Lucasta

by Melinda Hammond

  ‘Very well, I shall order my carriage for you.’

  Lucasta felt too exhausted to argue. She sat back in her chair, trying to ignore the viscount’s frowns. It seemed so unfair that he should be angry with her when she had tried so hard to help him. She hoped it would not take too long to summon the carriage from the mews; she was afraid she would fall asleep in the chair.

  ‘If you will permit me, Your Grace,’ said Jacob, ‘I will escort Miss Symonds back to Sophia Street.’

  ‘Now why should you want to do that?’ demanded Adam.

  ‘Because if she wants to get back in the way she came out, she will need help to get over the wall, is that not so, miss?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Jacob.’

  ‘Get yourself to bed, Jacob, I will take Miss Symonds home.’

  Lucasta glared at the viscount.

  ‘You need not trouble yourself,’ she said icily. ‘One of the footmen can come with me.’

  ‘Now you are being childish as well as foolish!’

  ‘Not at all! And pray tell me how you intend to come with me when you are being watched? Do you want General Bradfield to know you helped me climb over a wall?’

  ‘Peace, children! Lucasta, you will leave as you should do by the front door. Adam will be waiting for you on the corner of the street – I will not explain any further, you must trust me when I tell you that there is more than one exit that may be used after dark. Hurry now – I think perhaps you should change if you are going out, Adam.’ A laugh trembled in the duchess’s voice. ‘And perhaps you would fetch a wrapper for Lucasta. I fear it will be growing cold.’

  Lucasta clambered into the elegant carriage and slumped into the heavily padded seat. When they stopped a few moments later to pick up Lord Kennington she pulled the duchess’s warm cloak tightly around her, unwilling to have any contact with the viscount. The coach pulled away again and in the darkness she heard him chuckle.

  ‘Cry friends with me, Luke. This offended air does not become you.’

  ‘Why should I be offended?’ she forced herself to say lightly.

  ‘Because I chastized you for your recklessness, instead of falling at your feet in gratitude.’

  She sniffed. With a sigh he reached out and pulled her to him, cradling her stiff, unyielding body against his while he rested his cheek against her hair.

  ‘I am grateful, you know, but the thought of you putting yourself in danger like that makes my blood run cold. I cannot bear to think of anything happening to you.’

  ‘Is that true?’

  She pulled away a little and stared up at him. The light was so poor inside the carriage that his face was little more than a pale blur and a gleam of white teeth as he laughed.

  ‘Of course.’ He kissed the tip of her nose and pulled her close to him again. ‘I would hate anything to happen to my little friend.’

  She subsided against him, sighing. He had called her his friend. She squeezed her eyelids together tightly to hold back the tears.

  Lord Kennington insisted she keep the cloak wrapped around her as they walked along the alley to the back of the house. A half moon was riding high overhead, bathing everything in a soft grey light.

  ‘Are you sure you will be able to get in?’

  ‘Yes. I locked the door when I came out and put the key under a stone.’

  ‘Come along then.’

  ‘Goodnight, my lord.’

  She handed him the cloak and stood, looking up at him. He bent his head and brushed her lips with his own. Lucasta dug her nails into her palms to restrain herself from throwing her arms about his neck. It was only another friendly kiss, after all.

  ‘Goodnight, Lucasta.’

  He cupped his hands to form a step for her and she scrambled over the wall, dropping lightly to the ground on the other side. She found the key where she had left it and silently let herself into the house.

  When she reached her room she went straight to the window to extinguish the light. Peering out, her eyes searched the alley, but it was deserted.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  When the hackney cab turned into Sophia Street the following morning Lucasta was waiting, dressed in her most sober gown and wearing a serviceable woollen cloak over all. She ran down the steps as the carriage came to a halt but pulled up sharply and was obliged to smother a gasp as the door opened and Lord Kennington jumped out.

  ‘What are you doing here? I thought Jacob was going with me.’

  ‘I thought it would be better if I came with you.’ He handed her into the carriage and jumped in after her.

  ‘But I thought you were being watched.’

  ‘Lord Kennington is being followed everywhere, but when Giggs arrived yesterday he did so in such state that the watchers could not fail to notice him. So I – er – borrowed a hat and one of his coats to go out. I no longer look like a viscount, do I?’

  She stared at his plain black frock coat and the wide-brimmed hat crammed onto his head.

  ‘You look like a parson,’ she told him, trying not to laugh.

  ‘Thank you.’ He grinned. ‘I was afraid Lady Symonds would come out to see you off and I should have to explain why I was dressed like a cleric today.’

  ‘I told her I was going out on charitable work for the duchess.’ She sighed. ‘Poor Mama is by now resigned to my alliance with your family and she does not remonstrate with me, merely rolls her eyes and utters dire warnings of my dragging the whole family into disgrace.’

  ‘Oh I hope it will not come to that,’ he replied, startled.

  ‘Of course it will not.’ She chuckled. ‘I have told her she may put it about that I am out of my wits. I expect when this is over she will have me carried off to Bedlam.’

  ‘You need not fear I shall allow that: if the worst happens I shall find you a small cottage on one of my estates where you may live in comfortable retirement!’

  ‘Like Viola.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘I shall make me a willow cabin at your gate … pay me no heed, Adam. I am merely being fanciful.’

  They had arrived at Newgate and the carriage pulled up in the shadows of one of the stark, high prison walls. As Adam handed Lucasta out of the carriage she shivered. He squeezed her fingers.

  ‘Frightened?’

  She managed a tight smile.

  ‘Not nearly so much as I was the first time. I have you with me.’

  ‘And I will take care of you. Come along now.’

  The viscount’s sober garb might not command the same obsequious attention as his usual velvet and gold lace but the judicious application of coin soon opened the doors to them and they were led away into the depths of the prison.

  It was soon borne upon Lucasta that there was a great difference between visiting a rich gentleman in a private cell and calling out of charity upon the poorest inmates. Although much of the building was relatively new, the heavy wooden doors with their iron bands and studs reminded her of some medieval fortress. They followed the turnkey along a maze of narrow, twisting stone passages, heavy doors unlocked and secured again behind them until they reached the crowded cells. There was no heating and on the cold spring day the chill in the passages struck into Lucasta’s bones, even through her thick layers of clothing. The stench of filth and rotting decay made her gag and she stumbled, putting out her hand to steady herself. Adam caught her fingers and held them in a firm, sustaining clasp.

  ‘Do you want to go back?’ he asked her.

  ‘No,’ her voice was muffled by the handkerchief she held to her face. ‘No, I shall not collapse, I assure you.’

  They carried on. The food and clothes the duchess had provided were soon given out and Lucasta’s heart ached to see the prisoners fighting each other for a share of the bounty, the scrawny dogs that lived inside the prison snapping at their heels.

  ‘I understand you have recently taken in another inmate,’ remarked the viscount.

  The gaoler rubbed his nose with one grubby finger.
/>   ‘Well now, we are always takin’ in new prisoners,’ he said with a toothy grin.

  ‘But this is a young man from Worcestershire, I believe. Accused of murder.’

  ‘You mean that despicable murder on Hansford Common? Oh, aye, they brought him in. He’s this way.’

  The turnkey took them past a bare, barred courtyard until they reached another large cell. Dozens of prisoners were to be seen, shadowy figures in a twilight world, for the light from the high window did little to brighten the heavy stone walls or the inmates themselves, whose ragged clothes had lost their colour and were now merely various shades of grey. They were separated from the prisoners by two sets of iron gratings, set apart so that nothing could be handed across the divide. Some prisoners paced around like caged animals but many were heavily manacled and secured with chains stapled into the floor.

  ‘Dear heaven,’ murmured Lucasta, her heart going out to the poor wretches. ‘Are such chains really necessary?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Their guide laughed and spat on the floor. ‘Certainly not if they can afford to pay. Everything here has its price. You were asking about the prisoner from Worcestershire. That’s ’im.’

  Lucasta followed his pointing finger. A slightly built young man was sitting against the wall, knees updrawn and his head resting on his arms. As if aware of their presence the figure raised a tousled head and stared at them with huge, dread-filled eyes. He was only a boy. Lucasta shuddered, horror and pity bringing her close to tears.

  ‘May we talk with him, privately?’

  The turnkey looked at them. Lucasta could read the speculation in his greedy eyes. The viscount pulled a purse out of his pocket and shook it, making the coins chink.

  ‘Ten minutes in private. Methinks here is a soul worth saving.’

  The turnkey held out his hand and Lord Kennington counted out the coins. Lucasta held her breath while the man considered. At last he nodded.

  ‘Very well. This way.’ He led them along to a door at the far end of the passage. It opened into a small room sparsely furnished with a table and two rickety chairs. ‘Wait here. He will be brought to you.’

  ‘Gaoler.’ The viscount threw him another coin. ‘Bring bread and wine, too.’

  Lucasta inspected one of the chairs before sitting down.

  ‘What a dreadful place,’ she whispered. ‘Pray God we do not have to come here again.’

  ‘I should not have brought you.’

  ‘No, I did not mean that! But … can they really think that poor boy is me?’

  A smile flickered across the viscount’s sober face.

  ‘The landlord from the Pigeons would have described you as a scrawny, brown-haired lad: in that respect you and that poor wretch are alike.’ He broke off as a slatternly woman entered tray bearing a hunk of bread, a jug and three horn mugs. The viscount poured out a little wine and tried it.

  ‘Poor stuff, but better than nothing. Here, drink a little, Lucasta. It will put some heart into you.’

  She shook her head, pressing her handkerchief closer to her mouth.

  ‘The thought of taking any food or drink in this place makes me shudder.’

  The clank of chains warned them that the prisoner was approaching. The boy stumbled in, heavy chains around his ankles and his wrists shackled together before him. Lucasta jumped up, trying to hide her own distress as she observed his white, frightened face.

  The viscount gestured to the gaoler to leave them. He went out, clanging the door shut behind him.

  ‘Do not be afraid,’ said Lucasta, guiding the boy to a chair. ‘We want to help you.’

  The boy looked up at the viscount, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

  ‘I didn’t murder no one, sir, on my word!’

  ‘Very well, then tell us everything.’

  ‘First of all, pray tell us your name,’ put in Lucasta.

  ‘Jem,’ muttered the boy. ‘Jem Spetchley. I live with my mother on the edge of the Common.’ He looked up again suddenly. ‘She’s a widow, sir, and – and not wealthy. She has no money for – for lawyers, or to come to London?’

  The viscount gave him a mug of the wine.

  ‘Tell us why you were arrested.’

  ‘I – I was trying to sell a snuff-box. I found it on the Common.’

  ‘It belonged to Sir Talbot Bradfield?’

  ‘Yes. But I didn’t kill him!’

  ‘Then tell us what happened.’

  I was on the Common that Friday. We have a couple of goats that we put out there for grazing sometimes. I had been checking on them when I heard a shot.’

  ‘Just the one?’

  ‘Aye, sir. I thought it might be footpads so I hid in the bushes, I was afraid of what they would do to me if I was seen. Anyway, it was very quiet, so I crept forwards and soon I comes across a fancy yellow carriage and the horses, just standing.’ He took a gulp of wine. ‘There – there was a man, lying on the ground with a – a pistol in his hand.’

  ‘Did you touch him?’

  The boy shook his head.

  ‘No. He – he didn’t move. He was dead. There was b-blood on his back, a big stain of it on his green coat. His – his eyes was open, staring.’ He shuddered.’ I just left him and ran home.’

  ‘And what about the snuffbox?’ asked Lucasta.

  ‘That was lying on the ground some feet away. Pretty little box: I thought it would do no harm to take it – thought I could sell it for a few shillings, perhaps, but I didn’t kill no one, ma’am, ’fore God I didn’t.’

  ‘Perhaps you are not telling us all the truth,’ put in the viscount, watching him. ‘Sir Talbot’s dressing case was broken open and a number of valuable items taken.’

  The boy looked up at him.

  ‘I didn’t see no case, sir. I didn’t go near the carriage. I found the snuff box in the grass, like it had been dropped or thrown away.’

  ‘So you went home.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And you did not think to call the constable?’

  Jem’s face crumpled.

  ‘No. I was certain sure the man was dead, so there was no help for him, and – and I thought if I said anything… well, it was all over the village the next day, that a man had been shot by footpads on the Common.’

  ‘And you tried to sell the snuffbox?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I walked to Bromsgrove. I didn’t think anyone there would know …’

  Lucasta looked up at the viscount, who nodded at her.

  ‘General Bradfield was very thorough in advertising his reward.’

  They heard the key scrape in the lock.

  ‘That’s it, you’ve had your time.’ The gaoler came in, swinging his keys. ‘I must take the prisoner back to ‘is cell now.’

  Jem gazed up piteously at the viscount.

  ‘Can you not help me? Please, sir….’

  Lord Kennington nodded.

  ‘We will do what we can for you. Do not lose hope, Master Spetchley.’

  They watched him being escorted away.

  ‘Adam, I—’

  The viscount put up his hand and shook his head at her. She was obliged to keep to herself the thoughts and conjecture running riot in her head until they were safely in the carriage again and on their way back to Filwood House.

  ‘Well, now,’ mused the viscount. ‘What do you make of it all? There are several points in Jem’s story that do not tie up with the account the valet has given.’

  ‘Adam, could the boy have been lying? I cannot believe it; he was far too frightened for that.’

  ‘I agree. And Bradfield had his snuffbox in his pocket when we saw him at Bromsgrove.’

  ‘Yes, but it could not have fallen out of his pocket when he was shot, certainly not to end up some feet away from the body.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’ The viscount nodded. ‘I think it more likely that Sir Talbot had the snuffbox in his hand when he was killed. But a man doesn’t stop to take snuff when he is under attack.’

&nb
sp; ‘Jem said he heard only the one shot. But that is not possible, the weapon in Sir Talbot’s hand had been recently fired, you told me so yourself.’

  ‘Ah, but not necessarily by Bradfield.’

  Lucasta stared at him, her eyes widening in horror as an alarming idea formed in her head.

  ‘I think,’ she began, ‘I think Sir Talbot might have stepped down from the carriage and someone … someone shot him with the pistol, then put it in his hand.’

  ‘That is my conclusion, too.’

  ‘M-Miesel?’

  ‘Everything points that way.’

  ‘Oh good heavens! It was enough to think he would steal his master’s goods, but this—’ She reached out and gripped his arm. ‘Adam, I know her grace is confident that you will be found not guilty, that with your riches and connections they will not convict you, but now that is not enough.’

  ‘That was never enough,’ he retorted. ‘I am determined to clear my name.’

  ‘Of course, but we must ensure that poor boy is set free, and I want to see Miesel brought to justice.’

  ‘Then we had better think of a plan.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  At Filwood House they were shown up to the duchess’s sitting-room and quickly informed her of their meeting with Jem Spretchley.

  ‘The poor boy,’ exclaimed Lucasta, when their report was finished. ‘I cannot bear to think of him incarcerated there in my place.’

  ‘He did steal the snuffbox,’ the duchess reminded her.

  ‘Yes, but to be accused of murder, and taken so far from his home.’

  ‘Do not distress yourself, Lucasta. An anonymous benefactor shall provide him with a few comforts such as a room to himself, and decent food. And I shall send someone to Worcestershire to take a report of Jem to his mother and to ensure she is not left wanting. Now if you will excuse me, ma’am, I will leave you to think it all over while I go and change: I cannot say I like these dismal clothes.’

  Lucasta watched him stride out of the room.

  ‘Does Mr Giggs know why he needed his coat and hat, ma’am?’

  ‘No, he knows only that Adam wished to go out without being followed. And there is no need to worry that Mr Giggs will disturb us here, Lucasta: this is my private boudoir. No one comes in here without an invitation. But your visit to Newgate has upset you, I think.’