The Price of Hannah Blake (27 page)

The prime minister leaned back in his chair, gazing at him. “Indeed. You have gone beyond your duty, Mr. Landau. But, now, how did you escape?”

“On the fourth side is the sea, Mr. Prime Minister, fully 300 yards of beach on the south coast of England between Portsmouth and Brighton. The walls extend into the sea and, some 50 yards out, a net is strung between them that extends to the very bottom and is attached, there. This is a barrier to any prisoner who would seek escape by the sea. There are guards day and night and boats of armed men patrol constantly. What prisoners do not know, but the doctor was able to tell me, is that the net is sensitive to any increase in pressure on its top. And this in turn is signaled to the guards.”

The prime minister nodded, leaning back. The first lord kept glancing at his face for the first signs of the legendary impatience. He might have to urge David to hurry.

David said, “Thus to hope to escape by that route, one must get past the net. That I managed to do, though not without help. There is a long wharf running far out from the beach paralleling one of the walls. Of necessity, it stretches past the net because ships must dock there to bring provisions. It is a large establishment and deliveries are substantial.”

“I see.”

“The net is closely and thoroughly attached to the wharf on both sides, so there is no passing by a swimmer. On the wharf, at the point where the net intersects, is a high fence. There also is a high fence, and guards, at the entrance to the wharf.”

The first lord could not help himself. He feared the prime minister’s impatience. He began to say, “Yes, Mr. Prime Minister, and…”

But the prime minister raised a large hand and the first lord subsided.

David said, “The rest is simply told. I was nailed into a coffin…”

“A coffin!”

“The doctor was able to help me feign a grave illness for two days. On the third, I was pronounced dead and the cause described as a virulent disease of a type unknown. This spread alarm, especially among the guards, who quite refused to perform their duty to verify death by viewing the corpse.

“To their relief, the doctor undertook himself to lift the corpse into the coffin and nailed it shut. I was loaded on a cart and driven onto the wharf to its very end to await a ship that would make a delivery and take the coffin for burial at sea. Again, the doctor earned the gratitude of the guards by agreeing to accompany the coffin to the wharf and wheel it into the warehouse. And this was done, placing it at the very end of the wharf, beyond the fence and 20 yards beyond the net.”

“And so the doctor was able to release you from the coffin. Quite inconvenient had something gone wrong.”

“At every step, Prime Minister, but we foresaw that he might not find an opportunity, without guards present, to open it. Since he himself nailed it shut, he used but two full nails. For the rest, he used a cutting tool from his surgery to snip the remaining nails to just an inch in length so that, when driven home, they held nothing. And yet the coffin appeared to be secured all about its rim.

“But he was indeed able to open my coffin and performed a final service by filling it with sacks of sugar from the warehouse and nailing it closed, again, this time solidly. Thus my escape was not detected.”

“From there you were able to swim, I assume? But swim to what destination?”

“We had agreed that each night, from 11:00 p.m. to 5:00 p.m. a fast screw-steam sloop would stand off the coast, out of sight of the guards, and that two jolly boats would be rowed closer to shore—though back from the point of detection by guards also in boats. As planned, I waited until far into the morning—3:00 a.m.—when the guards were likely to be less alert.

“I slipped from the wharf in the last hour of darkness. I am a strong swimmer, Mr. Prime Minister, with no fear of the water. I proceeded using a stroke that produced no turbulence and kept my head low in the water. Nevertheless, it was a near thing. Twice I heard or saw guard boats with torches and submerged myself, my face scarcely breaking the surface—breathing but intent only on avoiding a coughing fit. At their nearest approach, I sank and swam full two minutes beneath the surface, an endurance built over many years, and surfaced silently to breath and dive again. In this way, I passed the sentries.

“First light arrived toward the end of my swim, making it easier to be seen from the boats waiting to take me from the water. Before I spotted one I had swum fully two miles for perhaps an hour and a half.”

The first lord saw his chance. “And thence swiftly to naval base at Portsmouth, Mr. Prime Minister, where a carriage awaited him nightly, and at full speed direct to London and my offices, at which time I dispatched a message to you and this meeting was arranged. Not eight hours have passed since our boat plucked Mr. Landau from the sea.”

The prime minister turned to David. “I trust that in those eight hours you have bathed, eaten, and slept if only briefly?”

“On the ship, Mr. Prime Minister, as well as I could. And I thank you.”

“And we must thank you, and not forget this service and what it entailed. So, Mr. Landau, you have come far, through many dangers, at risk to yourself, with your report. Let us hear it. We will endeavor not to interrupt you.”

David tilted back his head, gazing at the high ceiling, and for a moment seemed to be seeing the past three weeks and all that he never could have imagined or expected. Then, he lowered his head and said, “Mr. Prime Minister, First Lord of the Admiralty, the duke has constructed on British soil, at the climax of our country’s great century of reform”—he nodded gravely toward the prime minister—”a slave quarters worthy of a depraved sultan. English men and women, most not above 18 or 19, are prisoners for life, their whereabouts unknown to their heartbroken family, and forced for years to perform sex acts, many perverse in the extreme, for delight of the duke and his noble friends. They are then, both men and women, brought as prisoners to the quarters of the duke or his friends and forced to satisfy their every whim. The punishment for resistance is flogging—I myself saw a woman whose torso was a mass of scars from such treatment—and also rape and torture by the guards, and, if all else fails, to be sold east into the brothels of Cairo, Damascus, Algiers…

“The duke’s compound is at once a prison, a slave quarters, a brothel, and a harem and exists today on the south coast of England, not 80 miles from London, and as surely a residence of the royal family as…”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Landau, we understand,” cut in the prime minister. “And involvement of the royal family makes this indescribably scandalous—loathsome—but makes it, also, a threat to the reputation of England. Those who lead England, today, in every walk of life, are of the same class as those unforgivably uncouth and licentious few whose behavior you describe. An entire class, for the most part individuals of a superior type, would be spattered by the filth of those few—and so their authority undermined.”

The Prime Minister’s stare never wavered, but now David looked down as though intent upon the intricate patterns of the Persian carpet beneath his feet. Then he looked over at the first lord. The first lord said quickly, “That is quite true, Prime Minister. We must act with discretion and forethought, but I believe that act we must. This has remained entirely unknown to the public for a remarkably long time, but many are involved, many, so the risk grows. If we ourselves are the ones who act to end this evil, then the responsible members of our class have reined-in the irresponsible few—to our credit.”

“Yes, we must act, First Lord, and not solely because it is expedient to act but because it is a moral imperative.”

“I agree with all my heart,” said David.

“And I,” said the first lord, “and I. We have but to set a course of action.”

“But,” said the Prime Minister, “I may confront those involved with our evidence, a story so detailed and complete they cannot easily deny it, and I may insist that this cease entirely. But let us say these young men and women, and others involved, are freed and returned home. And compensated, certainly compensated. How long will this tale remain untold, I ask you? Our discretion here, and with the duke, will have been futile. The story will spread, no detail spared.”

“Of course, they must be freed,” said David, coldly. “We do not have slaves in the British Isles and have not for decades. Conscience, morality, and law cry out for their immediate release.

“And Mr. Prime Minister, if you will excuse it, speed is essential. These innocent people are in danger daily. And should the duke hear but a hint that his game is up, he will that very day load every prisoner on his ships to be carried east. If under too great pressure, he may drop them in chains into the sea.”

The prime minister rose. “First lord, Mr. Landau, I commend you, and warmly, for the successful completion of this mission. Mr. Landau has done an extraordinary thing and the first lord, I am sure, will know how to recognize his ability.

“Let us adjourn, First Lord, to consult in other directions.” He was walking around the desk, hand extended. “And we will allow Mr. Landau a well-earned rest.” He took David’s hand, shaking it firmly, eyes interrogating David’s.

David returned the grasp, said “Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister. You should know that I am alarmed at every hour that passes without undertaking the rescue of those who have suffered so much so unfairly.”

“We will act, Mr. Landau, we will act. Good day to you.”

Even through her light clothing, the stiff horsehair poked her belly and chest. She squirmed on the ancient leather couch, which gave off a mustiness so stifling that she turned her face away. How long had it been? The high, filthy window was light, just barely light, but still not dark, not dark enough. It was the cellar of the cottage where the girls did their initiations. Upstairs, she had protested, hung by her wrists, groaned.

She had left the mansion half-an hour before curfew, before they locked the doors. The middle of the lawn was still light, but beneath the trees the shadows were purple. She began to walk. To run would attract attention and she was not breaking curfew—not yet.

Almost at the woods, she halted with a little cry. She felt the urge to run. No, no need. Think of an excuse, something left in the woods she must retrieve before curfew. Then, Rachael stepped from the shadows and saw her. She came toward Hannah slowly, staring at her. Rachael was heading for the mansion to keep curfew; Hannah was heading away. When she was close, Rachael stopped, frowned at Hannah for a moment, then threw her arms around her, buried her face against her neck, and hugged her. She whispered, “God will take care of you. He will! You’ll see!”

Hannah returned the hug. She murmured, “I love you. Don’t give up, things change. I have to go, now.”

Rachael let her go and without another word or glance walked toward the mansion. Hannah disappeared into the shadows of the path. At the cottage, she found the door locked. She was not surprised. She edged around the cottage; the first window was locked, and the second. She felt around with her feet till she found a rock as big as her fist. She picked it up, bent to window, selecting one of the small panes. She shattered the glass, then struck more precisely, chipping away shards. Her hand reached through and turned the catch.

Once inside the cottage, she closed the window. It was too light for what she had to do. She had to hide for awhile. No one might notice that she was not in her room—or someone might. If she hid until it was darker, she might elude them.

As she looked around the cottage, she noticed a door to which she had paid no attention. When she tried it, It was stuck, but finally popped open with a shudder and she stepped through onto stairs and closed it. In the basement, she saw there were two small, high windows that looked out at ground level. She could watch the last daylight fade.

She had lain on the couch to rest, but the dust tickled her nose. Anyway, what if somehow she fell asleep? She rose and walked toward the window. From the floor came alarmed squeaks and the scurrying of many pairs of feet. Rats were nothing new to her; she paused beneath the window. At least another hour. She returned to the couch and sat down, leaning forward, elbows on knees. She should remain still so she could detect any sounds of a search.

After awhile, her head hung down. Could she hide here instead of risking the sea? Just for a few days to see if somehow, impossibly, she was wrong about David and help came? No. When she didn’t show up for breakfast, class, the search would begin. With duke coming that very night the search would be frantic; he wanted Hannah.

She jerked up her head. What had happened? The room was dark; she barely could discern the window. She jumped up, then stopped, silent, listening. Nothing.

Up the stairs, through the cellar door. She could unlock the front door from inside. She reached the edge of the woods in a few minutes. There was no moon, but the beach seemed bright. Should she shed her clothes here, swim from this prison with nothing but the letter opener that hung around her neck? She dreaded being naked in the sea at night with all the silent, questing creatures, the waving, brushing fingers of the deep. She would try it with her clothes, just two light cotton garments, almost no protection—but something. Besides, they would make her less visible as she crossed the white sand. Once swimming, she could drop them if they hindered her.