Black Gold (30 page)

Chapter 25

Lives in Crisis

Saturday/Sunday, April 7/8

Sir Harry urged his horse on with the whip, startling the foot traffic on the broad, well-beaten path that curved along the east bank of the river. This route took him past Spring Gardens into Bathwick and avoided the crowded streets of the city. He reined in his mount in front of the jail, a new three-story stone building in the Palladian style common to Bath. Warehouses separated it from the river. To the east lay the woods and meadows of Bathwick manor. To Sir Harry, the jail appeared conveniently isolated and remote.

At the entrance, Rogers met the jailer, a slightly-built older man. They knew each other from previous occasions when Sir Harry's ships' officers and men were imprisoned for drunken brawling and other misdemeanors. A shilling or two usually persuaded the jailer to make their confinement a little more comfortable.

“Sir Harry, are you here to visit your clerk?” asked the jailer with a deferential tilt of his head.

“Yes, my good man,” replied Rogers, pressing a coin into his hand. He bowed and immediately showed Sir Harry into a small bare room with a table and two plain wooden chairs.

He had come to the jail with one overriding purpose: to gain possession of the mysterious package that Critchley had stolen from Lady Margaret. Since Roach's death, no one seemed to know where it was and what was inside. Love letters most likely, perhaps also a diary. Critchley might still have them. Never gave them to Roach. Hid them at Combe Park. But a thorough search of the house had failed to find them. Sir Harry's only recourse now was to bargain with Critchley. He would have preferred to cut the man's throat.

He had thought hard over what to offer someone who faced almost certain execution, especially if he were proven guilty of Roach's death. Money alone would do him no good. An alternative, the only one, loomed up in Sir Harry's mind like a monster. Should he risk virtually everything he had worked hard for in his life in order to be free of his wife and her lover who had cuckolded him? Free to marry the lovely, vivacious young Harriet?

A few minutes later, after what seemed an eternity, the jailer appeared with Critchley. Only a powerful effort of will restrained Sir Harry's impulse to throttle the prisoner. He had concealed his criminal past, had pilfered at Combe Park, had slandered Harriet and himself. And, he might have murdered Mary Campbell and Roach. For a brief moment, rage nearly blinded Sir Harry.

Critchley's wrists were manacled and his feet were in irons, but he was not humbled. Holding his tall thin body erect, he met Sir Harry's eye and did not flinch. He surely knew what his visitor wanted and was prepared to ask a very high price for it. The jailer withdrew, closing the door behind him. Critchley sat opposite Sir Harry at the table. They began to bargain.

***

Harriet Ware stared vacantly at a table setting arranged for two. The young maid waited patiently for approval, then coughed. Harriet put aside her anxieties for a moment, inspected the maid's work, and murmured well-done. The maid retreated to the kitchen to continue the preparations. Harriet lifted a spoon she had looked at only seconds earlier. Her hand trembled. Harry had sent word to expect him for tea at four o'clock. He would bring news she had to hear.

Harriet did not want to receive him. He had been to her apartment before with other guests but never alone. Most of all, she had not yet recovered from the shock she received yesterday. What kind of man would drug Jeff and send him back to Jamaica? Harry appeared to her now as a monster!

Simple prudence required her to keep a safe distance from him and in no way encourage his infatuation. But, the tone of his message implied he would come whatever excuse she might offer. She could not muster the courage to confront him head on. He might explode. And how would that end? A sense of foreboding paralyzed her. She stood at the table, absently fingering the tea service.

The front doorbell startled her. She called the maid to answer it. His steps echoed in the hallway. Her heart beat faster. She checked the tea water and placed the cake tray on the table. He knocked. She smoothed her rose silk gown, moistened her lips, and opened the door as if she were on stage. Her anxiety retreated behind a friendly mask.

He rushed in, a broad grin on his face. He kicked the door shut with his heel and swept her off her feet. Around the room they whirled in a wild country dance, threatening to upset the tea table. The maid fled back into the kitchen. Harriet gradually calmed him until he came to a panting halt and released her. His ruddy face was flushed with exertion, his eyes unnaturally bright.

“Harriet, I've finally found the evidence to end my unhappy marriage! It will soon be in my hands. Three or four days at the latest.” He stopped for breath.

Overwhelmed by his enthusiasm, Harriet had said almost nothing. She welcomed this break and led him toward a basin on the sideboard. He smiled gratefully, then washed his hands, splashed water on his face, toweled himself, palmed his hair. Meanwhile, she lightly brushed his coat.

“I can't go into details, my dear, but this time I'm confident.” He took her hands in a strong grip and gazed at her silently for a moment, as if she were a precious work of art. “You are so fresh, so lovely. And you sing with the voice of an angel. I know I've promised not even to speak of a commitment from you until I am free. Now, at least, I can see ahead to that time, and my heart is bursting with joy.”

Harriet smiled automatically, but was still at a loss for words. How was Harry going to get the evidence he was talking about? She was afraid to ask. She had long suspected he had hired Jack Roach to find proof of his wife's infidelity. And Mr. Critchley had spied for Roach. That hadn't bothered her too much. Like Harry's trading in slaves, it was something that powerful men did. But only two days ago Jack Roach had been murdered, his body found in the river. And, less than an hour ago at the baker's shop, she had heard Mr. Critchley had been taken to prison.

Harriet pulled free from his grip and directed him toward the chairs at the tea table. “Make yourself comfortable,” she told him. “I'll pour.”

They had set to eating the cakes and had sipped some tea when Harry cocked his head, caught Harriet's eye. “Is something disturbing you, my dear?”

She put down her cup, gaining a moment for thought. His question was reasonable, but its tone was almost threatening. When Harry wanted someone to share his joy, he was not to be denied. She turned to him, but she couldn't bring herself to tell him the plain truth. “I heard at the baker's shop that Mr. Critchley had been arrested, then I thought of Jack Roach's murder. Terrible things like that aren't supposed to happen in Bath.”

“Don't trouble yourself, Harriet,” he said. “The Bow Street officer arrested Critchley for other crimes, not for killing Roach. Personally, I think Fitzroy did it.” He leaned solicitously forward. “Forget about those men. Think of us.”

Harriet put on her best smile and poured more tea. They chatted for a while as if nothing were amiss. Afterwards, they moved to the harpsichord in the corner. She accompanied herself in several popular airs until he rose to take his leave. He took her hand and kissed it. She gently withdrew it and, sensing his desire, took a step back.

“I'll see you in the Upper Assembly Rooms this evening,” he said.

“Yes, thanks to Maestro Rauzzini, I'll sing in the chorus.”

“And soon you'll sing solo!” he added emphatically.

When he left the room, Harriet leaned her back against the door, listening to the heavy tread of his boots in the hallway, down the stairs, out the front door. It slammed shut and the house was quiet. But his presence lingered on in her mind. He would get the document he wanted, cost what it might. Sooner or later he would be free. Then marriage? She shivered.

She scanned the parlor, lingering on the harpsichord. Had she been foolish accepting his patronage? She recalled when she had first met him. A year ago. He had said he intended to do something for her. Bring her forward. Since then, he had been true to his word. But, at a cost she was only now beginning to reckon—and was unwilling to pay.

***

The Upper Assembly Rooms on Alfred Street bustled with activity. The annual concert of sacred music on the eve of Easter was about to take place. A swelling flow of people poured into the ballroom. Their excited babble mixed with the tuning of violins and violas, and echoed throughout the building. From the Card Room the voices of the chorus in rehearsal penetrated the din.

One of six sopranos, Harriet stood poised, holding the score of Handel's
Messiah
in her hands, her eyes fixed on the lines, “
All we like sheep have gone astray. We have turned every one to his own way
.” A sharp clap of hands startled her. She looked up. Maestro Rauzzini stared at her, smiled when he had her attention. “We'll go through the first six bars again. All together now.”

“All we like sheep,…all we like sheep, have gone astray.”
Some twenty voices raised Isaiah's plaintive words in perfectly measured allegro moderato. In full song, Harriet sensed the prophet speaking for her. She had to fight for control of her voice.

“Good. You've got it right,” said Rauzzini, stepping back. “Get ready. In five minutes we shall enter the ballroom.”

Harriet nervously smoothed the folds of her lemon yellow brocade, aware of sidelong glances from the tenors nearby. She still felt restless, anxious. She had hoped the excitement of the concert would distract her, but her mind drifted unbidden back to Harry.

Their meeting had added greatly to her sense that something was going wrong in their relationship. Harry's moods seemed to swing too swiftly. A dark, ruthless side of his nature was coming to the fore. Ending his marriage with Lady Margaret was becoming an obsession. And he simply assumed Harriet would marry him, even though he had never proposed to her and she had never indicated she was interested.

Her career in the theater now began to weigh upon her conscience. Had greed and vanity subtly undermined her common sense? Her parents had cautioned her about seeking profit and applause. It was one thing to sing for God's glory in the church choir, quite another to dance for a shilling or two at Sadler's Wells. They had sighed when she left home to work in Bath and would surely have warned her against accepting Sir Harry's patronage. Had she gone astray on a dangerous path?

Peering into the ballroom, Harriet could see Sir Harry in the middle of the fifth row of the audience. Had she been honest with him? Encouraged his interest in her? On the way to the stage, she looked rigidly straight ahead. On stage she kept her eyes on Maestro Rauzzini.

Nonetheless, she was keenly aware of Harry staring at her, straining to pick out her voice from all the others in the chorus. When it came time for the song from Isaiah, Harriet could simply not help herself. She looked at Harry and her voice went out to him. “
All we like sheep have gone astray. We have turned every one to his own way.
” Tears welled up in her eyes. She now feared the man and must avoid him or court disaster.

***

Georges was outside the Assembly Rooms during the concert, gathering rumors and gossip from the chairbearers while he waited for Anne and Colonel Saint-Martin. When the audience began to leave the building, he stationed himself in the vestibule. After several minutes, Miss Ware and Sir Harry walked through the corridor towards him. She appeared tired and very tense. He was in good spirits, though he seemed concerned about her. They were on their way to the vestibule to wait for Sir Harry's carriage.

In the press of the crowd they didn't notice Lady Margaret and Captain Fitzroy enter the vestibule at the same time. At the last moment, Georges saw what was about to happen but could do nothing to prevent it. The jostling crowd shoved Lady Margaret into Miss Ware so forcefully that, had Sir Harry not caught her, she would have fallen to the tiled floor.

Several bystanders realized an accident had taken place and stopped to stare. An eerie silence fell over the room. Lady Margaret turned and saw Miss Ware in Sir Harry's arms. She gasped. Anger flashed across her face.

Sir Harry, who hadn't seen the crowd pushing Lady Margaret, assumed she had deliberately shoved Miss Ware. He bristled, then snarled, “Mad Irish bitch.”

Captain Fitzroy started, as if struck. He stepped toward Sir Harry. “Sir, you have insulted my cousin.”

Sir Harry took a step toward the captain. Miss Ware, who had regained her balance, tried to restrain him. He shook her off. “Sir, she's my wife and I can call her anything I like.”

Fitzroy's hand gripped the hilt of his sword. “I demand satisfaction.” The spectators of the scene edged back.

Georges realized he was perhaps the only one who clearly understood what had happened. He forced his way through the crowd and came between the two men. “There's been a most unfortunate misunderstanding,” he said calmly, glancing at one and then at the other. Supposedly a servant, Georges spoke with surprising authority. The men gaped at him.

“I witnessed the incident,” he continued. “Allow me to explain.” He drew the two men aside and in a few words told them what had happened. “This calls for apologies, not a duel,” he concluded. After some hesitation and fuming, and with glances to the distinguished crowd around them, they agreed. Apologies were rendered through clenched teeth, and the two couples went their separate ways.

Georges breathed a deep sigh of relief. A duel, however it ended, would almost certainly frustrate Baron Breteuil's plans for Captain Fitzroy.

***

A joyful peal of bells rang through Bath and announced Easter Sunday. From the rear of the Abbey Church, Anne and Paul scanned a congregation of the curious and the devout, mingling easily on this bright feast day. Light poured through the colored glass of the west front and the south clerestory and flooded the sacred space with a golden glow.