Lucasta (12 page)

When the hackney cab turned into Sophia Street the
following
morning Lucasta was waiting, dressed in her most sober gown and wearing a serviceable woollen cloak over all. She ran down the steps as the carriage came to a halt but pulled up sharply and was obliged to smother a gasp as the door opened and Lord Kennington jumped out.

‘What are you doing here? I thought Jacob was going with me.’

‘I thought it would be better if I came with you.’ He handed her into the carriage and jumped in after her.

‘But I thought you were being watched.’

‘
Lord Kennington
is being followed everywhere, but when Giggs arrived yesterday he did so in such state that the watchers could not fail to notice him. So I – er – borrowed a hat and one of his coats to go out. I no longer look like a viscount, do I?’

She stared at his plain black frock coat and the
wide-brimmed
hat crammed onto his head.

‘You look like a parson,’ she told him, trying not to laugh.

‘Thank you.’ He grinned. ‘I was afraid Lady Symonds would come out to see you off and I should have to explain why I was dressed like a cleric today.’

‘I told her I was going out on charitable work for the duchess.’ She sighed. ‘Poor Mama is by now resigned to my alliance with your family and she does not remonstrate with me, merely rolls her eyes and utters dire warnings of my dragging the whole family into disgrace.’

‘Oh I hope it will not come to that,’ he replied, startled.

‘Of course it will not.’ She chuckled. ‘I have told her she may put it about that I am out of my wits. I expect when this is over she will have me carried off to Bedlam.’

‘You need not fear I shall allow that: if the worst happens I shall find you a small cottage on one of my estates where you may live in comfortable retirement!’

‘Like Viola.’

‘What was that?’

‘I shall make me a willow cabin at your gate … pay me no heed, Adam. I am merely being fanciful.’

They had arrived at Newgate and the carriage pulled up in the shadows of one of the stark, high prison walls. As Adam handed Lucasta out of the carriage she shivered. He squeezed her fingers.

‘Frightened?’

She managed a tight smile.

‘Not nearly so much as I was the first time. I have you with me.’

‘And I will take care of you. Come along now.’

The viscount’s sober garb might not command the same obsequious attention as his usual velvet and gold lace but the judicious application of coin soon opened the doors to them and they were led away into the depths of the prison.

It was soon borne upon Lucasta that there was a great difference between visiting a rich gentleman in a private cell and calling out of charity upon the poorest inmates. Although much of the building was relatively new, the heavy
wooden doors with their iron bands and studs reminded her of some medieval fortress. They followed the turnkey along a maze of narrow, twisting stone passages, heavy doors unlocked and secured again behind them until they reached the crowded cells. There was no heating and on the cold spring day the chill in the passages struck into Lucasta’s bones, even through her thick layers of clothing. The stench of filth and rotting decay made her gag and she stumbled, putting out her hand to steady herself. Adam caught her fingers and held them in a firm, sustaining clasp.

‘Do you want to go back?’ he asked her.

‘No,’ her voice was muffled by the handkerchief she held to her face. ‘No, I shall not collapse, I assure you.’

They carried on. The food and clothes the duchess had provided were soon given out and Lucasta’s heart ached to see the prisoners fighting each other for a share of the bounty, the scrawny dogs that lived inside the prison
snapping
at their heels.

‘I understand you have recently taken in another inmate,’ remarked the viscount.

The gaoler rubbed his nose with one grubby finger.

‘Well now, we are always takin’ in new prisoners,’ he said with a toothy grin.

‘But this is a young man from Worcestershire, I believe. Accused of murder.’

‘You mean that despicable murder on Hansford Common? Oh, aye, they brought him in. He’s this way.’

The turnkey took them past a bare, barred courtyard until they reached another large cell. Dozens of prisoners were to be seen, shadowy figures in a twilight world, for the light from the high window did little to brighten the heavy stone walls or the inmates themselves, whose ragged clothes had lost their colour and were now merely various shades of
grey. They were separated from the prisoners by two sets of iron gratings, set apart so that nothing could be handed across the divide. Some prisoners paced around like caged animals but many were heavily manacled and secured with chains stapled into the floor.

‘Dear heaven,’ murmured Lucasta, her heart going out to the poor wretches. ‘Are such chains really necessary?’

‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Their guide laughed and spat on the floor. ‘Certainly not if they can afford to pay. Everything here has its price. You were asking about the prisoner from Worcestershire. That’s ’im.’

Lucasta followed his pointing finger. A slightly built young man was sitting against the wall, knees updrawn and his head resting on his arms. As if aware of their presence the figure raised a tousled head and stared at them with huge, dread-filled eyes. He was only a boy. Lucasta
shuddered
, horror and pity bringing her close to tears.

‘May we talk with him, privately?’

The turnkey looked at them. Lucasta could read the
speculation
in his greedy eyes. The viscount pulled a purse out of his pocket and shook it, making the coins chink.

‘Ten minutes in private. Methinks here is a soul worth saving.’

The turnkey held out his hand and Lord Kennington counted out the coins. Lucasta held her breath while the man considered. At last he nodded.

‘Very well. This way.’ He led them along to a door at the far end of the passage. It opened into a small room sparsely furnished with a table and two rickety chairs. ‘Wait here. He will be brought to you.’

‘Gaoler.’ The viscount threw him another coin. ‘Bring bread and wine, too.’

Lucasta inspected one of the chairs before sitting down.

‘What a dreadful place,’ she whispered. ‘Pray God we do not have to come here again.’

‘I should not have brought you.’

‘No, I did not mean that! But … can they really think that poor boy is me?’

A smile flickered across the viscount’s sober face.

‘The landlord from the Pigeons would have described you as a scrawny, brown-haired lad: in that respect you and that poor wretch are alike.’ He broke off as a slatternly woman entered tray bearing a hunk of bread, a jug and three horn mugs. The viscount poured out a little wine and tried it.

‘Poor stuff, but better than nothing. Here, drink a little, Lucasta. It will put some heart into you.’

She shook her head, pressing her handkerchief closer to her mouth.

‘The thought of taking any food or drink in this place makes me shudder.’

The clank of chains warned them that the prisoner was approaching. The boy stumbled in, heavy chains around his ankles and his wrists shackled together before him. Lucasta jumped up, trying to hide her own distress as she observed his white, frightened face.

The viscount gestured to the gaoler to leave them. He went out, clanging the door shut behind him.

‘Do not be afraid,’ said Lucasta, guiding the boy to a chair. ‘We want to help you.’

The boy looked up at the viscount, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

‘I didn’t murder no one, sir, on my word!’

‘Very well, then tell us everything.’

‘First of all, pray tell us your name,’ put in Lucasta.

‘Jem,’ muttered the boy. ‘Jem Spetchley. I live with my
mother on the edge of the Common.’ He looked up again suddenly. ‘She’s a widow, sir, and – and not wealthy. She has no money for – for lawyers, or to come to London?’

The viscount gave him a mug of the wine.

‘Tell us why you were arrested.’

‘I – I was trying to sell a snuff-box. I found it on the Common.’

‘It belonged to Sir Talbot Bradfield?’

‘Yes. But I didn’t kill him!’

‘Then tell us what happened.’

I was on the Common that Friday. We have a couple of goats that we put out there for grazing sometimes. I had been checking on them when I heard a shot.’

‘Just the one?’

‘Aye, sir. I thought it might be footpads so I hid in the bushes, I was afraid of what they would do to me if I was seen. Anyway, it was very quiet, so I crept forwards and soon I comes across a fancy yellow carriage and the horses, just standing.’ He took a gulp of wine. ‘There – there was a man, lying on the ground with a – a pistol in his hand.’

‘Did you touch him?’

The boy shook his head.

‘No. He – he didn’t move. He was dead. There was b-blood on his back, a big stain of it on his green coat. His – his eyes was open, staring.’ He shuddered.’ I just left him and ran home.’

‘And what about the snuffbox?’ asked Lucasta.

‘That was lying on the ground some feet away. Pretty little box: I thought it would do no harm to take it – thought I could sell it for a few shillings, perhaps, but I didn’t kill no one, ma’am, ’fore God I didn’t.’

‘Perhaps you are not telling us all the truth,’ put in the viscount, watching him. ‘Sir Talbot’s dressing case was
broken open and a number of valuable items taken.’

The boy looked up at him.

‘I didn’t see no case, sir. I didn’t go near the carriage. I found the snuff box in the grass, like it had been dropped or thrown away.’

‘So you went home.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you did not think to call the constable?’

Jem’s face crumpled.

‘No. I was certain sure the man was dead, so there was no help for him, and – and I thought if I said anything… well, it was all over the village the next day, that a man had been shot by footpads on the Common.’

‘And you tried to sell the snuffbox?’

‘Yes, ma’am. I walked to Bromsgrove. I didn’t think anyone there would know …’

Lucasta looked up at the viscount, who nodded at her.

‘General Bradfield was very thorough in advertising his reward.’

They heard the key scrape in the lock.

‘That’s it, you’ve had your time.’ The gaoler came in, swinging his keys. ‘I must take the prisoner back to ‘is cell now.’

Jem gazed up piteously at the viscount.

‘Can you not help me? Please, sir….’

Lord Kennington nodded.

‘We will do what we can for you. Do not lose hope, Master Spetchley.’

They watched him being escorted away.

‘Adam, I—’

The viscount put up his hand and shook his head at her. She was obliged to keep to herself the thoughts and
conjecture
running riot in her head until they were safely in the 
carriage again and on their way back to Filwood House.

‘Well, now,’ mused the viscount. ‘What do you make of it all? There are several points in Jem’s story that do not tie up with the account the valet has given.’

‘Adam, could the boy have been lying? I cannot believe it; he was far too frightened for that.’

‘I agree. And Bradfield had his snuffbox in his pocket when we saw him at Bromsgrove.’

‘Yes, but it could not have fallen
out
of his pocket when he was shot, certainly not to end up some feet away from the body.’

‘My thoughts exactly.’ The viscount nodded. ‘I think it more likely that Sir Talbot had the snuffbox in his hand when he was killed. But a man doesn’t stop to take snuff when he is under attack.’

‘Jem said he heard only the one shot. But that is not
possible
, the weapon in Sir Talbot’s hand had been recently fired, you told me so yourself.’

‘Ah, but not necessarily by Bradfield.’

Lucasta stared at him, her eyes widening in horror as an alarming idea formed in her head.

‘I think,’ she began, ‘I think Sir Talbot might have stepped down from the carriage and someone … someone shot him with the pistol, then put it in his hand.’

‘That is my conclusion, too.’

‘M-Miesel?’

‘Everything points that way.’

‘Oh good heavens! It was enough to think he would steal his master’s goods, but this—’ She reached out and gripped his arm. ‘Adam, I know her grace is confident that you will be found not guilty, that with your riches and connections they will not convict you, but now that is not enough.’

‘That was never enough,’ he retorted. ‘I am determined to clear my name.’

‘Of course, but we must ensure that poor boy is set free, and I want to see Miesel brought to justice.’

‘Then we had better think of a plan.’

At Filwood House they were shown up to the duchess’s sitting-room and quickly informed her of their meeting with Jem Spretchley.

‘The poor boy,’ exclaimed Lucasta, when their report was finished. ‘I cannot bear to think of him incarcerated there in my place.’

‘He
did
steal the snuffbox,’ the duchess reminded her.

‘Yes, but to be accused of murder, and taken so far from his home.’

‘Do not distress yourself, Lucasta. An anonymous
benefactor
shall provide him with a few comforts such as a room to himself, and decent food. And I shall send someone to Worcestershire to take a report of Jem to his mother and to ensure she is not left wanting. Now if you will excuse me, ma’am, I will leave you to think it all over while I go and change: I cannot say I like these dismal clothes.’

Lucasta watched him stride out of the room.

‘Does Mr Giggs know why he needed his coat and hat, ma’am?’

‘No, he knows only that Adam wished to go out without being followed. And there is no need to worry that Mr Giggs will disturb us here, Lucasta: this is my private boudoir. No
one comes in here without an invitation. But your visit to Newgate has upset you, I think.’

‘It is a wretched place, ma’am. I believe this new building is a vast improvement on the old one, but conditions are still squalid: the poor souls are treated more like animals than people. Something needs to be done.’

‘There are groups working for the improvement of such institutions,’ replied the duchess.

‘When all this is over I shall seek them out. There must be some way I can help, by writing letters, perhaps.’

‘You could help them a great deal more if you married a wealthy man: rich and influential patrons are exceedingly useful in cases like these.’

Lucasta sighed.

‘Since there is very little prospect of my marrying anyone, I must content myself with letter-writing.’

The duchess reached out one hand. She tilted her chin up to look into her face.

‘Are you so sure you are going to become an old maid?’ she asked, smiling.

Lucasta looked away and murmured, a little wistfully, ‘I have vowed, ma’am, that I shall not marry without love.’

Lucasta looked round as the viscount came back into the room, and in that unguarded moment her expression confirmed all the duchess’s suspicions.

The Filwood carriage took Lucasta back to Sophia Street that afternoon, where she found her mother and sister preparing for their visit to the theatre. Lucasta was relieved that her family showed very little interest in how she had spent her morning, Camilla merely bemoaning it as a
morning
wasted and Lady Symonds having little time to spare for her since she was so preoccupied with guiding her youngest
daughter through the perils of her first Season.

Camilla was very much enjoying her come-out and her radiant beauty was attracting so many gentlemen that it was an easy matter for her to forget Lord Kennington’s early claims to her affection. Her mother, however, had no wish to alienate the viscount just yet. Mentally running through the list of possible suitors, Lord Kennington was not the richest, but his was the only title above the rank of baronet and Lady Symonds would not have been human if she had not pictured her lovely daughter as a viscountess. But the viscount had the shocking spectre of a murder trial hanging over him, and until that was removed she would not allow Camilla to stand up for more than one dance with him, nor would she permit them to converse together for more than a few minutes. Such vigilance was very wearing, but she was relieved that the viscount appeared to accept the situation with a good grace and when he came to their box at the theatre that night to pay his respects, he did no more than bow to Camilla before turning to engage Lucasta in
conversation
. She greeted him with a smile as he bowed over her hand.

‘How delightful to see you, my lord. Are you enjoying the play?’

‘Very much.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Can I assume there are no repercussions from your recent … adventures?’

Her eyes danced.

‘My mother will tell you that I was laid low with a headache all day yesterday and throughout the night, sir. This morning’s charitable works evinced very little interest, I assure you.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Have there been any developments since we last met, my lord?’

‘The duchess has been successful in securing Jacob’s
freedom
although, like myself, he remains under investigation.’

‘How irksome.’ She unfurled her fan and studied the pattern. ‘Did you know that Mr Potts has developed a liking for cheese?’

‘Has he, by Gad? Now I think of it, he has spoken of a certain cheesemongers in Milk Street.’

‘I hope he will not be prevented from going there.’

‘He might be, of course, if it was known that he was out, but you know there are ways of leaving Filwood House
without
attracting the attention of those employed to watch the doors.’

The ringing of the bell warned them all that the next play was about to start. The visitors took their leave and the viscount bowed once again over her hand.

‘By the bye, Miss Symonds, pray do not be alarmed if you do not hear from me for a few days. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention it. There will be a notice in tomorrow’s
Evening Post
. You might find it of interest.’

The viscount’s parting comment left Lucasta in a state of seething indignation. It was surely deliberate that he had left this information until the last moment to avoid her questions. Lady Symonds did not consider it necessary to have a subscription to any newspaper while in Town and Lucasta was obliged to send a footman to purchase a copy for her the following day. She waited impatiently for his return, whereupon she carried the newssheet off to her room. It did not take her long to find the notice. Tucked between Mr Smyth’s Restorative Medicine for Weakness & Debility at eleven shillings a bottle and an advertisement for a Cyprian Preventive against the horrible effects of a certain disease was a small paragraph:

Lucasta stared at the notice. She began to nibble at her fingertip. A witness. Was it possible? And why had Adam not mentioned it when she asked him if there was any news? She was still deliberating when there was a knock on her door and her maid brought in a note from the Duchess of Filwood.

‘Her footman is waiting downstairs for an answer, miss.’

Lucasta did not hesitate.

‘Tell him yes, I would be delighted to drive out with the duchess tomorrow morning. I will be waiting for her at eleven o’clock.’