Unmasking Of A Lady. Sophie Dash

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      “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?”

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