Summer sighed. “I might as well start at the beginning. I didn’t have any difficulty getting him to believe I was a sheltered, wealthy, well-bred young lady. He made no secret of how he felt about me and I expected him to offer me carte blanche, but then he surprised me by asking me to marry him. My brother had just been arrested for smuggling and I was so afraid for him—the offer of marriage seemed to be the answer to my prayers about my brother and about the twenty thousand owed on Roseland. The whole trouble was I fell in love with him. Even before we were married, I knew I was falling in love, but afterward I didn’t stand a chance. He held me in the palm of his hand. I was hopelessly infatuated … over the moon … I held nothing back, I gave him my heart and soul. He seemed to be in like case. Damn men, anyway, I should have known better. I waited until after the honeymoon to confess about Spencer’s trouble and the mortgage. He went mad. Called me every name under the sun. Told me I was so clever at getting money, I could pay my own mortgage, for not one copper penny of Helford money would I get.”
Summer hesitated over whether to tell her all of it, then shrugged and said, “He told me he would get the marriage annulled.”
“Oh, darling, that’s just Ruark’s temper. When he finds out about the baby, of course he will forget all about a silly annulment.”
“Lil, no! You mustn’t tell him,” cried Summer. “I’m not pregnant.”
“No, no, darling, you must have the pleasure of doing that yourself,” soothed Lil.
“Lord Helford was the one who bought the mortgage from Solomon Storm,” Summer said bitterly.
“Ruark probably meant it as a gift for you,” said Lil. “I know he must have been delighted with the way you entertained the King and court. Summer darling, I’ve heard nothing this past week but what unique diversions Lady Helford provided. Everyone is going to copy you. Lady Castlemaine is at this moment redoing a room in the Persian style. My sweet, when they learn you are in London, you’ll be the toast of the town, and here you lie as if you had the woes of the world on your pretty shoulders.” It was inexplicable to Lil Richwood why Summer suddenly burst into tears. “Oh, you musn’t spoil your face, darling. You have an entré to the court and I’m absolutely dying to see this Frances Stewart the King’s sister has brought over from France.”
“Lil, my brother’s in prison again. This time he’s been sent to Newgate.”
“Why, he was just here a few days ago. Whatever has the young rogue done? I knew someone with his looks couldn’t stay out of trouble long.”
“He’s done absolutely nothing. One of Lord Helford’s sergeants has a vendetta against my brother and me. He searched him and found my ten thousand pounds on him and arrested him for robbery. It’s all very complicated. I must beg the King’s help. How can I get a private audience with him?”
“Well, Edward Progers keeps in discreet communication with me. I’ll get him to arrange a private audience for you.”
“Edward Progers?” asked Summer.
“His Majesty’s page of the backstairs. He handles private money transactions, secret correspondence, and the like.” She waved her hand airily, skipping over the bald fact that he was the King’s pimp and procurer.
“I must get dressed. I’m going to Newgate to try to see my brother. I must try to get some money to him until I can gain his release.”
“Speaking of money, darling, I owe you some you can have for Spencer. I sold the Brussels lace for a fortune. You don’t know where you can get your hands on more?”
“Life is such an ironic bitch, Lil. The last time I was here lack of money made my life pure hell. Now I have money to burn and it doesn’t solve one problem for me.”
“That’s not quite true, sweet. It will certainly help ease life for your brother. We’ll have to be very careful how we dress for Newgate. The place is crawling with thieves and debtors.”
“You mean you’ll come with me?” asked Summer, quite surprised.
“Why, of course, darling. It’s very fashionable to visit the place. It’s called Lord Shaftsbury’s pride and joy. The place runs the gamut from sumptuous to cesspool. When a nobleman is clapped up for some crime, he lives in luxury, paying to have everything brought in from meals to mistresses. Highwaymen who are unfortunate enough to get caught hold court in their rooms, where visitors pay to go in and visit them, like Gentleman Jackson. There was even a rumor going around that a certain king’s mistress paid to sleep with him simply for the thrill of it. The place absolutely stank when they beheaded the thirteen regicides who condemned the King’s father to death. Their heads were put on spikes to decorate London Bridge, but first they were sent to Newgate to be pickled and cured and then their bodies were thrown into a pit outside—oh, sorry, darling, I forgot your nausea.” Lil took a breath and plunged on. “It’s behind St. Paul’s, we can take the carriage and leave it in Paternoster Row. Wear no jewelry but our clothes must show we have money. If he’s on the common felons’ side, it’s not fit for a baboon. They have their wrists and ankles shackled and drag about in chains. Still, he won’t have it as hard as a female would. Do you know it’s barbaric the way they treat poor women in these places. The poor unfortunate girls who get with child without benefit of wedlock are whipped through the streets at the cart’s tail. They are naked from the waist up. Lords and ladies of the court sometimes make up parties and go and watch the poor girls for sport. Oh, darling, there I go again running off at the mouth so tactlessly when you are breeding.”
Summer sighed. There was hardly any point in continuing to deny she was pregnant, for Lil believed what she wanted to believe.
“Now, let’s see, we’ll need vizard masks so we won’t be recognized. We’ll need snood nets on our hair so we don’t pick up lice, and spiced pomander balls to ward off the stench, and—oh yes, I’ll find you a pair of the lastest fashion: pattens. Little wooden platforms that fit onto your shoes to keep your skirts from trailing in the mire. They make you feel taller than high-heeled shoes!”
* * *
Summer looked at Lil Richwood in amazement as they stepped up into the carriage. Though she had advised Summer to dress conservatively, she wore pale blue brocade with an elaborate underskirt embroidered with golden thread. Her snood covering her blond curls was gold mesh and her vizard matched exactly.
Summer wore a gray walking dress with a black snood and velvet mask. Lil had given her the pattens, which she would definitely have to get used to, and she’d also handed her an orange studded with cloves and threaded onto a black satin ribbon. Summer carried a small clutch purse with her money inside, since a reticule on a string would have been too tempting to prison inmates.
The carriage let them off on the doorstep of Newgate so they didn’t have far to walk, but Summer saw with horror that the gutters running from the prison were dankly clogged and black with flies. The moment they knocked, they were admitted by a turnkey and taken to the common room. This was a very large, open place like a yard where prisoners who were not dangerous could gather and socialize. A high catwalk ran around the perimeter, where guards idly watched the gathering below. Summer scanned the faces in the crowd, hoping to encounter her brother. She felt anything but hopeful.
“Ho there—you down below!” Summer looked up at an exquisitely dressed man on the catwalk who had been standing talking with a guard. Apparently they had been trying to get her attention for quite a few minutes. He held up two ten-pound notes and raised his eyebrows. In shock, she looked at Lil for confirmation of what she thought he meant. “How dare you, sir, go away!” she called.
The man held up two more ten-pound notes, and the guard with him called down, “This is Lord Peregrine Howard.”
“Tell him no—go away!” shouted Summer.
Lil explained, “Prostitutes ply their trade here day and night.”
The guard called down, “He says you don’t even need to take off your clothes.”
“No!” cried Summer.
“He’ll settle for a French,” shouted t
he guard.
Summer put her hands on her hips angrily and looked up at Lord Howard. “You don’t seem to understand English very well. Let me put it more succinctly—piss off!”
Lord Howard waved and shrugged his disappointment.
“What on earth is a French?” whispered Summer.
Lil pantomimed licking ice cream and Summer shuddered with horror. It propelled her, however, to get someone in authority and demand to know where they were keeping her brother. After an interminable wait while records were checked she finally learned that he was imprisoned in the old section. The guard also explained that to go over there she would have to pay a guard to protect her, as it was very rough. It was rapidly turning into the nightmare she had feared as they were lighted down a dark stone tunnel which she feared would lead to the bowels of hell. When she saw where they were keeping him, however, it was not the large cell, which stank of urine and excrement, that upset her, but the cell’s inhabitants. An iron grille separated the men from the women and she saw her brother immediately. His face was a mass of bruises. He also sported a black eye and split, swollen lip. He came toward her with anger blazing in his eyes. “Cat, what in the name of hellfire are you doing in this hole? I forbid you ever to come here again. Lil, for Christ’s sake, surely you have enough brains if she doesn’t. You should have used a go-between.”
“Did the guards do that to your face Spider?”
“No. I had to beat the shit out of a couple of the prisoners.” She looked about and saw battered and bleeding men. Some lay naked in the corners on stinking heaps of straw.
“Why? Did they think you had money?” she asked innocently.
He did not disabuse her of her ideas. Not for the world would he tell her that he must guard against rape every hour of the day and night. “I suppose so, Cat. Did you bring money?” he asked hopefully. She nodded and immediately he bargained with the turnkey to be taken to the affluent side of the prison.
Summer could not keep her eyes from straying into the women’s cell. They were filthy drabs. The pregnant ones with swollen bellies were the most pathetic. Some wore rags; other were less fortunate and lay naked covered by dirt and suppurating sores. Their faces were hopeless, their eyes empty.
The cell door was unlocked and Spencer was permitted to accompany them. Halfway down the passage Summer felt the nausea grip her and she vomited her heart up. Spider held her until the spasm passed. “’Fore God, you must promise me you’ll not come again, love. Did you tell Ruark what Oswald did?”
“Don’t ever speak that man’s name to me again. He did nothing to prevent Oswald from shipping you here.”
“Nay, he knew nothing of it. Oswald learned Ruark was coming to Falmouth jail and had to get rid of me before Ruark arrived. Cat, he’d never do a bastardly thing like that. He’s your husband, for Christ’s sake.”
“Not for long, I hope. I’m going to the King. I’ll have you out of here as soon as I possibly can. I swear it!”
“Come along of me, missus, while I tally up what’s owin’,” said the turnkey. Reluctantly Summer left her brother in the common cell, which was patrolled from the catwalk. When she protested at the ridiculous rates she was being charged for the week Spider had been incarcerated in such a hellhole, the guard growled, “We ain’t runnin’ a bleedin’ charity, ye know.” They even charged for him to use the piss stone twice a day and as an afterthought added on another ten shillings for her “puking.”
She paid twenty pounds for him to have a private cell with water to bathe and shave and all his meals brought in. She said that she would be back again next week if he had not been released.
The moment she arrived back at the fashionable house in Cock-spur Street Summer ordered a bath. She bade the servant take away every stitch of her clothing to be washed then proceeded to scour her body and hair to rid herself of the odor of the place which seemed to cling to her.
A message was brought to the house from Edward Progers that if Lady Helford would come to the privy garden at Whitehall tomorrow night between the hours of eleven and midnight, there was every chance that His Majesty would see her.
Summer conjured a mental picture of Whitehall. It was a sprawling red-brick mass in the old Tudor style. Its hallways and apartments opened one into another like a vast honeycomb. She knew where the kitchens were because at high tide they sometimes flooded and could be seen from the river. Ah yes, now she remembered. To get into the privy garden you had to go through a gateway into the Stone Gallery. She wished he had agreed to see her tonight, but she supposed she was extremely fortunate to be seen at all.
Actually Charles had granted a private meeting to his friend Ruark Helford tonight and he’d set aside an hour for their business. “The Dutch have outfitted two war fleets. They intend to make war on our ships in America off the coast of New Amsterdam and our East India Company ships will be attacked off the Guinea coast of Africa. Michael de Ruyter is in charge of the Guinea Fleet. He’s a genius at sea, Sire, make no mistake about it,” warned Helford.
“Weil, forewarned is forearmed. We are at war, even though it’s still being fought in distant ports. I’ll try my best to double the fleet and I think we’d better be about building ships on a greater scale. We are bound to suffer losses.” Charles had few illusions. “Bloody Parliament controls the purse strings. Christ, Ru, it’s like walking a tightrope dealing with the tightfisted bastards. In open confrontation they win every time, so I have to outwit them or deceive them. Ah well, that’s not your problem.” Charles took off his periwig and scratched his head. He glanced at Ruark’s clubbed-back hair. “Are you wearing one of these?” he asked.
Ruark laughed and shook his head. “I hate the damned things. I wear my own hair, Sire.”
“They’re all the rage at the French court, so my sister says, and my hair is getting as gray as a badger’s arse these days, but it feels wonderful to take the damned thing off and scratch my head.”
“Sire, through a comedy of errors at my headquarters in Falmouth, my wife’s young brother, Lord St. Catherine, was arrested and shipped to Newgate. I’d like your permission to get him released.”
“Arrested for smuggling?” Charles laughed. “No doubt working for that reprobate brother of yours. Speak to Shaftsbury, he’ll write you out a release for the young devil.”
“Thank you, Sire, Lady Helford will be relieved.”
“You are a lucky dog, Helford. My wife thinks a bedchamber is for displaying pious pictures of saints and books of devotion. She sleeps with holy water at the head of the bed.”
Ruark grinned. “For what you are about to receive, may the lord make you truly thankful. Amen!”
“Exactly!” said Charles, appreciating the witticism. “Are you staying at Whitehall tonight?”
Ruark nodded then bethought himself to tell Charles something others might keep from him. “I’m afraid plague has been brought to London and it’s spreading. There’ve been many reports of sickness among ships’ crews.”
“Damnation! I’d heard rumors, but nothing confirmed. Let’s hope it confines itself to the dock area. I’ll speak to Sandwich; the Navy Office should put a quarantine on any ships suspected of carrying plague.”
“Good night, Sire.” Ruark bowed.
“Hold on. I’ll walk with you. Your room’s down by the bowling green, isn’t it?”
Ruark nodded, aware that Charles was on his way to Barbara’s even though it was past midnight.
Summer awoke at dawn with nausea once again. Finally she faced the indisputable fact that she was probably going to have a baby. She had been intimate with Ruark and also with her husband’s brother Rory and she had no way whatsoever of knowing who had fathered the child. This truth was so shocking she simply hadn’t been able to accept it. Now that she was trying to face up to it, she was deeply ashamed of herself. It was too appalling to share with Auntie Lil. She would let her assume it was Lord Helford’s child, as of course would everyone else. Summer, however, was less sure about
what she should disclose to Ruark, or for that matter to Rory. For the present she would keep her mouth shut.
If she was to be a mother, it was time to take practical steps for her own welfare and the well-being of the child. The first practical thing she must do is put her money where it was safe and where it would earn interest. Solomon Storm was the only person who came to mind. She dressed in her richest walking suit with matching hat and gloves and asked if she could use the carriage.
Since she was carrying a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, she took along two of Lil Richwood’s six-foot servants. She was ushered in with deference and served refreshments before they began their business. Solomon Storm called her Lady Helford so many times she began to realize just how impressive the name was in London.
“Lord Helford wished to surprise you by discharging the mortgage on Roseland.” He nodded, pleased he’d had a hand in it.
“Oh, he surprised me all right,” replied Summer, wondering why everyone assumed Ruark intended it as a gift for her. But to be fair, she was the one who had sprung the bigger surprise regarding Roseland and its heavy mortgage. When she left, she had deposited her money with him at six-percent interest. He had offered five, but Summer wasn’t quite the green girl she had been on her first trip to London.
Lord Helford visited the house in Cockspur Street with very mixed feelings. He hoped his wife would not shut the door in his face, yet he knew he would risk more than the sharp edge of Summer’s tongue to keep her from the King’s lusty advances.
“Oh, my lord, you have just missed her,” said Lil Richwood, bursting to ask him a dozen questions. “Do come and have a drink, darling, and satisfy my insatiable curiosity.”
“What has she told you?” he asked bluntly.
“Ah, I can’t begin to catalog all your faults, Ruark my dear, but I’ve been playing devil’s advocate. I told her it was all a silly misunderstanding … that you would never in a million years kick her out without a penny … especially not in her condition—” Lil’s drawling voice halted as if she had revealed something she shouldn’t have.
The Pirate and the Pagan Page 31