Lady Rogue

Kathryn

Kramer

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Lady Rogue

by Kathryn Kramer

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Historical Romance

Copyright 1991
by Kathryn Kramer

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For
my nephew,  Aric Wesley Hockett

And to the children of the world in hopes that someday mankind will learn the futility of greed, and that there will be no such thing as poverty.

Across the gateway of my heart

I wrote “No Thoroughfare,”

But love came laughing by, and cried:

“I enter everywhere…..”

---Herbert Shipman,

No Thoroughfare

Author’s Note

The early to late 1800’s more than any other period in English history have been associated with elegance, propriety;, the pursuit of ideal beauty;, social poise, and distinguish

Distinguished achievements in literature and art. It was an era of opulence: the furniture of Chippendale, Sheraton, Hepplewhite, the interior decoration of Robert Adam, the china of Wedgewood. Even silverware and book bindings were chosen with the object of beauty and harmony. Men wore well tailored frock coats and carried gold pocket watches. Women donned dresses that flowed with the natural lines of Grecian art. Horses were carefully groomed, carriages such as phaetons and landaus were designed for speed and grace. Architecture knew a resurgence and came to fruition in stately English mansions and tall colonnades.

Abroad, Nelson and
Wellington brought victory and heightened self-assurance to complement artistic achievements at home, yet the age that produced Byron, Shelley, Beau  Brummell, and Jane Austen had another aspect as well. Side by side with the aristocracy and beauty there was an urban underworld of thieves, gamblers, and rogues.

Historians have often neglected this other world, but life on the streets was as unique and colorful as it was full of sorrow and travail. Boisterous pleasure seekers and stealthy pickpockets rubbed elbows on crowded streets. Public buildings of importance were

Situated in the middle of steamy districts. Magnificent shops and houses were surrounded by badly lit alleyways swarming with thieves. As a thriving international seaport, London offered rich pickings for everyone from guttersnipes to hardened veterans of Newgate. London surpassed the rest of England in crime and vice.

Wealth and poverty existed side b y side in early nineteenth-century
London: two different worlds in the same sphere. Even so, it was not impossible to raise oneself to a higher standard of living, nor was it forbidden b y law to dream. Hope is a sustaining human gift that grants to a young, parentless girl the strength to endure a harsh environment and the courage to envision new  beginnings. In the midst of squalor and despair an act of kindness sparks a flame of love and  brings a young pickpocket into the arms of a handsome, determined young architect.

Prologue
– 1800

It was dark in the prison cell.  Dark and eerie.  Huddling against the hard stone wall, her legs drawn up to her chest, Dawn Leighton fought against the fear that enveloped her whenever she heard a sudden sound or caught sight of a shifting shadow. When was this horrid nightmare going to end? 

T
hree weeks and the high pitched shrieks of the rats as they scurried about in the night, made it impossible for her to sleep.  The mumbles, mutterings and groans of the other prisoners unnerved her.  The ghostly clang of closing gates, the rattle of keys and heavy trod of footsteps, were constant reminders of the family’s shame.

It
was a mistake!  It had to be. They had done no wrong.  Her beautiful, gentle mother was no criminal; her brother was full of mischief but neither he nor she had done anything amiss.  If only everything could be just the way it used to be. But no!  Things would never be the same again. 

Dawn could hear the drip, drip of water as it fell from the ceiling above to the stone floor, the mumbles and murmurs of the other inhabitants of the ce
ll. How quickly happiness could turn to tragedy. Her eighth birthday:  She remembered that day vividly.  The sky had been a bright blue canopy overhead, putting lie to the lips of those who had promised rain.  It had been a perfect day, all the more so because her father had proclaimed it to be
her
day and had promised to buy her the china doll that sat so prettily in the toy store window in Bloomsbury.

"
You will look just like her when you become a young lady, Poppet," Howard Leighton had said, kissing her on the brow.  "Her eyes are just as green as yours, her curls just as shiny dark brown."  He had promised to take her to the puppet show that night when he came home from work.  "Until then, be a good girl and mind your mother."

"I will, Papa.  I'll even see that Robbie behaves.  He'll have to or I won't
give him any of my cake."  She had smiled angelically, relishing the thought of taunting her brother with her birthday confections. Robbie always thought himself so superior just because he was a boy, but today belonged to her and that filled her with heady pleasure.

Dawn had watched as her father climbed into the family carriage. 
He was one of the most prestigious merchants in town.  Leighton’s  China and Glassware was the largest shop of its kind in the city.  A wooden sign bearing three painted goblets hung high over the door beckoning the most important people in London to enter and buy.  Her father even leased two large ships, enabling him to import glass from Venice and hand-painted china from Holland.

How lucky she was
to have such a father, she had thought.  Indeed to have two such doting parents. Both Howard and Elizabeth Leighton lavished affection on their children.  Her mother was the most beautiful woman Dawn had ever seen.  Certainly no one had such lovely clothes or dressed so elegantly.  Dawn was determined to be just like her mother when she grew up and to find a man just like her father to marry.

Passing
a long gilt mirror on her way back inside the house, Dawn had stopped to study herself.   She had most certainly felt grown up in her white muslin dress with  lilac colored dots.  The rounded neckline and short puffed sleeves were patterned after a dress her mother favored.  She had promised she would not get the dress dirty, nor scuff up the toes of her new  white slippers.  Carefully she had  positioned herself on the green velvet settee, her hands  folded in her lap, until Robbie had sneaked up behind her and pulled one of her long dark braids.

"Ouch!  Stop that!"  Robbie had goaded her into
a playful scuffle. Dawn had held her own.  "Today's my birthday, you goose.  How can you be so mean?"  She had reprimanded him, holding her chin up proudly, miffed that he had not remembered.

"Your birthday?  I nearly forgot," h
e  had teased.  Robbie's smile was pure mischief. Taking her by the hand, he had led her to the hall closet.  Opening it with a wink, he had revealed his present, a large red ball decorated with a bow.  The temptation to try it out was too much for Dawn.  Before she could nod her head, he had whisked her out the door to the middle of the cobbled street.

"
Bet you can't catch this....."

"Bet I can!"

Bending, standing on tip toes, reaching high, she had struggled to catch every throw, basking in the warmth of his surprised praise.  Forgotten was the promise to act like her mother's "proper little lady."  They were both laughing when Elizabeth Leighton called to them from an upstairs window, beckoning them inside.

"Look at you.  Both of you.  You look nearly as dirty as the urchins who beg o
n the street," she had sighed.

"I'm so
rry, Mama."  Dawn brushed her dirt-smudged dress and tugged her hair bows into place.

"Only hoydens frolic about so.  For shame!"  Though
her tone scolded, her mother’s lips held the hint of a smile. She wasn’t really angry.  "Brush yourselves off!  I'll try to repair the damage...."  A knock at the front door had interrupted their mother's careful ministrations.  "Now who could that be?"

All too quickly they had found out
.  A stern-faced beadle, his hat in his hands, had given them the tragic news.  Dawn knew if she lived to be a hundred she would never forget his words.

"
There’s been an accident! Are you Elizabeth Leighton?" he had asked.

"Yes."

"Wife of the merchant Howard Leighton?"

"I am." 
A look of fear and apprehension replaced her mother's lovely smile. "Why?"

Shifting nervously from foot to foot
, the beadle went on with the dreadful news.  A wealthy young rogue, driving his phaeton at a furious pace through the streets, had collided with her father as he stepped out of his carriage.  Howard Leighton had been crushed mercilessly beneath the wheels.

"No!"  How could that be? 
Only moments ago she had watched her father leave for his shop.  "Not my father...."

"I fear you'll have to come with me, Mrs. Leighton," the man had said, ignoring Dawn's outcry.  "I need you to identify the body."  The
body
. Such a cold word.

"Noooooo!" 
Her mother's wail had echoed Dawn’s own.  Always the one to seek haven and comfort in her mother's arms, now it was Dawn who gave solace.  The shock of her husband's death was too much for Elizabeth Leighton. She had wept and shrieked  hysterically.  For the first time in her life Dawn had been called upon to be the strong one, to make decisions.  Somehow she had calmed her mother, but the days that followed still hovered nightmarishly in Dawn's thoughts.  She had been forced to grow up very quickly.

Because her mother
was taking the news so badly, Dawn was forced to put her own heartache aside.  Over and over she repeated soothing words to her mother, promises that the man they had so loved was now in God's hands.  That's how her mother had always explained death to her;  what other explanation could there be for such a loss?

"Somehow we'
ll get through this, Mama..."  And somehow they did, though the repercussions were more grave than they ever could have imagined.  Always generous to a fault, careless in money-management, Howard Leighton had left a mountain of debts, more than it was possible to repay.  Dawn tried hard to understand..  Money seemed to be far more important than she had ever dreamed.  In the next few days she came to see that it was
everything
. Those without it were severely punished.

Dawn, Robbie and their mother had watched helplessly as
the furniture was taken from the house.  Elizabeth Leighton  sold all her possessions, even her wedding ring, but the stack of bills was bottomless.  In the end they had lost everything but the clothes on their backs.  But the worst was yet to come.  Though Elizabeth Leighton had tried hard to find help, had sought work, intending to make good on her husband's remaining debts, it was an impossible task.  When one of the leased ships returning from China was lost in a storm their financial ruin was complete. Like leeches, Howard Leighton's business associates had  clamored for restitution. The family was  taken to debtor's prison. 

The Fleet was one of three prisons administered by the Royal Courts of Justice, as Dawn's mother called them.  Justice?  As the prison cart had rumbled ov
er the cobbled streets, Dawn bitterly reflected that it seemed hardly that.

Impassive as he selected a key from the giant ring he wore tied to his pants, the gaoler had shown no sympathy.
Slowly the door had been opened. Dawn, her mother and her brother had been thrust inside.  Now ruined, humiliated, they found that a stone-walled room had become their home. 

"Oh, Daddy.  Daddy.  How different our lives might have been
.” Dawn whispered aloud to herself mournfully.  Her father had been a very clever man.  Somehow he would have found a way to pay the money he owed.  Now there was no hope. Though Dawn's mother had scraped together every bit of money  she owned, it had not been enough.  It appeared the family would spend a long time in their surroundings. 

Dawn watched as her once beautiful and
elegantly attired mother gave in to despair. Hour after hour Elizabeth Leighton sat staring at the bare stone walls, growing thinner and paler, no longer caring how she looked or what she did, seeming to age overnight.

Attuning her ears to the night sounds,
Dawn listened to her mother's rasping breath, her dry cough, her moans

"Mama?  Mama, are you all right?" she asked
. A fierce convulsion of coughing shook the silence.

"Yes....yes, child.  Go back to sleep..."    Her mother's voice was so weak
, it could barely be heard.

"Mama..." 
Dawn reached out to stroke her mother's face, then recoiled in shock.  Her mother's forehead was hot.  Fevered.  Dawn had heard her mother caution against such things often enough times to know there was danger.  "Mama, you're sick."

"No...no, I'm...I'm not. 
It's hot in here, that's all."

"I wish there was a window to open."  Indeed there was not even one small crack to let in fresh air.  Dawn had been told that they lived in much better circumstances than some of the prisoners in rooms below.  The debtors had privileges not granted to ordinary inmates.  At
least they were allowed to stay together, had beds instead of straw pallets.  The food they ate was more appetizing, the cells larger and not quite as dirty.  Even so, the large room had a nauseating odor; a mixture of sweat, rotting food and decay.  Dawn wondered if she would ever accustom herself to the smell.

"We had windows once..."  Her m
other's voice was wistful.

"And we will again.  So many windows that we'll be able to see the whole city
. You'll dress in silks again, Mama, and have a dozen or more fancy hats,  just like before."  She was fiercely determined to give her mother hope, to make her smile again.  Whatever had to be done she would try to bring at least a little joy into her life.  "But first you've got to get well, for me and for Robbie..."