1.'The Masked Lady'
It was in March 1774 that the rural district of Wakefield in the County
of Leicestershire had its first experience of robbery on the King's highway,
following the sudden appearance of a mysterious woman, dubbed by the local
populace 'The Masked Lady' who was considered either a legend - or to some
people a scourge - until she melted away once more into the shadows just as
suddenly, never to be seen or heard of again. Loved and admired by the
commoners, but mostly feared and hated by the rich and powerful in the
parish, she had set about depriving the wealthy of their cash and jewellery
and by all accounts redistributing the booty to the poor and needy.
In particular she seemed to target associates of the Marquis de Vere,
who's seat was Wakefield Hall, a stately home of 100 - odd bedrooms,
innumerable day-rooms and guest-rooms, requiring an army of servants,
musicians and entertainers to keep the endless stream of house-guests and
other hangers-on amused and happy, but his largesse never included his
tenants, who helped to finance the lavish parties it pleased him to preside
over.
The Masked Lady
began her career with night time raids on the carraiges of guests returning
from week-end mid-summer soirees at Wakefield Hall, and she seemed to know
precisely when and where to strike. Most Sunday nights or Monday mornings,
two or even three carraiges were robbed, though she was most selective in
her choice of victims. A two thousand guinea bounty offered by the Marquis
for her arrest was never, ever paid out, despite the efforts of bounty
hunters from as far afield as the cities of London and York, and she always
seemed to outwit her pursuers on her sturdy steed, ably assisted by a masked
accomplice, but her thirst for adventure led her to take more and more risks
as she even extended her activities to the hours of daylight, and thus was
able on several occasions to separate Jacob Sharpe the Marquis's land agent
from the tenants' rent on his way back to Wakefield Hall.
But her most daring exploit followed an overly-long evensong service in
Wakefield Parish Church, attended by the De Veres' in honour of their
wedding anniversary. After the
congregation had eventually left the church to return home by coach or by
torchlight, the masked lady swished silently through the door and into the
dark and empty church. Since she knew more or less where the Claude de Vere
the rector hid his ill-gotten gains, she only had to get him to pinpoint the
exact location of his cache in order to complete her task. So she made her
way to the ringing chamber at the foot of the bell tower from where she
could hear the rector scrabbling about in the bell-loft, counting up the
days collection. Having protected her eardrums with scraps of wool, she then
heaved on one of the bell ropes, and the dislodged tenor bell swung into
life as she set about heaving the other bells into motion.
In seconds the pealing bells filled the tower with a cacophony of sound,
and without further ado she made her way over to the wooden spiral
staircase, and lifting the wide skirts of her gown out of the way with one
hand, and carrying her empty carpet bag in the other, she began the long
climb to the bell chamber hoping and praying her prey would still be
incapacitated by the din. The bells had well and truly done their job, with
the rector lying curled up in a petrified heap on the wooden floor,
clutching at his ears and moaning and groaning, his rapier lying alongside
the strong-box on the floor beside him. She crouched down and quickly
transferred the money to her carpet bag before going over to the still
oscillating bells, grabbing one of the bell-pulls, hauling the loose end up
through the hole in the floor and tying the rope around the handles of her
bag. She then struggled over to one of the arrow slits, hauled the bag onto
the ledge, and slowly lowered it down the outside of the tower and on to the
roof of the nave where her accomplice was ready and waiting. But down in the
darkness of the churchyard there were angry shouts and the sounds of shots
being fired to summon help as a group of men ran into the church in response
to the peeling of the bells. Her accomplice waved frantically and tried to
shout a warning to his mistress, but she was otherwise engaged trying to
squeeze herself through the tiny opening, but her skirts were too bulky to
pass through such a narrow gap so she had to risk going back the way she
came.
Knowing time was short, she dashed over to the door only to find her
escape already blocked by a group of armed Bow Street Runners who were
mounting the rickety staircase. She withdrew her pistols from the folds in
her dress and aimed carefully at the man leading the charge but held her
fire to allow her assailants time to draw their weapons and discharge a
fusillade of shots, at which point she stepped smartly out of the line of
fire, re-appearing a moment later to discharge her weapons through the
swirling gun-powder smoke.
The two leading
figures staggered and fell backwards upon their companions and they
retreated down the staircase to lick their wounds, reload and regroup.
Although the bell-loft door didn't have an inside bolt, she slammed it
behind her as her first line of defence, while realising she would be
trapped in the tower in her bulky clothing, and with little time to reload
her flintlocks, the Masked Lady brazenly removed her mask and proceeded to
rip off her cape, dress and petticoats, wrapping her garments round her
trusty pistols. Then clad only in her stays, chemise , drawers, and riding
boots, she stepped over the inert rector's body, made her way back to the
rope and threw her clothing down to her manservant. She was about to follow
her clothing when she saw the door slowly open, so without hesitation she
siezed the rector's rapier from the floor and with a loud scream rushed the
door as her pursuer came into view.
In the half light, and stunned by the noise from the bells, he never even
had time to aim and fire, as the blade ripped through his leather coat and
onwards into his arm as with a grunt he dropped his firearm, lost his
balance and disappeared the way he had come. This was her last chance of
freedom, so squeezing her tiny frame through the arrow slit she slid down
the rope to join her accomplice and make good her escape. Burdened by the
bag and her clothing, the pair had to shin down a lead pipe to reach the
ground, but as they crossed the grave-yard somebody shouted a challenge,
followed by a shot, which whistled harmlessly between them. "This woy me
Mi-Loidy!" called a croaking voice from the shadows, so the offer of safe
passage was taken up, since they had no idea of how many armed bounty
hunters were at large.
The gangly village
woman took them back to her hovel, and despite the indescribable smell they
remained until the hue and cry had subsided. "Why did you help us escape de
Vere's men back there?" Her face saddened - "You is our only ope! I don't
fink 'is Grace' is a bad lot! It's is agent is the bad-un! Moi man was
killed boi Sharpe's old geng of cut-throats. Ee was a blacksmith and was
attacked and robbed in Grantham - Eee told me oo diddit afore ee died. I ope
yoo git rid of im for us poor folk and thets why I elped yoo." Milady just
nodded her head and with her servant keeping look-out at the window, she
took the opportunity to restore her clothing in the dim light of a single
tallow candle while the old crone looked on in admiration, even pawing at
the luxurious material of her gown with her filthy wrinkled claws as she
shrank away in disgust. "Bootiful and good Liody !" she murmured
contentedly, though 'Milady' felt far from beautiful or good at that moment
in time, her hands and legs still smarting from the rope burns during her
perilous descent from the bell-tower, and worse still! - there was a rip in
her favourite gown! - but she felt some sort of reply was in order - "It is
very kind of you to say so Madam!"- Which brought a smile of pleasure from
the crone's blackened and rotting teeth.
On 'All Hallows' night she was even more daring, as she struck within the
safe confines of Waverly Hall itself where she was able to mingle easily
with the frolicking revellers in their fancy dress, including several
'masked ladies' suitably attired and equipped with wooden imitation pistols.
The would-be 'victims' unwittingly accepted her challenge of "Stand and
deliver" as a harmless joke and in their semi-enebriated state willingly
handed over their purses and jewels in anticipation of their safe return at
the close of the evening, but it proved not to be as she fired a volley into
the ceiling of the ballroom before making her escape in the ensuing melee.
A week later the annual ball held on Guy Fawkes night to commemorate the
attempt to blow up King James's Parliament in London provided more surprises
than just a bonfire and a few fireworks! It was about midnight and the
ballroom was crowded with revellers when there were loud shouts from the
outside and the double doors suddenly burst open flooding the darkened room
with light from the grand hall as the bloodied figure of Redruth, the deputy
coachman staggered into the room "My Lord, she has struck again!" The feeble
voice from the doorway drew an immediate response from the assembled company
within as the poor fellow fell upon the ballroom floor in a dead faint.
Mistress Flora, sister to the Marquese promptly collapsed in a swoon amidst
terrified cries from the other ladies present, who reached for their
smelling-salts, while their menfolk snorted in disgust as the pathetic
lackey laid senseless at their feet, while in the background the musicians
tried to maintain some semblance of rhythm to their playing.
All eyes now
turned towards the Marquis, who had risen from his seat to tower over his
guests, his piggy eyes scarlet with rage, as he bellowed - "Rouse that oaf
at once and bring him here to me! Where are those Bow Street men, - they
were supposed to protect my property! - and cease that infernal din!" He had
rounded on the musicians who promptly retired in disorder leaving
music-stands awry, and their music scores fluttering about the floor.
Timidly a group of flunkeys had gathered round Redruth, and carried him into
the light from a chandelier, but their half-hearted efforts to revive the
coachman prompted the Marquis De Vere to swagger across the room,
wine-goblet in hand, to deliver the contents full in the face of the
coachman, to be followed by a savage thrust with his foot into the man's
groin, but he remained insensible as De Vere continued to harangue the
onlookers. "This is the fourth time she has struck - she must be stopped, -
he must be in league with that woman - she knows my every move! - when he
comes round we must find out all he knows and dismiss him instantly - can't
even get decent servants, these days!" By now the hubbub within the room had
subsided as De Vere turned on his heel and stalked out, flanked by his
favourites, cousins the Honorable George and Bertrand Curtis, to be followed
by the other gentlemen present, while the Marquese, having successfully
revived her younger sister, Flora, now bustled over with her entourage to
render assistance to the young coachman, as she absentmindedly muttered;
"Now where is that errant brother in law of mine,- never here when needed!"
- "He was locked in his room, Ma'am, on His Grace's orders." replied a
footman. "Oh dear, drunk again, I s'pose better go and let him out." and the
footman departed, post-haste to do his mistress's bidding.
"My-oh-My. -such excitement! - seems our Masked Lady hath been busy
again." The slightly built person who minced into the room ten minutes later
was dressed in a powder-blue embroidered silk frock coat, white satin
breeches, a ruffled lace choker in white silk edged with lace, white silk
stockings and dainty embroidered slipperettes; while on his head he was
wearing a powdered peruke, framing a heavily-rouged, chubby, but attractive
face, ornamented with jewelled patches, his lips painted in a scarlet bow,
similar to the ladies with whom he seemed to compete. Honourable Harry the
family fop chuckled contemptuously to himself as he hovered alongside his
sister-in-law, the Marquese, as she nursed the young coachman, now laid out
on a settle. Slowly Redruth regained consciousness and he blinked in the
light from the oil-lit chandelier as the other Ladies crowded round
expectantly, awaiting choice morsels of gossip to pass on in their salons
and drawing-rooms. "Now my man, try to tell us what happened, but please
take your time, and we might even permit the surgeon to examine your
wounds." Redruth winced as he sat up and gingerly rubbed the lump on his
head and began his story. "Well my Lady,-Joseph Sharpe had collected the
tenants' rents in the Black Swan in the usual manner and we were on the
return trip and passing through the darkest part of South Coppice towards
Wakefield House, moving along very slowly because of the condition of the
track when a rear wheel suddenly collapsed, throwing me onto the track, and
while I laid there I could hear Collins jumping down and steadying the
horses and whilst Sharpe stayed in the coach, he ordered the other two
coachmen to inspect the damage to the wheel."
"Meanwhile I had staggered to my feet and heard that the spokes had been
smashed to matchwood, apparently with a simple device - a stout pole
suspended at right-angles from trees at the side of the track, which was
then swung out in order to disable the coach. Sharpe could see I was hurt,
so he sent me on ahead to sound the alarm while the others stayed behind to
guard the Marquis's purse." Whilst the other ladies waited Elizabeth held a
mug of beer to the coachman's lips, as he drank thirstily from the mug, and
then continued with his tale. "I had staggered some way along the track when
I spotted her, riding side-saddle, the horses hooves muffled to reduce the
sound as she steered the gray carefully through the bushes - I went to shout
a warning to the others, but she had seen me, and her cocked pistol pointed
towards me kept me quiet as I continued on my way." The ladies gasped in
horror that the wicked woman had dared strike so close to Wakefield House.
"Later, I heard a brief exchange of shots and men shouting in alarm behind
me before all was quiet again. - Later still as I crossed Gibbet Plain in
the moonlight she came past me at the gallop.
She was wearing a
black hooded cape, covering a light yellow brocade riding frock, - a
marvellous horsewoman, riding side-saddle, yet still carrying a brace of
pistols in her hands, with two of the others in hot pursuit, riding bareback
on horses which must have been unshackled from the coach." - "We are not
interested in her equestrian skills, man - she is a felon - not some
folk-hero! - Continue with the story this instant!" 'Milady' expressed her
displeasure with her lackey and hastily he resumed where he left off.
"Collins fell from his mount not far from me, but the fall must have broken
his neck. - He lived just long enough to tell me she had stolen the purse
and made off. Fortunately I managed to scramble onto poor Collin's horse
which was grazing nearby and ride back to Wakefield." - "You say she was
riding a gray?" - "Yes Maam, - about fifteen hands." Redruth's face was
still pallid from the blow to his head as he lapsed once more into
semi-consciousness, while the Marquese quietly murmured, "Not many mounts of
that description in the district, and all thoroughbreds and ridden by
gentlemen - apart from Harry's that is." - as she recalled the most
difficult horse to ride in the stables.
Ignoring the titters, Harry took a pinch of snuff from his enamelled
snuff-box; "I was a-bed, remember." and the dandy minced to the far end of
the room. "That wicked, wicked, woman - she deserves to be made to suffer on
Gibbet Plain" - babbled Flora excitedly. "Hush child, that will be for a
court to decide, - when and if she is caught." With these soothing words to
her sister Elizabeth slowly rose to her feet and looked thoughtfully and
hard at the Honourable Harry, the family fop, standing at the far end of the
room, brazenly relieving himself in a chamber-pot being held by a flunkey,
grinning a foolish grin in response to her grimmace, and as he finished his
chore he sidled down the room towards his sister-in-law. "Why so deep in
thought Madame?" - but he stopped in his tracks in response to her searching
gaze, so he turned to look silently out of the window at the full moon, now
low on the horizon. The Marquese beckoned to the footmen, "Please remove
this poor man and take care of him and inform 'His Grace' of the situation -
and ladies, please leave me now, I must have private words with Harry."
As the music-room doors closed on her house-guests, Elizabeth glided over
to her brother-in-law, and took him warmly by the hands. "Your brother is
not the easiest of men to get along with, as you are well aware; but he is
my husband and we have so far sired three children, and I know you consider
his treatment of his tenants to be vile and inhuman, but the management of
this estate just seems to run away with the money for some reason, despite
Mr. Sharpe upping the rents every three months. But it has come to my
attention that this woman, who-ever she may be has been doing something to
redress the balance at great personal danger to herself, but is placing a
greater strain on the finances of my husband - to such an extent that your
brother is up to his ears in debt to usurers and moneylenders and may have
to sell the few valuables we have left." She looked Harry full in the face
as he tried to avert his long eyelashes from her gaze as she
continued,imploringly " And it grieves me to see my husbands servants
getting hurt while protecting what he sees as his property, and the only key
to solving his problems, but I would hate her to get caught - even if only
for my own reasons." Harry was momentarily startled at her final comment,
but laughingly he responded, - "My Dear Elizabeth, I know of no such woman -
so your fears are groundless - she is probably some trollope from town,
dead-set on leading the hangman a merry dance, until she is finally caught."
- he then became serious - "Or until the Marquis changes his ways." - "Well,
he is your brother and Lord of us all, - so you should know if there is any
hope of that?" and Harry slowly shook his head in resignation and led her
back to her guests, now assembled in the dining-room.
As Harry prepared
for bed that night, he had much to ponder over. His lukewarm relationship
with Flora had begun to blossom despite her timidity and his apparent
effeminacy, an observation not wasted on her older sister Elizabeth, who
also appeared to have second sight in other directions. He thought back to
the days of his childhood and his bullying older brother Charles, still
unchanged, but burdened down with problems in his role as the Marquis,
following the death of his father some six years ago, and he weeped inwardly
at remembrance also of his mother and two older sisters - struck down by
disease while still maidens - and with whom he shared his young life in so
many ways. His younger, dashing brother, Gerald, away on the Continent with
General Clive, was now a full-blown Colonel, accompanied by the pick of the
finest men from the farms and villages on the estate, leaving the care of
their properties in the hands of the young, the old, and the infirm, with
only the womenfolk supplying an efficient labour force. But their strength
was also sapped by Harry's youngest brother, Claude , who was rector of the
parish of Wakefield who also exploited his living with demands for excessive
'alms' at the Sunday service, re-inforced by the threat of hell and
damnation being called down upon his flock if they did not supply enough
funds for his miserly needs. He frequently boasted to the family how much of
his parishioners' money he had managed to salt away over the years, so it
pleased Harry to have given his mean brother a nasty ear-ache, as well as
relieve him of most of his booty.
But Harry knew the biggest drain on the parish was the huge sums paid
over to the Marquis, his brother, who made ever-increasing demands for rents
from his hapless tenants, while Harry revelled in the reputation in his
'grace and favour' role as the black sheep of the family , as he powdered,
perfumed, and shamelessly preened himself to perfection as he enjoyed all
the benefits of his 'grace and favour' role, but with none of the
responsibilities his brothers shared. It was upon this unhappy scene that
the 'Masked Lady' had descended some nine months before, and had terrified
the elite of the district with her daring raids, earning the fear and
respect of rich and poor alike with her consummate skill with a brace of
flintlocks - and although she hadn't murdered any of her victims, she was a
match for any man, - hence a thousand guineas upon her head - offered by the
Marquis himself.
Harry had always prided himself on his horsemanship, and it was during a
lively fox-hunt that he had found his true vocation. The hounds had scented
a fox in lower paddock and were soon pursuing their quarry across the fields
towards the hamlet of Easton, and our hero on his sturdy gray had soon
outpaced the others as the pack raced along a muddy track between the
cottages. As he rounded a sharp corner the dogs had parted to avoid a small
child sitting in the middle of the muddy track. Harry immediately
reined in his mount, jumped down, picked up the child in his arms and dashed
to the shelter of a cottage doorway as the other riders thundered past, with
no thought of the safety of any the inhabitants who may be out and about,
although Harry had undoubtedly saved one poor soul from an untimely death.
He was about to leave the child on the ground when curiosity got the better
of him, and he banged on the door behind him. The wizened creature who
opened the door mumbled a few unintelligable words to Harry's enquiry and
pointed across the track to a tumbledown hovel. The filthy bundle was soon
nestling in the arms of its mother whose sad eyes beckoned him to come
inside, and although the squalid surroundings and the smell made Harry feel
faint, he felt obliged to accept the mother's hospitality and went inside to
be confronted by a sad scene of hopelessness and despair with half a dozen
potbellied souls huddled together for warmth as a substitute for their lack
of sustinence - a sight which prompted Harry to throw his purse upon the
empty table as he departed.
This shattering experience was a turning point in Harry's life as he
realised where his future lay, and he set about putting the world to rights
with the crazy plan he had dream't up. His main problem was finding a
suitable disguise, since he would be easily recognised, even with a mask, so
he soon realised that a change of gender, along with a change of clothing
would be the only answer. He also knew his insider's knowledge of the
workings of the De Vere household would prove an invaluable source of
information, while his servant and drinking companion would make an ideal
partner in crime, having told many a tale about his colourful past which
could now be put to the test, and so a successful partnership was soon
forged. Using his knowledge of the hidden passageways built into the fabric
of the house thoughtfully provided by Harry's Great-Great-Grandfather in the
English civil wars, Harry would be able to roam freely through-out the
building and come and go as he pleased since there was no shortage of
suitable garments he had concealed in the lofts of Wakefield House, -
quality gowns which had previously been worn by his deceased siblings, and
lovingly cared for - and frequently worn by their devoted custodian. Although his
servant didn't hesitate to ridicule his young master's plan to adopt female
disguise in order to fulfill his quest, Blake proved to be adept at
mastering the skills of a 'ladies maid', and he was highly amused the first
time he helped Harry try on his panniers, dressing him in white pantaloons
and a cotton shift, then squeezing and moulding two globes out of what
little flesh covered Harry's chest to create a modest display of decolletage
and subjecting his master to excrutiating pain as he set to with gusto at
tightening Harry's pink corsets to reduce his waist to a more feminine shape
- although for a time both men were reduced to shaking wrecks since they
laughed so much on the first few occasions that Harry donned his novel garb
in preparation for his forays into the real world. But eventually the
novelty wore off as Blake found himself thinking more and more in terms of
his 'young mistress' and treating her as such as she blossomed into a
beautiful young lady, and displaying all the airs, graces and charm
befitting a lady of her rank! But despite Blake's pleas for him to desist
and return to his former dissolute self, Harry would have none of it as
'she' becamW the dominant element in his life.
It was as a youth and having deferred breeching as long as possible, his
mother and sisters had frequently attired him as a girl, and but only within
the privacy of the their appartment, so to prepare fully for his acceptance
as a woman he began to venture a few paces along the corridors of Wakefield
House, using Blake's quarters to change into attire befitting a ladies maid,
since just one more maid belonging to a house-guest in such a vast retinue
of servants would go un-noticed. This proved to be
the case, and he roamed far afield within the confines of the house, and
although his heart went a pitter-pat on these occasions he - or rather she -
was never challenged, and having plucked up the necessary courage, decided
to put his appearance to the sternest of tests - a confrontation with his
kinsman - Charles de Vere!
A few nights later Blake had ridden off to the village for a few flagons
of grog, so Harry made his way through a maze of secret passages to Blake's
tiny room in the servants quarters, and having made his elaborate
preparations for his forthcoming adventure, he trotted off in search of his
quarry. He had to run the gauntlet of some of the servants and ladies who
were moving about the house, but eventually found the gentlemen engaged in a
tete-a-tete in the library. It didn't take an eagle eyed Charles long to
notice a movement dimly reflected in a cheval mirror, so he rose from his
seat, walked across the room to one of the book cases where he found one of
the ladies maids engrossed in thumbing through a book from one of the
shelves. "What business do you have here my child?" - he asked gently. "I'm
afraid the servants are not permitted in the library." Her embarrassment was
matched by her hesistant curtsey. "I'm sorry sir, I didn't know that!" The
Marquis hadn't set eyes on this little filly before, but she could tell he
was impressed from the gleam in his eye. "To whom does a pretty little thing
like you belong? - Who is your mistress pray?" - She looked troubled as
tears welled in her eyes. - "Umm, please don't tell my mistress sir - but
she is Lady Hortense!" She began to sob quietly which unnerved Charles whose
short fuse couldn't stand snivelling women at the best of times. He patted
her hand and coughed awkwardly - "There, there m'dear, run along now and I
will think no more of it." She stepped forward, stood on tiptoe, and pecked
him lightly on his scarlet cheek as through her curtain of tears she gave a
triumphant smile and with a - "Thank you sir!" she put down the book and
scampered off the way she came, leaving a bemused brother in her wake trying
to place the face hidden beneath the raven locks and floppy mop cap.
Harry scurried
back the way he had come trembling with tearful emotion at the only
compliment his brother had paid him ever in his life as he breathlessly
returned to Blake's room only to find his servant stumbling about inside in
a drunken stupour. To be confronted by a delectable young maiden was more
than the older man could ever hope for as he staggered across the room to
take full advantage of the situation! Harry had never felt so frightened in
all his life as Blake began to fondle and grope through the flowered dress,
and all Harry could manage was a strangled cry- "Get off you fool! it is me!
your Master!" But Blake was too far gone to realise who he held in his
powerful arms, as the front of the young girl's dress was ripped away and
his fumbling fingers feverishly sought to find her fanny in the folds below,
and thereby satisfy his sexual needs in a desperate burst of masculine
energy. Harry screamed, scratched, kicked, and punched in his desperate
efforts to escape and avoid being buggered by Blake, as he felt himself
being dragged towards the bed. Fortunately as they fell, Blake was
underneath, and his body suddenly went limp as the back of his head struck
the wooden bedstead and laid him out cold. But even so, Harry had to use all
his strength to free himself from the ponderous grip of the wretch and
stagger through the door, while trying to retain what little dignity
remained concealed by the tattered remnants of his clothing, and although
the distressed and tearful young maid was observed, her obvious plight was
totally ignored by servants and house-guests alike, as Harry made his way
safely back to his rooms flinging himself still half dressed, across the bed
to recover from the shock. However, he could hardly blame Blake, who wasn't
privy to Harry's plans for the evening, so finding a girl willing to share
his bed was the best surprise that his servant could hope for, and in his
enebriated state he had acted in the way that Harry would be inclined to do
in such circumstances. But having suffered such a terrifying ordeal at the
hands of one he could normally trust, he now understood how nauseating it
must feel for a girl to be an unwilling partner in a social relationship,
de-flowered by a man just for his gratification or to add to his growing
tally of 'conquests' - it was an experience he would never, ever, force on a
girl again. He was determined more than ever to persevere with his plans,
having personally experienced just one of the pitfalls of a girl's life
outside of the privileged protection of those born 'above the salt', where
the safe, cosy confines of the ladies rooms normally ensured total security,
except of course should she become subject to the attentions of the Lord and
Master of the House, who in certain cases considered the women's quarters
his own private harem, though the gruff Marquis was the perfect gentleman in
this respect.
It was apparent to the local gentry that the booty retrieved from the
purses of the rich was finding its way back into the economy of the
district, - the health of the local population had improved dramatically
with full stomachs for all, just less money to be poured into the coffers of
that zealous fellow, Sharpe, agent to the Marquis. Harry had an intense
dislike of this ferrety little man - which was duly reciprocated in the
contemptuous way Sharpe addressed the Marquis's foppish brother. But Harry
smiled inwardly to himself as he recalled the way Joseph Sharpe's pistol had
been struck from his hand by a single round-shot earlier that evening - the
force of which sent Sharpe sprawling full-length in the muddy ditch at the
side of the track making the task of retrieving the purse from this
revolting little man a little more difficult, since the lady muddied the hem
of her yellow brocade dress in her efforts. But it was well worth while as
Harry anticipated the looks of appreciation on the faces the grateful
villagers when the 'Masked Lady' duly presented herself at the Black Swan to
re-distribute the the Marquis's booty to its rightful owners. With these
pleasant thoughts in his head, Harry rolled over in his silk nightdress and
fell into a deep sleep.
The following morning the beadle made his enquiries concerning the felony
perpetrated the previous night. The death of the unfortunate Collins was
dismissed as bad horsemanship and at dinner that evening Charles duly
doubled the reward for her capture, dead or alive, to two thousand guineas
which brought forth gasps of surprise from the forty or so assembled round
the dinner-table while Harry jokingly jibed, "A piffling sum - not worth
crossing a London street for, even the Bow street Runners have given up and
run away!" Which brought a merry laugh from Flora and Charles rose from his
seat taking a lace handkerchief from his pocket in order to demand
satisfaction from his popinjay of a brother. The Marquese interceded, and
Harry sulkily apologised to his older brother, duly excusing himself "with
an attack of the vapours!" amidst titters and frantic fan-waving from all
the ladies present, which did little for Charles's temper as Elizabeth
calmed him down as best she could, well aware her husband was no match for
his younger brother.
Later that evening at the Black Swan the hurdy-gurdy man trebled his take as
the grateful villagers supped on the freshly baked bread and cheese, washed
down with beer or gin as they celebrated the return of their hard-earned
money, despite the presence of the Bow Street bounty hunters, who were all
blind drunk courtesy of their cash retainer from the Marquis. With Blake for
company, she stayed rather longer than usual on this occasion, to watch and
participate in the villagers' good fortune. For days afterwards the
womenfolk chattered over the gorgeous white satin dress decorated with
diamantes, edged with the white feathers of some exotic bird and white satin
hooped petticoat she was wearing under her red velvet hooded cape which she
had cast aside to reveal her stunning white powdered wig becomingly arranged
in ringlets, threaded with strings of pearls, her identity concealed by a
black silk domino, shaped to trace the delicate contours of what was visible
of her pretty face, and there was many a jealous glance at her well-turned
silk clad ankle, her tiny feet encased in elegant white kid slipperettes
peeping provocatively from beneath her petticoat.
Eventually, as she
swished lightly out of the Black Swan one of her tiny jewelled patches
became detached and fluttered to the floor to be pounced on and returned to
the owner by one of the young girls present, but her eyes twinkled merrily
beneath the ornate mask and in a lilting voice full of laughter and joy. -
"Please, - a keepsake for you my Dear." - as she daintily entered her
carriage helped by her masked and hooded escort disappeared into the
darkness from whence she came.
Elizabeth was reclining gracefully on the chaise-longue and waiting
patiently for Harry to return to his bed-chamber from his illicit trip to
the village, and having been deposited by his hooded driver close to the
concealed opening in the Repton 'Ha-Ha', Harry made his way through a series
of secret passages directly to a hidden door behind the fireplace in his
room. As he brushed the
cobwebs from his beautiful red dress he was startled by his Sister-in-Law's
voice from across the darkened room. -"My-oh-my, - What is a beautiful
creature like you doing in Harry's chamber? Don't you know the man's
reputation? Pray, come over here child, and let me take a good look at you."
Harry's mouth had dropped open in surprise and amazement and as he recovered
his composure he threw aside his black satin cape and dutifully rustled his
way across the carpet, removing his mask as he went over to where Elizabeth
was sitting and cheekily dropped her a curtsey as he mocked her with his
hazel eyes.
"Well Harriet, tis little skill in guessing where you have been these
three hours hence; and you make a most bewitching female; methinks I feel
the guilt of envy - your dress and petticoat are stunning - quite - quite -
stunning you must introduce me to your seamstress." Harry was now blushing
profusely at Elizabeth's unsolicited admiration for the fashion and quality
of his dress, and without really thinking, Harriet's lilting voice replied.
"Mmm! - Thank you kindly, sister-in-law, but I am my own seamstress, since I
learnt my needlework from my poor sisters, and my mother bequeathed me all
their beautiful clothing before she died, but despite my sewing skills I
cannot entirely conceal the style and condition is somewhat dated, and the
smell of camphor as a protection against moths is difficult to hide."
Elizabeth rose from her seat and cupped her hand under his chin as she
turned his head from side to side to study his profile more closely and
snorted, - "Yes my dear, and your ladies tresses have seen better days,
although I am quite sure your sisters would be most proud of your features
my dear, they are truly delightful, although I am not so sure what your
brothers would think of you thus dressed? But you do make a most convincing
lady - truly you have been well schooled - presumably by your late sisters?"
He nodded his head silently as she turned and swished over to a dressing
screen.
"So now I have found you out, methinks Harriet might make a most charming
companion, and a welcome addition to my bridge parties. Perhaps with you on
our side, the ladies will then be able to give the men-folk a run for their
money at the bridge-table, and in return we can coach you in other lady-like
pursuits, and perhaps we will take you into Grantham and help you to choose
and be fitted for a new wardrobe, - and some new hair-pieces." It excited
Harry to be spoken to by a woman in such a way after so long, even though he
knew he might be made to suffer for his indiscretion, since she was
obviously playing verbal games with him, but in the blissful anticipation of
being, or becoming 'one of them', he listened in silence to what she had to
say.
"I have been aware some time of your nefarious schemes to put things to
rights like a latter-day Robin Hood, but this is the late eighteenth century
and if you wish to keep that pretty neck of yours intact you must desist
from such activities. You will only be found out in the end, for although
your garments are quaintly different, the powder, paint and patches are
common to both roles, and after your forays as 'The Mysterious Lady', you
assumed they did not require attention." Elizabeth then touched him lightly
across the forehead with her finger, "But young Flora, who despite your
outrageous behaviour, pays more attention to you than most, noticed the
line, - just here, and here, - where your lady's mask had absorbed the
powder, leaving an unmistakable impression on your cheeks and forehead. When
she had realised the identity of the 'Masked Lady' she passed her suspicions
on to me rather than expose your secret to that brother of yours, with the
risk of a one way trip to Gibbet Plain!" Harry was astounded that he had
been found out purely by feminine observation and intuition, but he tried to
keep his feelings under control - "It pleaseth me greatly that the one
person I hold most dear and in the highest esteem in this household should
even consider that such a lowly fellow is worthy of even a second glance,
let alone saving from the hangman's noose. Please inform Lady Flora that I
am most honoured and thank her from the bottom of my heart." - "Tish young
man! You can thank her in person can't he my dear?"
In response to the question Flora slipped hesitatingly from behind the
screen, shielding her pale features behind her fan as she stood
uncomfortably alongside her sister, both ladies in pale lemon muslin,
d�collet� shifts decorated with a tiny print of scarlet poppies, their hair
concealed beneath mop-caps of the same material. Harry recoiled at
realisation of the situation in which he now found himself, with Flora now
privy to his innermost thoughts and feelings, as she coyly turned her head
to one side, to avoid looking him directly in the eyes as she spoke. "Yes
Harry dearest, Elizabeth and I now know who you are, and rest assured, your
secret is perfectly safe with us." - she suddenly dried up as her sister
continued where she left off.
"Flora and I
have no intention of unmasking you in order for you to face the hangman's
noose, but you must agree to our demands for you to cease your activities as
'The Masked Lady' but to adopt your female identity on a permanent basis. -
We feel the natural wit you have displayed as Harry will rest more
acceptably upon your slender shoulders as a leading curiosity in female
society, and will endear you to a much wider audience in your role as the
charming and gracious beauty Harriet de Vere than as the shiftless dandy who
few of our friends can stomach for long - and thankfully - Harry, I will
never have to listen to your tuneless warbling again!" Now Flora turned her
tear-stained face and looked him imploringly in the eyes. - "Please,
dearest, will you do this just for me? - we would dearly love to have you as
our sister." She stood - waiting for his reply as Harry shrugged his
powdered shoulders and shook his pretty ringlets resignedly as he replied in
his masculine voice.
"My dear Ladies, you appear to have me in a cleft stick, and if needs be
I must comply with your every demand - for I myself do not wish to put
forward a valid objection, since I have no greater desire than to
permanently cast aside my men's clothes and resume the role for which I had
long aspired, but I beg of you to allow me to consider how best I may serve
the poor of this parish in the future if I agree to your conditions, - so I
need time to think - and I cannot be expected to change my ways overnight."
The two ladies were willing to concede that having possibly condemned Harry
to spending the rest of his life in dresses, he needed a breathing space to
put his affairs in order and dispose of the evidence of his past dissolute
life, but Elizabeth decided they should sleep on it and she would confirm
what was to be done first thing in the morning. "And please make sure that
it is Harriet who waits upon us when we call." So saying the ladies retired
to their beds.
The following morning, the tentative knock on his door was answered by
Harriet, as she admitted her two lady 'protectors'. "What a lovely yellow
dress my dear, please be seated and we will tell you what is to be done." In
response to their request Harry sat on the edge of his chair and waited to
hear his fate. "I think we can agree to a slight delay before your rebirth,
but only with your promise to cease forthwith your lawless ways, since I
believe your cousin George has agreed on the morrow to ride into Grantham ,
and deposit five hundred guineas of his own money with my husband's
creditors, which should suffice while the estates financial affairs are
stabilized, and I don't want any interference from the 'Masked Lady'- so do
I make myself clear?." -"You have my word on it Madame, but is Mr. Sharpe
aware of this loan?" Her Ladyships reply gave him fuel for thought since
cousin George was the noblest of all his relatives so Harry had no intention
of him going the same way as the unfortunate blacksmith. Meanwhile Elizabeth
insisted that in readiness for his impending transformation, Blake would be
sent into Grantham to summon Madame Ziegler to take Miss Harriet's
measurements in order for her to be fitted for her new wardrobe, which left
Harry wondering what the future would hold for him, and could he
successfully hold his own as a woman, and in so doing would he squander his
suit with his precious Flora in the process?
Just as Elizabeth had predicted, early the following morning George
Curtis left Easton Hall and was making his leisurely way the fifteen miles
into Grantham on his favourite charger with five hundred gold pieces safely
stowed in his saddle-bags and two loaded pistols and a rapier at his side as
his only protection. He was quite
surprised at overtaking a young lady on a gig at such an early hour, and his
cheery greeting was duly acknowledged with a softly spoken reply - although
her face was well hidden by the broad brimmed bright yellow bonnet she was
wearing which matched her simple dress, but to say the least - he became
intrigued, since she seemed to be keeping pace with him, perhaps a quarter
of a mile behind! He had almost reached Oakham crossroads when he heard
groaning coming from the ditch further along the track and as he got nearer
he could make out a woman in a shabby dress spreadeagled face down in the
mud. Ever the good samaritan, George urged his mount forward and jumped down
to offer assistance to the wretch, but as he lept into the ditch the bearded
creature rolled over and poor George found himself staring down the barrel
of a pistol pointed directly at his heart. "Gotcha!" - she - or rather he, -
cried out triumphantly, scrambling to his feet, disarming his victim and
tossing the weapons back into the ditch, before calling up his accomplice to
rifle through the charger's saddlebags. The gold coins which tumbled out of
the purse were far more than they could have ever expected. "This ones a
real toff! Better bump him orf now!" Poor George thought his number was up,
so he made a dive into the ditch where his discarded weapons lay, but both
were submerged in water and useless, while his rapier was still in its
sheath on his horse. So he thought he had breathed his last as he heard a
flash as the powder ignited - but then he realised it wasn't him screaming
in agony, as he heard a horse's whinny and looked over his shoulder to
observe the masked lady in yellow drive her gig and trample the other
assailant to the ground, while the dead body of the 'bearded lady' had
tumbled forward, trapping George by the legs as he lay there awaiting his
turn to eat lead. But she just flashed him a wicked smile, his purse now
firmly in her grasp as she pulled on the traces of the horse, herding the
other man limping away into the distance leaving George to extricate himself
from the ditch - muddied and chastied, but thankful to have escaped with his
life, so damn his purse! The sound of the carraige wheels on the cobbled
yard of the Black Swan had the landlord dashing out to greet his welcome
guest, as she tossed him a purse with the command - "Make sure those lazy
oafs in there return this to its rightful owner, by sending help to Oakham
crossroads where they will find the George de Vere- with the corpse of a
felon for company, - and they can clap this other one in irons before they
leave, - Go to it man!" So saying the Masked Lady turned her gig and in a
flurry of silk and laces cantered off the way she came, leaving the landlord
to safeguard the purse and his unwanted guest before rousing the Bow Street
Runners from their peaceful slumbers. Later that day news of the abortive
raid reached Jacob Sharpe who felt the time had come to seek another
protector, but not before he had screwed his master for his very last penny!
After his final adventure as the 'Masked Lady', it took a week for Harry
to finally accept the inevitable, and it was the memory of the accidental
death of poor Collins and then witnessing his widow and three children being
evicted from their tied cottage by the obnoxious Sharpe which preyed on his
mind and tipped the balance, and although by way of penance he had
considered sackcloth and ashes and a spell of solitary contemplation in a
monastery - he preferred instead the softer option and placed his uncertain
future in the hands of his surrogate 'sisters', informing them accordingly.
The ladies were delighted at the news, and the runner was once more sent to
Grantham to inform the seamstress to expect three ladies to call at her
establishment for a fitting three days hence, before Elizabeth went to
inform her husband she was expecting a new house guest.
It was the
following morning, and in accordance with his sister-in-laws' instructions,
that Harry was obliged to announce his intention of spending some time away
from Wakefield and was duly despatched with his manservant to pick up the
stage-coach for London at the Black Swan. That same afternoon, Harry
graciously accepted his fate, and Miss Harriet Harper, distant cousin to
Flora and Elizabeth, who it was said, had led a fairly sheltered life in the
Welsh Marches was gladly welcomed to Wakefield by the Marquis as a
house-guest of Elizabeth, having been collected in a carriage from the
staging-inn by her two lady-cousins. She made an immediate impression on the
assembled company and slipped quietly and easily into her new-found role,
much to her 'cousins' relief, while her man-servant made himself scarce down
at the Black Swan.
There was only one unfortunate incident in the drawing-room that evening
as Charles made for a commode and on the way gave Harriet a hearty 'thwack'
on the buttocks as she stood supping liqueur with the ladies. Her
liqueur-glass dropped to the floor, staining the front of her petticoat, so
she swung round and with eyes blazing instinctively fetched him a blow to
the jaw which set the poor fellow reeling. There was an unpleasant silence
as the Marquis staggered unsteadily on his feet and ruefully rubbing his
chin remarked, - "Egads wench, they must breed them tough where you come
from! - If you had been a man it would have been pistols at ten paces!" He
chuckled and then burst forth in a gale of laughter, which the stunned
onlookers were only too pleased to reciprocate, as Harriet's ruffled
feathers slowly settled back into place, though the significance of
Charles's rejoinder brought a wry smile to her face. "Please Sire, do not
let that minor detail deter you, I am at your service!" And she bowed
stiffly from the hip as Charles snorted disapprovingly since he couldn't
stand truculent women at the best of times, as he turned away to continue on
his mission while Harriet resumed her conversation with the ladies, who
privately agreed her wit and sparkle worthy of the finest salons in
Peterboro, or even London for that matter - which seemed extra-ordinary for
a country-girl, irrespective of how well-read she may have been, although
her dresses were somewhat parochial.
The next morning,
suitably attired in her pink striped morning-gown she made the acquaintance
of Elizabeth's ten-year-old son George and eight-year-old twin daughters,
Mary and Ann together with their various playmates - children of
house-guests and the hand picked children of certain of the servants, as
they gambolled in the garden attended by their governess, as Harriet
willingly joined Flora in some kite-flying before accompanying the children
as they were led away to the quaint folly hidden in the trees which served
admirably as a school-room. Naturally it did not escape the childrens'
attention how Harriet's facial appearance mirrored that of the Marquis's
brother but after a brief discussion they evidently dismissed the idea that
this charming and fun-loving lady bore nothing other than a passing
resemblance to 'that poofter - Uncle Harry' who had always distanced himself
from their games.
In the afternoon,
the gentlemen and a few of the ladies went fox-hunting and left the other
ladies and the older gentlemen to entertain the children or indulge in a
bridge game, and Harriet's undoubted skill soon showed itself as she and
Flora won most of the rubbers, thus confirming the Marquese's faith in the
abilities of her unique protege although soon afterwards Harriet was seated
at the harpsichord trotting out Mozart to her heart's content. "Excuse me my
dear, but would you and Flora, your charming companion kindly consent to let
me paint your portraits on the morrow, if you are free?" Harry was lost for
words at old Mr.Drew's request, but Flora didn't hesistate to agree, so the
next day found them wearing their morning gowns and seated together in the
herb garden as the artist in the family went about his work.
Although Harry hadn't questioned for a minute his ability to fool the entire
De Vere family, servants and guests included, and aided by his natural alto
voice, his seductive lilt was taken at face value. And having over the years
privately developed the grace and poise of a lady of breeding - aided and
abetted in the early days by his long-lost sisters; he had determined to be
the perfect lady of fashion, embodying all that is best in the female image,
but to have his portrait painted with the lovely Flora? That was the icing
on the cake!
Miss Harriet's fitting day dawned bright but cold as Redruth drove
Elizabeth's open landau the ten miles to Grantham, its cosseted cargo of
three ladies suitably dressed for what promised to be a warm day, so
Elizabeth suggested a picnic in the hills on the way to give Harriet more
time to acclimatize before meeting the town folk. The ladies had
their sun shades raised, and were screened by the coachman's shadow as they
rode towards town,but the early morning sunshine shone straight into
Redruth's eyes, making for a somewhat slow journey towards their
destination, so they were glad of the break about half-way, and they all
joined in the extensive preparations for the picnic since Elizabeth made
sure nothing was done by halves before settling down to a picnic of oysters
washed down with champagne!
They resumed their journey after about an hour, and they were about two
miles from Grantham when a single shot rang out although the horses didn't
bolt but halted in their traces, Flora screamed in terror and clung to
Harriet for dear life as the unfortunate coachman slumped sideways in his
seat. As Harriet tried to
calm her distraught sister, the masked figure that galloped up alongside and
threw a leather pouch into their carriage was brandishing an ancient musket
and in a gruff voice demanded - "Git all yoar money, jewels and purses and
shove em in there!" Since they had no idea whether he had an accomplice
lurking in the background they had no choice but to comply, as she freed
herself from poor Flora's trembling arms and stripped off her diamond
necklace, diamond and emerald rings and bracelets and jewelled patches and
threw them into the pouch, together with her sealskin purse while her
sisters hurriedly did the same. Divested of their valuables, a screaming
Flora once again threw herself into the safety of Harriet's arms, expecting
their attacker to seize his pouch and ride off.
Their hopes were severely dashed with his next sentence "Nar you wimmin
can strip orf all your cloves - my mistress as a need for em - so c'mon git
on wiff it!" - It seemed the three of them faced the prospect of possibly
being raped judging by the gloating look on the man's face. "Oi! You first!"
He pointed his weapon at Elizabeth, who cool as a cucumber stood up in the
carriage, and slowly and deliberately began to strip off her outer garments,
her scarlet hooded cape edged with white ermine, followed by her silk
elbow-length gloves, and as she slipped her pink flowered sack dress over
her head and shoulders to reveal her silk chemise, the man licked his lips
expectantly, especially when she loosened the ties on the garment and it
slowly slipped down her legs to the floor revealing her corset and small
clothes before resuming her seat alongside Flora, as she looked directly at
the robber and in a seductive voice asked. "Pray tell me my man, who is your
mistress?"
He gave a sickly grin "Why the masked loidy - she is waiting over there
in't bushes - so _urry up abaart it!" He now pointed at Harriet. "Yore turn
- so git up and git em orf!" What he got instead was a roundshot which
struck the man full in the chest and was discharged very close - so close in
fact that as the gunpowder smoke meandered lazily across her face, Harriet
noticed her silver fox muff was also smoking and singed, so she looked over
Flora's shoulder to find Elizabeth sporting a still smoking pistol in her
hands, but she was obviously in shock as with a glazed look of triumph upon
her face she muttered - "There's only one masked lady round here and she
'ain't' in those bushes." Meantime there was a horrible 'clunk' as the man's
body struck the road, and his terrified horse bolted off across the
heath-land. "Mercy me! I think you have killed him!" Elizabeth's face was
ashen, but concern for their personal safety was paramount, so Harriet freed
herself from Flora's embrace and stood up in the carriage, and having looked
about her to ensure the robber didn't have any accomplices, she leant over
the driver's backboard to examine Redruth, but as she gently touched his
shoulder his lifeless body tumbled to the ground. Harriet decided not to
take any chances with her valuable cargo, so she lifted her skirts high in
the air and stepped onto the driver's bench and leaning forward snatched up
the traces, and despite the strong sunlight shining in her eyes, urged the
pair into a modest canter. She decided to continue the journey into
Grantham, and looking over her shoulder found Elizabeth and Flora comforting
each other and beginning to regain their composure, so a mile further down
the road Harriet reined in the horses to allow the three of them to restore
their jewellery and Elizabeth to put her clothes back on.
When they arrived at their destination, Harriet helped Flora into the
'King's Head' for a stiff gin whilst the resourceful Elizabeth drove off in
the carriage to inform the beadle for him to arrange for the disposal of the
two bodies left in the road, and then hiring a runner to report the facts to
Wakefield Hall in order for a relief coach and coachmen to be despatched for
the return journey later in the afternoon. The ladies had agreed to
with-hold the identity of Elizabeth as the person who fired the fatal shot
which had killed the highwayman, claiming instead that the two men had fired
simultaneously which had brought about their untimely end - after all - who
was going to argue with three ladies from the de Vere family? After two or
three gins the three ladies had recovered their composure sufficiently for
Harriet's dress fitting, so a trio of sedan chairs were summoned and the
ladies were transported down the cobbled streets to Madame Zieglers where
they were greeted effusively by the seamstress who was anxious to hear first
hand the story of their mishap which by now the whole town knew about.
Harriet nearly swooned with delight as she took off her furry muff and her
sealskin coat, removed her light blue sack dress and stood ready and waiting
to try on the selection of expertly crafted garments fashioned in the finest
and most delicate of materials, pinned and ready for her to try on under the
eagle eye of her companions, who didn't hesitate to object where a
particular garment failed to meet their approval for cut or fit. Four hours
later, and totally drained, having visited the corset maker, the wig
merchant, the milliner, the perfumier and the cobbler, they made their way
back to the hotel with a long train of lackeys in attendance loaded down
with their purchases to await the arrival of their coach from Wakefield
Hall.
By now Elizabeth appeared to have fully recovered from the tragic events
of the morning, so during the return journey she was quizzed by Harriet as
to how she felt at being compelled to protect their honour by shooting a
fellow human being in cold blood. She replied acidly - "Please Harriet, I
have no wish to talk about it now! but without wishing to sound too smug -
you are not the only one round here with balls you know!" a reply which
struck home, drawing a stifled laugh from Flora after which all three lapsed
into an uneasy silence as the effects of their long day took its toll. There
was a large welcoming crowd of guests and servants waiting to greet them as
they stepped down from the carriage as Elizabeth's children rushed forward
to embrace their mother, to be followed moments later by a relieved Charles,
and after a brief hug the family retired to their private quarters, as
willing hands unloaded Harriet's purchases and carried them up to her
appartment where exhaustion overtook her as she fell, fully clothed across
the bed in a deep sleep.
Early the
following morning, before anyone was abroad, Harriet dressed in her
favourite morning gown and taking the gig went for a long ride as she
recalled the events of the previous day, including the sad demise of
Redruth, and although she only briefly glimpsed the face of the dead
highwayman laying in the road, she remembered her brother had seen the same
man in the Black Swan talking to Sharpe a few weeks before, and handing
Jacob a small package - 'PrHaps the crone was right and Jacob is still in
business on his own account? - he was certainly in league with that robber!'
- so she decided act on her suspicions and dig deeper as she surmised, - 'I
think some spying on Jacob Sharpe is called for' so she turned her horse in
the direction of the Swan in order to rouse Blake. On her return journey she
was crossing Easton ford which had been swollen by overnight rain when she
saw a familiar figure approaching from the far bank, and in a panic she
pulled on the traces and attempted to turn the gig in the swirling waters,
but a wheel became lodged in a rock and she was stuck fast. As recognition
dawned, with a smile of triumph George de Vere waded on his horse up to the
young lady in yellow , - 'Damn' - she thought to herself - 'My sparse
wardrobe has let me down!' - "I find you unmasked at last my dear? - What am
I to do with you now I have you within my grasp?" - "That sir,- is for you
to decide" was her neutral reply as she sat quietly waiting for the worse.
"Hmm." he rubbed his chin thoughtfully with his riding crop. "I owe you my
life as well as my purse, so the 'Masked Lady' has earned my heartfelt
gratitude." So saying he jumped into the fast flowing waters and grasped the
trapped wheel, and with a heave and some verbal encouragement for the poor
horse from Harriet the gig sprung free. George had remounted his steed and
was taking his leave when he suddenly realised her face was familiar, so as
he took her hand he begged the question. "Despite your awsome reputation, I
must say you make a mighty pretty gael - are you from these parts?" Harry
immediately looked away with embarrassment at the innocent entendre
realising his life was already complicated enough without finding himself
acquiring a male admirer even if George was a confirmed batchelor! Harry had
little choice but to confess to being a newly arrived house-guest at the
Hall, but this only intrigued George even more, since how could this
charming young lady also be the 'Masked Lady' in her 'alter ego', but he was
quite happy not to dwell on such matters as she drove off, thankful to have
crossed swords with such a considerate and reasonable man.
Three hours later her faithful servant was hidden in a priests hole from
where he could observe the comings and goings in the land agent's bedroom
which also doubled as his office. Later that afternoon Blake was able to
report back to his master while he was changing into his tea-gown that the
runner despatched to Madame Zeiglers was in the pay of Sharpe, and had
passed on the timing of the ladies carriage ride into town to another of
Sharpe's cronies, who in turn had been despatched into the pages of history
by Elizabeth. The runner also handed a pouch to Sharpe which had been
collected from Grantham, and was obviously of some value since it was soon
residing in Sharpe's strongbox under his bed, while the unhappy runner was
despatched to Peterborough to summon two more of Jacob's footpads with
instructions to meet up in the Black Swan later that evening. "Well done
Blake, now I think you had best get some food inside you back at the inn and
await developments - I think we have a long night ahead of us." So saying
Harry handed over a purse as the servant slipped away quietly the way he
came, leaving Harriet to complete her 'toilette' and join the other ladies
for tea.
It was in the early hours of the following morning that Harry's manservant
Blake once again entered the lady's chamber through the secret passages in
the De Vere residence and roused his master in his assumed role as Harriet.
Blake informed Harry that he had overhead Sharpe and the two ruffians from
Peterboro who were staying overnight at the Black Swan, plotting to secure
the Marquis's family fortune on the morrow, but because of the noise from
the hurdy gurdy he had only caught snatches of their plan which centered
around the gentlemen's absence at an all-day shooting party which would
leave only the Marquis, the Ladies, children and the maidservants at the De
Vere residence.
To aid them in their plan, Sharpe had even bought off the Bow Street men,
who were happy enough to return to London with some reward for their
incompetence, but what concerned Harry most was two of the words uttered by
Sharpe - namely - "no witnesses!"
The two men then sat on the bed for an hour planning their strategy for
the following morning with Harry eventually slipping comfortably back into
his assumed role while Blake departed to spend the night in Harry's former
bedchamber. Harriet was up early and dressed in her negligee made her way
secretly to Harry's chamber where Blake was waiting to dress his master. He
had laid out on the bed a yellow satin petticoat, over which Harry would be
wearing his 'Masked Lady' gown in gold brocade with large pockets in which
he could conceal his trusty pistols to be followed by a flounced cambric
apron to conceal the bulges caused by the loaded weapons. Having attired his
young master, powdered his face and dressed his hair, Blake, his pistol at
the ready, made his way unobtrusively to the roof of the mansion from where
he could observe the scoundrels' approach, while Harriet joined Flora and
the other ladies and gentlemen in the breakfast-room before moving out onto
the drive to wave farewell to their menfolk and the posse of servants
accompanying them to the shoot at Oakham.
Harriet stayed close to Sharpe until it was time for the conspirator to
go over the accounts with the Marquis in the counting-house, - and as the
door closed on the two of them, Flora bustled up to him looking well pleased
with herself. "The children's governess is unwell and confined to bed so I
am looking after the children this morning, would you like to come along
too, Harriet?' and taking her gently by the hand, he replied, - "Nothing
would give me greater pleasure, beloved Flora, - let us go and find the
children." And they gaily trotted away arm-in-arm to search out their
charges, leaving Blake up on the roof to keep look-out for any sign of
trouble.
The three
children seemed pleased to have two young ladies to look after them and ran
excitedly to the folly, set in trees on a grassy hillock some half a mile from the house and where they were soon engrossed in their work
watched over by the two love-birds as they spread their skirts and
gracefully settled themselves down to share a tender, loving, moment while
caring for the children, and in the midst of much sighing, rapturously gazed
upon each other while quietly exchanging hastily scribbled love-notes. After
about an hours study, De Vere junior looked up from his work. 'Please Aunt
Harriet, may we have some cold sasperella, Governess usually fetches some
glasses from the ice-house about this time."- and the two girls added their
voices to his request, and since she and Flora were both thirsty, Harriet
bustled off back to the house to do their bidding.She was gone about five
minutes when there were screams and shots from the direction of the folly
and an excited crowd of Ladies and their maids soon gathered by the West
wing of the house where they were quickly joined by the Marquis and Sharpe.
As the two men advanced towards the folly, Ann, one of the twin daughters
came staggering down the grassy slope towards them, howling pitifully, her
hand held to her bloodied face and clutching a scrap of paper in her other
hand.
The Marquis
rushed forward in horror, picked up his child and turned to look back
wild-eyed at his wife, who stood, trans-fixed in fear and trepidation at the
hurt to her daughter, and what else might have happened back at the
schoolroom. The ladies rushed forward and taking the child from her father
were relieved to discover that although she was bleeding freely, she only
had a flesh wound to her face, but what of the other two children? Sharpe
had by now read the note clutched in the young girl's hand in which the two
ruffians claimed to be holding the governess as well as the other children
hostage, and would slit not just their faces but also their throats if their
demands were not met by the Marquis.
In the first instance no-one was to approach the folly with the sole
exception of the agent Sharpe, who was to go unarmed and parley with the men
in the folly, a task Sharpe gladly undertook, and while he was away Harriet
re-appeared carrying a tray of iced drinks, totally unaware of the current
situation within the confines of the sound-proof ice-house. For a second
time in a week Harriet gave herself seven more years of bad luck as she
dropped the tray of drinks and hurried forward to discover what was amiss,
and having been informed she soon joined the other ladies in comforting the
parents and the injured child as best they could, while awaiting the return
of their negociator, Sharpe. It took a great deal of self-control for
Harriet to restrain herself from shooting the blackguard there and then as
he strutted importantly back across the grass to deliver his
fellow-conspirators' demands for the safe return of the other two children,
to which the Marquis readily acquiesed, having been assured that so far they
were unharmed,and he and Sharpe dis-appeared into the house in order to
comply with instructions. It was a further ten
minutes before the Marquis re-appeared with Sharpe in tow carrying a leather
portmanteau and having called the ladies together addressed them in a a
faltering voice.
"Umm - Dear Ladies, my childrens' lives are at risk and to
save them I must hand over to those cut-throats my family jewels, money and
heirlooms, but, umm - in order to meet their demands I regret to say I must
call upon one of your number to, - umm. risk your life and limb on my
behalf, delivering this bag to the schoolroom. In an instant several ladies
were clamouring for the privilege of running this foolhardy errand, while
Harriet went over and whispered quietly in Elizabeth's ear and she and the
Marquis had soon moved aside and indulged in a serious exchange of views
which ended with Charles staring viciously in Harriet's direction as an
extraordinary interjection escaped his lips, -"He was What!- That damned
fairy!- Never! - Why should I trust him with that band of cut-throats - he
might be one of em!" Charles looked as though he was going to have an
apoplectic fit. Eventually common sense prevailed, for while Charles fumed
away, Elizabeth trotted back trying to smile through her tearstained eyes
and with a "Here we are my Dear, take care, I know you will do your best."
She kissed Harriet lightly on the cheek and handed the large portmanteau to
her sister-in-law who grasped the bag in her arms as she turned, and with
ungainly strides marched purposefully towards the folly.
As she came in sight of her objective Harriet moderated her pace to a
more sedate and ladylike step, lifting the hem of her petticoat with her
free hand in order to negociate the steep rise as she neared the end of her
seemingly endless journey, and praying that there was some honour amongst
thieves and her loved ones were still in one piece - especially Flora, since
she had been mistaken for the Governess and therefore of little value to the
criminals - dead or alive. Despite her breathlessness from carrying the
heavy bag in addition to the cocked pistols concealed in the folds of her
skirts, she still managed a sigh of relief as she crossed the threshold, and
into the schoolroom where she found poor Flora bound and gagged lying on the
bare floor while the frightened children were seated at their desks with
knives held to their throats by the unscrupulous duo who grinned evilly as
Harriet heaved the portmanteau into the middle of the room and moved aside
to await developments. But the scarfaced man restraining the boy had other
ideas; 'Open it up - luv, so we can see the sparklers.' A demand
reciprocated by his one-eyed compatriot, and Harriet stepped forward to lean
over the bag and throw open the lid before moving back to reveal the bag to
be crammed full of gold and jewels. Both men gasped with amazement and the
one eyed man let go of Harriet's niece in his anxiety to go over and inspect
the booty as Mary ran over to bury her face in her Aunt's welcoming apron
for protection. The rogue grinned inanely at scarface as he greedily pawed
the priceless jewels that his grasping fingers revealed, but his triumphant
grin changed into a grimmace of fear as a single shot rang out and scarface
dropped his knife and fell over backwards, shot clean through the head. Then
a crisp voice rang out 'Stay where you are Nephew.' and as 'one eye' lifted
his knife and turned in the direction of the smoking pistol, Harriet raised
her other weapon and shot one-eye through the shoulders and he sunk,
moaning, to the floor.
While the trembling mites snuggled into Aunt Harriet's skirts she took
the knife from one-eyed's grasp and cut through Flora's bonds, as Harriet
cheerfully declared "There - there my dears we are all safe now!" and the
four tearfully embraced, and sobbed with relief at their safe deliverance.
But their relief was short-lived, as they heard Sharpe's evil chuckle and
Harriet looked up from her trembling charges to where her arch-enemy stood
framed in the doorway, - pistol in hand. "So my petticoated friend. - it
seems the 'Masked Lady', alias Miss Harper, alias Harry De Vere has
increased my share of the booty - not that you will be around to see me
enjoy it." But as Sharpe raised his pistol towards Harry's fair ringlets a
third shot rang out and Sharpe dropped like a stone.
It was the faithful Blake who stepped over the spreadeagled body of
Sharpe stretched out on the thresh-hold a smoking pistol still in his hand,
and gently lifted the two children in each arm and carried them back to be
re-united with their grateful parents, leaving Flora and Harriet to indulge
in gratification of their mutual desires as they sank to the floor and hands
wandered freely exploring yielding flesh. Both 'Ladies' were apparently
oblivious to the crowd of excited and scandalised Lady spectators peering
through the windows, or the bloodied corpses littering the school-room floor
around them.
Later that same evening in the Marquis's private apartments there was a
hesitant 'tap-tap' on the door, and the footman threw open the door to admit
two magnificently attired young ladies who curtseyed gracefully to their
hosts before being invited by Charles to be seated on a settle, where they
sat holding hands waiting in suspense, blissfully unaware of what future
their lord and master had mapped out for them. Charles scowled at his
brother's beguiling face, apparently un-nerved by what he saw, and a little
apprehensive as to how to conduct the interview, while the Marquese sat
smiling benignly at the happy pair. The Marquis coughed to clear his throat
and began, "Umm.- now Harry-iet, and-umm. whatsisname- umm.-Flora." Out of
the corner of his eye he saw his wife wink at him knowingly as he tried to
compose himself in order to continue.- "Nnumm!- firstly I must complement
you both,umm.- upon your appearance my Dears, umm.- most becoming." He blew
his nose noisily;- "Now where was I-umm.-a yes- inspite of your magnificent
efforts today, umm.Harry-iet, for which I must say we are truly, truly
thankful, it has come to my attention that my own brother was the villain
who posed as the "Masked Lady' and terrorised the district for the past nine
months-umm.- a situation which cannot go unpunished." He was now staring out
of the window to try to hide the acute embarrassment he was feeling. - " My
wife,-umm.- I mean, - 'I'-feel that some form of public penance would not go
amiss and she,- I mean, I- have decided what form that punishment will
take.' He wiped the perspiration from his brow with a lace handkerchief as
he paced up and down in front of the pair seated on the sofa before
continuing, "I know-umm.-you consider me a callous bastard,- in the way I
was treating my tenants-umm. - but, and Elizabeth will bear me out,- that
rogue Sharpe (God forgive him), was responsible for the excessive rents
being demanded, which I was unaware of until quite recently - umm.- but not
satisfied with a small percentage,- he was helping himself to two-thirds of
the take and regularly upping the rents and falsifying the records in order
to cover his tracks. UMM. - obviously your efforts as the 'Masked Lady' were
the reason for the conspiracy dreamed up by Sharpe to lay his hands on as
much of the family fortune as he could- before he absconded permanently with
the money. Sharpe was no fool and realised that my lawyer was onto him,
and thankfully his plot was admirably foiled with only one of our children
being slightly hurt, your mans-servant fortunately to hand to deliver
the coup-de-grace, umm.- methinks he will be suitably rewarded out of some
of the fortune we found in the land agent's strong box." He stopped pacing
up and down, and turned to face his brother. "Umm.-where was I?" - "Oh yes,
so we - 'I' feel that as a penance, umm. - you Harr-iet - should stand-in as
my land-agent until we can find a suitable replacement, -umm. and since I am
sure my tenants will know of you by your previous reputation, you will make
a fair and just job of it, can't have the estate continue to go to rack and
ruin and since they hold your previous achievements in grateful admiration,
I feel sure they will come to accept your -umm.- supposed sex- umm.- in the
same way that we must whatever that may be."
All this time the two lovers sat quietly together, their long lashes
demurely lowered to cover their blushes as they inwardly digested what the
Marquis was trying, with some difficulty, - to say. "Umm.- as for you Miss
Flora,- we understand that you have formed a serious attachment for
this-this broth-, this young woman,- Harriet, which manifested itself
in a disgraceful exhibition in the schoolroom earlier today,-umm.- Good
breeding in this day and age does not permit two pretty young 'Gaels'
disporting themselves in such abandon, while all the world looks on,
but my wife and I will overlook this momentary lapse-umm.-with the following
provisos - firstly - that a legal document be prepared to con-join you in
Holy Matrimony, with a suitable settlement on you both. I will ensure that
Claude, that miserly brother of ours performs the ceremony, even though he
may not have an appetite for such a duty even though his hearing is better!"
With this news an ecstatic Flora rose from her seat and trotted over to
embrace her brother-in-law and express her heart-felt thanks. "Enough of
that now mi-lady - I haven't finished yet!" - He snorted as he pushed Flora
away.
"Secondly, umm.-
that my foppish brother ceases to exist as far as the law permits,
since I feel much more respect for, and much more at ease with him as a
woman than I ever did for him as a poor imitation of a man, and naturally I
will provide her with the funds to secure the requisite trousseau necessary
for her coming-out, and to carry out her future duties as a Lady of Quality
- Umm. though we trust this will be no barrier to pro-creation for the pair
of you, after all - the family always needs new blood, and as to the rest I
will leave that for my wife to handle." He was about to leave the room when
he suddenly halted, coughed and turned, raising his voice imperiously - " I
don't really wish to upset you Madam - but regrettably I have one more
demand." - "And pray, your Grace, what may that be?" As she answered,
Harriet looked straight at the Marquis, her eyes alive with mischief.
"As Grand Master of your Freemasons' Lodge, I must ask you to resign your
position as Master of the Lodge of Instruction forthwith! Don't allow
'gaels' you know!" Charles had saved the best until last, and he waited to
savour his moment of triumph with Harry reduced to a grovelling wreck at
such a profound decision! Harriet giggled as she rose to her feet and glided
across towards Charles, her face half-concealed as she waved her fan
vigorously, - "Well my Daa-hling brother - that is hardly a fate worse than
death is it? - after all, I have only exchanged an apron for a gown which is
exactly what Madamoiselle D'Eon has done!" This contemptuous reply was
hardly the answer of a defeated man as she folded her fan with a 'snap',
coughed and raised one gloved hand imperiously and waspishly declared, -
"You may leave us now Sir!" Ever the Gallant one, belied by a look of horror
and distaste, and with the precision of a trained grenadier the Marquis
clicked his heels, took her proffered hand in his and with a "Your servant
Ma-am!" leaned forward and kissed her proffered glove - before giving a loud snort and
turning away, thankful that his ordeal was over. He went off to hide in a
choice bottle of vintage port, as with tears in his eyes, he recalled his
younger sisters - now resurrected in his new 'sister' Harriet, leaving the
two lovers to embrace Elizabeth as she congratulated them and excitedly
chattered over the details of the forthcoming wedding and how best to dress
not one,- but two- blushing brides!
News of Harry's
metamorphoses spread like wildfire, as every tiny morsel of gossip
concerning the happy couple was hungrily devoured by gentry and servants
alike amidst speculation that Harry had been the 'Masked Lady' all along -
but the Marquis soon scotched such rumours in the time honoured tradition of
the landed gentry - instant dismissal for servants and disinheritance for
relatives and friends!
POSTCRIPT After ten years of happy marriage, my husband, Harriet
and I now have a young family of a son and two daughters. Our eldest child,
Henrietta, was concieved despite our voluminous dresses in a moment of
eternal bliss on the floor of the schoolroom close to the ancestral home,
Wakefield House and in rather bizarre circumstances. Since that happy event,
the family fortunes have prospered and we have moved steadily up the social
scale, thanks partly to Harriet's sharp wit and repartee in the drawing
rooms of Ladies of Leisure, and partly to the novel situation in which we
find ourselves, since although we are husband and wife, to look at us, when
we are parading in our sacks and petticoats, you would believe we were
merely sisters in the flesh, and we are therefore worthy of social comment
amongst polite society as they clamour for our attendance at functions too
numerous to mention. Harriet's poor manservant,
although he was handsomely rewarded for his part in the Sharpe fracas - he
never quite recovered when his services were replaced by a pert, young maid,
since he could hardly disrobe both my husband and I. Consequently he rode
off to try to emulate the feats of the 'Masked Lady', no longer as an
accomplice - but this time on his own account, and he was duly caught, tried
and hanged.
My brother-in-law has mellowed somewhat, and Elizabeth and I still giggle
behind our fans on the many public occasions when Harriet enters the room
and Charles is obliged to bow to his brother's demure smile and graceful
curtsey. Charles has told his wife that 'One of these days he will be have
to challenge 'her' to a duel! After all if D'eon can indulge in duelling in
his borrowed 'weeds' why not 'sister' Harriet?' I have heard that
Madamoiselle D'eon has recently been slightly hurt, since fencing in full
female garb is somewhat restricting, but she will not renage on her vow to
Madame de Pompadore to continue wearing the clothing appropriate to her sex
until the end of her days. So her brief mission as the Queen's spy in the
role of a female 'letrice' to Elizabeth the Great at her court in St.
Petersburg has condemned her to spend the rest of her life as a woman,
although she does not bear the burden of confinement in full female dress
with the same relish as Harriet does - she loves every minute of it - and
tells me she feels a a closer affinity with me in our shared experience.
With Harriet's
encouragement, I have even tried to dress as a gentleman on one or two
occasions, but such adventures hold no thrill - I prefer the thrall of a
ladies gown! Strangely enough, despite his women's garb, Monsieur D'eon is
still a member of a freemasons' lodge in London, and attends the lodge
meetings in her gown and full regalia, - 'probably because 'she' is a frog!'
- was Harriet's catty remark, and I feel she still finds exclusion from her
freemason's lodge the one sacrifice she still finds hard to bear!
We do have a governess for the children, but Harriet is a wonderful
father and we do spend as much time with the children as we can, and
although they call him 'Aunt Harriet', unofficially they call him 'little
mother'. Harriet and I have recently had another boost to our fortunes,
having been commanded to attend Court at Windsor by Queen Caroline, and have
spent a fortune at Harriet's seamstress as befits the occasion. We
understand that Madamoiselle D'Eon will also be present to give a demonstration of his swordsmanship, so I hope Harriet's keen wit is as sharp as that of the Frenchman's blade!
END
STORIES