Elyse Mady (29 page)

“Oh, Thomas. He is guilty. What shall we do?”

“Stand by him,” he said, his face as strained. “We will stand by him as long as he ever has need of us.”

She closed her eyes again, letting his warm voice wash over her. They would stand together. That would make the coming year bearable. With Thomas by her side, she could endure anything.

THE DESTESTABLE WRETCHES

At Middlesex Sessions, Clerkenwell, on Saturday the 22d, seven of the infamous and detestable wretches lately taken at the Swan, in Vere-street, viz. William Amos, alias ‘Fox’, James Cooke, Philip Hett, William Thomson, Richard Francis, James Dones, and Robert Aspinel, were tired, and all found guilty. Amos, having been twice before convicted of similar offences and punished, was sentenced to three years imprisonment, and to stand once in the pillory, in the Haymarket, opposite Panton-street. Cooke, the keeper of the house, Hett, Thomson, Francis, and Done, were each sentenced to two years imprisonment, and the pillory in the same place; and Aspinel, as not having appeared so active as the others, to one years’ imprisonment only.

On sentence being pronounced on these wretches, they were all hand-cuffed, and tied to one chain in Court, and ordered to Cold Bath-fields Prison. On leaving the Court, a numerous crowd of people, who had collected at the door, assailed them with sticks and stones, which the constables could not completely prevent, although they were about forty in number, and told them to make the best of their way to the prison, and they all immediately ran off to it, which they reached in a few minutes, and the constables by blockading the streets, prevented the most fleet of their assailants from molesting them during their inglorious retreat.

An account of the Vere Street Coterie trial as reported in a London newspaper, September 30, 1810

Epilogue

“Is this where the Ramsays live?” Two men, neither dressed sufficiently against the wet autumn night, stood on the front step of twenty-two Bruton Street.

If the servant was surprised to see two such disreputable men, he did not reveal it. The snow swirled around their feet and scudded into the warm entrance hall. “Yes. Are you Mr. Aspinall?”

“No, he is,” said one of the pair, struggling to keep his companion upright. “He’s ill. Will you see he rests and if they’ll do for him what needs being done?”

“Wallis, did I hear the bell?”

Hester took in the men standing in her doorway. “My God, Robert!”

She raced to the door and pushed past Wallis eagerly. She flung her arms around her brother and hugged him tightly. “Why did you not tell us you were to be released? We would have sent a carriage.” She unwound the scarf wrapped round his throat. She set a hand against his brow and gasped. “You’re not well. You’re burning up. You walked all that way, you foolish man?” There were tears in her eyes as she turned to Thomas, who’d followed her into the hall. “Look who it is, darling. Robert has been released.”

“He’ll sleep best in the guest room. Put him there whilst I have the doctor called.”

“No, I can’t stay,” Robert choked out. “Won’t harm…the…baby.”

“I didn’t drag you here, cross half the damn city, rumped up like a winnard, to have you haul your carcass out again,” his companion hissed. “They’ve fed you and visited you and paid for your keep for a year. How many families would do likewise? Not one that I can name. They care for you, you stupid squallyass. Now get yourself into that bed, or I’ll do you there myself.”

Through her tears, Hester squeezed out a laugh. “I couldn’t have put it better myself, mister…”

“Langton. Timothy Langton.”

“Thank you, Mr. Langton. We are indebted,” she said before turning to the servants who were hovering nearby. “Wallis? Mrs. Lytton? I will need your assistance in getting my brother above stairs.”

* * *

As one, the trio combined their efforts, supporting the invalid as he made his way weakly above without further protest. Hester’s voice faded away. Thomas and Timothy remained in the entranceway, the rain dampening the latter’s thin coat.

“Will you take a drink with me, Mr. Langton?”

“No, sir. I’ll not disturb you or your wife further tonight. I just wanted to see for myself that Robert was taken care of.” He paused, anger suffusing his face. “We walked that damn wheel in all sorts of weather, eight hours a day, whether there was work to be done or no.”

“You were at Coldbath Fields Prison too?”

“Yes.” Timothy continued in a rush, “I stole a bridle. It was worth a wretched four shillings. Got seven years for it, transportation. But the justices, in their mercy, changed their minds and I served ten months hard labour instead. And it were hard. Every day of it.”

“Come and take a drink. Something to warm you,” Thomas insisted again, more gently, and this time, Timothy did not demur. The man followed Thomas into the study. He perched on one of the deep seats, looking about the room uncomfortably. He peeled off his gloves and held his chilblained fingers towards the fire. Thomas saw him wince as sensation began to return, but Robert’s friend did not retract them from the heat.

“How did you know to bring him here?” Thomas poured two drinks and carried one over to the frozen man, who held it awkwardly in his stiff hands. The amber liquid refracted the firelight through the tumbler, casting a dancing array of gold light through the room. Thomas returned to his seat. “And how did it happen that you were both released at the same time? Did not you say you served ten months to my brother-in-law’s twelve?”

“I couldn’t leave him. We’ve grown…close,” he admitted. Thomas continued to sip his scotch and after a while, Timothy continued. “I didn’t pay the ordinary my garnish, like they wanted, so I could be released. They weren’t going to stand the chance of losing their money, so they kept me about. Robert kept telling me to go, trying to give me the money that you’d sent for his keep, but I wouldn’t. Not til he was free to go too.”

“A sacrifice on your part, to be sure.”

“It weren’t a sacrifice,” Timothy insisted. “It were providence that kept me there, else Robert’d died of the fever. You’ve got to be well-nigh to dead before they’ll ever send you to the infirmary.”

“How long has he been sick?”

“Hasn’t been himself for a couple of months now. Down in the mouth about his prospects he was, and worried he’d disgrace his sister again. But ever since it turned cold, he’s been shivering and sweating. It’s been bad enough the past five days that he wasn’t forced to walk the wheel.” He gulped down his glass, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “You’re not what I expected.”

“No?”

“Not you or Mrs. Ramsay.”

Thomas didn’t respond for a moment, then he stood and drew a map from the desk drawer. He placed it between them. “Do you know where this is?” he asked, pointing at coastline. Timothy leaned forward and read it haltingly.

“Hy-der-abad?” He traced his finger along the coastline, inked so meticulously on the map.

“I have need of an agent—or a pair of agents, even—to represent my business interests in India,” Thomas said casually. “You read?”

“Some. Robert is teaching me.”

“India is a beautiful place. Not like here. Hot. A man who wished to make a fresh start would find the country…welcoming.”

Timothy swallowed audibly. “A pair of agents, you say? And they would travel together, then? Even…live together?”

“Of course. Business partners often do,” Thomas said without inflection. “And there are many opportunities that I think Hannay, my partner, and I have not yet begun to explore, that could be well advanced. With the right sort of men representing us there.”

“The right sort of men,” Timothy agreed quietly. “When would we leave?”

“Not until Robert is recovered of course. I have a ship that is scheduled to depart for the subcontinent in December.” Thomas looked across the desk. “Do you think you might be one of those men I could depend upon?”

Timothy did not flinch. “Yes.”

Thomas held out his hand and they shook.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you for bringing Robert back to us,” Thomas replied. “You will stay the night? To see how he gets on?”

“May I?”

“I will not pretend to know your feelings, Mr. Langton, but if they are even a quarter of what I feel for Hester, I know I could not bear to be away from her at such a time. Come upstairs. I will have our housekeeper settle you in. If you like, you can sit with him until the doctor comes.”

* * *

Robert had been laid in the guestroom. He wore a clean nightshirt but his colour was alarmingly high as he tossed and turned.

“Mr. Langton,” Hester said, the baby making her awkward as she rose from her brother’s bedside. She smiled as the two men entered and released Robert’s hand and laid it gently on the counterpane. Thomas came to her side, and Timothy retreated, refusing to approach.

“Timothy.”

At Robert’s plaintive call, the man came forward hesitantly. He leaned over and brushed a lank strand of hair from his forehead with a soft touch. Her brother’s laboured breathing was the only sound in the room.

“You are to rest,” Timothy ordered gently. “And when you are well, we are to go on an adventure. What say you to India? It seems your brother-in-law has taken it in his mind to appoint us as his deputies on the subcontinent.”

Hester turned to her husband, beaming when he nodded.

“You are the best man I know,” she whispered, and he raised her hand to brush his lips against her knuckles. Thomas did not release her fingers when he was done, holding her hand in his own.

“India?” Robert closed his eyes, then opened them again as he rasped, “That is very good news indeed. I have always wanted to ride an elephant. Perhaps now will be my chance.”

Hester choked back her laughter, even as tears filled her eyes at his breathless speech. “Need I remind you, brother, that you get sick sitting backwards in an open carriage?”

Without opening his eyes, Robert replied, “It’s different when you’re riding an elephant. I will write you long letters once we are arrived.”

“See that you do,” Hester said as Mrs. Lytton pulled back the sheets to bare the invalid’s emaciated chest. She smoothed the mustard plaster in place and Robert winced as the heavy fumes enveloped him. “You are my family and we will miss you most terribly.”

“You should go,” the housekeeper encouraged her mistress and master. “Your brother must rest if he is to mend. I will sit with him. The doctor has been called and I will fetch you if there is a change.” She glanced at Timothy. “His friend is welcome to stay.” Her handling of the matter drew a nod of approval from Hester.

“Yes, Mrs. Lytton, we will go. Sleep well, brother.”

From the bed, Robert’s voice came once more, but it was so low as to be indistinguishable at the distance of the room.

“I’m sorry?” Hester paused at the threshold.

“Shakespeare,” Robert wheezed. “I agree with Shakespeare.” He paused and then continued, his voice loosing strength with every word. “‘They do not love that do not show their love.’” He smiled, even as his eyes closed and his breathing eased.

Hester and Thomas slipped into the corridor, closing the door softly behind them.

“They do not love that do not show their love,” her husband repeated. “How much hurt could be avoided if all men lived by such a creed?” He gathered her in his arms and she swayed against him, laying her head against his shoulder. The baby kicked hard against her distended stomach and Thomas rubbed the spot vigorously. “I love you, Hester. I will always love you and do everything in my power to show you that love.”

“I see it every day,” she assured him. “I see it in how you welcome my brother. In how you make possible a future for him and the man that he loves. I will miss him, but I cannot be so selfish as to stand in the way of his happiness. I will never doubt your love.”

They kissed and then Hester drew back so she could touch his face. “You have shown it a thousand times and I am sure you will show it all the days of our lives.”

* * * * *

Author’s Note

Thomas Ramsay and Hester Aspinall are fictional. But there
was a Robert Aspinall (or Aspinel), arrested by the Bow Street police during the
raids on the White Swan on July 8, 1810, who worked as a tailor and resided as a
lodger a One Brewer’s Court in Great Wilde Street, London. He was incarcerated
at Newgate Prison. On September 22, 1810 he was convicted and sentenced to serve
twelve months at Coldbath Fields Prison for sodomitical crimes.

Aspinall, who received the lightest sentence of all of the
men in the Vere Street Coterie trial, did not serve any time in the pillory. A
few days after the trial concluded, his compatriots faced the wrath of a crowd
of over more than four thousand Londoners and were subjected to a ferocious
barrage while serving their punishment. Two further men who had been regulars at
Cook’s establishment were arrested on the Isle of Wight after the July raid.
Their trial was held in December 1810, and they were both hung in early
1811.

After his release, Robert Aspinall’s fate is unknown, and he
disappears from any official records. With what few clues I could collect, I
have therefore imagined for him a completely fictitious history, including a
childhood in Wiltshire, a sister with a past and ultimately, a chance at a fresh
start in the subcontinent with a man he loves.

I became intrigued by the Vere Street Coterie after coming
across Ric Norton’s excellent research detailing gay and lesbian experiences in
English history. I immediately wanted to explore this little-mentioned event in
Regency history. Nearly all of the physical descriptions of the accused and of
the White Swan itself are either culled from contemporary newspaper accounts or
Robert Holloway’s 1813 pamphlet,
The Phoenix of Sodom or
the Vere Street Coterie
, an unprecedented retelling of the affair
that was published only three years after the trial. I have taken liberties with
some of the abuses and treatment of the Vere Street prisoners, attributing to
Hester and Robert many of the experiences that James Cook, the notorious
publican, and his wife were reputed to have undergone. However, my descriptions
of the trial procedures, its outcome and the pillorying of the men upon
conviction are all matters of record. The newspaper excerpt that Hester and
Thomas read and the sentencing summary included at the end of the trial are
contemporary reports and were originally printed in several London
newspapers
.

I am indebted to the following scholarly sources for many of
the historical details in this story: Rictor Norton’s book,
Mother Clap’s Molly House: The Gay Subculture in England, 1700-1830
(1992) and his website (www.rictornorton.com) provided me with much of my
understanding of the practices and experiences of homosexuals and their
relationship to larger communities during the period. H.G. Cock’s articles,
“Safeguarding Civility: Sodomy, Class and Moral Reform in Early
Nineteenth-Century England” (
Past & Present,
2006) and “Making the Sodomite Speak: Voices of the Accused in English Sodomy
Trials, c.1800-98” (
Gender & History,
2006) were
also important to my research.

The justice system in the Georgian era varied significantly
from the modern adversarial trial with which we are today familiar. In addition
to consulting the Session papers of the Old Bailey (www.oldbaileyonline.org) and
related papers in the London Metropolitan Archives and MyAncestry.co.uk, Peter
King’s
Crime, Justice, and Discretion in England
1740-1820
(2000) and
The Origins of Adversary
Criminal Trial
(2003) by John H. Langein were critical in allowing me
to decipher the nature of legal proceedings in the period from both sides of the
courtroom.

For period descriptions of Newgate, as well as the practices
and realities experienced by individuals facing early nineteenth-century trials,
I relied on a number of historical books: Arthur Griffiths’ two volume work,
The Chronicles of Newgate Prison
(1884) and
Charles Gordon’s
Newgate and the Old Bailey
(1904),
which are both available online through the Internet Archive (www.archive.org)
painted a vivid picture of life for individuals detained at His Majesty’s
pleasure while William Dickinson’s
A Practical Guide to the
Quarter, and other Sessions of the Peace,
(1815), was an invaluable
and incredibly detailed account of the mechanics of jurisprudence during the
early decades of the nineteenth century—the Regency equivalent of “The Idiot’s
Guide to Being a Barrister.”

Finally, wherever possible, I have used the actual names of
the people involved in these historical events: all of the accused men and women
mentioned in this book, and many of the figures they encounter, including Mr.
Newman, the prison keeper, Dr. Forde, the Newgate ordinary, Suter, the head
turnkey, Dr. Boxe, the prison doctor, Mr. Wooley, the duplicitous solicitor (who
really was accused of running a forgery ring and defrauding vulnerable clients),
Mr. Pooley, the prosecutor, Mr. Gurney, the pro bono lawyer and Misters Reads,
Rivett, Nichols and Taunton of the Bow Street police were all real figures. Sir
John Collet was a real person, and was a practicing barrister in London at the
time of the trail. However, there is no indication that he was in any way
involved in any of the Vere Street men’s defences and his cross-examination on
Robert’s behalf is entirely a matter of my imagination and one too many episodes
of
Law & Order.

Finally, a Timothy Langton, aged twenty, was arrested on the
June 23, 1810 for the theft of a bridle worth four shillings. He was
incarcerated in Newgate Prison at the same time as Robert Aspinall and the two
men could certainly have known each other but the romantic relationship between
the two is fictional. The real life Langton was found guilty and sentenced to
seven years transportation; he was not incarcerated with Aspinall at Coldbath
Fields Prison.

Finally, it goes without saying that any conversations or
actions attributed to these historical figures are simply my best guesses and
errors of fact are mine.

E.M.