The Highwayman Came Riding (3 page)

One might wonder, but no one did. Tourists were rampant in Oaksley and
its environs, and even a peacock of Mr. Dalrymple’s hue soon faded into the
horde.

At the B, .B., & B. Drapery Shop, he again spotted the beauty from
the coffee house. Unfortunately, he also spotted her sister and forced his
gaze away from tresses so ravishing they could make a man forget his mission,
and a bosom so round he might forget his country, too. He decided after all to
purchase the buttons etched with the profile of Captain Harry and stepped
behind the ladies in line at the counter.

When they turned to leave, he lifted his curled beaver politely. Lady
Katherine, obviously in a tantrum, gave him a curt nod. The younger, whose
name he hadn’t caught, gave him a distracted nod and hurried after her sister.
All in all, not an encouraging beginning.

After paying for the buttons, Mr. Dalrymple slipped out of the shop and
around the corner to a quiet alley. After making a notation in a notebook, he
tore out the page, folding the paper around the coins he had received from the
harried clerk. Leaving the alley, he unfurled his parasol and twinkled back up
the street to The Lady and the Scamp. Repairing to his room, thankfully empty
of his valet, he unloaded various packets of change from his pockets.
Carefully he examined each coin in the sunlight streaming through the
diamond-paned window. Some of these coins he placed in his purse. The rest he
carefully re-wrapped, numbering the papers with what he hoped were
undecipherable notations. Then, he turned the knob on his parasol and inserted
the coins into the shaft, closed it, and stood the fashionable feminine
accessory in his wardrobe.

Satisfied with his day’s work, he then struggled into a new ensemble with
the help of the boot boy and went down to dinner, magnificent in a ruby-red
coat and gold-striped waistcoat. In the common room, cheek-by-jowl with every
example of humanity, he proceeded to enchant the landlord by not raising a dust
about the lack of private dining parlors.

So gratified was the landlord, that he, Mr. Rigby, even condescended to
join Mr. Dalrymple for a glass of his own best port. By eleven of the clock,
the London coxcomb and the no-nonsense landlord were fast friends, and Mr.
Dalrymple was considerably wiser regarding the methods and habits of a certain
road bandit known to operate in the area.

*****

At the unfashionable hour of five of the clock, Kate herded her five
siblings, Lucy, Carolyn, Bertie, Simon, and Meg, and their paternal aunt, the
Lady Alice Thoreau, into the dining room at Belleview, country seat of the earls
of Bellingham since the fifteenth century. The house had been expanded
greatly, but modernized not at all, Kate reflected gloomily, noting once more
the faded wallpaper and threadbare carpets. Some ladies might long for a
wealthy and titled husband, but Kate’s daydreams leaned towards a patched roof,
school fees, and that new London invention of gaslight. What a saving on
candles that would be. And the convenience! Just a turn of a pin and a whole
room illuminated bright as day. No more smelly tallow candles or expensive wax
ones. The servants wouldn’t need to burn rush lights anymore.

Cheered at the thought that they still had servants, though these
consisted only of an elderly butler and cook, she stopped trying to count the
cost of gaslight on her fingers and counted her blessings instead.

Smiling at these, Kate settled herself at the opposite end of the table from
the earl of Bellingham and signaled Curtis for the dishes to be served. Rather
grandly called the first course, though there were only two, it consisted of
neatly dressed joints and dishes of buttered parsnips and beans. Apple tart
with cream would follow. Not fashionable, but perfectly wholesome for a
growing family. As long as they could manage to put a plow to the fields, the
Thoreaus would never starve.

“Margaret, dear, I believe it is your turn to say the blessing tonight,”
Lady Alice instructed, smiling at the five year-old.

Flushed with pride at being chosen for the honor, Meg sat bolt upright as
she delivered her prayer, then looked anxiously toward Heaven.

Lucy beamed at the little girl. "Thank you, dear.”

Reassured, Meg, the only blonde among a sea of redheads, began to eat.

“Lady Malford says praying before meals is Papist,” announced Bertie, the
twelve-year-old peer.

Lucy drew a shocked breath.

“Tell Lady Malford it’s not Papist, it’s Methodist,” Kate advised the
head of the family.

“Is that better?” Bertie inquired innocently.

Kate’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Oh, no. It’s much worse.”

“Kate!” Lucy frowned at her sister, who should know better.

Unrepentant, Kate, Carolyn, and Bertie snickered over their parsnips.

Apparently deciding the time was ripe for questions, Simon
piped up. “Katie, is it true

we’re poor mice?”

Kate frowned at him, puzzled. “What do you mean, darling?”

“Ethan Douglas said his nanny told him we’re poor mice.”

“Poor as a church mouse?” She exchanged looks with her aunt.

Simon nodded, his mouth full of roast beef. Kate stabbed her fork into
her meat, wistfully wishing it were Ethan’s nanny’s heart.

"One who is 'poor as a church mouse’ is a person who doesn’t have a
great deal of money,” she explained carefully. “And we haven’t. However, it’s
worse to be vulgar than to be poor, and you may tell Ethan’s nanny
that
with my compliments!”

There was a chorus of “Huzzahs!” from the children, followed by “Oh,
Katherines” from Lucy and Lady Alice. Kate sighed. This wasn’t the way she
wanted to make her announcement, but it would serve.

"Now. While it’s true we aren’t exactly nabobs, things are becoming
easier.” With sublime disregard for her sister’s earlier pronouncement, Kate
continued. “Lucy will be able to go to London next month, so that should get
her out of our hair, at least for a while.” Kate paused to allow the giggles
to subside. “And if everything goes well, Bertie, you will be able to start
school next year.”

Gasps of surprise and delight greeted this announcement. On tenterhooks,
Kate awaited the inevitable question. It came from Lady Alice.

“Katherine, how much--that it--how--”

Kate jumped in to spare her aunt’s feelings. "The harvest has been
phenomenal this year, and we still have a bit left over from the
sheep-shearing. Old Ollie says that next year will be the best yet,” she said
confidently, hoping that in their excitement no one would realize she was
unable to look them in the eye. Bertie was fast growing up, and needed to
learn to manage his estates. That would include examining the ledgers. Lady
Alice was no fool, either. If she or Bertie happened to take a close look at
the books, Kate’s fumbling accounting would be pitifully exposed. Kate, who
could never quite remember how many shillings in a crown, had never realized
before how difficult it was to balance one’s accounts to hide ill-gotten gains.

The evening meal was completed to more than the usual merriment, with
Carolyn teasing Lu unmercifully with talk of beaux and the ton; Bertie
ecstatic to be going away to school at last.

The family adjourned to the shabby library. Shorn of any and every
valuable tome it had once held, the shelves still boasted a reasonable number
of volumes and the stone fireplace, which once roasted entire cows, made for a
cozy gathering place. Outside, the rain pelted down in an unusually raw
September evening, but inside the Thoreaus were snug as the mice gnawing on the
wainscoting. Lucy played the pianoforte, Carolyn and Bertie sang, and Kate
played jackstraws with the little ones, easily quenching a scrap which broke
out between Simon and Meg. But, all the while her nerves stretched tighter and
her excitement grew apace. Finally, when she thought the evening would never
end, Carolyn and Lucy herded the youngsters upstairs to bed. Lady Alice
lingered behind.

Promising to be up presently to tuck them in, Kate watched her aunt fuss
with the music, precisely tucking it away in the scarred rosewood table by the
piano. It seemed whenever she needed them to go to bed early, her family
lagged behind on purpose. It was already nine of the clock and she had a
robbery--er, an appointment for midnight. She pretended to yawn behind her
hand, to encourage her aunt to hurry.

Lady Alice Thoreau, only daughter of the sixth earl and the family’s
pillar of quiet support, never spoke above a ladylike murmur, never lounged
about on the furniture like her hoyden nieces, and had no words for the
children but ones of love and kindness. The perfect lady. Kate suspected that
Lucy was very much like her aunt, indeed, and was constantly torn between
admiration and annoyance.

“Katherine,” she began quietly, “I know how very hard you have worked to
make this estate productive again--”

Kate pretended to look for a jackstraw underneath the settee while her
mind worked feverishly to formulate a believable lie.

“But I also know the dreadful state of affairs after my father died, and
how crushing were the debts. I am also not unaware of the exorbitant interest
on the second mortgage Mr. Babcock was able to negotiate for you, and I cannot
help being concerned…” Again her aunt paused delicately, unable to form what
she saw as vulgar questions into genteel queries.

“Where I am finding all this money for the children?” Kate asked for
her.

A tinge of pink touched the still-attractive face now looking pensively
out the window into the dark night.

“Yes.”

Kate laid her hand on the older woman’s. “Upon my honor, everything I’ve
told you tonight is true. The harvest was much better than we’d expected and
the sheep are doing splendidly.” She paused for a moment, searching for the
right words. “We will certainly not be without debt anytime soon, but there is
no longer need to practice such stringent economies as we have in these last years.”
She looked at Lady Alice. “In any case, if you have any idea where I might
be procuring money, I would very much like to hear it.”

Lady Alice squeezed Kate’s hand.

“My dear, certainly I am not implying anything at all. Indeed, I am so
very proud of you, Katherine. Yet sometimes you are so determined and can be
rather impetuous--Katherine, I won’t soon forget the time you shot Mrs.
Appleby’s second cousin just because he pulled your hair and called you a
freckle-puss--”

“I was aiming for the target,” Kate said hotly, for the words, spoken by
one on whom she’d had her first girlish infatuaion, still hurt.

Lady Alice raised her eyebrows infinitesimally. Kate raised her eyebrows
as high as she could.

“Katherine Rachel.”

Kate sighed as if put upon by the world and collapsed on the settee.

“My dear, he only meant to tease you.”

Kate shot up.

“A twenty year-old man should know better than to tease a
fourteen-year-old girl about her appearance,” Kate replied, still stung by the
injustice of it all. "The only thing I regret about shooting that
spindle-shanked nincompoop is that I missed.”

She brushed off her aunt’s restraining hand and paced the room with long
strides. “At fourteen, my dreams were dashed by a hideously cruel man, so that
never in my life can I know the happiness of a pretty woman,” she said, quite
enjoying the drama. “And now, my own aunt has accused me of--of indulging in
nefarious schemes to regain the wealth of the Thoreaus.”

Kate grabbed the poker and vigorously stirred the fire, guilt rising in
her like sparks up the flue at the worried look on Lady Alice’s face.

"No,” her aunt said calmly. "That is not what I said.”

Kate continued to stare at the cooling coals. For a wild moment, she
considered telling her aunt the whole story. But one look at the concerned
face before her caused her to hold her tongue. Whatever burden there was in
this life she was leading, Kate would not lay it on the shoulders of the woman
who’d devoted her life to her family.

Then a brilliant idea came to her.

She sat down by Lady Alice. Taking her aunt’s hand in hers, her voice
barely a whisper, she admitted the truth. “You’re quite right. I do have a
scheme.” She cast a surreptitious glance over her shoulder and leaned closer.
“I am the Grey Cavalier! Pray, do not turn me over to the authorities, I
implore you.”

As she’d hoped, Lady Alice laughed. “Oh, you dreadful girl,” she scolded
gently. She stood and straightened her shawl, shaking her head at her niece.

Kate banked the fire as her aunt blew out the candles, leaving one to
light their way up the elaborately carved staircase. Kate tucked her arm in
the older woman’s.

“You will keep my secret, dear Aunt, won’t you?” she teased, blue eyes
dancing. “I depend upon your discretion. Lucy’s chances would be quite ruined
should I be hanged during her comeout.” For some reason, the dandy who had
shown such interest in Lucy’s bosom at the Coffee Shoppe that morning sprang to
her mind.
How odd
, Kate thought, as a
sensation of apprehension niggled at the back of her neck.

"Simply dreadful,” said her aunt as they entered the nursery to
sleepy cries of, “We want a story!”