Patricia Rice (31 page)

They lay together then, the moisture on their faces
mixing. Morgan’s heavy weight pressed Faith into the bench, his hips
narrow and strong where they lay joined, until she moved to ease the
pain, and he slid away, not taking her with him. Then there was only the
cold emptiness between them again, and Faith scanned his face.

Morgan’s black brows had formed a line across the
bridge of his aquiline nose, and the green of his eyes was muddied
beneath their thick lashes. The set of his mouth made her quail, and she
wished despairingly for some sight of that familiar dent that
accompanied his smile.

“Don’t come back, Faith.” The words were cold and
without hope. “I’ll not have any more sins upon my head than I already
bear. If you have any sense at all, you will leave here and never look
back. You’ve given me all you can. Don’t burden me with any more debts I
cannot repay.”

Those were not the words she wished to hear, and
Faith’s despair deepened with the bleakness of them. She felt empty and
used, and she brushed hastily at her skirts to cover her legs. Morgan
stopped her. Leaning on one arm, he gently ran his fingers down her
thighs, his gaze drinking in what she left exposed. When his hand
reached the juncture of her thighs, he raised his gaze to hers.

“If by some luck a child comes of this, I would have him know his proper name,
cailin.
Will you teach him of me?”

Pain twisted her heart, and Faith sat up, pulling her
skirts down about her ankles as she turned away from him. She didn’t
want to hear these things. He would live. Miles had promised.

“Teach him yourself, de Lacy. I’ll be waiting for you when you come out.”

She rose from the narrow bench. Fastening his
breeches, Morgan did the same. He didn’t like the coldness in her
usually soft voice, but he had asked for it. If the truth be told, he
had brought it about on purpose. The road to hell would be a lonely one,
but this was one life he would not take with him.

He didn’t touch her as she fumbled with her laces
and rearranged her clothing. She looked tousled and sleepy and
altogether too provocative for him to resist long.

But he had thrown her away when he had gambled on
fate and lost. Morgan picked up her lacy scarf and handed it to her.
“You owe me nothing now, Faith. You are free to go as you please. Miles
will help you. Let me remember you with a smile in your eyes. Look at
me, Faith, and give me just one smile.”

Startled at the farewell in his voice, Faith looked,
and instead of a smile, tears flooded her eyes. The tenderness was back
as he looked on her, and there was even a hint of a dent by his mouth
when he raised his hand to stroke her hair. This was the man she loved,
and the tears spilled as she tried to go to him.

Morgan caught her wrists and didn’t let her come
closer. “No, my treasure. Go with God. There is a life for you out
there. Live it better than I have.”

Faith wanted to cry out a protest, but tears choked
her throat and she couldn’t say a word. She shook her arms free and
turned away to hide her tears. Before she could gain control of herself,
Morgan was pounding on the door. She tried to turn back to him, wanting
his arms around her again, needing his kiss. But he shoved her out, and
the door slammed between them before she could do more than throw him
one last despairing glance.

***

“I’m afraid, m’lord, we have a problem.” Fielding addressed the large aristocrat deigning to visit his humble office.

Dressed impeccably in the height of fashion, his
cravat neatly folded in a pristine waterfall, his brocade waistcoat
adorned with the requisite braid and watch fob, Lord Stepney brushed
aside the tails of his heavily embroidered coat as he took a seat. “In
what way, Fielding?”

The barrister rested against the chair back near the blazing fire. “Your highwayman married his tavern wench yesterday.”

A flicker of annoyance appeared on Stepney’s face,
then disappeared. “That is only to be expected, I suppose. My niece has a
very religious background. She would wish to arrange for some modicum
of respectability, I suppose. When the highwayman swings, as I’m sure
you can arrange, she will be a widow.”

Watson coughed, and the barrister yielded the floor
to his runner, who could scarcely disguise his triumph. “I told you as
it was no use to look for the tavern wench. She gave her name as Alice
Henwood, just like I said. And accordin’ to my snitches, she punched the
bloody bastard until he agreed to the vows.”

Edward momentarily entertained a feeling of defeat
as he gazed to the heavily shrouded windows of the judge’s small study.
Try as he might, he could not feature the meek Methodist niece that had
been described to him as a tavern wench who beat highwaymen. And she
would certainly never agree to an illegal marriage by some miscreant in a
prison cell, let alone use a name as preposterous as Alice Henwood. He
had lost this gamble, but there were more to be had if he played his
cards right.

Stiffening his shoulders, Stepney returned his gaze
to the two men waiting on him. “To hell with the damned highwayman,
then. Let us trace the claimant to the bank account. On second thought,
perhaps we ought to let the highwayman walk and follow him too. He has
to be the one who arranged those funds. Perhaps she will show up if we
follow him closely enough.”

Fielding shook his head in disapproval. “He’s a
notorious thief, m’lord. And it is a perfectly respectable firm of
solicitors who has taken over the matter of the bank account. You must
face the fact that your niece has no wish to be identified.”

“Fie on you, sir!” Stepney rose and crushed his
three- cornered hat over his new clubbed wig. “I’ll admit no such thing,
nor will I admit failure. I
will
find her. Come along, Watson, we have some matters to discuss.”

Watson hurried to follow him out.

The strain was showing on Faith’s face, but she
spoke calmly of the food and the lumpiness of her bed and even managed a
smile at Toby’s jest about thin walls and thumps in the night. Or
perhaps she smiled more at the flush that infused the boy’s cheeks as he
realized what he had said. Miles didn’t think it mattered. He was in a
fair way of being enchanted himself by this dainty faerie, and because
of that, he felt her fears more deeply.

“We should look about for better rooms,” Miles
inserted into a lull in the conversation, if conversation it could be
called. Whenever silence fell, someone said something to fill it. None
of them wished to speak of what was uppermost in their minds.

“Are there any closer?” Faith didn’t say closer to what, but they all knew. The towering gray walls loomed in all their minds.

“No,” Toby announced emphatically. “You’ll not rest any better in the hellhole that surrounds the prison.”

Miles nodded agreement. “I was thinking in terms of
rooms in a respectable house somewhere a little farther from here, where
you might walk the street without fear.”

Aghast, Faith stared at him, forgetting her food.
“Will it take that long? Surely it cannot. He will die in there. There
is no heat or air or sun. No one could survive for long. You said you
would get him out.”

Miles drank deeply of the ale he never drank until
he had become involved with Morgan and his lady. Then, wiping his mouth
on his napkin, he tried to pry her loose from her grip on fantasy. “Even
should he be released tomorrow, you should be thinking of finding a
respectable place to stay. Morgan has told me to begin looking for one.”

Panic filled Faith’s eyes. “Why? The cottage is fine
with me. The horses have been left alone too long. I must see to them.
Annette is in foal, you know. Perhaps I should just go back there to
wait.”

Miles glanced to Toby, who gripped the table so hard
his knuckles whitened. The young highwayman cleared his throat. “Morgan
said I was to sell them. I can’t leave you here alone to go fetch them
unless you’re stayin’ somewhere respectable.”

Faith rose from her chair to pace the sagging wooden
floor of the private dining room, twisting her handkerchief between her
hands. “Sell them? He can’t sell them. How will he live? Not all of
them?” She turned with a flare of hope.

“The fair starts today,” Toby said. “I can get a good price. Will you go with Mr. Golden and find a decent place to stay?”

Panic had a firm grip on her now. Faith’s gaze swung
from one man to the other, and the cloth in her hands knotted into a
ball. “What does he mean to do? Tell me, Miles. What is Morgan going to
do?”

She had never called him Miles before. The attorney
shrugged nervously and stood up. “I assume he will find you a decent
place to live now that you’re married. Now, sit back down and finish
eating. It will do you no good to make yourself ill. I know of some very
respectable rooms that won’t cost much. I hate to mention this, but
you’re being followed. I think it best if I move you out of here to
somewhere you can’t be easily found.”

That made some kind of crooked sense. Faith sat
where indicated but didn’t lift her spoon. “You said my family would
forget me and look elsewhere if they thought me someone else.”

“I said your uncle is very clever and, presumably,
very dangerous. He doesn’t give up easily. If I must, I will go to him
and ask his intentions, but not knowing, I would rather wait until
things are desperate before I reveal any connection between you and me
and Morgan.”

Faith nodded and stared at her plate. “If you think it best, I will go where you say. When will Morgan come up for trial?”

She no sooner laid to rest one problem than she
poured another one on them. The two men sighed and twitched and gave
their food a look of despair. It would be well cold before their
stomachs saw any of it.

“I’ve asked to have it postponed for a few days.
That will give your family time to grow bored with the proceedings and
give me time to settle a few matters. I’ve paid a week’s rent on the
cell. We may as well get our money’s worth.”

“Rent? You must pay rent? To keep him in prison?”
Faith stared at him, astonished. No wonder Morgan was feeling so surly.
All his ill-gotten gains were spilling rapidly into the pockets of
thieves worse than he. Did that mean he had to sell his horses just for
his upkeep?

“There is a charge for admitting a prisoner, a deposit to be paid in advance to be given a decent room—”

“Decent! They call that decent? My word, what can the others be if that filth is called decent?”

Miles explained patiently. “Much, much worse. You do
not want to hear of such things over your meal. He is clean and dry.
That has a high price in Newgate. Decent meals have a high price in
Newgate. For more, I could have furniture installed, but we’ll trust he
will be free before that is necessary. There will still be fees to have
him discharged once the trial is ended. The wardens don’t miss a chance
to line their pockets. It is their only way of making money.”

“They aren’t paid? How can that be? Surely the king
or the city or someone must pay them for their services.” Faith picked
irritably at her food. None of this made any sense. The city was filled
with lunatics. She just wanted Morgan back and to be out of here. And
never come back.

“On the contrary, they had to pay to obtain their
positions. The king and the city are perennially bankrupt. Selling
positions is a nice source of income. In return, they allow the wardens
to charge fees for their services. It has a certain warped sense of
justice. Why should innocent people be made to pay to support criminals?
Let the criminals pay for their own support. But as you can see, the
prisoners are at the wardens’ complete mercy, and a man would have to be
a fool to let such easy victims get away before he extorted the last
shilling from their pockets. It will be more difficult to pry Morgan
from the hands of his wardens than from the auspices of the court.”

Faith shivered at the thought, but she couldn’t
believe Morgan would allow those grubby little men to bleed him dry. He
would know what to do. She had to be practical and plan for when he got
out. She finished chewing the tough piece of gristle they called roast
lamb in this place and arranged her next question carefully.

“What will happen when he goes to court?” She didn’t
want to say: how will you prove he’s not guilty? In this lunatic world,
it didn’t seem to matter much whether you were guilty. They robbed you
blind whether you were or not, then dared you to get away. She was
beginning to see that it might be very difficult not to turn to a life
of crime once you were in the hands of this strange system of justice.
How else would some of the poor wretches pay for their prison expenses?

“The judge will call for witnesses. If I’m
successful, there won’t be any. If I’m not, it becomes a little more
tricky. Don’t worry about it for now. It does no good to worry.”

Faith could see that Miles was worried. He didn’t
hide his feelings very well. Rather than harass him, Faith turned
questioning eyes to Toby. “What happens to highwaymen when they’re
caught, Toby?”

Toby had removed his stifling neckcloth and coat. He
tugged now at his leather jerkin as he contemplated the question. “They
hang them if they can.”

She had known that. But the qualifying “if they can” intrigued her. “Is there some possibility that they can’t?”

Miles made an irritated rumble in his throat and
answered gruffly. “Judges can be bought. Prisoners can plead clergy;
although it’s meaningless these days, it gives the court something to
chew on. If they’ve never been before the court before, they might be
branded. Or they can be transported. It’s just a matter of who pays what
to whom. You’re not to think on it. We’ll buy Morgan off.”

“Branded?” Horrified, Faith raised her head to stare
at Miles. Just the image of burning flesh, Morgan’s burning flesh, made
her gorge rise. “Branded?” she repeated.