Lady Thief

After her first visit to Almacks, Jenny felt confident that she would be able to deal successfully with any further references to the Cat. The first such occurrence was, after all, surely the most difficult. She congratulated herself for having dealt rather well with the situation, and devoutly trusted that she would not be shaken quite so badly the next time it occurred.

Unfortunately, her trust was slightly misplaced. It was the night of Lady Jersey’s party, and had Jenny but known what would happen, she would have pleaded a headache—or the pox—anything to avoid attending what she afterward described to herself as “that perfectly dreadful party.”

From the first moment of being greeted at the door by Lady Jersey, Jenny heard of nothing but the Cat. “Miss Courtenay—have you heard the latest? They are saying at the War Office that the Cat is not a thief after all. Only fancy—she is actually trying to catch traitors.”

“Well, you shall hear of nothing else tonight,” the lady promised merrily. “The entire ton is all agog with the news.”

To her considerable dismay, Jenny soon found that Lady Jersey had spoken no less than the truth. Lord Rivenhall, who was the first to ask for a dance, was also the first to broach the subject. “I say, Miss Courtenay, have you heard about the female footpad? Apparently she’s more than just a common thief; the War Office says that she’s trying to find traitors. Why do you think she’s doing that?”

“I cannot imagine,” Jenny responded rather hollowly. “Perhaps she simply dislikes the thought of anyone being traitorous to England.”

Rivenhall who, as his friends often reminded him, had a mind fit for cards and little else, subjected the matter to profound thought. “That could be it,” he conceded. “But it seems a dashed silly way to go about the thing. I mean—why does she rob coaches?”

The gambit failed. Rivenhall’s intellect was not powerful, but it was tenacious. The movements of the dance drew them apart just then, but as soon as they were facing one another again, he immediately resumed his examination of the Cat’s possible motivations. “Perhaps she knows of a particular traitor and is holding up coaches in hopes of finding him. Do you think that’s it, Miss Courtenay?”

Despairingly, Jenny wondered why Rivenhall’s wayward mind had latched onto the one possible explanation which was closer to the truth than anything else she had heard. In an effort to pry his mind away from a topic that was making her acutely uncomfortable, Jenny said reprovingly, “My lord, if you continue to go on about this—person, I shall begin to think that you have lost your heart to her.”

Perceiving that he had offended his fair companion, and realizing that he would whistle a fortune down the wind if he wasn’t careful, Rivenhall made haste to change the subject.

For the next ten minutes, Jenny was treated to a description of his estates which (though not overly large, of course) would be quite splendid if only a little money could be spent on them. Rivenhall then went on to explain why he could not, at the moment, spare the money. His excuses, though most entertaining, were highly improbable and contained less than an ounce of truth.

As soon as the dance had ended, Jenny hinted rather broadly that she was thirsty, and Rivenhall had the happy notion of procuring her a glass of lemonade.

Watching him stride through the crowded room, Jenny felt a sudden desire to develop a headache and go home. But that would never do. For one thing, Lady Jersey was one patroness it was wise not to offend. For another, she was also extremely difficult to deceive.

Jenny sighed and turned to find herself face-to-face with Lady Catherine. The lady’s kindly blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “I suppose you’ve heard about the Cat, Miss Courtenay?”

“I suppose everyone has by now. Well, all I can say is that the poor thing must have a reason for what she does—and if her reason is to search for traitors, I can only applaud her spirit. And she must have spirit, you know. Why, it would take a great deal of spirit just to climb up on that whacking great brute she rides, and never mind the rest.

“Oh, no, but my husband was held up by her a while back, you know, and he told me all about it.”

“Indeed?” Jenny hoped desperately that she did not look as startled as she felt, and tried to remember when she had held up Lord Amber’s coach.

“Yes, indeed! He said that she was very polite and didn’t threaten him at all. She asked him very nicely if he would mind very much handing over his purse and jewelry, then thanked him, wished him good evening, and rode off. She rode a great black stallion with strange red eyes.”

“Oh, not really,” Lady Catherine said comfortably. “It was very exciting for Henry. Poor thing—he doesn’t get much excitement these days, you know. And he was very pleased when she returned his jewelry a few days later.” She smiled easily at Jenny, spotted an acquaintance across the room, and sailed off.

Jenny decided to find a nice quiet corner in which to hide until this wretched party was over. She was foiled in her desire, however, by Lord Buckham, who planted himself directly in her chosen path of retreat. “Miss Courtenay, have you heard about the Cat?”

Staring at his round, rather florid face and protuberant gray eyes, Jenny had an absurd desire to stand in the middle of the room and loudly announce that she was the Cat—just to shock them all into silence. She ruthlessly suppressed the urge. “Yes, my lord—I have heard.”

“Shocking thing! Very shocking! I must say it’s the outside of enough to have thieves doing the job that fine, upstanding citizens should take care of. It just won’t do—won’t do at all.”

Amused in spite of herself, Jenny said, “You do not feel, sir, that a thief should be doing Bow Street’s job? But what matters who does the job as long as it is done?”

The little man’s face grew even more red. “Well, of course it matters, Miss Courtenay. It matters very much. That’s why we pay taxes, after all. And they’re trying to turn this thief into some kind of heroine. All they can talk about—morning, noon, and night. Why, if they can only discover who she is, I daresay they’ll pin a medal on her.”

Intensely curious about his somewhat obscure references to “they,” Jenny said soothingly, “I am sure they would not dare, my lord.”

“Oh, wouldn’t they just!” he exclaimed bitterly. “It’s exactly the sort of thing they would do.”

“The ton, girl, the ton! M’wife and all those other females. It’s a shame, that’s what it is! A shame!” He favored her with a brief nod and strode across the room to find a new audience for his views.

Jenny fixed her eyes on an unoccupied corner of the room, and firmly resolved that nothing was going to stop her from reaching it. She reckoned without Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch.

Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch was heartily disliked throughout the ton because of her sharp tongue, and only tolerated because of her husband’s money.

Jenny had already been exposed to the sharp side of Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch’s tongue—several times, in fact. Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch had disliked Jenny on sight. Jenny was a very beautiful young woman, and Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch had a daughter of marriageable age, a daughter who was too tall, too thin, and sallow-faced into the bargain. Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch did not like competition—especially when the competition looked like Jenny.

Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch stepped into Jenny’s path and looked her up and down in an insulting way that stiffened Jenny’s spine. “I suppose you’ve heard what that brazen hussy has done now?”

Jenny noticed that Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch did not deign to address her by name. “If you are speaking of the Cat, ma’am, yes, I have heard.”

Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch looked down her beak of a nose at Jenny—who was a good head shorter than she was. “I suppose you’d like to see the Cat get a medal, too?”

“Since I have little say in the matter, ma’am, and even less interest,” said Jenny with exaggerated politeness, “I doubt that my opinion could possibly concern you.” She bowed slightly to the affronted matron, and continued serenely on her way.

Her unoccupied corner was now occupied. Jenny sighed and glanced around for another one. She finally discovered a small seat half-hidden behind a potted plant, and sank down on it with a feeling of relief. Now perhaps Providence would favor her, and she could manage to survive the remainder of the evening without doing anything foolish. Perhaps.

Rivenhall was back with her lemonade. “I say, Miss Courtenay—I’ve looked all over for you. Thought for a moment you’d gone. Gave me a nasty turn.” He presented her lemonade with a flourish which spilt half of it on the floor.

Jenny accepted the sticky glass with a strained smile, and wondered rather wildly if she would be able to survive the evening.

Rivenhall, his bloodshot eyes full of concern, produced a crumpled handkerchief and began to fan her with more enthusiasm than skill. “I say, Miss Courtenay—are you all right?”

Jenny dried her watering eyes with her own handkerchief, then gave Lord Rivenhall what he privately considered to be a very odd look, carefully cleared her throat, and said quietly, “I am perfectly all right, my lord. The lemonade simply—er—went down the wrong way.”

Rivenhall sat down gingerly beside her. “Well, if you’re sure,” he said doubtfully. “I could fetch Lady Beddington.”

“Quite unnecessary, I assure you.” She fixed him with a limpid smile. “It’s only a nervous disorder, you know. Common in my family, I’m afraid. Of course, we do hope that I won’t end like poor Uncle John.”

“Well, yes. He had to be confined in a room at the top of the house with an attendant to make sure he didn’t hurt himself.” She sighed sadly. “Sure a pity.”

Rivenhall rose carefully to his feet. “Miss Courtenay—uh—if you will excuse me? I—er—I promised the next dance to—er—Miss Abercrombe-Finch.”

Rivenhall quickly made his escape. Jenny tried to take herself sternly to task for having made up such an absurd farrago of nonsense, but since there was a bubble of near-hysterical laughter trying to escape from her throat, she was not very successful.

Jenny was enjoying a few precious moments of rumination when her thoughts were fortunately interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Brummell. Jenny was fatalistically certain of his first words. She held her breath in suspense.

Jenny slowly released her pent-up breath. She gave Mr. Brummell an injured look. “Mr. Brummell, I did hope that you, at least, would have something intelligent to say tonight.”

The Beau looked startled, and then amused. “Why, thank, you,” he responded gravely.

Jenny’s cheeks pinked, and she cast Brummell an apologetic look. “I beg your pardon,” she murmured. “I think I shall scream if I hear another word about the Cat.”

She managed a faint smile. “Are you trying to turn me into an Original, Mr. Brummell?”

“I do not have to try,” the Beau replied. “You are an Original—refreshingly so, if I may add.”

Jenny blushed again and found, to her annoyance, that she had lost command of her tongue. Before she could regain it, Brummell spoke again.

“And now, Miss Courtenay, would you mind very much telling me why you appear to be as nervous as a cat?”

She gave him a resigned look, and wondered if he could possibly know how singularly apt his comment was. “I am not nervous, Mr. Brummell—you see before you a young woman on the verge of an hysterical fit. And please do not ask why. If I tried to explain, they really would have to lock me away like poor Uncle John.”

Beginning to feel more herself, Jenny smiled mischievously. “That’s what I told Lord Rivenhall,” she confided. “He could not get away from me fast enough. By tomorrow morning, all of London will think I’m mad.” She looked thoughtful. “And I’m not sure that they wouldn’t be far wrong.”

Brummell began to laugh softly. “I wondered what put the poor fellow into such a stew. He looked positively relieved to be dancing with Miss Abercrombe-Finch.”

“What I would like to know,” Jenny commented darkly, “is why no one has yet murdered the man.”

“Inclined! I tell you honestly, Mr. Brummell, if the man had not left when he did, I would probably have strangled him with my bare hands.”

Brummell’s keen gray eyes were amused. “Nevertheless, Miss Courtenay, I do not believe that Rivenhall was the sole cause of your tension.”

More sure of herself now, Jenny nodded. “You are entirely correct,” she said cordially. “There are at least three other people here tonight who contributed to my tension.”

“Lady Catherine, who said that it was very exciting for poor Henry to be held up by the Cat; Lord Buckham, who said that it was the outside of enough to have thieves searching for traitors and what was he paying taxes for?; and Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch, who looked down her nose at me and said that she supposed I wanted the Cat to receive a medal, too.”

“Want the Cat to get a medal?” Jenny tried to look blank, and hoped to heaven that she was actress enough to carry it off. “I know nothing about it.”

Brummell’s thoughtful stare made her slightly uneasy. Her suspicions proved to be unfounded, however, when he spoke. “I have a close friend whom you really should meet. You two would have a great deal in common.”

The Beau appeared injured. “Miss Courtenay! How you could even think such a thing—”

“Miss Courtenay,” Brummell said severely, “it is very impolite of you to interrupt.”

“Oh, I do beg your pardon. Pay no attention to me, Mr. Brummell; I have had a very long and trying day. Please—go on with what you were saying.”

Ignoring her murmured comment, Brummell said politely, “Thank you. As I was saying, you really should meet my friend. You have exactly the same sort of humor he has.”

Ignoring this quite unnecessary comment, Brummell went on. “You may have already met him.”

Jenny felt the room begin to spin gently around her. Hounded, she thought. I will be hounded to my grave. How I ever thought I could get away with this—

“No, Mr. Brummell,” she replied with admirable restraint, “I am not all right. In fact—I think that I had better go home. If you would be so very obliging as to tell one of the footmen to call a cab for me? I have no desire to worry Lady Beddington.”