The Wedding

by Edith Layton

  “Watch yourself,” Charlotte’s aunt cautioned her niece, clutching her arm and dragging her back a step from Dulcie. “That sort go for your eyes with their fingernails.”

  “How can you say such things? What are you talking about?” Dulcie asked in bewilderment.

  Charlotte studied her unblinkingly. The girl was young and lovely. Something twisted in Charlotte’s own heart when she saw Dulcie’s confusion and distress. The girl, however young, was an impediment to her desires. Crispin had left her standing in the street yesterday, stalking away from her without a backward look. She refused to believe now what she had thought then. Better to believe the girl a witch than even for a moment to consider that, given a free choice, Crispin had, all on his own, preferred her. That would be unendurable.

  Charlotte had come like an avenging angel today. But now, oddly, she found no joy in her errand. Still, she would say what she must, and believe what she had to. She had one more card; she would play it. She had never lost any prize she’d set her heart on. She would not consider losing now.

  “Don’t you read the newspapers? Oh. I suppose you can’t.” Charlotte shrugged. “Well, if you could, you’d see that Lord Hardwicke’s act has passed the House of Lords. That means nothing to you, I know. But there are to be no more Fleet weddings. You may still think it means nothing, because you’ve already snared Crispin. But you are wrong. Whatever form of marriage you entered into, it’s not valid now. Records of the event have been destroyed, the wretched minister who did the deed is in a madhouse, and all his works have been repudiated. You are now exactly what you were before you met the viscount—only a bit richer for your labors in his bed, I see,” she added, staring at Dulcie’s gown.

  “I don’t believe you,” Dulcie said, but she began to shake. “Crispin would have told me,” she said, as if to herself.

  “Would he have? I would not, were I he. The fighting, the reproaches, the threats. Gentlemen will do anything to avoid a scene,” Lady Charlotte’s aunt said wisely, nodding at her niece.

  Duicie was desperate to discount the wild story. They were only trying to hurt her, she knew that. She had to end this encounter. She thought feverishly, seeking a way out. “Ah!” she said suddenly. “But how could he have known?” she asked triumphantly. “We’ve only been in London two days!”

  “He’s known for exactly that long, at least, because I told him myself,” Charlotte said, “just yesterday.”

  Dulcie tried to put her whirling thoughts in order. Something did not fit. When she realized what it was, she caught her breath. “But—but how did you know it was a…a Fleet wedding?” Dulcie asked in a shocked whisper.

  Lady Charlotte forced a smile. This was the reason she had come. She would skirt the issue and hint at the truth, and if nothing else happened, at least maybe the girl would hurt as much as she did now. “How do you think I knew, my dear? Crispin told me he wanted me to wait for him, but couldn’t ask it of me. He didn’t know if he could win his freedom. But now he has. And so I am here. I only wonder,” she said, her head to one side, “why you still are.”

  Dulcie didn’t fly at her eyes or make a scene. She simply slammed the door shut in the lady’s face.

  Then she told an astounded Stroud not to admit any more visitors, and went to her room, holding her head high, but hardly aware of where she was going. It couldn’t be true, she assured herself. But of course she knew it could be.

  Who else could she ask if Charlotte’s story was true? She knew no one of importance except Crispin and his friend Wrede. Crispin wasn’t here. And she had never trusted the earl. Jerome Snode might know, and Harry Meech certainly would, but she didn’t dare seek them out. She would wait for Crispin. He’d left a note asking her to do that, after all. But why had he left it, and where had he gone? She read the note over and over, as though there were some secret message in the three blunt words. She wouldn’t leave until she spoke with him.

  She wanted very badly to believe in him, to trust him. But trust had never been a successful course of action for her. Life had taught her how to deal with promises: she had to hope for the best and be prepared for the worst. She knew that Crispin would be hurt if he knew what she was thinking. She couldn’t afford to beg or weep or argue if he admitted that what Lady Charlotte said was so. Even if she had lost everything else, she would at least have to maintain her pride, or she would have nothing at all. If it was true, she would leave. Instantly.

  But where could she go? She reviewed her choices. She was a poor girl with few prospects—fewer, if Crispin had left her with child as well as a broken heart. She could go to her mother, she supposed. But she wouldn’t. The thought of her rejection was almost as terrible as the one she faced now. And her father was gone…

  Dulcie stopped wringing her hands. She snatched up a chair and pushed it close to her tall wardrobe. She got up on the chair, reached back as far as she could into the top shelf of the wardrobe, and took her purse from its hiding place. Then she sat on the bed and carefully counted out her hoard of coins. When she’d married Crispin she’d thought it a considerable sum. Now she knew how little it was. Still, it was enough to buy her a room for a month with enough left over to buy food during that time. But she didn’t know how she could get on beyond that month.

  She was alone in a world that wasn’t generous to women unless they had a family or a trade. She poured her coins back into the purse and drew in a deep breath. She needed more money—enough to journey to the New World, just as her father had done.

  She knew who she had to speak with. She sent word for him.

  “You wanted me?” Willie asked when she opened her door to him. His eyes roved her room, assessing everything in it.

  “Come in, close the door,” Dulcie said. “I need a favor of you, Willie, for old times’ sake.”

  “Yeah?” the boy asked casually, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the back of her door. But his indigo eyes were intent.

  “I need money,” she said. “I need it kept secret, and I need it today. I’ve these things,” she said, waving a hand toward the articles she’d placed on a small table. “They’re not much, but they should bring something. The watch was Father’s. He left it for me, with his letter. The pin was his mother’s. The cameo and necklace were given to me by my mother. And the ring,” she said, after she swallowed hard, “was given to me when I reached sixteen. I know you have connections; I’d like you to use them for me. I’ll pay your usual percentage. But I need this done quickly. Get me the best price, will you?”

  “Oh, Lor’. You know, then, do you?” he said sadly.

  She froze. “You knew?” she managed to say.

  He nodded as he fingered the jewelry. He kept his head down as though he were evaluating it as he spoke. But he only pushed the pieces around aimlessly as he did. “Yeah. Well,” he said, “it’s all everyone’s talking about. When I heard, I wondered about you and the viscount right off. So I listened here and there and asked around a bit. Harry’s plain wild. Had to shut down his wedding game. That ain’t bad—fact is, it’s kind of funny. But it’s too bad about poor old Featherstone. He was as crazy as a loon, but he didn’t hurt nobody, did he? Bedlam’s a hard place—worse’n the Fleet, believe me. Even Newgate’s better. They top you there, sure: drop you into air and let you kick to glory, but then you’re done with it. Bedlam’s forever.”

  “And me?” Dulcie asked, holding her breath.

  “Well,” Willie said, keeping his eyes averted as he began stuffing the jewelry into his pocket, “this lot ain’t much, considering the dirt they done you. I say we go into his lordship’s rooms and get some real jewelry. He won’t miss it, and you’re sure going to need it.”

  She never knew a breath could hurt, but it seemed as though the air was on fire and she couldn’t draw enough into her lungs. When she did, she shook her head and blinked back tears. No time for that, she told herself harshly, no time right now.

  “No,” she told Willie, “what is his is hi
s. I want none of it. Just get me as much as you can for that lot, please.”

  He nodded. His thin shoulders drooped, but he knew the way of the world. “So. What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “Go to the Colonies. There’s a need for women there. I can start anew.”

  “Lor’,” Willie said, “you’ll need more money than this for your passage!”

  “Get as much as you can,” she said again. “I’ll find a way to get more. But hurry. I want to leave here by nightfall.” “If you wasn’t so honest, I’d try to talk you into staying here and getting the money out of him,” Willie said. “Gents pay up handsome for their pleasure, y’know. But it wouldn’t do any good to ask you, would it?”

  “No,” she said simply.

  “Yeah, thought not. Good for you,” Willie said suddenly. “Listen. I got some money put aside. I know you’re good for it… Nah, don’t argue with me yet. We’ll see what I get for these. But don’t you worry none. One way or another, we’ll get you on that ship soon as you want. But it’s funny,” he said wistfully, pausing at the door, all the sadness of the world on his young face, “I wouldn’t have thought it of him, would you?”

  “No,” she said quietly, “no.”

  When Willie left, she packed her few things. Just to be sure—in case—she told herself. It might not be true. But it sounded possible enough. In any case, it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared. If she was wrong, she would rejoice, and he would never need to know about her fears. If she was right… She packed her old things, from her life before Crispin: one gown, a cloak, and a few trinkets. She left the rest, everything he’d bought for her. She didn’t want to feel like a thief. If he’d deceived her, she had to show herself she was better than he was. But she’d never met anyone better than he was. She fought back tears and waited for him.

  Dulcie paced the afternoon away, but Crispin didn’t return, and neither did Willie. She was alone with her doubt and fear. She went over every syllable she’d ever heard Crispin utter, wondering if she had missed something. She couldn’t believe he would deceive her, and yet she’d never really believed he could love her. He’d never said he did. With all they’d done, he had never said a word of love to her. He’d married her for money and had stayed married because he saw no way out. He had never lied about that. Now he was apparently free of the marriage, but he hadn’t told her about it. Perhaps this was his revenge for the way she had been forced upon him.

  That possibility was too monstrous to contemplate. Instead she thought about him, his smile, his eyes, his beautiful starry eyelashes. She remembered his touch, the ways he loved to have her to touch him, the strength in his shoulders, the long, clean-limbed grace of his powerful body. She remembered the exact timbre of his voice. It was as if she grieved for him. She hadn’t lost him yet, but she was preparing herself for that loss. And through it all she realized that if he had lied to her, the worst part was not that she would lose him, it was that she would lose the love she had for him, which was the best thing she’d ever had. Finally, then, she wept.

  “My lady,” Stroud said as he came into the sitting room, “beg pardon.”

  She dashed away her tears with one hand and pretended she was just shading her eyes, as though the late afternoon light bothered her. Stroud’s voice had sounded gentle and concerned. That alarmed her.

  “The servants wish a word with you in the kitchens, my lady,” he said, “but if you’d rather attend to it later…?”

  Dulcie hesitated. The servants never wanted a word with her in the kitchens, or anywhere else. Crispin’s household ran like clockwork. Something was afoot. Maybe they planned to put a bag over her head and carry her away so as to save Crispin the trouble, she thought wearily. If so, so be it. She was sick of inactivity.

  “I’ll go now,” she said.

  A babble of voices stopped abruptly when she stepped into the hot, crowded kitchen. Three grooms, all the housemaids, two footmen, and the housekeeper gazed at her hopefully. They looked anxious. Dulcie braced herself.

  “It’s our Willie,” the cook said grimly. “He needs help.”

  Then they all began talking at once.

  “Please,” Dulcie said, beginning to understand.

  “One at a time. Here,” she told the head groom, “you tell me again, and this time speak slowly, please.”

  “Certainly, mum. See, I got the word from a man who knew the lad when he was in the Fleet. Seems our Willie was trying to flog—that is, sell—some jewelry. He said Harry Meech—him who Willie used to work for—closed all doors to the lad. So Willie had to go far afield to be rid of the jewels. Don’t know how he got them, and it may be that it wasn’t entire the right way, my lady, I ain’t going to lie about that. But Willie ain’t no common thief. I’d stake my name on that.”

  There was a murmur of agreement among the servants as the groom went on. “The trouble’s in it that someone peached on the boy. He was nabbed toot sweet, with the goods hot in his hands. That’s done it for him.”

  “Oh, but Willie knows the Fleet like the back of his hand,” Dulcie said, feeling relieved. “He may be uncomfortable there, but when his lordship returns, I’m sure he can set things right again.”

  “No one can find his lordship,” the groom persisted, “and Willie ain’t in the Fleet, mum. He’s in Newgate, and that’s a whole different kettle of fish. He’s there because the goods was worth more than thirty shillings. So now it’s the drop for the lad—I mean theft is a hanging offense. Begging your pardon, but there’s more. See, someone there recognized Willie and got word out. Seems Willie ain’t himself since he got took there.”

  Dulcie wrinkled her brow.

  “His brother was in Newgate, my lady,” the groom explained urgently. “Last place he ever was, in fact. Y’see?” She did, all too well.

  “Well, and so we thought if you could give Winston here”—he pointed to the tallest footman—“some money, he could get it to a jailer and we could at least make the poor lad more comfortable until his lordship returns. Give him some hope, like. If there is any,” he said sadly.

  “There is,” Dulcie said decisively. “There’s more than hope. Come with me, Winston. Stroud, fetch me a carriage.”

  “Oh, no, my lady!” Stroud said in horror, as they all gaped at her. “A lady shouldn’t go near Newgate!”

  “Thank you for your concern, but get me a carriage,” Dulcie said. “Annie, fetch my cloak, you’re coming with me.”

  Her mind was made up, and her topaz eyes blazed with resolution. There was a limit to her patience; she was willing to wait forever to learn her own fate, but she would not let Willie wait another minute.

  She had little money, and she had no name, if Lady Charlotte was to be believed, and Willie was being held at the king’s convenience, preparatory to being hanged for trying to sell her jewelry. Crispin would know what to do, but Crispin wasn’t there. He owed her nothing now, anyway. She had her own debts; she would try to pay them. This was probably the last thing she would ever do as a viscountess, but she would save Willie. If her father had left her nothing else when he’d deserted her, he’d at least bequeathed her a quick wit and a sharp tongue. At least she hoped he had. She would soon find out.

  The Fleet prison had been a lively place. It was a small walled city within the city, squalid and noisy but always bustling. It was even possible sometimes to forget it was a prison—if you could forget the simple fact that some of the people within were not allowed to go out. Newgate Prison was, as the groom had said, a different kettle of fish. She could feel it in the air as she approached the place. The Fleet was for debtors. While debt was a shameful thing, and shameful things could be done to those who incurred it, still there was always a way out of debt for those clever enough to find it. The only way out for many in Newgate was death.

  Death came as a result of the prisoners’ crimes: murder, arson, treason, or any one of two hundred different degrees of theft and forgery, from counterfeiting a bank check to stealing a
shoe buckle. The Fleet prison bustled with a parade of prisoners and visitors going about their daily lives. The condemned at Newgate were paraded across London to Tyburn to be hanged in groups of two to two dozen at a time, according to their crime or occupation. There was commerce in the yards at the Fleet, but there was a press yard at Newgate, where the condemned could have their lives squeezed out of them. Sometimes death came as a result of Newgate itself: jail fever was common and often cheated the hangman. Weddings had been performed at the Fleet, but Newgate was the place for funerals. Dulcie shivered as she stepped out of the carriage.

  She raised her chin, put a handkerchief to her nose, and with her maid at her side and her footman to knock at the door, Dulcie prepared to enter Newgate as the haughty Viscountess West before they could discover she was only what she’d always been: poor Dulcie Blessing, pauper and pawn.

  “You can’t see the judge now!” the jailer said. “Old Bailey don’t sit till tomorrow. Not for the king ’isself, my lady. Don’t matter if you claim the lad ain’t done it. That’s for the judge to say, and ’e don’t sit till tomorrow.”

  “Then tell the warden I wish to speak with him,” Dulcie said.

  “I can’t just up and see the warden, beggin’ your pardon, my lady. ’E don’t chat wi’ the likes of me,” the jailer said with a smile that showed each missing tooth. “Nah. I sees ’im at Tyburn Fair when I brings the unfortunate there to be topped. That’s it. Fancy me, goin’ for a chat wi’ im,” he said. “No, sorry. Ain’t possible, my lady. But that’s not saying other things ain’t,” he added hopefully. “The lad could be moved to a nicer cell. I could get ’im good grub, a fine mattress, fresh straw. ’E can be made comfortable as pie—for a consideration, understand. But that’s all. Fancy me chatting wi’ ‘is ’onor,” he marveled again.

  She supposed she had enough money to make Willie more comfortable for the night. But that wasn’t what she’d come for. She glanced around and then down at her trembling hands. There was no way anyone could be comfortable here, especially not Willie. There had to be something she could do, and she wouldn’t leave until she’d done it. She tightened her hands to fists around her handkerchief and steadied herself as she concentrated.