Jane Feather - Charade

by Unknown

  Fortunately, she was unable to see the coachman's face as he received his orders. But they were orders from the countess and Malcolm sprang his horses bearing the chaise with the Linton arms emblazoned

  on its panels in the direction of Newgate Jail.

  She must first see the governor, Danielle decided, alighting from the chaise with a swish of skirts. The building was an intimidating mass of stone surrounded by high walls in which were set iron gates. The gates were manned by slovenly looking individuals who initially showed scant interest in the chaise and the presence of a small figure in a deep blue velvet riding habit adorned with silver lace. However, when that figure demanded to see the governor immediately and castigated them roundly on their inebriated state, they staggered involuntarily into a relatively upright position and much argument ensued as to who was to escort the lady.

  Danielle stood tapping her foot during their deliberations and eventually said, "If you cannot make up

  your minds, only open the gates and I will find my own way. But the governor shall hear of your discourtesy forthwith."

  The great doors clanged open and Malcolm watched his mistress disappear into the void of one of the most unspeakable places on earth, leaving him to mind an hysterical family of froggies who had been forbidden to follow the countess, and four high-steppers who showed a distinctly nervous apprehension

  at the excitable attention they received from the inhabitants of the alley outside the jail.

  The Governor of Newgate was possibly as intoxicated as his employees, Danielle decided, when she was shown into his presence. His cravat was stained, britches and coat rumpled, and he struggled from his chair with some difficulty at the sight of a diminutive creature who, by dress and bearing, had no place

  in his realm.

  "Pray be seated, sir," said Danielle. "I feel sure you will be more comfortable. I am come to post bail for one Brigitte Roberts. She was brought here this morning and is not yet tried. If you will tell me the sum set by the magistrates we shall be able to deal with this matter quickly."

  The governor had not the slightest idea who Brigitte Roberts might be, knew only that there were some three hundred women in his jail and how they came and how they left was of little interest. The majority were destined for the hangman or transportation, and those who remained would probably die anyway. If they had money enough to purchase adequate food from their jailers, it would be taken from them by their stronger fellow inmates, and if they had not, then an inadequate diet, sickness, or violence would complete the task. He stared blankly at his visitor.

  "If you do not recall the figure, sir, then we must contrive one." Danielle reached for the purse of sovereigns in her pocket. "You will have the child brought here and we will discuss the matter."

  "I can't do that, my lady," the governor mumbled, his eyes fixed on the purse. "We'd never find her in there."

  "Then I shall find her myself. You will come with me." It was an order, not a request, and three gold sovereigns fell on the table. As he reached for them, Danielle placed her hand over the shining coins. "There will be more," she said softly. "I'm sure that a suspected pickpocket will need a considerable bail. Let us find her and settle this business."

  The coins went back into the purse and the governor licked his lips nervously. One less prisoner would

  go quite unremarked in the maelstrom and he would not be forced to account for the loss. It was unlikely that this Brigitte Roberts would come to trial for months and a simple explanation that she had died of typhus would be easily accepted. But the thought of visiting the women's wards and cells filled him with dread. Did this unpleasantly determined young lady know what she was talking about with her blithe announcement that she would find the prisoner herself? If not, she would suffer considerable shock to

  her composure. The idea pleased the befuddled governor, who was accustomed to reigning supreme

  and in peace over his section of hell.

  "You must find her yourself," he said slyly. "I will accompany you to the women's section, but the bail must be put up in advance." He made great play with a file of papers. "Ah, here it is. Brigitte . . .?"

  "Roberts," Danielle supplied, prepared to play his game.

  "Ah, yes," he muttered, scrutinizing a scrap of paper. "Bail is set for one hundred guineas."

  Danielle counted out the sum without complaint. It was extortion but little enough to pay for a child's life and sanity. "No, Governor," she said as he made to pocket the coins. "The money remains here until I have the child. My chaise and coachman await me outside the gates and should any harm befall me . . ." She left the sentence unfinished, but drunk though he was the governor had no need of expansion. He

  led the way to the female side of the prison.

  There were two wards and two cells inhabited by the women sent here for every gradation of crime; the untried mingled with those under sentence of death in a situation of unspeakable over-crowding. Danielle reeled as the stench hit her. Half-naked women crowded against the railing at their approach, begging

  and cursing, hands thin as birds' talons thrust between the bars. Children tumbled and wailed, trampled underfoot as their mothers surged toward the extraordinary sight of wealth outside their cage.

  There was no bedding that Danielle could see on the filth-encrusted floor. In these surroundings the women cooked, washed, ate, and slept in the company of their children, many of whom had first seen daylight behind these bars and knew no other. Those who did achieve their release would find themselves back again soon enough, but on their own behalfs and not their mothers'.

  Danielle thought of the rings on her fingers, the purse in her pocket, and knew that she could not go into the cage with them on her person. The governor was watching her reactions with a complacent smile.

  "You!" Danielle turned imperatively to the turnkey. "You will go immediately outside the gate and bring my coachman to me."

  The turnkey looked at the governor for confirmation of the order and receiving no sign either way obeyed. Danny tried to hide her hopelessness as she looked at the phalanx of women ranged against the bars. How was she to find a petrified twelve-year-old amongst this ferocious crowd? The smell of liquor was rank in the air—the women might be short of food and water for washing, but gin seemed in plentiful supply.

  The jailer returned after what seemed to Danielle an eternity, but he was accompanied by Malcolm, whose broad shoulders and impressive livery reassured Danielle and had the hoped-for effect on the governor. "You will hold these for me," she said, stripping off her rings and handing them to Malcolm, together with her purse and her cloak. "Unlock the door."

  "My lady, you can't go in there," the governor demurred, painfully affected by the reality of the stony-faced, liveried coachman and the sudden thought of what might happen to him should the Countess of Linton suffer injury.

  "Well, it is clear that someone must," Danielle replied impatiently. "Send one of your men."

  "I ain't goin' in among that lot." The turnkey backed away. "They'd 'ave me eyes out, soon as look at me."

  "Oh, do not be absurd. You must be removing women from in there all the time."

  The governor refrained from saying that it was a rare occurrence and when it did happen his men required the company of half a dozen others and the comforting presence of muskets. Since no such event had been anticipated on what had been a peaceful morning, he had neither the men nor the firearms available.

  "Unlock the door," Danielle repeated, steeling herself for the inevitable when the uncomfortable silence looked as if it would go on forever.

  * * *

  Justin walked into Watier's to be informed that a member of his household had been in search of him but an hour since. As he received this message he was hailed by the Marquis of Louden.

  "Justin, 'pon my soul. Your men appear to have been searching all over town for you. I received one myself not above half an hour ago."

  "Indeed, George." Linton frowned. "W
as there any message?"

  "No. He wished to know if I knew your whereabouts. I suggested he might find you with the master." The master in question was the noted fencer, Armand Gaillard, who made a very satisfactory living matching his skill with that of the Quality.

  "I was there, but must have left before the messenger arrived." Linton could not hide his anxiety from

  his friend. "If you will excuse me, George, I had best discover what so urgently requires my presence."

  "Of course, dear boy," the marquis assured. "Tis to be hoped it's nothing serious. Lady Danny is quite well, I trust?"

  "She was when last I spoke with her. I daresay Peter has written one of his formidable speeches for me

  to deliver to the Lords and is anxious to ensure that I do not miss the debate." He made his tone light and the marquis laughed, gracefully accepting that Linton did not choose to share his obvious concern.

  Tomas was walking my lord's chestnuts along St. James's when Linton reappeared on the steps of his club. Without a word, Justin took the reins and sprang into the curricle giving the tiger barely time to

  jump up behind as the horses leaped forward under the flick of the whip.

  "What's amiss, Bedford?" Justin asked directly, pulling off his gloves as he strode into the hall.

  "Her Ladyship left a message for you, my lord, before she left with the French persons." Bedford managed to convey, in spite of his impassive expression and calmly polite tone, exactly what he thought of the "French persons." He handed Linton the folded paper.

  "Thank you." Justin went into the library before opening the message, his heart pounding uncomfortably. What he read sent him into a panic-stricken fury the like of which he had never before experienced. His wife, nearly five months pregnant, had dared to venture alone into that abyss of human misery and degradation that was Newgate. And she had broken her word—the one thing he had relied on without question. It mattered not that she had made no attempt to deceive him, had searched all over town for him, had gone on her errand with his coachman in attendance. His orders had been absolute and her promise made without condition.

  White-faced, Justin yanked the bellpull and gave instructions for the curricle to be brought round again immediately. The horses were still in harness and Tomas, with a resigned shrug at this unusually unpredictable behavior of My Lord's, brought them out of the stables and back to the square.

  "Where we goin', me lord," he gasped, hanging on for dear life as the horses, given their heads, raced through the streets causing all traffic in their path to cower against the curb.

  "To Newgate," the earl spat out furiously and Tomas gawped in disbelief. It had to be Her Ladyship up

  to her tricks again, he thought. Nothing else could throw His Lordship into such a towering rage. But

  what the devil took her to Newgate?

  The Linton chaise stood outside the gates of the prison. Of Malcolm there was no sign and the horses vrere being held by two men and a distraught woman, none of whom seemed capable of controlling the tossing heads and stamping hooves. A crowd of interested spectators shouted advice, much of it coarse and not at all to the point, and their yells merely served to exacerbate the highly bred beasts.

  Linton sprang down and handed the reins to Tomas. "Do what you can," he instructed tersely. "I'll send Malcolm out directly."

  "I'll 'elp, me lord." A scrawny urchin appeared suddenly at Linton's feet. "Ah'm good wiv 'osses." Darting to the chaise he began to soothe the leaders with a series of clicking noises that unaccountably appeared

  to calm them.

  "I'll manage, me lord," Tomas said. 'The lad knows what he's about."

  Justin strode to the gate. This time it opened instantly. Something extraordinary was going on this morning, and clearly anyone who had anything to do with the chaise and the lady had business inside the jail.

  "You'll be wantin' the women's side," one of the guards offered as Justin stood for a moment irresolute, looking around the bewildering number of low buildings. "Leastways, that's where Bill took the coachman." He jerked a thumb to the left and laughed coarsely. "Jest follow your nose when you're inside. Can't miss it that way."

  Justin tossed him a shilling and followed instructions.

  * * *

  "Unlock the door," Danielle said for the third time, controlling her shudder of horror. "I have not all day to waste on this tedious business."

  Tedious! This fearsome little creature actually had the temerity to refer to the prospect of entering that hellhole as tedious! The governor gazed at her in awe and then gave the order to the turnkey.

  Danielle walked into the cage, her hand deep in her coat pocket. The door clanged shut behind her and she was imprisoned in Newgate in the company of women who were more beast than human as they tugged at her clothes and begged piteously. For as long as she stayed in sight of the governor she was safe, but the women who surrounded her were the strongest, the leaders of the community who were

  able to achieve the front ranks. A twelve-year-old newcomer would not be found here.

  "Let me pass," she commanded. "If you will find one Brigitte Roberts for me, you will be rewarded,

  I promise."

  "What wiv, me lady?" someone whined, touching the lace at Danielle's throat. With a supreme effort Danielle pushed the hand aside.

  "With guineas," she said shortly, averting her head from the foul breath. But the rankness was on all sides, a fetid miasma of disease-laden air. Something fluttered, the beat of a bird's wing deep in her

  belly, and Danielle paled—the life in her womb quickening for the first time in this place? She suddenly realized that in her efforts to save the life of a complete stranger she was endangering the life of her own child, of Linton's child.

  "Get out of my way!" She pushed through the women who, for the moment surprised, fell back providing her with a path as narrow and unlikely as Moses1 path across the Red Sea. Danielle marched through them and called Brigitte's name. But as she walked, the path closed behind her, shutting her off from the eyes of the three men outside the cage. She fought down the desperate fear, the knowledge that she was taking an unconscionable risk with so much more than her own safety. At the very end of the ward a group of semi-naked girls and women cowered in abject terror. She called the name again and a thin figure, her gown ripped from her back, face and hair thick with filth, looked up with dull eyes.

  "You are Brigitte Roberts?" Danielle's voice was harsher than she'd intended, but her own fear was too raw now. What had happened to the child in such a short time to reduce her to this state? But there was no time for speculation. At the girl's nod she seized her wrist and pulled her to herfeet, turning back to face what was now an impenetrable menacing wall.

  "Wat's she got that we ain't?" a voice demanded. "Wat's a foine lady like you doin', takin' the likes of

  her outa 'ere?"

  "Yeah, thas roight!" the voices rumbled, took up the cry. "Why 'er?"

  "Because she's done nothing wrong," Danielle said brusquely as her heart hammered against her ribcage. "Let us through."

  "Wat you goin' to do fer us, then, my foine loidy?" An Amazon of a woman stepped forward to stand chest to chest with Danielle. Brigitte screamed and the woman flicked Danielle's hat with a grimy finger. "This'll fetch a pretty penny," she said with an evil grin, showing a mouth of blackened stumps and huge gaps. The next instant, Danielle's hat had left her head. "An' all this lace," the woman went on. "That's worth a few bottles of gin, eh, girls?" Her fingers caught the lace and there was a sudden ripping sound.

  For an unreal moment, Danielle was again the urchin Danny fighting for survival in a Parisian backalley. She kicked out and her booted foot made contact with her tormentor's shin. It was a mistake, she realized hopelessly in the instant of action. Someone pushed her heavily from behind and she sprawled against the woman at her front. And then they were all on her, nails raking her face, fists punching into her arms, feet kicking wherever they could. The front of her
habit tore under a pair of vicious talons that bit into the tender flesh of her breasts. In the first moments of terror Danielle had forgotten the pistol, but when the child, whose hand she still held somehow in a clutch as desperate asa dying man's, screamed again in hideous terror something clicked in her mind like the tumbrils of a safe and a cold wash of determination replaced the panic. For a second she fought with all the ferociousness of the women surrounding her until she got the hand that was not holding Brigitte free from a painful grip. The pistol was out of her pocket in an instant. She aimed high, but at this point cared not a jot whether the bullet found a human target. There was a shrill scream and her assailants fell back at the sight of the smoking weapon. Danielle, knowing she had but seconds before they realized the pistol was now useless until reloaded, hauled the whimpering figure beside her through the crowd that gave way in stunned silence.

  Justin heard the shot as he entered the building and for a petrifying moment the vigorous pumping of his heart seemed to falter, then it picked up again as a rush of adrenaline drove him at a run in the direction of the sound. What he saw as he reached the group of men outside the railing emptied his soul of all but blind rage. His wife, torn, bedraggled, blood streaking her face and exposed bosom, hair a bird's nest of tangles, emerged from the sullen ranks of hard-eyed women, a pistol in one hand and quite the filthiest scrap of humanity in the other.