Lady Sherry and the Highwayman (20 page)

“Oh!” She pressed her hands to her throbbing temples. “You do not understand. Lady Sherry . . .
Oh, la vache!
I know the truth, Andrew. One redhead is as good as another for you, even if it belongs to a highwayman’s doxy!”

Andrew stared at his
petite amie.
Never had he seen her so overwrought. Then the impact of her words struck him. The highwayman! “Captain Toby?” he said.

At last he understood. Marguerite felt giddy with relief. She also felt a trifle guilty at thus maligning a perfectly innocent female. Too late now to make a clean breast of things. Much too late, thought Marguerite, remembering the
post-obit
bills in her writing desk. Crying all the harder, she nodded her head.

Andrew stared at those auburn curls. He felt as though someone had served him a painful, underhanded blow. He had not trusted Marguerite, exactly, but he had not thought either that she would set about intriguing with a highwayman right under his nose. Or not beneath his nose, precisely, because he had not been around much of late.

This wretched business was partially his fault. Had he not been so neglectful, Marguerite might not have wandered so far astray. “My dear,” he said somewhat helplessly as he set aside his brandy glass and rose from his chair.

He was crushed, of course. Marguerite allowed herself to be enveloped in his embrace. She would provide him comfort now, in his hour of need, and he would be so grateful that he would pay off all of her wretched debts.

How strange. Lord Viccars was stroking her bare shoulders as if it was she who was in need of comforting. And, moreover, it felt very good. Marguerite shrugged off this puzzle and gave herself up to his caress.

Poor girl! thought Andrew. Marguerite lived for pleasure and the good things of this world, and he was saddened by his realization of how far she’d been led astray by a handsome, feckless rogue—and here perhaps it should be explained that Lord Viccars had taken Marguerite’s comments about Captain Toby’s red-haired doxy to refer to herself. The human brain is a marvelous instrument, with great capacities for staunch beliefs and leaps of faith, but there are limits to human credulity, after all. Andrew had found it difficult to imagine Lady Sherry at the gaming tables. For him to comprehend the notion of her association with a highwayman was nigh impossible.

Marguerite, however, was a filly of an entirely different color. Lord Viccars had long experience of her imprudence. And so he had misjudged her. He had thought she set out to cut a wheedle. Instead she had confided in him for the first time in all their acquaintance, and he was touched.

Confided in him? Good Lord! Andrew had confided in Sir Christopher not many days ago, had passed along information that might lead to the arrest of Captain Toby’s light-o’-love. He drew Marguerite closer, appalled by thought of so frail and fair a barque languishing in Newgate.

It must not happen. Marguerite must not be sent to jail. Andrew must prevent that happening somehow. But what was he to do? He would visit the tavern he had told Christopher about, Andrew decided, and try to find the fellow who had bragged in his cups that he knew precious all there was to know about a certain red-haired wench.

Nor would Lord Viccars tell Marguerite how close she stood even now to betrayal and the gallows. If he were to lose her, and in such a manner— Andrew groaned aloud and buried his face in her sweet-smelling auburn curls.

Chapter Twenty

London was a city of many diversions: concerts and picture exhibitions, shops displaying every manner of goods, the theater. At Drury Lane this evening, a family party had been got up. Lady Childe and Sir Christopher were present, along with Lady Sherry and Lord Viccars and his sister Sarah-Louise.

It was not a happy gathering. Indeed, the entire party seemed to be under the influence of low spirits, with the exception of Sarah-Louise, who was very curious as to why everyone else had fallen into the dismals. Not surprisingly, no one offered her enlightenment on this score. Lavinia did not explain that her presence was occasioned only by a grim determination to see that Sherris should do nothing to jeopardize her prospective union with Lord Viccars. Nor did Sir Christopher voice his dislike of the theater in general, and especially of this theater, which had burned to the ground some time before and had recently been rebuilt. He was present only to keep his Livvy company—what a brave creature she was, determined to spoil no one’s pleasure even if she was so indisposed!—and to bear her and his unborn heir to safety in case of another fire breaking out.

Sir Christopher’s sister’s motives were a great deal less noble; she had come to collect the five hundred pounds from her fiancé. As for Lord Viccars, he was present because the outing had been his idea in the first place.

Not the best of ideas, his lordship thought now as he waited for the interminable evening to draw to a close. He chafed at sitting through several hours of theatrical entertainment when so many serious matters required his attention. But his betrothal to was a serious matter also. Andrew was marrying a very superior woman even though his heart was in the keeping of a member of the carnal company. He glanced at Lady Sherry’s red-gold curls and thought despairingly of his
petite amie.
The thought of Marguerite dangling from the gallows had concentrated his affections wonderfully.

Intermission came at last. The gentlemen excused themselves from the box. Lavinia and Sarah-Louise embarked upon a desultory conversation about various actors they had seen.

Lady Sherry did not contribute to this conversation. The smell of the theater was heavy in her nostrils, that suffocating combination of perspiration and stale cloth, theatrical makeup and burning candle wax. The theater was crowded, for the popular Mr. Kean was to appear as Shylock in
The Merchant of Venice
tonight, and Mr. Kean could reduce an audience to silence or tears or rouse them into a frenzy almost at will. Sherry glanced around at the neighboring boxes, which were filled with representatives of royalty and the Quality and the
demi-monde;
at the wits and squires,
beaux
and bullies jammed uncomfortably together on hard wooden benches in the pit; the abigails and journeymen and cits jostling for position in the gallery.

Everyone seemed very gay. If only she might join in that general mood. Sherry almost wished she’d taken to the road herself rather than ask Lord Viccars for the money. And then to have to tell him tarradiddles as to why she needed it! Association with a highwayman had obviously not elevated the tone of Sherry’s mind.

Her willpower was little more commendable, for she could not keep Micah from her thoughts. Since it was not Micah in Newgate, who languished there in his stead? How had such confusion come about? Surely someone must have realized that the wrong man was in chains!

Tully had said there was a resemblance. Few people in Newgate would know Micah as well as they did. And where
was
Micah if not in jail? Surely he would not let another man hang in his place?

The gentlemen returned to the box then, distracting Sherry from these thoughts. Sir Christopher immediately joined in the theatrical conversation, allowing that his own favorites were Elliston the comedian and Grimaldi the clown. Lord Viccars resumed his seat beside Lady Sherry. He was frowning.  “You are very quiet this evening, Andrew,” she murmured. “Are you angry with me?”

Andrew frowned all the harder at this suggestion. Rather, Lady Sherry should be angry with him, he thought. However, she was blissfully unaware of the alteration that had taken place in his sentiments. “Why should I be angry?” he countered irritably. “Forgive me if I have been neglecting you, but I have many things on my mind.”

“Oh, no! Pray think nothing of it!” Sherry wished her fiancé would continue to ignore her, because then she wouldn’t have to talk to him. Not that she disliked talking to Lord Viccars, but it was difficult to concentrate on commonplace nonsense when there were very important things to contemplate. Such as a certain sum of money. “Andrew, I do not mean to tease you, but did you bring the”—she glanced cautiously at the other members of the party—”er?”

The er? What the devil was Sherry prattling on about? Then Andrew recalled her gambling debts and his five hundred pounds. “I have,” he said sternly. “In return I must have your word that this will be an end to your—” He, too, glanced at the others. “You know! I am very surprised at you, my dear. Yes, and disappointed, too. But I do not mean to scold. You will know better in the future, I suppose.”

Sherry bit her tongue and bowed her head. She supposed she deserved to be catechized and sermonized in this odious way. Deserving a thing, however, did not make it easier to bear. Nor did Sherry relish her growing suspicion that the man she had contracted herself to marry was a crashing bore.

How unfair she was! Andrew meant his advice for the best. And good advice it would have been, moreover, had gambling been her vice.

Lord Viccars interpreted his companion’s silence as abashment. “We’ll speak no more of it!” he said, even as he wondered what life would be like shared with someone so blasted submissive. Marguerite would have wept in such an instance or attempted to cajole him into a more accepting mood.

Andrew would miss those cajoleries. They had had their price, of course. Many were the expensive baubles he’d fastened around that lovely throat. The throat that was now threatened by the hangman’s noose. “Has your brother said anything more to you about that highwayman?” he asked with studied nonchalance.

“What highwayman?” inquired Lady Sherry with equal offhandedness. Could Andrew somehow suspect the use she meant to make of his five hundred pounds? “If you mean Captain Toby, not a word. The man’s been captured and will hang. I suppose there’s little more to tell.”

Sarah-Louise had been blatantly eavesdropping on this conversation, which she thought very strange. Her brother and Lady Sherry were the most lukewarm lovers Sarah-Louise had ever seen. She was pleased to hear them mention Captain Toby, thereby giving her the opportunity to abandon the theatrical conversation, which had grown a trifle dull.

“Oh! Captain Toby!” cried Sarah-Louise. “What an interesting rogue, to be sure! We should have a new play about a highwayman. It would be vastly popular, I vow. Perhaps you should write it, Lady Sherry! The hero will be a very handsome fellow who ran through a considerable estate by gambling, then took up the profession of the road. He will be very gallant, never taking from his victims quite everything they own—none of this ‘your money or your honor’ business for our lad. Nor will he kill without good reason, or ravish helpless nuns. He
will
console distraught widows, naturally. Females will flock around him like moths to the flame because of his handsome face. Eventually one female, jealous of the others, will betray him, which gives us an excellent opportunity to bring a gallows onto the stage. The tension will mount—ladies in the audience will swoon—and then, at the very last moment—” She snapped her fingers. “Our hero will be reprieved!”

“Oh, brava!” cried Lavinia, who had enjoyed this nonsense very well. “You should write it yourself!”

Sarah-Louise laughed. “I have not the discipline, as anyone can tell you; I am a useless creature, indolent as a butterfly. Oh, look, Andrew, there is Cissy.” She wriggled her fingers at a nearby box. “She has snagged Grenville, the wretch. There will be no bearing her now that she has that feather in her cap. Even though she
wouldn’t
have it if he were not a distant connection of her husband’s family. Strange to find a man with such a history with a reclusive streak.”

Talk of feathers in caps could not fail to interest Lavinia. As the daughter of a duke, she had a social position to maintain. “Grenville?” she echoed, craning her neck so that she might see into Lady Cecilia’s box. “I thought Grenville died.”

“Oh, yes!” Sarah-Louise chuckled. “I did not mean that his shade walks among us. Although if he could, he probably would; the old man had a positive lust for life from all accounts. Do not frown at me, Andrew. You know there is an eccentric streak, to put it no higher, in that family. We are not children here, and lust is definitely the correct word. It was well known that no serving wench was safe from old Grenville, not even the servants in his own house.”

“Disgraceful,” murmured Lavinia. Child she may not have been, but she had no liking for conversations as frank as this. “There was some problem with the succession, was there not? The absence of an heir?”

Sarah-Louise nodded. “Old Grenville’s son was killed on the Peninsula. The tide has passed to the cadet branch of the family now, and I suspect he must be turning in his grave. It’s Cissy’s belief the old man stayed alive as long as he did in an effort to prevent that disaster taking place.” She glanced quizzically at Lady Sherry. “Perhaps you might be interested in his story. It is not as good as a moldering castle—although the family owns the next best thing, an ancient mansion near Cavendish Square—but very interesting, nonetheless.” Without waiting for an answer, she gestured imperiously toward her sister’s box.

Truth be told, Sherry had scant wish to make the acquaintance of the current Lord Grenville. She had been told before of stories that must fire her writer’s imagination and had found them uniformly tedious. She supposed she must make a show of interest now since Sarah-Louise obviously meant to be kind. Sherry girded her loins and prepared herself to be civil to the man who appeared in the doorway to their box. She glanced up—and choked.

He was tall and muscular, swarthy of complexion, with dark hair and eyes that were very familiar and very green. His clothing was well cut and elegant in an understated manner, and he walked with the aid of a cane. This impediment was the result of a riding accident, explained Sarah-Louise, the accident that had kept Lord Grenville from coming forth sooner to claim his inheritance. His lordship, she added, was something of an adventurer and had spent many years exploring exotic lands and strange climes.