Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  Something in William hardened at the thought of the overcrowded hulks. They threw prisoners, old and young alike, into the dark and screwed down the hatches at night. The unfortunate inmates were abandoned to fight for their lives the best they could in the foul air and sickness below decks.

  Regardless, he didn’t trust Archer and disliked his attempt to scare him into revealing the information Archer wanted about Samuel Sanderson.

  Studying William, Archer rested his walking stick against his chair and very carefully pressed his fingertips on the top of the desk. He leaned forward, his body taut as a racehorse. “You don’t trust me. No matter. I had thought to gain your assistance to rescue Mr. Sanderson. I can see we shall have to do without you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was I unclear? My words vague? How odd.”

  The muscles in William’s jaw tightened. “What are your intentions?”

  “I’m going to rescue my nephew. Today, if possible.”

  “How?”

  Archer shrugged, a cat-like smile playing over his lips as he sat down again. He crossed his right ankle over his knee. Then he picked up his walking stick and ran his fingers up and down the smooth length.

  “The question is,” Archer said, “can I trust you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you will hire a hackney carriage and arrive at my townhouse at precisely five this afternoon. We shall make a brief visit to the workhouse and return with Mr. Sanderson in tow.”

  “How?”

  “Do not concern yourself over trivial details. I hold the cards of value in this game, although the watch may not know it yet. We shall have Mr. Sanderson by nightfall.”

  Archer took his leave without revealing anything of use. William allowed it, knowing it would be better to work with the Archers than not. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, as the Chinese general, Sun-Tzu, was so fond of saying.

  This way, he could keep them under observation and had a better chance of keeping Sarah safe.

  He couldn’t let the Archers finish what they had started thirteen years ago. If they had been involved in that tragedy. A niggling doubt made him wonder if his doubts about the pair were correct. Their desire to rescue Samuel seemed excessive if they just wanted to kill him. With the gaol fever, beatings, and other “accidents” common in penal institutions, it would have been ridiculously easy to let British justice take care of their nephew for them.

  Why sully their aristocratic hands? Unless they feared what might come out during a trial.

  The risk of exposure was small, however, and surely Archer knew it. Sarah had used the name of Samuel Pochard. She would be tried as a common thief. The most likely result would be deportation or a few years in Newgate or one of the rotting hulls on the Thames. If she lived long enough and wasn’t simply hung.

  What would happen if they discovered she was a woman?

  The thought infuriated and frustrated him.

  The day seemed endless.

  He paced and tried to concentrate on the other inquiries he had neglected since meeting Sarah, but his mind wasn’t on his work. He kept worrying about her. She had been injured and weakened, and now she was lying in gaol.

  He wrenched his thoughts back to work and managed to finish his report on a well-known peer’s runaway daughter. He had located her a week ago in a comfortable little cottage, living as Mrs. Charles Ratcliff with the peer’s previous head groom.

  There were no legal ties binding the couple.

  William wondered briefly as he signed the report if her father would simply kidnap his daughter and fling her at the head of some titled idiot, hoping to prevent a scandal, or if he’d insist the lovebirds make their union legal. Maybe he’d just leave the girl to rot in her remote cottage by the sea. She’d soon find out that love wasn’t all roses and teacups when one didn’t have two shillings to rub together.

  The thought brought Sarah to mind. Independent Sarah, who worked for her living and refused help.

  Except his. His hand clenched around his quill, breaking the fragile writing instrument. Last night, she had clung to him, showing the first chink in her armored independence. He rubbed his face wearily and picked up a new quill. She expected him to save her. He could not fail her.

  She’d already performed miracles surviving on her own.

  In fact, she’d ruined her hands laying bricks and trying to live a decent, honest life. And he understood the compulsion all too well, having had to do nearly the same thing himself as the youngest son with a very slim inheritance. He stared at his broad, uncalloused hands and wondered what he would have done if his family had been murdered when he was eleven.

  Somehow, he didn’t think he would have become a bricklayer. But females had few alternatives.

  Finally, the clock chimed four. Close enough to the agreed time. He called for his cloak and flung it around his shoulders. When he emerged from the townhouse into the balmy air, he changed his mind and handed it back to Sotheby. He didn’t need it, and it might just get in the way.

  Climbing into a hackney carriage, he gave the driver Archer’s address. Then he leaned back against the worn seats. He couldn’t get Sarah’s wan face out of his mind or forget the feel of her slim, calloused hand in his.

  He rolled his shoulders within the constraints of his tight jacket before he deliberately closed his eyes. Every few minutes, he jerked rigid in his seat, his pulse racing. Images of Sarah being beaten, or coughing with gaol fever, gave him no peace.

  Finally, the coach came to a standstill. He leapt down and ordered the coachman to wait. His walking stick was raised to knock at the front door when it opened. Archer and his wife emerged.

  At least William thought it was Lady Victoria. She looked…much heavier than the last time they had met. Plump, in fact.

  Archer ushered her quickly into the carriage before he turned to William. “Are you coming?”

  “Yes.” William stared at Lady Victoria.

  She smiled at him and arranged her skirts on the worn, crackled leather seat.

  William ordered the coachman to proceed to Newgate as he climbed into the coach. The vehicle was already jerking forward when he took the seat opposite the Archers, facing backward.

  He studied Lady Victoria, guessing that her sudden increase in girth was related to whatever the Archers had planned.

  Lady Victoria patted his knee. “Don’t worry, Mr. Trenchard. We’ve done this before.”

  “I beg your pardon?” William asked.

  Her gray eyes shone with excitement, reminding him uncomfortably of Sarah. When he glanced at Archer, he realized that both the Archers were absolutely quivering with anticipation. The pair would hold hands for a few minutes, and then one or the other would pat their intertwined fingers and squeeze.

  It appeared for all the world as if they sought to reassure themselves through touch. And once again, he remembered holding Sarah’s fragile hand in his. Despite the callouses and years of work, her delicate bones made him aware that she was a woman—and a lady.

  “Oh, yes,” Archer said. “This isn’t the first time we’ve been to Newgate. They don’t always catch the right man, you know.”

  William sighed and started to run a hand over the back of his neck. When his chin hit the starched folds of his neckcloth, he stopped with frustration over the complicated knot. Thwarted, he folded his hands together in his lap, took a deep breath, and gazed out the window.

  After the carriage lumbered forward a few blocks, William asked, “How do you intend to get Mr. Sanderson out?”

  “It’s really quite simple,” Archer said, his voice almost disdainful. “I’m surprised you haven’t thought of it.”

  Lady Victoria patted her husband’s forearm, just above their clasped hands. “Don’t be cruel, John.” She faced William and smiled. Her lips trembled with suppressed exhilaration. “You must have noticed I’m a trifle heavier.” Her hand fluttered over her upper body. Her eyes twinkled with brilli
ant silver light. “Or perhaps not.”

  “I couldn’t help but notice you’re not your usual slender self,” William replied smoothly.

  She laughed, although the sound hit high notes just a breath away from hysteria. “Thank goodness. I try not to be a vain woman, Mr. Trenchard. However, it would have been very hard if no one noticed when I am nearly twice my normal size. You see, I’m wearing two entire costumes.”

  “Two—are you planning to disguise him, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “But even the watch will notice if one woman goes in and two come out.”

  “That’s the beauty of this game,” Archer said. “With any luck, they’ll never realize it. And this is the workhouse. Much easier.”

  “That’s it?” He felt vaguely disappointed. It would have been much easier simply to arrange with Carnaby for Sarah’s release.

  The pair opposite shook their heads, apparently disinclined to enlighten him any further. They resolutely changed the subject to the unsettled April weather, remarking that it remained distinctly cool at night. Today, the afternoon sun remained hidden behind a gray bank of clouds, and it appeared as if rain were imminent. The dreary, dismal sky, hinting at terrible things to come, seemed to give the Archers an inordinate amount of pleasure. Archer angled his head out of the window several times, studying the overcast skies and then smiling at his wife.

  When they finally arrived at the gray bulk of the prison, a chill settled in William’s gut. The sensation increased as they stepped through the main gates. It felt more like walking naked into the North Sea than sauntering casually down a stark hallway. Bringing his tension under control, he allowed the Archers to take the lead, staying back to examine their surroundings. The oppressive austerity of the prison increased his concern for Sarah tenfold.

  Mr. Archer hailed the first officer they encountered and requested an audience with the administrator. They were duly led to that august personage, and Mr. Archer promptly demanded permission to visit his young friend, Mr. Samuel Pochard. After a great deal of careful questioning, hemming, and hawing, the administrator found no reason to deny their request. He sent for one of the officers who agreed to escort them to Mr. Pochard.

  Archer remained in his seat as Lady Victoria and William rose to go with the officer. “My wife has a soft spot for the scamp,” Archer said, shaking his head. “I can’t see it myself. Common criminal.”

  “I agree, sir,” the administrator said, his eyes cold and stern. “The best thing we can do is deport the scoundrels. So many of these soft-hearted females get the notion fixed in their heads that they can reform them.” He steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “When a man is born without the moral character to withstand temptation, no amount of education is going to change him. All you can do is lock him away so he can’t cause any more harm. Or deport him.”

  William heard Archer agree before he turned down the corridor, following Lady Victoria and the officer. They seemed to walk miles through the pestilential warren, surrounded by the sounds of fighting and barely controlled violence behind the endless stream of locked doors.

  “Here we are, sir. And madam,” the officer said, unlocking a door midway down one dank corridor.

  When he pulled it open, a puff of putrid air filled the hall. William nearly gagged. He held his handkerchief over his nose and mouth and was surprised to see Lady Victoria smile. She strolled inside without hesitation.

  A bundle of blankets was balled in one dark corner. As William approached, he thought the stench emanated from that filthy pile. Fearing the worst, he glanced around. With relief, he recognized Sarah, perched on the tiled shelf that served as a bed, against the opposite wall.

  Lady Victoria turned toward the officer in the doorway. “Can you give us five minutes to speak to him?”

  “Five—no more,” the officer agreed before slamming the door.

  The room had no window. A single candle flickered on the table near Sarah’s berth. With the door shut, the foul air was nearly overwhelming.

  “He’s dead.” Sarah waved at the bundle in the corner. She looked pale and ill. “I think he died last night.”

  “Why didn’t you tell someone?” William asked, breathing harshly through his mouth. The overwhelming odor of rot and decay filled the room.

  “I tried. They wouldn’t listen to me,” she said, before adding, “You get used to the smell.”

  Lady Victoria interrupted both of them by pulling off her bonnet. With quick fingers, she undid the myriad laces and straps that held her garments together. To William’s surprise, she had a smaller bonnet under the first. The inner one remained perched on her graying curls.

  “Help me,” she demanded, turning her back to William. “Have you never unlaced a woman before? We have no time to stand idle.”

  He set to work as a lady’s maid while Sarah leapt off the bed, catching on immediately. She ripped off her jacket and shirt, balled them up, and, after a brief hesitation, shoved them under the putrid pile of blankets in the corner. A pale hand flopped out onto the stone floor, almost like a pitiful gesture of supplication. Sarah covered it hurriedly with the ragged edge of the blanket, keeping her gaze averted.

  “What about shoes?” she asked, pulling off her heavy work boots.

  Lady Victoria pulled up her skirts to reveal a pair of blue kid slippers dangling by their laces and tied to a ribbon around her waist. Working diligently, William untied the straps and released the pins holding the outer dress in place. He helped her ease the heavy folds over her head. She pulled a chemise off next and handed it to him. He tossed both of the garments to Sarah, who turned to face the wall.

  “What’s going on in there?” the guard asked from the hallway.

  Heart pounding, William went to the door. He angled his body to block the view of Sarah from the small window. Then he fastened a smile on his face and laughed. “You know what women are like. Lady Victoria is weeping over the young lad.”

  The guard snorted and started to unlock the door.

  Lady Victoria quickly let out a loud sob and flung her arms around Sarah. Playing his role, William laughed again and shook his head as he gripped one of the bars in the window to hold the door shut. Blood pounded in his ears with tension.

  Listening to Lady Victoria’s gusty cries, the guard shrugged and turned partially away. “One minute more—no more.”

  With quick, deft motions, Sarah threw on the clothing. William stayed by the door while Lady Victoria helped Sarah gather up the folds of material and tie them in place.

  “You’re not Samuel, are you?” Lady Victoria’s cool voice asked.

  William glanced at the two women. Sarah’s shoulders went rigid at the question. Her eyes caught his, filled with panic.

  “No, I’m not,” Sarah admitted at last.

  “Are you…Sarah?”

  “Yes, I believe so. I’m sorry,” Sarah said in a strained voice.

  Lady Victoria reached beneath her own dress again and hauled out a clump of blond curls. “Put these on beneath the bonnet.”

  Catching the wig, Sarah shoved it onto her head. A few hairpins dangled around the edge, and she used them to attach it as firmly as possible to her short hair.

  He was shocked at the transformation. With the lace and curls framing her face, Sarah looked like a woman. A lady.

  Lady Victoria had even remembered a pair of cream-colored kid gloves to cover her niece’s calloused hands.

  “Here, if you will allow me,” Lady Victoria said, moving around Sarah. She pulled a few laces and adjusted the folds. Then moving to Sarah’s front, she paused with her hands near Sarah’s chest. “Do you mind awfully?”

  “No.” Embarrassment darkened Sarah’s gray eyes.

  Shoving her fingers down the front of the dress, Lady Victoria pushed Sarah’s breasts upward until they were prominently displayed. In fact, the thin chemise and narrow material of the bodice barely covered the soft mounds. There could be no doubt now that she was mos
t definitely a woman.

  Something tightened in William, catching at his breath until he looked away.

  “There,” Lady Victoria said. “Call for the guard.”

  “Guard!” he yelled. “We’re ready to leave.”

  To William’s horror, Lady Victoria pulled the blanket off the corpse in the corner. With surprising gentleness, she rearranged Sarah’s abandoned clothing to cover him. Then she lay down on the tiled bed Sarah had used and pulled the blanket over her head. All he could see was a lump in the corner.

  Before he could protest, the guard was at the door, rattling his keys. When he flung it open, Sarah brushed past him.

  The guard waited, eyeing William. “If you’ve a mind to stay, sir…”

  “No.” William walked past him, stiff-legged and ready to beat the guard senseless if necessary. He almost forgot and turned back to Lady Victoria, but at the last minute, he managed to keep his face pointed rigidly forward and an unconcerned smile on his lips.

  To his surprise, Sarah took his arm in a tight grip. Her fingers trembled, and he pulled her closer, aching to place an arm around her. But he didn’t dare. His pulse raced, caught between fear of disaster and desire for Sarah.

  The guard poked his head inside, stared at the two bundles, and slammed the door shut. He escorted them back through the complexity of the hallways, heading for the administrative offices. As they approached the main corridor, William noticed a great deal of activity. His tension increased. Officers shuffled about and some donned hats as if preparing to leave for the day.

  “No need to disturb the administrator,” William said in a determinedly nonchalant voice. He slipped Sarah’s cold hand through the crook of his arm and pressed it reassuringly. “If you will just escort us to the door?”

  “Yes, sir,” the guard said, clearly uninterested. He had his own hat in his hand. “I’m going that way, myself.”