by Brenda Hiatt
"On the second storey, near the back right corner, in an individual cell." Two of his footmen, formerly fellow climbing boys with Flute, had been only too eager to undertake a reconaissance mission last night to discover the specifics.
"I'll make certain we go near that area, then will keep everyone's attention diverted and trust you to do the rest. If we should—" She broke off as the guard returned, followed not by Reverend Cotton, whom Pearl had encountered twice before when performing similar charity work, but by an officious gaoler who identified himself as a Mr. Werner.
"My lady, we are most honored," he exclaimed, "and the prisoners will be most grateful, I assure you. Your generosity will earn you an exalted place in heaven."
Pearl inclined her head regally. "No doubt, Mr. Werner. At present, however, I am merely concerned with giving some relief to these poor unfortunates here below. Pray take me to them."
"Your . . . your ladyship wishes to enter the prison itself? But the conditions are most unsanitary and unsafe. If you will just leave the—"
"No, Mr. Werner, to witness those conditions is a part of my mission, that I may report upon them to my father, the Duke." Luke had to hide a grin at her imperiousness. "If you fear for my safety, I suggest you summon every possible man to accompany me as a guard. Perhaps they may be edified by what I shall have to say as we proceed."
The turnkey scurried to do her bidding, returning a few minutes later with half a dozen men, most of them looking as brutish as any of the criminals in their care. "Shall we go then, my lady?"
Pearl motioned for the rest of the clothing to be brought from the carriage, and had it distributed among her increased entourage. Luke passed into the dark confines of Newgate along with the rest of them.
"The very air here is depressing," exclaimed Pearl, sniffing disdainfully. "This atmosphere cannot be conducive to a spirit of rehabilitation, Mr. Werner. Pray make a note of it." She thrust a small notebook and a pencil at the gaoler.
The man muttered something, nodding and scribbling, as Pearl continued her pronouncements on the lack of light and the narrowness of the passages. When they reached the first block of cells, she stopped in evident horror.
"Such crowded conditions, Mr. Werner! Unsanitary indeed, and most prone to the spread of contagion, I should imagine. Are all prisoners crammed into bunches like this?"
"Ah, no, my lady, not all," he stammered. "The more dangerous criminals, and the condemned, are often put into private cells, separating their vicious influence from the others." He pointed down a dim passage to their left.
Pearl turned to look, then caught Luke's eye with a questioning glance. He nodded, almost imperceptibly. Based on his information, somewhere along that corridor was where Flute was imprisoned.
"I feel the need of a few more of your men about me," Pearl declared with an elaborate shudder that made Luke smile in spite of the seriousness of the situation. "Then I wish you to take me to the women's cells. Here, let these items be distributed here."
As Mr. Werner called for more guards, Pearl had most of the men's clothing separated into a pile, which she indicated the largest of the guards should distribute to the prisoners. In the confusion, it was an easy matter for Luke to slip down the corridor leading to the private cells, pressing himself into the first doorway he reached until the augmented group had moved on.
As he had hoped, and as Pearl had no doubt intended, whatever guard had been posted outside Flute's tiny cell had now been pressed into service for her protection. Trying not to think about what risk she might be running or the sights assailing her sensibilities, Luke hurried to the last door on the right, to whisper through the keyhole.
"Flute? Are you in there?"
"Aye, sir!" came the immediate reply. "Squint said you'd be comin' for me today."
"Just a moment, then." A quick glance up the passage showed it still empty. Pulling a set of lock picks from his pocket, Luke fitted one into the keyhole with a deftness borne of long practice. In a few seconds he had the door open.
Flute greeted him with a grin. "I'm right glad to see you ain't lost your touch, sir!"
"As am I," Luke responded, "but we haven't much time. Come—no, this way." He led the way, in the opposite direction Pearl and the others had gone.
Just as they reached the corner, however, a burly guard appeared right in front of them. "Hoy there! Who are you and where d'ye think ye're goin'?"
Rather than attempt a reply, Luke smiled at the man, grabbed Flute by the wrist, and turned to run the other way. After a startled moment, the guard followed in hot pursuit, but Luke hoped they had all the lead they would need.
Rounding another corner, he saw Pearl and her entourage just entering the women's wing. She glanced his way and at once halted and raised her hands to distract the attention of the others. Luke slowed his pace to a quick walk.
"My good men, upholders of the laws of England!" Pearl cried as he approached. "As we observe the plight of these pitiable women, I want to be certain you see everything with eyes full open, as I shall. For you will be held accountable at the final judgement for how you treat these poor misguided wretches."
Luke and Flute approached the group, then turned down another passage leading back toward the main entrance, before the guard in pusuit came around the corner behind them.
"Where . . . where did they go?" he heard the guard say as he reached the group, interrupting Pearl's impromptu sermon. Luke and Flute kept walking, making as little noise as possible.
"I beg your pardon!" came her indignant response. "Why are you not with your fellows? Mr. Werner, did you not promise me every available man for my protection?"
"I did indeed, my lady," responded the gaoler. "Mr. Fithers, why were you not at your post earlier?"
Luke did not wait to hear the man's explanation. Still holding Flute by the wrist, he rounded the next corner, then released him. "Here, put this on." He handed Flute the suit of clothes he'd brought along for the purpose.
"Aye, sir!" Donning the cleaner, more respectable garb, Flute grinned. "She's a plucky one, and no mistake."
"She is indeed," Luke replied. He hoped she would not bring any suspicion on herself for thwarting his capture just now.
Then Flute startled him by asking, "D'ye mean to marry her, sir?"
Luke led him to the prison entrance, still mercifully unlocked and unguarded, before answering. "Time enough to worry about that later. Right now my concern is to get you safely home."
Warned by his tone not to pursue the matter, Flute accompanied him out into the street and around the corner in silence, leaving Luke to his thoughts.
The past half-hour had reminded him vividly of who he'd been until just a few weeks ago. He also knew now beyond all doubt that the authorities had not given up their hunt for the Saint of Seven Dials. Though a lifetime with Pearl would be heaven on earth, had he any right to risk her happiness, even her safety, should the truth about him become public knowledge?
He honestly didn't know.
CHAPTER 21
The hour Pearl spent at Newgate was one of the longest of her life. The suffering and squalor she saw there only reinforced her determination to institute social reforms, but it was Luke who primarily occupied her mind. She had deflected the pursuing guard, but had he escaped Newgate without being recognized? Where would he hide Flute so that he could not be found? And what of that dreaded duel tomorrow?
These and other questions hammered so persistently at her brain that it was all she could do to keep up her role as Lady Bountiful among the prisoners. The masses of clothing she had brought were distributed, she gave what she hoped were appropriately rallying speeches to two groups of women prisoners, and finally felt she could reasonably leave.
"I have your word, Mr. Werner, that the quality of the food will be investigated?" she asked the gaoler as they made their way back into the noon sunshine.
"Of course, my lady. And the overcrowding, as well. If you could prevail upon your esteemed fathe
r to influence Parliament to set aside funds for a larger facility . . ."
"Yes, I certainly will," she agreed. "And now, I have other work to do." Glancing up and down Ludgate Hill as she climbed into her carriage, she saw no sign of any disturbance, and hoped that meant Luke had escaped cleanly with Flute. Bidding a dignified good day to the turnkey and the rest of her temporary entourage, she signaled the coachman to whip up the horses.
Pearl's apprehensions lasted until mid-afternoon, when she received a scrap of paper, brought to the house, so the footman said, by a filthy street urchin. On it was scrawled but one word and an initial, but it was enough to relieve her mind:
Success.—L
She tucked the paper into her bodice just before her stepmother returned to the parlor, her afternoon conference with the housekeeper concluded.
Pearl still had countless questions she wanted to ask Luke, about today, tomorrow, and the future— Flute's and theirs— but for now she tried to be content. Still, needlework had never seemed so dreary. She was about excuse herself, intending to retire to her books in hopes of more effective distraction, when a visitor was announced.
"Why, Lord Bellowsworth!" the Duchess exclaimed as he entered. "I vow, we had nearly despaired of seeing you again, it's been so long. I assume it was some urgent business which has kept you away from us?"
"My apologies, your grace," he replied with a bow. "I have been extremely busy, yes." He sat in the chair she indicated and answered a few more questions rather absently, then turned to Pearl.
"I was hoping that you might consent to step out with me my lady— perhaps into the gardens? We could . . . talk."
Obelia answered for Pearl. "Yes, you two young people run along. I'm certain you have much to say to each other after several days apart."
Pearl rose obediently. "Certainly, my lord." Though not particularly eager for a private conference with Lord Bellowsworth, it would be preferable to stilted, empty chatter —or worse— in her stepmother's presence.
They passed through the house in silence, out to the formal rose gardens behind. The blooms, nearing their peak, filled the air with fragrance as they traversed the graveled path. When they reached the wooden bench beneath the arbor, Lord Bellowsworth finally spoke.
"I had hoped to receive word from you before this, my lady, putting an end to our betrothal. Under the circumstances, I cannot imagine why you have not done so."
Though he spoke stiffly, Pearl understood that he was hurt by her faithlessness and felt a pang of guilt. Pompous and boring he might be, but none of this was his fault. While she was quite certain he had never truly loved her, discovering that she preferred another must have been a blow to his pride, no small thing for a man to absorb.
"My lord, I owe you the deepest of apologies," she said sincerely. "It was never my intent to deceive or dishonor you, but the Duchess—"
"Would not allow you to cry off?" he asked, his frown lightening with sympathy.
She nodded, trying to frame the words that must be spoken. "I realize, however, that her feelings are of no consequence —nor even my father's. I had no right to leave you dangling in this way."
To her surprise, he took her hand in his. "Lady Pearl, if your esteemed parents insist, I am yet willing to marry you, if you can but assure me that you are virtuous. Lord Hardwyck is not the sort— That is, I have reason to believe—"
"I love him, my lord," she said simply, stopping him mid-sentence.
His eyes widened. "But you scarcely know the fellow! You can't possibly know—"
"I know enough." Pearl sat down on the bench, and reluctantly he sat beside her.
She continued, "I confess I had a tendre for him before I knew anything about his title, but I did not believe my feelings were returned." That was close enough to the truth to cause her only the slightest of qualms.
"I understood from the start that you accepted my suit out of obedience to your parents, but if you cared for another—" he still seemed unconvinced.
"My stepmother —the Duchess —can be most persuasive." There was no need for him to know what weapon she had used for that persuasion.
Now he nodded in understanding. "Yes, I have noticed that myself —as persuasive in her way as my own mother. If your obedience went so counter to your own inclinations, however, your agreement, though admirable, was perhaps unwise."
Pearl blinked at him in surprise. Was he attempting to be humorous? But no, he appeared completely serious.
"Yes, I know that now," she admitted with equal seriousness. "Once I learned that Lord Hardwyck did indeed return my affection, I should have cried off at once. I will do so now, of course. Then you need not fight him."
She expected him to exhibit relief, but instead he rose and began to pace. "It is too late for that, I fear. Everything is arranged." After another moment, he turned to face her. "He has duped you, my lady, as he has duped us all. I had hoped not to be the one to tell you this, but Lord Hardwyck has been involved in . . . illegal activities."
Pearl faced him steadily. "I know," she said quietly.
He stared. "You know? And yet you claim to love the fellow?"
"He has reformed." She spoke earnestly, determined to convince him. "He made some unwise choices, yes, but purely from necessity. Now he has no further need to do so. He was only forced into such circumstances through his uncle's villainy."
Bellowsworth started. "His uncle?"
"It is not generally known, but the man we all knew as Lord Hardwyck achieved that title through the murder of his brother and the attempted murder of his nephew —the present Lord Hardwyck. Only through the cleverness of his mother did he escape into hiding."
Horror replaced surprise. "Surely not, my lady! The man who moved among us for so many years, a pillar of Society, a murderer? If true, how could such a thing have been kept quiet?"
"The Prince Regent wished it," she responded. "You may ask my father about the truth of it, however, for he is familiar with all of the particulars, as am I."
Now Bellowsworth began to pace again. "Oh my. Oh dear. This is dreadful news, simply dreadful. I should have known something was wrong. And now you say you love the fellow." As she watched, he grew more and more agitated, muttering to himself and wringing his hands.
"My lord, what are you going on about? Why is this news so particularly dreadful now? It all happened more than twenty years ago."
He stopped then, and met her eyes, his own filled with misery. "Knox— Lord Hardwyck's uncle —is here in Town. It . . . it is he who told me Lord Hardwyck was a thief —in fact, the notorious Saint of Seven Dials."
Pearl felt a cold knot begin to form in her stomach, but retained enough of her wits to say, "How preposterous! But you say he is in Town? Now?" That explained Flute's arrest, and the trap laid for Luke, she had no doubt. Bellowsworth's next words confirmed her suspicion.
"He meant to have him arrested before the duel— that is why the meeting was not scheduled until tomorrow. But he now has told me that I must meet him after all. That he has an alternate plan to bring him to justice." He began wringing his hands again.
"What plan? Tell me, my lord, quickly."
Her urgency seemed to help him to focus. Seating himself again, he explained. "He . . . he told me that I need merely make it look good— that I should aim at him, but miss my shot. Not that that will be difficult, as I have never been much of a marksman."
"But he has promised you that Luke . . . Lord Hardwyck will not shoot you?" Pearl had to fight the urge to run to Luke instantly to warn him— but first she needed to know all.
"Yes. He said his pistol would be rendered inoperable. That is to be merely a safeguard, however, for he expects that the authorities will arrive to take him into custody before either of us can fire."
Pearl frowned. "Did he say how he intended to tamper with Lord Hardwyck's pistol?"
"No. But as I said, he claimed it would not matter —that things would not get that far. Do . . . do you think he has not told
me all?"
"I think it distinctly likely that he has not told you all," she said, "but I thank you for telling me what you have. I hope to be able to use the information to avert a tragedy."
She rose abruptly. "I will tell my father that our betrothal is at an end, my lord, as I have promised." Her mind, however, was focused on Luke and how she might warn him.
"Of . . . of course, my lady," he said, standing hastily. "Mother will be pleased —er, that is . . . If there is anything—"
Pearl managed a smile of reasonable sincerity. "Thank you, but I believe I can handle it myself. I give you good day, my lord."
Leaving him to find his own way out, she walked quickly back into the house and directly up to her own chambers. Ringing for Hettie, she sat down to compose a letter to Luke. Hettie appeared, and Pearl motioned her to wait while she continued writing. A few moments later, she sanded and sealed the letter and handed it to her maid.
"See that Lord Hardwyck receives this," she said. "It is to be delivered into his own hand and none other. I wish to be informed as soon as it is accomplished, and to be brought any reply he may wish to send."
"Yes, my lady." Hettie took the letter and hurried out. Five minutes later she returned to say that John had left with the letter, and would report back directly.
"Thank you, Hettie. Is my father at home?" Now that the most pressing task was done, she might as well fulfill her promise to Bellowsworth and officially end their betrothal.
"I don't believe so, my lady, but I will inquire." When she returned again, it was with the news that the Duke was from home.
Pearl preferred to present her broken betrothal to her stepmother as an accomplished fact once she had spoken with her father, so she settled down with a book to await both the Duke's return and Luke's reply to her warning.
* * *
"You should be safe enough here," Luke informed Flute as they drove up to the door of Knoll Grange, one of the smaller Hardwyck properties, only two hours' drive from London. "I may as well introduce myself to the staff here, in any event."