Unmasking Of A Lady

“I am still not quite recovered from everything. Perhaps I had a little too much wine and it was ever so hot in there,” she told her Aunt Georgia when the woman tried to rouse her for a trip into the city’s centre. She could not stand the idle chatter and vacant wandering through various shops – not now, while her mind still lingered on everything that had taken place. Besides, they’d only attract further stares and unkind remarks. With a huff, Aunt Georgia left Harriet to entertain herself and that was how she preferred it.

Not a stone’s throw from the house was a public garden and though the roses were waning, showering petals upon the pathways, walking helped to clear her mind. It was as though all her thoughts were heavy furniture that she was trying to rearrange in her skull, but nothing fit as it should and there were too many sharp edges.

The dinner would take place tomorrow. She would see Major Roberts again. This time it would be different, she promised herself. This time she would control her impulses and there would be no further shocks. She was sharper in mind and quicker in wit than most men she met and this one was no different. There was no need for him to catch on to her other activities, no reason that she might give herself away, if only she could keep a cool head and a guarded heart.

***

Night came though she prayed it would not, for it brought tomorrow all the closer. Sleep was fitful. She dreamt that the major was in her room that was not a room, but a courthouse. The walls were a thick, dark wood with odd scratches from broken fingernails. And there, looming in a bright corner, he stood before her as an avenging angel, weighing in on her crimes with a flaming sword and a righteous manner. Nothing she said or did could persuade him that she was innocent – for she could not convince him if she could not first convince herself. Waking in a cold sweat, Harriet curled up by her room’s window, a blanket draped across her shoulders and tucked around her feet.

Would he understand all she had done?

If she told him… Would he… No.

Men like him saw right and wrong, good and evil, nowhere in between. Wherever she fell, it was far too close to sin.

On any other such evening she would have taken out her horse, breathed in the night air and cleared her head – along with a few purses – only now she could not risk it.

The lights and colours and activities in Bath’s centre held no interest for her when the sun finally emerged. She kept to herself, despite frequent attempts from her aunt to coax her into visiting various acquaintances. In her mind, it was as though the death sentence had already been passed and she was awaiting her journey to the scaffolds.

She didn’t want to be afraid; she didn’t want to be a coward. She couldn’t afford to be.

Only a brief trip to buy ribbon for her sister – traded with the little she’d pilfered during her last outing in the mask – pulled her from the townhouse, while the preparations for the upcoming dinner party stirred up the lower floors. Harriet toyed with the idea of leaving, returning to Atworth House, and forgetting her commitment to her aunt who so enjoyed her company. Feigning illness would not work as there was nothing that would frustrate her more than being shut upstairs in a house filled with people and being unable to converse with them. It was her duty to attend the dinner, but that did not mean she couldn’t stay as far away from a certain someone as was humanly possible.

***

As with all unwanted appointments, Thursday evening came with a startling speed and, with it, Major Roberts. Harriet wore the plainest dress she could find, soft grey in colour, determined to remain near invisible. It was a little worn, but it was her own – not from the lavish stash Aunt Georgia had purchased for her. It was wrong to continue to borrow from the woman, to already owe her so much when she could give so little. One day, soon, she could pay it all back.

The stairs creaked as Harriet descended to a small hall already filled with aging, familiar faces. These were a select few who knew her Aunt Georgia, all wealthy, the majority kind and harmless.

At first, fingers white on the bannister, she could not see him. Harriet’s heart skittered in her breast as she paused in her step, halfway between the upstairs and downstairs, when she spotted his dark-blond hair. There was a startling openness to his stance that invited one in. His voice was commanding though good-humoured. The lines on his youthful face betrayed the laughter he had shared with intimate companions.

He could never share it with her.

It was a ridiculous notion, one that shook her into activity, her mouth tilting into a polite smile that did not meet her eyes.

“Mr Polton,” she said, claiming one wrinkled man’s attention, desperate to distract herself. “Is your wife not with us this evening? You must pass our well wishes on to her.”

Idle chatter was a calming distraction, as she learnt of Mrs Kelly’s renovated garden and her son’s latest adventures, had a brief discussion on literature with Mr Bruntworth and had Aunt Georgia, subtly and under her breath, ask her why she was determined to dress like an old spinster at her young age.

“Didn’t you like anything I picked out for you?”

“It was all wonderful, Aunt Georgia,” Harriet reassured her. “But, I, well, it’s…”

Major Roberts. He approached as she had known with a terrible certainty that he would. Aunt Georgia was no longer by her side, leaving Harriet penned into a wood-panelled corner.

Eyes the same colour as stone and equally as hard appraised her. “When you said we would run into one another, I didn’t expect it to be so soon.”

“One of life’s little jokes, I suppose,” she replied, body humming with tension. All the words and small talk she had rehearsed in her head, having planned for this moment, left.

He held her gaze, waiting for her to speak and she did the same of him. After a moment too long, when the silence had become almost unbearable, he asked, “You’re well then, I take it?”

Stiff and curt, she replied, “Yes.”

“That’s good.”

“It is.” Her mouth was packed with sand, but not enough to stop her next foolish question. “Surely you’ve no time for dinner parties when we’re all in terrible danger from that thief?”

“He’s only a danger to people’s finances. I do not truly think he can do much harm.”

The statement jarred, a small wound to her pride. “Perhaps you underestimate him?”

“I know his type; he’ll pose no challenge,” said Edward, offhand. “He lacks real bravery. They always do.”

“I imagine it’s far easier to be brave when you have the Duke of Wellington’s approval and the mounted guard at your disposal.”

Again, he studied her, the softness leaving his handsome features, his reply half indignant. “Have I caused some offence, madam?”

“Not at all, Major Roberts,” said Harriet, fighting to keep her voice level, wishing she could put a gulf, a world, a moon and a galaxy between them that she would never cross. “I speak of what I do not know. I merely would not wish to titter or simper in your presence.”

“Is that what this is about – my remarks from the other night?” A heavy, impatient noise left him, before he attempted to make amends. “Perhaps I spoke too harshly then, forgive me.”

“There is no apology necessary.”

And yet there was, but from her, for she was doing this all wrong, being wrong.

“And yet you continue to treat me as though I have wronged you, Miss Groves.”

More an accusation than a question, she asked, “Why does that trouble you so much?”

He had no answer. He ran a hand across his face, before mustering up a reply. “You are infuriating.”

“That is a step up from being an ‘odd creature’ I suppose.”

“A poor choice of words on my part, but that does not excuse – ”

Dinner was announced. Their conversation was cut short. The relief both felt was palpable in the air. It was done. She had met him, been civil – as much as she could – and she need not speak to him ever again. It was that simple. Relief swelled in her like a tide, washing up on the shore and pulling away pebbles of doubt and frustration.

In the orderly bustle of guests Harriet seated herself as far from Edward as possible, choosing a safe, if dull evening between Mr Polton and the doddery old Colonel Jessops who, she knew from experience, would spend half the night mumbling about various battles he had experienced at sea (the majority of which were fictional).

Before all were settled, Aunt Georgia spoke up: “No, no, Mr Polton, you must switch places with Major Roberts. It will balance out the table.”

Ice laced Harriet’s stomach. She met Edward’s eyes across the silverware and both knew manners would not let them argue the point. Ever the perfect gentleman, Edward acquiesced. His elbow brushed against Harriet’s as he took his seat and the contact forced into her a cold silence.

It was a game, she reminded herself. Her pulse beat exactly as it did when she was stalking the roads at night. It was what she lived for, the thrill, despite how immoral it was.

A silent agreement had fallen between herself and Edward, for they ignored one another throughout the first few courses. Despite that, she could not help but watch him: the angle of his strong jawline, his laughter at a neighbour’s joke, the quirk his mouth took when speaking. It seemed impossible to her that such a man could be an enemy, her killer, when he seemed so human – she had not given him permission for that. But she had only glimpsed the gentleman and not the soldier – who knew what he was capable of?

When she did not watch him, she felt his gaze upon her.

It burned as it crept along her neck, her collarbone, her mouth.

God, it was impossible to hate him – and that only frustrated her more.

She needed a distraction. Colonel Jessops continued his seagoing blatherings beside her and Harriet was well-versed enough in his stories to know what to say and when to hum in agreement.

“And that was when we flogged the quartermaster,” grumbled the Colonel. “Mutinous wretch that he was.” His fist hit the table and rattled their plates. “Do you know what he said? Do you?”

“Please do enlighten me.” She met her cue, her response flat, though that did not deter the speaker.

“The little runt said it was what any other would have done, said it was the honourable action, mark my words, he thought himself honourable!”

“I am truly shocked, Colonel.”

“As you should be, m’dear. I remember it well…”

A snatch of conversation across the table plucked at Harriet’s attention, and that of her maidservant’s, who was assisting with clearing away the dishes. They exchanged a harrowed look.

The bureaucrat Harriet recognised from the Pump Rooms asked Major Roberts, “Not caught the Green Highwayman yet? The clock is ticking and Sir Fielding has high hopes for you.”

“All in good time,” replied Edward levelly.

“I want him dragged through the streets, flayed, hung,” burst Mr Polton from his own seat, prompting murmurs of agreement. “The whole city wants his head. He’s dangerous.”

“Sir Fielding trusts I will bring the man to face his crimes and I will,” promised the soldier, with neither malice nor cruelty, only a solemn vow to be all he had been asked to be. “He cannot hide from me – none ever has.”

“And you’ll shoot him, you’ll kill him?” Polton’s chin wobbled as he bellowed, puffing air and spittle. “A trial is too good for him. I want him shot, sir!”

Crockery fell on the polished wooden floor. Cutlery clinked and bounced. Bowls were split and dessert remnants were artfully splattered upon the walls.

Mary was on her knees, scrabbling to pick up the broken pieces, her hands trembling and her head bowed. “I was clumsy – my apologies – ever so sorry.”

Harriet’s cheeks reddened from second-hand embarrassment on Mary’s part, along with her own concern at the conversation’s turn. Edward’s intense eyes landed on her and she could not pull her glare from his, both trapped and attempting to discern the other.

“That did give me a turn.” Aunt Georgia laughed, firmly putting the conversation back on track. “Mr Polton, do remind me – ”

Forcing her attention back down to the tablecloth, Harriet was breathless, despite having not left her seat. This was more difficult than she had ever thought it would be. Simply sitting there, listening, while men talked about her life and made rash judgements. It was infuriating. She had escaped it so far, had rarely been forced to listen to others condemn her actions. If only she could bring a pistol to the dinner table; these days she found conversations far easier when they consisted of threats.

“Miss Groves?”

Warily, through her eyelashes, she gauged the major’s expression and found no suspicion there. Why would there be? She was Miss Groves, not a wanted criminal. I’ve made you a damned fool. With each word, gesture and glance, her strong will was unravelled. And I’m sorry for it. This was not what she had planned, this was – this was not her design. There had to be a way to achieve her aim and protect him in the process, to save him from humiliation. Tonight would have been far easier if she did not find him so interesting, so self-assured, so like herself.

Plus, he was rather nice to look at too.

Yes, she should have shot him when she’d had the chance. It would have saved her a greater grief.

“Major Roberts…” She trailed off, tongue darting out to wet her lips and conjure words to them. “Forgive me, for my earlier – ”

The dining room’s main door was slammed back on its hinges. A drunk young man stumbled through it, laughing obscenely, his fine clothes ruffled. Already, from where she sat, Harriet could smell the drink on him. The male dinner guests were on their feet and blocked the figure from view. He was shouting, raving, and when he spoke, Harriet’s sudden curiosity at the stranger’s identity was cruelly sated.

“Sister, dear Harriet,” said a blond man with similar features to her own, clutching the sideboard to remain upright, fingers skimming off and elbow making contact instead. “You’ve got… Look at you, all dressed up – who are these people? Wait, don’t tell me, I don’t care.”

Giddeon.

“You mustn’t say such things,” began Harriet, who glanced to her appalled Aunt Georgia. The young man should have been studying in Oxford, not here and certainly not drunk. “I mean, it’s good to see you, only – ”

“If it was, then you’d have invited me,” he slurred, stumbling round the room and grasping at stationary furniture as though it danced from his grasp the moment he neared it. “Where’s the wine?”

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“Giddeon,” Aunt Georgia said sharply, her guests appalled and amused in equal measure. “This certainly is an unexpected surprise.”

Harriet was soon at her brother’s side, attempting to stop him from toppling over, guiding him back to the door while embarrassment flamed in her cheeks. He was far stronger, despite his intoxication.

“I should’ve been invited, Harriet…”

“Now is not the time,” she replied hurriedly, struggling to stop him from toppling and bringing her down with him. Here it was, confirmation to all who knew them, that her brother was a wreck, a gambler, a drunk.

“It is never the time, is it? I – I need to talk to you, because father will not reply to my letters – not a single one, Harry.”

“Later,” she snapped, anger and shame boiling up inside. “We will talk later.”

Not here.

Not in front of them.

Not in front of him.

She had known he would ask for money and she could not have him voice it here and give weight to all the rumours that circulated about the Groves family. When one debtor crawled from the woodwork, others followed, and they would lose it all before she was able to secure it.

Giddeon was heavy and uncooperative, for Harriet’s brittle strength was not enough when he struggled against her. It was only when another presence joined them that the pathetic scene was ended and Harriet was able to hoist him up.

“God, thank you, I – oh.” Harriet’s humiliation was complete. “It’s you.”

Edward had gripped Giddeon’s other arm.

She spoke no further, teeth clacking together as she clenched her jaw. The pair quickly and efficiently pulled the limp man from the room, his shouting reduced to mumblings and then heavy breathing.

“The next floor,” instructed Harriet, as they manoeuvred Giddeon up the staircase with minor difficulty. “There is a guest bedroom.”

“Allow me.” Edward easily draped the drunk man across his shoulder, prompting a few curse words from Giddeon. “Is he usually like this?”

She shook her head, curls of hair escaping their pins as she followed. “Only since our mother died, a few years ago.”

Never once did Edward falter as he followed Harriet’s directions, before gently placing the man on a four-poster bed with more care than he deserved. It was a stuffy room that was in desperate need of airing, rarely used, though clean. A lamp, set down by Harriet, offered enough light to see by and painted their shadows against the patterned walls.

“Major, you didn’t need to step in,” began Harriet, shifting to the window with light steps. She busied herself with the latch to avoid facing the soldier, though her fingers fumbled and she bruised a knuckle on the fastenings. “But thank you, for – for helping him.”

It was growing increasingly difficult to hate Edward when he was being gentlemanly and courteous.

With a shaky exhalation, she confessed, “I have been more than unkind to you, sir.”

“You have,” Edward replied bluntly.

“It was unfair of me.”

“Yes, it was.”

She could feel his strong presence behind her and she closed her eyes, groping around in her skull for the right words to say. “I am sorry for it now.”

At the sound of his approach Harriet stilled, breath catching in her throat like shrapnel. His hands found her shoulders and she could feel the heat he radiated. Edward’s movements were slow and hesitant, as if asking permission, and she gave it without thinking, leaning back until his rigid, unyielding form was pressed against her, stubble brushing against her ear.

For all the dangers Harriet courted, this was another altogether – and she welcomed it. In the servant’s halls she’d heard about military men and their reputations, knew they were easy with their affections and that suited her well, for she could never truly return them; she was not one for a stable relationship, a binding marriage. This was a jump into an unknown world that would pull the ground from under her feet and just as easily place a grave there.

But this – the scarred hands along her arms, teeth upon her neck, hot breath in her hair – she could manage. Harriet shifted, twisted round, angled her mouth upwards, but she never made contact.

“It’s hard to fathom you,” he said, the words a rasp against her cheek. “Who are you, Miss Groves?”

The spell was broken; she drew back.

It was the way he said it, soft, easy, almost loving. She had never wanted to be a cruel person – then again, she had never wanted to be a criminal either – but this was cruel. To string him along, to manipulate his feelings like this after all she knew, all she’d done, was a game she could not play.

“I do not want to be fathomed, sir,” she managed to reply, tensing up, pushing her palms against his chest. “I only wish to be left alone.”

“I don’t understand.”

Edward’s hands stayed on her arms, rough against her smooth skin.

“Whatever it is you’re looking for, Major Roberts,” she said gently, but firmly, eyes down and unable to meet his, “it is not here.”

He released her. The absence of him against her felt as though all the warmth had been pulled from the room, cold air filling the space between them, raw and unforgiving.

“There’s another, I take it?”

“No,” said Harriet. “There never will be.”

“Then your family will not allow it?”

“It is not their choice, but mine,” she replied, a half-truth, better than nothing.

Blood rushed in her ears, drowning out the man’s retreat, the creak upon the floorboards. She could call out, call him back, tell him everything and hope he would understand. If there was ever a chance, it was now. He was a soldier, yes, he was a killer – but he was a gentleman too and by all accounts a fair one. Surely he would have mercy?

“Major Roberts, I…”

“Yes?”

Harriet’s voice faltered – so did her courage. “Give my apologies to the others downstairs, would you?”

Edward’s footfalls paused. “You will be missed.”

Harriet risked a glance up at him, peering through the lamp’s soft glow. She asked a question she regretted in an instant. “By anyone in particular?”

“You will be missed,” he repeated, before his silhouette left the doorway.

Legs shaky, Harriet gripped one of the bedposts, nails digging into the wood. Giddeon’s low snores grounded her – her mind racing, pulse pounding. She was a thief and he was the soldier set out to capture her. Whatever primal, desperate, needy thoughts he conjured in her, she would not succumb.

Mary came in not long after, apple sauce staining her pinafore. “They’re going after the Green Highwayman, miss, and you didn’t tell me?” She closed the door, casting a quick glance at Giddeon, who was out cold. “They’re going after you?”

Harriet nodded slowly in the dark room, her vision unfocused. “I should have told you earlier, I know, only I did not want to worry you,” she confessed, chancing a look at her maidservant and finding only understanding there. “I don’t know what to do. I keep trying to find a solution; I can’t.”

“Who was that man, the one you were sat next to, the one I saw on the landing?”

“Major Edward Roberts.”

Harriet’s eyes were burning, skin hot, veins wrapped around hot coals. She only felt this way when on horseback, darting through the night, saddlebag filled to the brim with jewels and money that was not her own.

“He’s – he’s – this will sound ridiculous, but I cannot bring myself to lie to him, to his face. I don’t trust myself around him.”

“But you must. He’s a danger to you – to us both.”

“I know, I know.” It was all that Harriet had told herself, warned herself against. “It is as though he can read all my secrets with the merest glance.”

“It’s a little stirring in you, a brief fancy, that’s all.” Mary’s fingers tucked a stray curl behind Harriet’s ear and cupped her cheek. “You’re young, it happens, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

Harriet nodded, calmer, hand pressed against her stomach. “I know, it will pass. It has to.”

“Go back downstairs, Miss Groves,” urged Mary. “Go make nice with him and he won’t suspect a thing. Men never do. I will take over here.”

“No, I can manage here by myself,” she said. “The more I stay out of temptation’s way…”

Is that what he was? The uttered word was a slip she had not intended, but it was the truth. This was not simply a desire to spill her secrets or to appeal to his mercy. If he had asked, if she were freer, she would have given him far more.

“I will be fine here, Mary,” she said again, hoping that if she repeated it enough, it would be true. “I can’t see him again, not yet, for I don’t know what I’d do.”

Chapter Four

Harriet slept like the dead. For a moment her mind was a peaceful, blank slate. Sunlight probed through the curtains in thick bars, stirring her into a wakefulness that brought back last night in an exhausting surge. Crumpled against her pillows, Harriet could still feel the brush of Edward against her and heat coiled in her belly at the thought. She didn’t want to get up today. She didn’t want today to exist; she would hide from it. In a month or so he would be gone, unsuccessful. Harriet would continue her work.