Mr. Thomson and the innkeeper almost danced through the door together, a tight squeeze. The innkeeper gave way, but spoke first, bubbling with excitement. “She’s hung herself right and tight.”
“Ah, yes. Now, I would like Mr. Thomson to request General Vaughan’s immediate presence at the magistrate’s. Innkeeper, I would like you to arrange for our carriage at the rear of the inn and your presence in ten minutes.”
“Right you are, m’lord. I’ll be there in a trice.” He whipped off his apron and wiped his hands before he and Mr. Thomson went off on their respective errands.
Kit turned to Deborah. “You and Missy will be required to give statements. You have a veil?”
“No, but it can be arranged. I’m so glad this is over.”
Chapter 26
After almost a week cooped up in the hotel suite, Deborah jumped at the chance to join the Vaughans in their box at the theater. British acting and musical troops were loath to cross the Atlantic during the war, so most of the professional entertainment came from resident companies. Sometimes, even British soldiers found themselves drafted for entertainment duty.
This week’s principal selection at The Theatre on Nassau Street, Hayden’s new C Major Symphony, would be performed by just such a group of redcoat musicians. Deborah figured it was better than guard duty. Plus, if they were playing, they weren’t shooting.
Deborah stretched a bit on the carriage seat. It felt so good to be out and about once again. Cabin fever was a fearsome thing. “I’m so glad we got that fuss over before Missy and Mr. Thomson’s wedding. It would be terrible if Lady Claudia managed to spoil it.”
“Ummm,” Kit replied as the carriage stopped in front of The Theatre.
The theater was a two story wooden structure, with a pair of magnificent staircases leading up to the boxes lining each side of the hall. Managers Walter Merry and Thomas Kean wanted to impress their box holders, even if the seats on the first floor were simple benches.
The footman drew the crimson velvet curtain aside to allow Deborah and Kit to enter the box. Kit went forward to greet Lady Vaughan. Amanda jumped out of her chair and rushed to embrace Deborah with unseemly haste. Her mother hissed at her, but Amanda launched into speech. “Oh, Deborah, I’m so glad to see you. Mother and Father have been absolutely sotto voce every time your name was mentioned, and I’ve been forbidden to call, and then I overheard something about an attack, and nobody would tell me what had happened, and…and I’ve been so worried about you.”
Deborah laughed and held the girl’s hands. “I’m fine, as you can see. We were attacked by footpads, but no damage was done, except to my dress. Really.”
General Vaughan had risen at their entrance. “Good evening to you, Lady Westridge. Delighted to see you in fine form after all your ‘alarums and excursions.’ Should be a fine performance this evening.
“Haven’t located the lady in question, yet.” He leaned over toward Kit. “Appears she’s changed her place of residence. Still looking. Don’t despair.”
Kit looked out over the theater after kissing Lady Vaughan’s hand. He was about to make a comment on the crowd when he spied a familiar face in one of the opposite boxes. “General, I do believe I’ve spotted out quarry.” He watched Lady Claudia wave and then get up to leave her box. “I might even be so bold as to predict that she may come to us!”
He glanced out over the gallery. “Do you have any guards here?”
“No.”
“Lady Vaughan,” Kit said as he offered her his hand, “would you take Amanda to the next box immediately?”
She swallowed visibly, but complied, leading a querulous Amanda.
Deborah looked at him and said, “No.” She did, however, move to one of the inside corners of the box.
Kit leaned negligently against the hip-high balustrade, and General Vaughan fidgeted with the buttons on his cuff.
For Deborah, the wait stretched into forever. Lady Vaughn returned quickly. She sat in her accustomed chair, fingers white around the strings of her reticule.
Deborah didn’t know what was going to happen, but she, like Lady Vaughn, knew the confrontation wasn’t going to be pleasant or easy. Some instinct, like that of the she-wolf protecting her mate, made her reach into her own reticule and quietly open the jack knife she’d retrieved after the attack. If all went well, it would sit unnoticed in her hand until Lady Claudia left, one way or another.
The curtain opened and brushed across her skirts, but Lady Claudia never noticed. “I’m sure I saw you, my dearest Kit. How bold of you to come to the theater during morning, but then diversion is always the best medicine for grief, isn’t it? I’m sure I have just the solution for both of us. Why…”
“Lady Claudia,” General Vaughan intoned solemnly as he rose from his hitherto unnoticed seat.
“Why, Sir John, I’m sure I didn’t see you. How are you and your lovely wife?” She offered her hand.
The General looked at her extended fingers for a moment and then grasped her hand in a tighter-than-required-by-courtesy grip. Lady Claudia pulled back in well-bred shock. “Lady Claudia Grant, I hereby arrest you for thrice attempting to murder Lady Deborah Marshall, Countess of Westridge.
The shock held her still for a moment then she ripped her hand from his with a most unladylike violence. “How dare you!”
“I very much dare, my lady. We have the testimony of your hired assassin and the corroboration from you own mouth.”
“I’ve done no such thing, you imbecile! Of all the absurdity!”
Deborah decided it was time to step into the fray. “Good evening, Lady Claudia. Your consolation of my widower is somewhat premature, I’m afraid.”
“But you’re…”
“Dead?” Deborah finished for her. “Not quite yet, despite your best efforts. I do, however, appreciate your ‘taking care of’ Kit for me.”
Lady Claudia whirled, glaring at all of them. “You! What are you…? You whore!”
“Lady Claudia,” General Vaughan tried to interject, “Lady Claudia, you must come with me.” He grasped her arm.
She twisted back towards him. Her free hand whipped up and raked across his face, leaving three bloody furrows.
“Yieee!” he screamed as he flopped back into his chair.
His wife shrieked, “John!” but she remained glued to her chair with her hand on her bosom.
Kit tossed one of the vacant chairs aside and took two strides forward. “Claudia,” he commanded, but she was digging frantically in her reticule. “Claudia!”
She looked up. As she did, she dropped her bag and raised the smallest pistol Deborah had ever seen. “You betrayed me, you miserable cur.”
“Claudia, listen to me.”
“I thought you loved me. I sacrificed everything for you, and you betrayed me.”
Deborah could see the wild fury in Lady Claudia’s eyes. The pistol and Lady Claudia’s attention were both on Kit. She didn’t stop to think, she just acted. Keeping as still as possible, Deborah baby-stepped the half-dozen feet to her target.
“Why did you do it? We could have been so good together. We could have had the ton fawning at our feet. Why did you ruin it? You ruined it. You! You!”
“Claudia, listen, this won’t get you anything.”
“Yes, it will…revenge!” She cocked the pistol with her thumb. Deborah rushed the last foot and lunged with the small blade. It drew bright blood on Claudia’s shoulder. She screamed and fired at the same time.
The shot flew wide, into the gallery. A yelp from below started the sounds of a mass exodus. Pandemonium reigned.
With Lady Claudia disarmed, Deborah tried to restrain her from behind.
“No, you bitch, it’s all your fault! I won’t let you take me!” Grappling with Deborah, Lady Claudia managed to wrench the blood-slick knife away. She slashed at Kit, drawing blood on his hand and backed to the side of the box.
Lady Vaughan finally roused from her immobility. She rose majestically to her feet. Pointing h
er fan like a royal scepter at Lady Claudia, she intoned, “You wicked, wicked female! I shall personally see to it that you are never received in polite society again!”
With a strangle howl of rage, Claudia charged Lady Vaughan with the knife outstretched, intending to gut her.
Deborah and Kit both lunged to protect Lady Vaughan. Before they could reach her, Lady Claudia stumbled on the overturned chair. To Deborah’s mind, the world slowed. With arms outstretched like scrawny wings and a small squawk, Claudia’s momentum launched her over the balustrade and toward the stage. One flap of her arms and she disappeared.
For the length of a heart beat, the theater was silent, and no one moved in the box. Then all four of them rushed to the balustrade. Gingerly, afraid of what she knew she would see, Deborah looked over and down. She didn’t think the noise level could have gotten any higher than after the shot, but it did. People crowded back around the sprawled, broken body of Lady Claudia Grant. The knife winked dully on the floor. Women screamed, and men shouted. They all pushed to get a better view.
Deborah could only whisper, “Lord have mercy.”
“Amen,” Kit added and put his arm around her shoulders. She dropped her head to his chest.
General Vaughan finally roused from his shock at being attacked by a female. The side of his face was a mess of half-clotted blood. He began, “Ladies,” but the word came out in a croak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Ladies and gentlemen, by the authority of His Majesty, clear the area. Soldiers, you, you and you, guard the...um…body.”
He turned to his companions. “Whole thing’s clear as crystal. Self defense and accidental death. No problem there. Westridge, would appreciate your assistance in cleaning up the mess, though.”
“Of course.”
“Bernice, my dear,” he laid a comforting hand on her arm. She took a deep breath and nodded briskly. “Escort Amanda and Lady Westridge to…to…” His sense of command failed him.
“Our hotel,” Kit supplied. “There will be much to discuss, I imagine. The General will leave with me.” He kissed Deborah on the forehead and gave her a push towards the door.
“Your hand!” She pulled a handkerchief out of her reticule and bound his sluggishly bleeding hand.
“Ever the healer. Go.”
**
Very little was said on the way home. Deborah forestalled Amanda’s questions. “After we get home. This is a tale to be told only once.”
At Frounce’s Tavern, she instructed the innkeeper to bring food, tea, wine, and himself. Missy wasn’t in the room she formerly shared with Mrs. Gibson, but that worthy was also summoned. Knocking on Mr. Thomson’s door, she heard a grumpy, “Yea,” before he opened the door. He straightened when he saw her and began an apology.
She cut him off, “Get dressed, both of you, and get out here.” A squeak behind the door told her that her guess was correct.
With the small group assembled, Deborah told them the events of the evening.
Missy fetched the vinaigrette for Mrs. Gibson who succumbed to a fit of the vapors on hearing the grisly fate of such an aristocratic lady.
When she revived, that worthy commiserated, “She was a Lady!”
“So she were,” Missy responded, “but she sure weren’t no lady.”
Mrs. Gibson stared at her in confusion, but Missy waved her hand to indicate the end of the discussion.
Mr. Thomson shook his head with resigned acceptance. “Not to worry, m’lady. Tis for ta best. Ah means, what’s t’do wit’ ah gentry mort ‘ata a murderer?”
Deborah acknowledged the truth of the statement. She’d been wondering the same thing. Kit had shown mercy to his cousin, but the attack had been on him. She had a bad feeling that these, on her, would not elicit such a response.
Finally the cacophony subsided and the crowd cleared out. Deborah assured Missy and Mr. Thomson that she and Kit could fend for themselves. It was quiet. Deborah picked up an agitated Scamp and sat down to pet him into quietude.
**
Kit found them there when he finally returned. Deborah had slipped down onto the side bolster, sound asleep. Scamp had obviously also been asleep, but the door’s opening woke him. He stretched on her lap. At the movement, Deborah opened her eyes.
“Hello.” Sleep thickened her voice.
“Hello, yourself.”
Deborah stretched and Scamp jumped down to greet his master. Kit gave him an absent-minded stroke.
“That’s no way to treat the hero of this tragedy. He deserves to be feted and petted.”
Kit bent to pick up the tail-wagging dog. “Believe me, I know.” Kit silently renewed his vow that Scamp would live the rest of his life like canine royalty. “Hopefully, that will be the last time he has to play the hero.”
Deborah rose and put her arms around his neck, sandwiching the dog between them. “Sure there’s nobody else hiding in the wings who thinks they deserve a coronet?”
Kit snaked one arm around her waist. “Reasonably so. I certainly hope so. I firmly hope to spend the rest of our lives in placid dullness.”
She lifted her eyebrow and ran a finger along the outside of his ear. “Not too dull,” she challenged.
He pulled free to put the dog on the floor. “I stand corrected.” Wrapping one arm around her waist and threading the fingers of his other through her hair, he captured her mouth with his. His tongue swept in to taste the sweetness and then retreated to trace the outline of her lips. “Exciting, incredibly exciting.”
Chapter 27 For the History Geeks
Reconstructions of the interior of Frounce’s Tavern show it as a fairly functional, if not spare, establishment of four stories. A large box-like structure, it was actually located on Pearl Street. The Queen’s Head Tavern attached to it was a notorious meeting place for Patriots. High-end hotels, as Kit might have patronized didn’t make their appearance in New York until the next century. Frounce’s was most likely a sailor’s inn. Facilities and services were probably very basic. The Theatre on Nassau Street also existed at the time.
Lt. Harvey actually existed (his words to his uncle were recorded), although he died at Saratoga. Banastre Tarleton, Charles Cornwallis, Nathaniel Greene, Patrick Ferguson, Joseph and Sarah Kershaw, General Sir John Vaughan, Prince William (later King William IV), the Rev. Mr. Lorrimer, and Dr. Alexander Garden (both of whom appear on lists of confiscated Tory properties in South Carolina) also existed.
Daniel and Abigail Morgan had two daughters. He started out as a teamster for the British during the French and Indian Wars, receiving the whipping and commenting that it was, indeed, one short. His rheumatism forced his out of the war, but he ended life as a wealthy farmer and sometime Congressman.
The battles described, including Tarleton’s attack on Monticello, Waxhaw, King’s Mountain, Hannah’s Cowpens, Hobkirk Hill, Cornwallis’ chase of Greene that included Guilford Courthouse, and of course, Yorktown all occurred. Their time-line is fairly accurate here. The guerilla actions that Eli and Adam were involved in with Marion and Pickens kept the British off balance. Although Washington receives the lion’s share of the credit for winning the Revolutionary War, these battles were critical in driving Cornwallis up to Yorktown. After that, the war was all but over.
Col. Christopher Marshall stands roughly in the position that Brigadier General Frances Rawdon served. For obvious reasons, he does not appear in the story, although he commanded the British troops at Hobkirk Hill.
Banastre Tarleton’s character, at least according to American sources, was much as described. He went on to take over the Regent’s discarded mistress, Mary Robinson. Later, he became Governor-General of India, as did Rawdon. No one said there was any justice in history. Tarleton actually left New York for England on Dec. 15 (I thought he needed another good trouncing, so I let him stay a bit longer.) along with Cornwallis and Hanger.
Kershaw House, in its reconstructed form, still exists, as do descendents of the Kershaws. One of them, Joanna Craig, is dir
ector of the Camden Historical Society. She graciously helped me with probable floor-plans and aspects of the original house, as well as other historical information.
Patrick Ferguson invented a rifle that, if it had been adopted by the British Army, would have gone a long way to insuring that we still sang “God Save the Queen” instead of “The Star Spangled Banner.” His death, along with one of his two mistresses (each named Sally), at King’s Mountain was a great blow to the British cause.
Cardinal Sauce is an egg yolk and cream-based sauce for fish.
The Bald Eagle actually became the national symbol of the United States a little later than depicted, in 1782.
Unlike Marshall, I personally think skunks are adorable, even if they have a ferocious set of anal glands. But then, my husband tells me I can’t smell very well. I love him anyway.
****
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