The Crimson Cavaliers

by Mary Andrea Clarke

  “Oh?”

  “I believe she was a doting mama,” said Georgiana. “He claims Sir Robert didn’t know – that he kept to his mother’s pieces.”

  “If Sir Robert had married Miss Winters, he might have started giving her some of those pieces.”

  “Perhaps. Louisa might not have recognised a piece of paste, but I daresay someone would, very likely her mother. And Sir Brandon might not have been able to borrow money from Louisa so easily.”

  “No.”

  “Sir Brandon said the ring was left to his mother by her mother, so if she gave it to him, I don’t see that his father had much claim on it. And since most of Sir Robert’s estate goes to some cousin, I can almost feel sorry for him.”

  Georgiana considered Sir Brandon’s suggestion that his father went out alone in the hope of retrieving the property which had been stolen. She could easily reconcile the sanctimonious magistrate with a self-interested person willing to take any opportunity to find what belonged to him. Her difficulty was that she knew his property would not have been available to him on the night he died. Georgiana wondered how many people would have known of the robbery early enough to use this information against Sir Robert. If someone had lured him out on to the Bath Road with the promise of returning his goods, he must have received a note. Was it too much to hope he had not destroyed it?

  Emily looked aghast at Georgiana’s pronouncement that she needed a pretext to get into Sir Robert’s house. With darkness falling, stretching the Crimson Cavalier’s skills with some housebreaking seemed her best chance of finding what she needed. Emily’s reaction to this proposal showed Georgiana a stubborn side she had never before seen. At Emily’s insistence she sent a note to Mr Lakesby. She was less than pleased by his reply that he would deal with the matter.

  “If he had said I should not worry my pretty head over it, he could scarcely have been more insulting,” said Georgiana, screwing the note into a ball and throwing it into the fire. She scribbled another hurried note.

  “Come along, Emily, help me change.”

  Emily’s face still radiated disapproval, but she complied. Not many minutes later, Georgiana crept cautiously down the stairs, for once using the main staircase because the back area was occupied with working servants. Luck smiled on her as she opened the front door. Cavendish Square looked deserted as she slipped out, melting against the side of the house to make her way to the stables.

  Keeping watch, Emily accompanied her to the stables. Emily begged her again to reconsider. Georgiana shook her head. She looked towards James.

  “Give me half an hour, then go to my brother and give him this note. He told me that his Bow Street Runner would be calling on him this evening. Tell him I had a thought about Sir Robert’s murder after Sir Brandon left, and ask him to bring the Runner to Sir Robert’s house.”

  “Oh, miss.” Emily looked convinced her mistress had lost control of her sanity.

  “I will be out of there by then,” Georgiana assured her servants. “You must believe me, it is imperative you follow my instructions. Promise you’ll do as I say.”

  Brother and sister looked at each other before nodding. Satisfied, Georgiana tied on her mask and bundled her long auburn hair into her hat, from which she had again prudently omitted the red scarf proclaiming her identity. Mounting Princess, she moved slowly away, walking the animal towards her destination so as not to attract too much attention.

  Georgiana’s knowledge of some of the less salubrious streets proved a godsend, enabling her to reach Sir Robert Foster’s house without encountering anyone she knew. As expected, she saw lights burning, and counted two rooms having the appearance of occupancy. Tying Princess to a tree at the back of the house, she began to scout for an unobtrusive door or window which would allow her to effect entry unnoticed. Her search was soon rewarded with a side door; it looked like one used by tradesmen or servants. Georgiana prayed it would not be locked. Her prayer was answered as she saw a scullery maid come out to empty a bucket, giving her the opportunity to slip in as the girl’s back was away from her. She negotiated her way along a corridor wall, away from the sound of servants’ chatter. She was aiming for the lit area she had noticed at the front of the house. It was not many minutes before she realised she had been right. A door, slightly ajar, gave her a full view of Edward’s pistol, held in a slim hand that was shaking slightly. Georgiana drew her own weapon, her breath suddenly loud in her ears.

  “My dear fellow, you don’t seriously imagine you are going to get away with this, do you?” drawled Lakesby’s unmistakable tones. “A murder on the road which one can blame on a highwayman is one thing, but in your own home – do be reasonable. There is no one else who could be accused.”

  “Be quiet!” Georgiana recognised Lord Bartholomew’s high-pitched, petulant tones. “I’ve a right to shoot a housebreaker, haven’t I?”

  “But I’m not a housebreaker,” said Lakesby calmly. “I came through the front door.” His voice acquired a mocking edge.

  “You had to interfere, didn’t you? It was nothing to do with you, but you had to ask questions. I had to kill that wretched man. I’d have lost my inheritance if he’d had another son. I couldn’t let him marry that cousin of yours.”

  “Now, there at least we are in agreement. However, you needn’t have killed Sir Robert. There was no way I would have permitted my cousin to marry him.”

  “Quiet!” A note that was almost pride entered the voice. “Despite all his posturing about highwaymen, he couldn’t resist when it came to a chance of getting his own property back. But all those questions poor Georgiana’s been asking, and then you. Soon enough even dear dull Edward would realise I’d taken his pistols from his carriage, and might start wondering why.”

  Lord Bartholomew’s voice had risen to a shriek. Georgiana expected a servant to come and investigate at any minute. His lordship was clearly panicking, liable to shoot. Her pistol was cocked. She moved towards the door, her eyes alighting on a vase of freshly cut flowers on a small table. She transferred her pistol to her left hand, wincing slightly at the shaft of pain that came from her bullet wound. The fingers of her right closed around the vase. Anger sharpened her determination. She found she resented anyone but herself referring to Edward as dull, and the phrase ...˜poor Georgiana’ was not one she could easily forgive.

  Georgiana seized her moment. She threw the vase with impressive force, hitting the pistol in Lord Bartholomew’s hand. He whirled round to see who the new assailant was, a little off balance, but managing to hold tight to the pistol. Lakesby, recovering from his astonishment, made a grab for it while Georgiana pushed the door hard against Lord Bartholomew. As the two men struggled, the pistol went off. Inside the room, Georgiana closed and locked the door behind her, looking to see if one of the combatants had been hit. They continued to struggle; it appeared neither was injured. She gave Lord Bartholomew’s leg a sharp kick. He cried out as he started to topple over. Georgiana hit Lord Bartholomew hard with the pistol handle, then pointed it steadily at him. He was lying on the floor, all fight seemingly gone out of him. Lakesby stood, breathing heavily. He glanced towards his rescuer, then gave a smile and an exaggerated bow of thanks.

  “There’s a Bow Street Runner on the way,” Georgiana said to him, hoping Lord Bartholomew’s winded condition and the servants now banging on the door would prevent him recognising her voice.

  “Then you should go,” said Lakesby. “I’ll take care of matters here. Thank you.”

  Georgiana gave him a nod, noting he held Edward’s pistol in businesslike fashion over their quarry. Hearing her brother’s voice out in the hall, she made speedily for the window. She saw Lakesby waiting to see her safely out before he opened the door.

  19

  “I can’t believe you’re going through with this.” Emily’s voice was heavy with disapproval as she watched her mistress tie the red scarf on her hat.

  Georgiana shrugged.

  “Why not? Sir Robert’s murdere
r has been caught. He has even confessed.”

  “Even so...”

  “What do you expect me to do, Emily? Settle down to a life of paying morning calls until Edward finds me a suitable husband?” She grinned at this, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she looked at her maid. “Though something tells me Edward won’t be doing any more matchmaking on my behalf, at least not for a while. Had I accepted his last suggestion, he would be the brother-in-law of a murderer.”

  “Instead of the brother of a highway robber,” Emily retorted.

  “Yes, well, he doesn’t know that,” said Georgiana as she checked her pistol.

  “That bullet wound isn’t even healed properly yet,” said Emily.

  “I shall do well enough.” She paused, looking steadily towards her maid. “Don’t worry so. There’s no more risk now than there was before Sir Robert’s death.”

  “Well, there was enough then,” said Emily. She picked up Georgiana’s reticule, and continued putting away the more feminine items of clothing in her wardrobe. “It’s still hard to believe Lord Bartholomew Parker is a murderer.”

  “I know,” said Georgiana. “He seems to have had more ingenuity than I would have credited.”

  “I expect Mr Edward was shocked.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Georgiana warmly. “Especially with the way Lord Bartholomew turned on him. I thought Selina would have an attack of the vapours when she heard.” Georgiana paused. “Edward thinks he ought to resign his seat on the magistrates’ bench.”

  “Really?”

  “It would be more convenient,” remarked Georgiana, “at least as far as I’m concerned. However, to be honest, Emily, I find myself in some sympathy with him. I know how much it means to him, and he was so proud of having achieved it.”

  Emily was shaking her head. “It’s not his fault his wife’s cousin is a murderer.”

  “No.” Georgiana was thoughtful. “I don’t feel I ought to try to influence Edward’s decision.”

  “Perhaps not, miss,” said Emily. “What made you realise about Lord Bartholomew?”

  Georgiana tilted her head slightly. “When I asked Sir Brandon why he thought his father had gone out that night, he suggested Sir Robert had gone to get his property back.”

  “On the road?”

  Georgiana nodded. “Oh, yes, a word in the right quarter can often secure results. The robbery was no secret, but I’m sure Sir Robert would not have wanted such a meeting known. It would not accord with his public face of a magistrate determined to make examples of the criminals who came before him.” She paused. “However, a family member, even a distant one, would be well enough acquainted with him to realise he could be lured out.”

  “And Lord Bartholomew was a cousin.”

  Georgiana nodded. “Between that and his new curricle and new friends, I’m ashamed I didn’t put it together sooner.”

  “What happens to his inheritance?” asked Emily.

  “I believe it now goes to Sir Brandon. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “I imagine Mr Lakesby was surprised when you arrived at Sir Robert’s house.”

  “He certainly seemed to be, at first,” said Georgiana. “Yet he took it in his stride somehow. After him trying to make me wait patiently at home, it was very satisfying to go to his rescue.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have gone dashing off like that,” said Emily severely.

  “Yes, Emily you’ve made your point.”

  “As for going out now–”

  “I have to let Harry know Tom’s adventure on the road did not kill Sir Robert.”

  “He was just injured?”

  Georgiana nodded. “Knocked off his horse, Edward said. I imagine Tom’s attempt at robbery was a gift to Lord Bartholomew. He would have found him struggling to his feet, groggy and swearing. It gave him an advantage. Sir Robert would be in no position to fight, and would look battered and bruised when he was found. Easy to blame on a highwayman.”

  “A particular highwayman.”

  “Yes,” said Georgiana with feeling. “You know, I believe Edward was almost as shocked by Lord Bartholomew stealing his pistols as committing the murder. Apparently, he’d seen them there when he went with Amanda to call on some acquaintance, and went back to the carriage fussing about dropping his handkerchief. He hid them in some excessively caped greatcoat.”

  Georgiana pulled on her tightly-fitting gloves and picked up her hat and mask.

  “There is no need to wait up,” she said, “although I do not expect to be very late.”

  Georgiana led Princess out on foot, mounting some way from the house where she thought it unlikely she would be seen. There was still some aching in her shoulder, but she decided she would be better for some exercise. The night was clear and, fortunately, the road quiet. Georgiana smiled to herself under the mask. She had more caution than Emily credited. The Crimson Cavalier would be back soon enough, but Georgiana knew she had to let the dust settle first.

  Georgiana again found Harry in the company of the curly-haired maid. As Georgiana entered the tavern, the maid was summarily dismissed. Georgiana shook her head at Harry’s offer of wine and followed him to the parlour.

  “I hear that problem of yours has been solved,” said Harry without preamble as he closed the door.

  Georgiana nodded.

  “One of the quality, wasn’t it?” Harry continued.

  She nodded again.

  “Well, well,” Harry said, rubbing his chin. “It just shows you. You never know, do you? I expect Tom’s abandoned any idea of the high toby?”

  “I imagine so,” said Georgiana.

  “Just as well,” said Harry. He looked at Georgiana shrewdly. “So the Crimson Cavalier will be back on the road soon?”

  “Soon enough,” said Georgiana. She looked steadily at her compatriot. “Thank you for your help, Harry.”

  Harry brushed her words aside. “We all have to stick together. What’s bad for one’s bad for another, and as I said, I’d be sorry to see you hang.”

  Georgiana glanced curiously towards Harry. There had been something in his tone which made her uneasy. It was unlikely that he had guessed the truth about her. Yet she could not repress the feeling he knew more than he was prepared to divulge. She could only be glad he seemed inclined to show her friendship.

  Untying Princess from behind the tavern, Georgiana breathed a sigh of relief. At last, it was over. The whole thing had seemed unreal somehow. Standing in the quiet of the night behind the Lucky Bell, it would have been all too easy to convince herself it had been no more than a bad dream.

  Georgiana mounted Princess and began to pick her way across the yard towards home. She had not realised how tired she was. She knew Emily had probably been right. It hadn’t been sensible for her to venture out with her shoulder still weak. But Georgiana could not abide inactivity, and could not feel easy until she had spoken to Harry about Tom and thanked him for his efforts on her own behalf. Georgiana flattered herself she had never underestimated his shrewdness. However, it was beginning to occur to her that there was an omniscient quality about him eerily reminiscent of Lakesby.

  The cool air brushing against her cheeks refreshed Georgiana, and with the reassuring sensation of Princess’s invigorating canter, she began to feel more like her old self. Her mind moved forward, planning the Crimson Cavalier’s next piece of work. It would be wise to wait a while. The slightest vulnerability would take away any advantage she might have. However, Georgiana had no wish to delay too long before resuming her work. It would not do for the Crimson Cavalier to lose her touch through lack of practice.

  Emerging on to the road, Georgiana reflected on the irony of her recent habit of checking to ensure there were no travellers. It was long past the hour when all but the most determined of revellers would be setting out for home. The distant sound of approaching wheels caused her to frown. She began to draw back when something familiar about the equipage made her pause. Looking into the distance, her eyes gradually made ou
t the shape of the chaise. Georgiana gave a slow smile under her mask as she drew her pistol. She took up her position on the road.

  The chaise came slowly to a halt. Georgiana saw the coachman’s eyes roll heavenward as he caught sight of her levelled pistol. Lakesby’s eyes met hers, an unholy amusement in their depths.

  “Your valuables, sir,” came Georgiana’s muffled voice.

  Lakesby tossed her his coin purse and drew off his signet ring.