The Prince in the Tower (2 page)

“Mr. Dalrymple.  It was he with whom you had the assignation last night, wasn’t it?”

Kate choked, sending the bitter water up her nose.  “No, my dear, I certainly did not have an assignation last night with Mr. Dalrymple.”  She paused, adding wickedly, “It was Mr. Weilmunster.”

Carolyn laughed, the worried pucker leaving her forehead for the first time since she’d seen Kate’s
poor, battered face.  Deciding that her sister was incorrigible, but unharmed, she conceded.  “Dr. Dogget was right.  You’ll live.”  She got up, picked up the leather valise, and let herself out, closing the door softly behind her. 

Kate waited for a few moments before throwing back the bedcovers and hobbled to the window.  The door flew open.  Carolyn peered around.

“And don’t let me catch you pouring that laudanum out the window.”

With a guilty start, Kate crawled back in bed, scowled at her
sister and drank her laudanum.

***

The Marquis of Granville woke to a cacophonous symphony of hammers and saws just outside the barred window of his prison.  Peering out, he watched as workmen began constructing the platform which would, he assumed, soon be covered with villagers acting out various aspects of the life of the Grey Cavalier.

Early though it was, the village w
as hustle-bustle with activity.  People were pausing in their daily chores to watch the men at work on the green before hurrying to do their errands.  The shops were already doing a brisk business, as was Tipman’s Tours (“
We’re Capital!
”).  While Edmund watched, a man herded a gaggle of tourists into his haywain.  Once they climbed up, he heaved himself to the box and grabbed the ribbons, chirruping to his team.  As he drove down the lane, a plump woman stood up carefully on the mound of hay, holding onto the railing for dear life as they rattled down the rocky road.  Her voice was rich and carrying.

“--and if you look to your left--” 

Everyone craned their necks to the left.

“--you will see the roundhouse which at this very moment holds the man claiming to be the Grey Cavalier!”  She pointed dramatically.  Lady
Katherine herself could have done no better.  In a flash, Edmund ducked out of sight beneath the window.

“Guilty or innocent?  Noble gallant or bloodthirsty hellion?  Now on your right--” Her voice faded as the lumbering wagon continued down the lane toward, Edmund was certain, the spot where the illustrious captain had been caught and hanged.

He stood, damp and shivering, his right buttock on fire from the shot last night.  Despite the luxuries of a musty horse blanket and a tiny wooden bench, Edmund was cold, miserable, and highly cantankerous.  For some time, he had nothing to do but watch the antics of the village, until finally the sound of a key rattling in the lock caused him to whip around.  The door opened, and there stood Constable Mackey, his expression that of a man who has just seen his career vanish before his eyes.

“My lord,” he intoned, then bowed so low Edmund was afraid he’d turn a somersault.

"Hush, man!  Think what you’re about!” he hissed.  Grabbing the constable by the arm, he dragged him inside the tiny gaol and slammed the door behind him.

Constable Mackey tried again.  “My lord--”

“My name is Mr. Dalrymple,” Edmund told him, his voice laden with meaning.

“Er, yes, sir.”

“I am currently rusticating due to a loss on ‘Change.”  He considered.  "Hm.  No, perhaps I was Disappointed in Love.”

The constable d
rew himself up.  “Yes, sir!”  An ex-military man, he caught himself just before he saluted.

“Thank
you.”  Edmund noted the man’s worried expression.  “Your assistance will not go unnoticed, Mackey.”

“Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.”  This time the constable did salute
.

Edmund sighed.

“Perhaps I should inform you, sir, that they’ve sent a squadron of dragoons to quarter here.  I don’t believe them to be aware of your mission, sir.”

Edmund sighed again, thought long and deeply about the entire situation, an
d decided to order luncheon.

***

Oaksley village had not seen such excitement since the Roundheads defeated the Royalists in 1645, and this was a great deal more fun.  And profitable.

Not only were the plans for the pageant proceeding with d
ispatch, but a fine young buck, and an eligible
parti
to boot, was right in their midst.  Luckily for mothers of marriageable daughters, this man of purported rank and fortune was now considered possessed of delightful eccentricities, rather than mad and bad habits. 

No one knew exactly who had told what to whom, but by
the time he had completed his ablutions and consumed a fine luncheon, Mr. Dalrymple’s broken heart, the probable size of his fortune, and exactly what connection he might claim to the blue-blooded Dalrymples of Northumberland was being discussed over all the luncheon tables in the village and surrounding estates. 

Miss Radish
even maintained that her parlor maid, who was walking out with the apothecary’s apprentice, had heard Constable Mackey address Mr. Dalrymple as “my lord,” but everyone knew how Barbara Radish gossiped and took her news with a sizable grain of salt.

A
highwayman, an eligible parti, a squadron of dragoons, and swarms of tourists who couldn’t fork over their shillings fast enough?  Why, they were all going to be nabobs!

***

It was while he was performing his ablutions, absent any helpful sibling to bandage his wounds and prescribe spider detritus, that Edmund first began to feel old. 

Certainly he was only twenty-five, a mere stripling in terms of, say, Methuselah, or any of the other blokes of antiquity, but it was while he was lowering himself, wincing, into his bath, that the thought occurred to him (and he did occasionally have one which wasn’t caused by Lady Hellion), that the war was in fact over.  Napoleon might have escaped once to lead the ragtag dregs of an a
rmy of old men and young boys to his Waterloo, but it was highly improbable, Edmund admitted to himself, that such would happen again.

So, while
trying to balance in his bath on only one buttock, cataloging his bumps and bruises, Edmund grew up.  It was time to face the realities of life, not to mention the title and duties of the head of the family.

It was unlikely that
these should ever have been his lot to begin.  The previous marquis, Uncle Louis, had remained hale and hearty until taking a tumble at a hunt, breaking most of the bones in his body, including his neck.  When the child his wife carried proved not to be the son everyone so desired, the title had passed unexpectedly to Edmund at the relatively tender age of twenty-three.  In vain had he protested being sent from the front, but his superiors in England and on the Continent had added their voices to those of his family.  If Edmund was inconsiderate enough to stay in battle and get himself killed for honor and glory, there was only Cousin Alphonse to inherit and everyone agreed he was a bedlamite.  Edmund was informed England needed men to serve on the homefront as well as the battlefield and sent grumbling home.

But raising sheep
and speaking occasionally in the House of Lords was not Edmund’s idea of serving his country.  By dint of wearing down Lord Liverpool’s patience, he managed to wangle himself the job of tracking down the counterfeiters whose efforts could destroy England’s economy should they get out of hand. 

Edmund was no fool, however.  If the War Office had any real fear of a couple of haypenny counterfeiters, they would never have given the assignm
ent to someone with only a bit military experience and a ten-minute lecture from a seasoned campaigner in espionage.  This was his chance to serve his country, to prove his worth off the battlefield.  Unfortunately, while his natural bent for amateur theatricals and long observation of Cousin Alphonse helped enormously in his disguise, his soldier’s directness was conflicting awkwardly with the subtlety necessary for a spy.

Then there was Kate, as he’d taken to calling the lady in his thoughts.  Edmund couldn’t repress a smile
, though the water had turned cool and his fingers pruney.   

Lady
Katherine was a woman unlike any he’d ever met.  Expecting propriety from her family, while she, wild to a fault, had all of England in an uproar with her highway shenanigans was rich, to say the least.  Edmund hadn’t an idea in the world how to handle her, especially after the stunt she’d pulled last night, but what a heart she had, pluck to the backbone.  Others might call the Grey Cavalier a common thief, but Katherine was anything but common.

But Edmund
had, however, had the wisdom to not let her know she was being handled.  Enough that he knew what he was doing--more than she, anyway.  He was a man, a soldier! who knew far more about life than a great ladder of a girl who had nothing on her mind but giving him sauce.  Luckily, the dragoons were prowling the village, which should be enough to keep her at home and out of trouble, rather than prancing around robbing coaches or being daring and practically getting them both killed.  Her tactics in the cavern, or lack thereof, still infuriated him, though whether at her gall or his own bungling, he wasn’t sure.

But the very notion that the Cavalier was a woman had blown his careful, though naïve, plan from here to Kingdom come.  Said plan being to capture the ringleader and toss him around a bit till he either confessed or led Edmund to the counterfeiters’ lair.  Edmund acquitted Kate o
f being a counterfeiter with no evidence at all, aside from the fact that she couldn’t possibly have time to be both a thief and pressing false coin. 

The
Lady Carolyn, on the other hand--

Edmund seriously considered this idea, only to dismiss it.  Lady Caro
line would undoubtedly grow up to be an assassin, but at the moment she didn’t possess the subtlety necessary for an elaborate counterfeiting ring. 

He wasted several minutes on the contemplation of various members of Oaksley, with particular attention to the
Countess Malford, before coming to the conclusion that he didn’t know nearly enough to compare personalities.  He’d not find the ring leader that way. 

Now he just had to devise
another plan, one ripe with cunning, to bust up the ring, save Britain, bestow honor and glory on his family name, and perhaps steal a kiss or two before the object of his increasing affections ended up on the gallows.

A
nd then there was the small matter of the clue he’d found in the cavern the previous night.

***

Edmund spent what remained of his day cultivating the goodwill of the village.  This was not as difficult as he first thought due to three factors: his purported friendship with Lady Katherine, for no matter how poor the Thoreaus were, no one denied they were the first family of the parish; his putative status as a wealthy bachelor hungering for True Love; and his incarceration on charges of impersonating the late Captain Harrison.  The villagers considered this a compliment of the highest order and were eager to embrace a gentleman of such discerning intelligence.

Edmund himself
was surprised, but pleased, and felt his first attempt at spying was not going too poorly, despite the efforts of one Lady Katherine.

Which reminded him of Lady A
lice’s kind invitation to call.

***

“I say, Gladys, if the Dragoons do manage to capture the Cavalier, we’re sunk,” predicted Mrs. Dogget with chilling accuracy at the next morning’s meeting of the Ladies Aid Society.  Normally a group whose deeds were regularly noted from the pulpits of both St. Agatha’s (on one side of the green) and All Souls (on the other), the meeting had been called in order to work out arrangements for the pageant and related festivities.  All the most influential ladies of the neighborhood were gathered in the drawing room of Mrs. Dogget’s snug home overlooking the green, feasting on plumb cake and tea.

“No
t necessarily,” chirped Miss Radish.  “The publicity of an arrest alone would likely be enough to draw all sorts of spectators.”

“But what then?  If th
e fellow, whomever he is, is clapped up in Newgate, he’s of no use to us.  They’re much more likely to hang him in London this time.”  Mrs. Appleby helped herself to another slice of plum cake and munched gloomily.

Rarely did it take the
Countess of Malford such a long time to air her views.  “Piffle.  If the man is tried, Horace will see to it he is transported, if he cannot buy--er--scrape him an outright pardon.  It’s quite the least we owe the rascal.”

The ladies, who each, secretly and not so secretly, nursed a
tendre
in their bosoms for the dashing gentleman, breathed sighs of relief.

Mrs. Kendall’s eyes lit up.  “If anything happens to the Cavalier, we might hire an actor and stage robberies ourselves!”