Unmasking Of A Lady

If only she could stay in bed that entire time, pull up the covers, hibernate, until the danger was past.

The bed soon lost its appeal, either too hot or too cold, too hard or too soft. Harriet washed, dressed and tidied her hair, though she stared a little too long at her reflection in the looking glass, not knowing who looked back at her, before finally seeking out company.

Giddeon was a hung-over wreck in the conservatory, glowering at the sun’s warm glow that streamed inside, head bowed over a newspaper.

“I am low on funds,” he said the moment his sister appeared. His head was propped up by one hand, his hair – the same soft-yellow colour as hers – a ruffled mass.

“You are meant to be at Oxford,” she informed him, her tone frosty after the stunt he had pulled only hours before.

“I was expelled.”

Harriet sank down onto the patio chair opposite him, a weight dragging at her shoulders. A wren called from the narrow garden beyond. Vines shone with greenery, albeit chewed and moth-eaten due to the late season. It seemed unfair that the morning should be so peaceful and bright when her life was anything but. “Do I want to know why?”

“Probably not.” Giddeon grinned into his tea, though the reaction seemed forced. “It’s far too dastardly for your feminine ears.”

The young man had grown up in body and yet not in mind, too impulsive and determined to waste his life on the worst that society could offer. Harriet still remembered fondly back to when they were children and he would scrape his knee and turn to her for help. They had been close once, though that had changed when their mother fell ill and Father seemed to become ancient overnight. Now Giddeon pushed her away, seeking a destructive path she tried in vain to pull him from. The only help he sought from her now was financial and she would offer it where she could, even if she damned herself in the process.

“That was quite the performance last night.”

“Aunt Georgia hasn’t said a word to me all morning because of it.” Again, Giddeon seemed pleased with himself, though he winced from time to time due to a piercing headache that Harriet was sure he deserved. “Once I have what I need, I’ll be gone from here.”

“There is no more money to give, Giddeon.”

“Damn it, Harriet,” he said suddenly, knocking the table, a teacup clattering in its saucer. “Just stop paying those blasted old dependents – the ones who’ve retired. They can’t keep claiming off the estate if they don’t bloody work on it.”

It was a discussion they’d had before and Harriet would not budge and neither would her father. But her father, they both knew, would not live for ever. Then Giddeon would be in charge.

“Those are families who have worked for us their entire lives,” said Harriet. “We cannot abandon them because they are old and infirm. It would not be right nor decent.”

A hollow, half-laugh left the young man. “Who cares about right so long as we’re happy?”

“Are you happy, Giddeon?” Both knew the answer; her brother’s lost, haunted eyes held neither triumph nor joy. They had not for a long time and yet Harriet knew – for all her attempts – she could not help someone who would not first help themselves. “You will have to take responsibility for your own well-being one day. Father’s health is ailing and I can only do so much.”

“I am not the right man for that,” he said softly, facing the garden beyond, rather than look at her. His moods were mercurial and hard to anticipate, drink having taken its toll. “Find someone else.”

“There is no other.”

“This won’t work, Harry,” he replied cruelly. “I won’t turn into you. I can’t stay in that damned house and once it’s mine, I’ll get rid of it. Now do as I command and sell more land.”

“We cannot – ”

“Just do it, Harriet.” His desperate temper was back, his fingers at the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut as though he could block out his sister, his responsibilities and the life he was making for himself. “I owe people; I have debts to pay.”

If he meant to rattle her with his shouts, he would not succeed. “No – ”

The table went sideways, with it the crockery, splintering on the flagstones. Harriet did not move. She’d been shot at, cursed, threatened and much more in recent months. This did not frighten her, not when all she saw was a scared little boy.

“What have you done, Giddeon?”

“It’s not what I’ve done, it’s what – it’s what others will do – Harriet…” His feet crunched on the shattered china. “There’s a man after me. He says I owe money – I don’t. He’s a cheat. I won’t pay up, and yet he’ll… You see, he’s done far worse to men who’ve withheld far less from him.”

If he’d been lying, Harriet would have known. The bloodshot eyes, the shaking hands, the gin on his breath. He was panicked, frightened, backed into a corner.

“He’ll hurt you, won’t he?”

Giddeon wouldn’t answer, only gritted his teeth and sniffed. “You want me to take charge of the estate? Then these are my instructions. Sell the land. I want the money; I need it before the week’s end.”

There was a finality in his voice this time and Harriet rose from her seat, disappointment all too heavy in her gaze.

“There are other ways,” she replied cryptically.

“Such as?”

“I will handle it,” said Harriet, her appetite absent as she left him and whatever monster he was pretending to be.

Her brother’s debts could be settled without unravelling all the plans she’d made, all the investments she had laid out, and Harriet knew how. The books could be balanced and a little land sold off and the rest she would find on the highways. It was manageable, even if it was risky.

Tonight she would don the green mask once more, if only to keep her brother alive.

***

The townhouse was silent when evening came. Darkness did not fall gently across the city of Bath, but seemed to bubble up quickly from the cobblestones, raising ink that summoned shadows and stirring up sin. Sleep’s hold had taken over the townhouse and all who lived underneath its roof – Aunt Georgia, her guests and the servants – were tucked up in their beds. This was a routine Harriet knew well as she steeled herself for the night’s activities. Her body sang with a razor-sharp excitement at the prospect and she wondered what colour her soul was when such moods took her. Blue, grey or black as pitch? She was taking a big risk and yet the bigger the risk, the greater the adrenaline that surged through her veins.

Tonight she would be unstoppable – she couldn’t afford not to be.

Giddeon had left hours before, slamming doors, cursing and leaving Aunt Georgia’s nerves in a jangled state. Guilt gnawed at Harriet’s insides like a rat, for if her aunt knew her own activities when the stars found their footing in the darkening sky, it would break her heart. She only wanted the best for them all, but then again, so did Harriet – and she was the only one capable of doing something about it.

A tentative knock sounded on her bedroom door as she wrenched her boots on. They were moulded to her feet, shaped, worn and flecked with mud.

“Mary,” hissed Harriet, knowing full well who it was. “I cannot let you risk your life for this family, not again. I will go alone tonight.”

The maidservant entered the room with a scowl, pushing the door closed behind her and holding concern on her strong features.

“There has to be another way, Miss Groves.”

“If there was, I would have found it,” said Harriet, scraping her hair back from her face. “We’ll be ruined if I do not act. I only need to steal enough to keep my brother from trouble. The rest is manageable.”

“How can you trust him not to spend that lot like he has all the rest?”

“He’s my brother,” replied Harriet. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Is there no match that could be made? A husband, perhaps? You’re pretty enough, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“And be locked up? Never. I would rather die in a real prison than be condemned to a loveless marriage.” Although she had thought on it lately, even if the idea repelled her. It would mean safety, but every refuge had its price. “And I will never use a man purely for his purse-strings; I will endanger my own happiness, not another’s.”

A door slammed downstairs, a jarring boom like a thunder’s clap, before a man’s shout joined it.

“Stay here,” said Mary, hands fisted into her skirts. “Get changed and I shall see – ”

Aunt Georgia’s shrieks poured into the house and up the stairs, conjuring the small hairs on Harriet’s skin into standing. She pushed past her maidservant, in a man’s breeches and shirt, hair falling down in straggled lumps at her shoulders. Her heavy boots drummed down the stairs to find the front door wide open, letting the brutally cold air sweep in. She wanted her pistol; she anticipated a fight. She heard her aunt’s uneven breaths.

Whoever it was, whatever they wanted, she was ready.

“Harriet!” Aunt Georgia stumbled from the drawing room, blood on her hands and down her white nightdress. “You must come quickly. It’s Giddeon; he’s been shot.” She looked past Harriet’s shoulder, where Mary stood, stock-still with shock. “Bring towels and hot water.”

Harriet’s immobility lasted a mere second, the crisis bringing clarity to her racing thoughts. “He’ll need a doctor, I will go at once – ”

Aunt Georgia reached for her niece, pulling her towards the drawing room, eyes streaming with tears. “Major Roberts has already gone to fetch him and I need you here. I don’t know what to do.”

“Pardon?” She was sure she had misheard. “You said Major Roberts?”

“He is the one who found Giddeon, who brought him here,” babbled Aunt Georgia, leading Harriet along a blood-spotted hall to where her brother lay, slumped on a settee, his shoulder soaked in red. “Were it not for him, I do not want to think on what could have happened.”

***

A numb, helpless panic had gripped the townhouse. Harriet did not once leave her brother’s side, ensuring he kept still, soothing him and doing all she could to stem the blood flow. The doctor’s arrival was speedy and yet, in Harriet’s mind, she had already visited the worst endings countless times, as though she’d had years to feed her fears and not merely an hour.

Legs unsteady from being folded beneath her for so long, hands shaking and muscles cramping, it was a comfort to be pulled from the room. She didn’t want to see anything else. She didn’t want to see her brother struggle, hear him scream. Strong hands grasped her, guiding her away from the mess, the doctor, his apprentice and the muffled yells that had begun with a bullet’s extraction. She had done all she could for now; it was someone else’s turn.

It felt like a dream while she walked, like wading through pond water and weeds that dragged on her joints. Limbs weighted, her head was filled with wool and it pressed her eyelids closed. Still, that firm yet gentle hold kept her upright and it was only when the smell of him – rainfall and that unmistakable, deeper scent a man holds – woke her up to who she stood beside.

“Major Roberts,” she said softly, finding him through bleary eyes, the hallway quiet but for them. “Why is it always you?”

“Miss Groves,” he answered, an anchor to the present, a man who felt like safety when he represented all that was wrong for her.

Harriet moved automatically, letting her barriers drop now she need not be strong for her brother or her aunt. She pressed her palms against the wallpaper, head bowed, and felt Major Roberts step back, offering her space.

Her bloodshot eyes sought him out.

“I don’t…” She faltered.

It was as though her bones had turned hollow and could not support her. Edward was there instantly, pulling her up, hands on her waist. He was impossibly warm and the shirt she wore was thin and loose, barely a barrier between them. His eyes wandered and Harriet invited it, the tips of her fingers skimming along his arms until she let them rest there, on his stained shirt sleeves, feeling the taut strength in the muscles beneath. She should move back, re-find her footing, act as a lady should. Yet, when he spoke in his soothing, low voice, all common sense dissipated.

“There was a duel over a lost bet and once I heard who was involved, I had to intervene,” said Edward, his breath hot and heavy. His look was torn and beaten, clothes ripped and ruined. There must have been a terrible fight, for the fine threads were wrecked beyond repair. His knuckles too were split. “You are shaking, Miss Groves.”

Harriet leant forwards, forehead pressed against his shoulder, breathing him in. “You are a good man, far better than I deserve you to be.”

“Your brother will be fine,” he soothed her. “It’s a shoulder wound, nothing serious. There was more than one man after him, and the main cur he fought with fired and ran before he could be stopped. I will be making inquiries. I have my suspicions.”

“Yes, thank you, for all you have done.” Harriet’s voice was muffled and small from tiredness. “He was not your responsibility and yet you brought him here anyway.”

Due their proximity, Edward’s voice was a deep rumble in his throat and it hummed through her. “I have known men like him. He has his own troubles to shake off before he sees sense.”

“I only pray he does.”

“He will, if given time.” He held her – not tightly, only as a friend would – though for her it was enough. “It wasn’t so long ago that I was as foolish and reckless as your brother is now.”

“I cannot quite believe that.”

“Good, I shouldn’t like you to.” He smiled, though it faded quickly and silence consumed them both once more. “And, Miss Groves, what in God’s name have you got on?”

She blinked, lashes wet, confused.

Oh.

“I – I was going to go out, to try and find Giddeon.” She swallowed thickly, lies thorny in her throat. “I thought I would attract less attention dressed this way, only – only – he’s here now, you see, though – yes, of course you do, for it is you who brought him.”

“What were you thinking?” Edward’s tone was stern at first, until it evened out, as if realising how fragile Harriet still was. “You could have put yourself in danger, mixing with such people. Dear God, don’t ever consider it again.”

“It was stupid, I know,” Harriet replied, numb, detaching herself from him and winding her arms around herself. “But I was worried. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You send word for me; you don’t risk your own safety.”

“I wouldn’t want to be an imposition – ”

“Miss Groves,” said Edward. “You would never be that.”

A grandfather clock marked the early morning hour. An ornate rug was bunched up at their feet, marred with red-brown stains and city filth. Harriet chose to look upon it rather than Edward, who finally cleared his throat.

“It’s time I was on my way. I will visit again soon, to see how he is, if you would have me?”

Exhausted, mute, Harriet only nodded. If he expected a reply, he did not get it. A gusting wind slipped through the entrance and seemed to pull him from her, until the front door was slammed shut behind him and the hallway seemed all the darker without him in it.

Chapter Five

The days dragged by and Harriet did not leave her brother’s side. Sunday arrived and while Aunt Georgia and her well-wishing neighbours attended a service, Harriet remained with Giddeon. She read aloud, they spoke about when they were children and she could not recall the last time they had spent so many hours together and not argued. Or the last time he had been sober. Giddeon was quiet, almost penitent, and he recovered well, though at first had been ill-tempered and demanded alcohol often, regardless of the hour. He was given no more than the doctor had allowed and gradually his mood improved. However, he answered no questions about the incidents that had taken place. He would name no names and discuss no details with anyone.

Harriet wrote to her father and younger sister, relaying all that had happened and dampening any concerns they might express. News always travelled fast and she would not have liked the story of her brother’s assault to reach her father’s ears in another fashion, by tongues far less kind and prone to prying. Mary had taken the letter on her return to Atworth House, for she would be further able to allay any worry as to the young man’s state.

When Giddeon was well enough, after almost week had come and gone, he and Harriet took in the nearby gardens and the air seemed to refresh them both. It had been Aunt Georgia’s suggestion, or rather an order, and both were wise enough to obey it.

“It’s almost as if you have been restored to your old self,” said Harriet eventually, enjoying the organised beauty and blooms that the fine August weather had conjured. It was no match for the lovely, more rustic grounds at the Atworth Estate, but it was as close to them as she could get for now. The season was waning, September would find them soon and she longed to see the garden at home again before it lost its summer charm.

“And it only took getting shot,” replied Giddeon drily. “You’ve been far too good to me, Harry.”

“I know.”

It was only after a second loop along the paths, with idle chatter and youthful humour, that Harriet realised they were being followed. The stranger was a scruffy individual with a beard and small eyes, who clutched an envelope in his large fist.

Harriet leaned in closer to her brother’s ear. “Do you know that man?”

Giddeon’s easy walk halted, his form tense as he caught sight of the shape that dogged their steps.

Voice quiet, he said, “I need you to wait here.” Before Harriet could protest, he added quickly, “It is nothing to be concerned about, but I need you to wait here.”

Harriet would not let him go. Her small hands coiled around his arm, regardless of his injury. “Not if you are going to get yourself shot again.”

“There’s no danger of that.” He shook his head, his face now lacking the colour their walk had imbued it with. “Please, wait here.”

“Only if you tell me everything – and I mean all of it – from the very beginning.”

Giddeon was silent for several long moments, drawn out and weary, before he reluctantly agreed.

With unwilling fingers, Harriet released her brother. It was infuriating at times, when she was torn between being the lady she had to be and the rogue who haunted the trading routes. The latter would have been useful now, brave and bold. All the lady could do was wait and watch and worry.

Giddeon left her, his steps hard on the garden path, his back straight though the action pulled on his shoulder. Whatever words spoken between him and the other man were too quiet for Harriet to catch. It appeared the grubby stranger was merely a messenger, for the letter did all the talking. Judging by Giddeon’s hard expression, the words written upon the page were not a welcome communication. Harriet waited no longer. Lifting her skirts, she stepped lightly towards her brother and would have snatched the letter from his grasp, had Giddeon not been wise to such actions.

“I grew up with you pinching all my favourite books, Harriet.” He winced in pain at the sudden motion, though he had succeeded in keeping the paper. “You will have to be far faster than that.”

“This isn’t a game now, Giddeon.”

A grim smile captured his features. “I know.”

A cloying, heavy silence fell – interrupted only by snatches of chatter from other walkers and tittering birdsong – as he tried to conjure the right words.

“Whatever it might be, you can tell me anything,” said Harriet, her hands curled into fists, knuckles white under her gloves.

Giddeon nodded, heaving a sigh and handing her the letter. “Let’s take Aunt Georgia’s carriage back home, for we will not be overheard in there and we will not be interrupted.”

***

The carriage rocked and dipped as it trundled over the sun-bleached roads. Aunt Georgia had not wanted them to leave and had mithered over Giddeon’s health, but she eventually relented and announced she would be following a day or two after. Only when Bath was far behind them and golden fields, offering the British summer’s sweetest scents, passed by the windows, did Harriet’s brother finally reveal the true depths of his predicament. While at Oxford he had gambled often, stumbled into drink, fell in with ill company and borrowed vast amounts of money from one Thomas Barrow in order to place bets. Barrow had told Giddeon he could pay it all back when ready, when his luck changed, and so the young man borrowed more and more in dizzying sums. Until one day, quite recently, Barrow demanded what was owed and Giddeon did not have it. His lodgings were ransacked, nameless thugs who would not identify themselves attacked him, and he fled the university. Threats followed wherever he went. He sought refuge in Bath’s familiar taverns, became lost further in drink and depravity, and dropped into Aunt Georgia’s townhouse during dinner.

“How much do you owe, Giddeon?”

“Nothing I can easily pay back.”

“You mean to duel him again, this Barrow, don’t you?”

“I do not know.”

“He almost killed you last time.”

“Sister, the last time was no duel,” muttered Giddeon, tense, as if waiting for her to send him away, refuse him. “His hired thugs attacked me, tried to shake me up, that was all.”

“But you owe him money.”

“He’s a crook. It does not matter how the cards had been played; he always would have won.”

“He’s been cheating?”

“He has, and I’ll find my proof.”

Harriet heaved a long, humming sigh and kept her neutral gaze on the passing scenery. Far better to scowl at the meadowsweet and foxgloves than at her brother. Though she was only a year older than him, there seemed a greater distance between them, for where he had shunned responsibility and the real world’s harshness, she had shouldered it and done her best to carry on. Women, she had observed in her meagre twenty-two years, often carried far more burdens than the men they loved could ever hope to fathom.

“I know you miss our mother,” said Harriet finally. “Because I do too, more than anything. And I know it has been hard for you, but this cannot go on.”

“I know.”

“You need to talk to Father.”

“I do,” agreed Giddeon, a hand on his shoulder, still sore and stiff. “I am truly sorry, Harry. I have been a fool, I’ve burnt nearly all my bridges and yet here you are.”

“What’s done is done,” replied Harriet, unable to keep the disappointment from her tone. “All there is to do now is move forwards. Don’t punish yourself for the past, when there are others who’ll gladly do that for you. This Barrow, he means to kill you, doesn’t he?”

“Undoubtedly,” said Giddeon. “I cannot pay him and if I cannot prove him a liar, he’ll finish what he started.”

“Then we’ll find the money.”

“How? There’s nothing left. We’ve no backers; there’s no help for us.”

“There’s a ship, The Sapphire – it’s a solid investment.”

“But you can’t invest if you’ve not gathered the funds.”

“I have,” explained Harriet, watching her sibling’s eyes widen, in greed or gratitude, she couldn’t be sure. She’d said too much not to say the rest. “Or, at least, I will soon. There’s still time, though it isn’t long before the vessel’s maiden voyage. I have been assured by varying sources that the risk will pay off within six months, if we can hold on. Only do not tell Father, for if it falls through, his health won’t take it.”

Giddeon slumped in his seat, relieved, head falling back and eyes on the carriage’s ceiling. “How did you end up the sensible one? At least we have you to uphold the family name, Harry.”

Harriet’s expression grew clouded and though she wished to find a dark humour in his words, she could not. “Indeed we do.”

“Although,” observed Giddeon, “if we both flounder, there will always be Ellen.”

Harriet smiled a fond smile. “I have a feeling that she will be the best of all three of us.”