive through the park.”

  “That’s all?”

  Georgiana felt acutely uncomfortable. Her long relationship with Emily made it difficult for her to lie. Yet telling her of the conclusions Lakesby had drawn would only serve to worry her. Emily was looking at her suspiciously; she smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring fashion.

  “We have nothing to fear from Mr Lakesby.” Georgiana wondered why she felt certain on this point, but she was sure she was speaking the truth.

  As Emily put away her bonnet and pelisse, Georgiana sat in front of the dressing table, trying to determine her next move. She looked thoughtfully towards her maid as an idea occurred to her.

  “Emily, Louisa Winters told me Sir Robert Foster’s funeral is tomorrow.”

  “Oh?” said Emily as she closed the wardrobe door.

  “It would hardly be proper for me to go, of course, but I was wondering whether I ought to send someone.”

  “Really?” said Emily. “Is that necessary?”

  “A mark of respect.”

  Emily’s expression suggested uneasiness. “You want to find out something.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t hurt,” said Georgiana matter-of-factly. “As far as anyone else is concerned, we are paying our respects.” She looked at her maid’s solemn eyes. Georgiana’s guilt over the secret she kept from Emily took refuge in the irritation in her voice. “Very well, I confess. I would like to know who is there.”

  Emily’s brow creased.

  “What is it?” Georgiana asked.

  “I’m just not certain what use it will be,” said the maid.

  “Neither am I,” said Georgiana candidly. “But we need to explore every possibility.”

  “Whom do you mean to send?” Emily still looked concerned.

  Georgiana paused. “I could ask Horton,” she mused. “I daresay he will be less than enthusiastic, but I imagine he’ll oblige. It would have to be him or James, and it hardly seems fair to ask James.”

  “It’s not for me to say, miss.”

  Georgiana looked at her maid shrewdly. “No, of course not.” She smiled. “I’m sure he would be very obliging, but of course he would not wish to go. I couldn’t blame him.”

  “I don’t imagine Horton will be very eager,” observed Emily.

  “Perhaps not. But I’m sure he will not hesitate to do his duty.”

  “But do you think he’ll tell you anything?” asked Emily.

  “We’ll see,” said Georgiana. “Hopefully he’ll attribute any questions to feminine curiosity and indulge me.”

  Emily looked doubtful, but agreed it was worth the attempt.

  Turning her attention elsewhere, Georgiana knew she could no longer delay sending a note to Amanda concerning the party planned for the following evening. She sat at her writing desk in the small saloon, her quill poised above the blank paper as she gazed ahead in a state of indecision. The ink had dried on the tip of her pen for the third time when James entered. Still no nearer to formulating a reply, she was glad of the distraction.

  “Yes, James, what is it?”

  “The boy, miss,” James responded with barely concealed impatience. “He’s growing restless again.” James paused. “He’s getting stronger and has decided he wants his clothes.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Georgiana with a sigh. The quill feather brushed against her cheek as she knitted her brows in thought.

  “Begging your pardon, miss, but what were you planning to do about him?” inquired James.

  Georgiana looked at her footman. Her mind had been otherwise engaged, and there had been no opportunity to consider what would become of Tom. She could not keep him against his will. Yet she had made herself responsible for him and could not afford to risk his trying to turn highwayman again. In any case, she was far from satisfied about Tom’s situation with regard to Sir Robert Foster, despite his denials.

  “Send him in here to me. I’ll to speak to him.”

  “Yes, miss.” James complied, but cast a wary look back into the room before departing.

  It was not many minutes before Georgiana and the boy stood confronting one another, she thoughtful, he defiant.

  “How are you feeling?” Georgiana asked.

  Tom did not answer.

  Georgiana sat down and signalled her guest to do likewise. After a slight hesitation, he followed her example.

  “Well, what have you decided?” said Georgiana. “My footman tells me you wish to leave.”

  “Yes.”

  “To go back to the Lucky Bell?”

  Tom nodded.

  Georgiana regarded the boy steadily. “You realise if you return to highway robbery you may not have such a fortunate escape next time?”

  “I can take care of myself. Besides, I got friends on the high toby.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Tom seemed hesitant this time. The look he gave her was part suspicion, part puzzlement. Knowing Harry to be worried about Tom, Georgiana felt a twinge of guilt over her next sentence
. Yet a part of her knew she would have his blessing.

  “I have not noticed any indication of your friends trying to find you.”

  “They don’t know I’m in this ken,” Tom retorted. “Don’t mean they’re not looking.”

  “True,” said Georgiana. “Do you think they are likely to find you?”

  Tom did not answer. Georgiana began to feel cruel, taunting him in this fashion. She kept telling herself it was for the best, regarding him speculatively.

  “Highway robbery strikes me as a profession for which you are not entirely suited.”

  “I can do it.”

  “It’s easy to believe that until you are tested,” said Georgiana. “What gives you the idea you can be successful? Have you robbed someone before your most recent disastrous attempt?”

  “I know what you’re doing,” Tom said indignantly. “I told you, I didn’t kill that old cove. You can’t hang me for it.”

  “Fortunately, hanging people is not my responsibility. My brother, however, is a magistrate, so has more influence in such matters.”

  Although he maintained his defiant stance, the increasing nervousness in Tom’s eyes did not escape Georgiana.

  “So you say you did not kill this gentleman. Did you rob him?”

  Tom did not answer. Georgiana’s patience was rapidly depleting.

  “Did you see him?”

  “I wasn’t there,” Tom said.

  “Where?” asked Georgiana.

  “Where the old cove was.”

  Georgiana was not certain how many people would have known the location of Sir Robert Foster’s body. Even if it was common knowledge that he had been found on the Bath Road, its length made it unlikely many people knew the exact position. Tempted as she was to pursue the extent of Tom’s knowledge, Georgiana suspected he would not be quite naive enough to be taken in by her ploy. She decided to try another avenue.

  “Where did you get the pistol?” she asked with casual interest.

  “From one as won’t needs it again,” said Tom darkly.

  For the first time in their conversation, Georgiana felt seriously uneasy. A half-forgotten story she had heard several months earlier flashed through her mind. A highwayman had been hanged and his body spirited away, carried to the Lucky Bell by two others working the same road, before the surgeons could take it for dissection. She also remembered a rumour that his pistol had disappeared. There was some suspicion of a guard having stolen and sold it. The notion of his selling it to Tom, or that Tom could afford to buy it, seemed rather bizarre, though not impossible.