By Love Alone

by Judith E. French

"Father?" Kate looked about, but the faces were all strange. There was no one she knew. "Father?" What had the judge said? Tyburn? To be hanged by the neck until dead? Then a pair of dark eyes caught hers, not taunting but sorrowful. Pride Ashton. He made his way through the milling crowd toward her.

  "Kate." Pride's rugged features were twisted with an inner pain.

  She straightened her aching body. "Damn you to hell, sir!" she cried, then turned away to follow the barrister, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

  Chapter 3

  The days following the trial were confused. Kate was vaguely aware of Janet coming and going and of a man who claimed to be a surgeon. Someone forced water into her parched mouth and soothed her burning head with wet cloths. Gentle hands changed her soiled bedclothing and sweat-soaked sheets. Was it her father? She remembered seeing her father and asking about Geoffrey. She hoped she hadn't spoken his name aloud. Was there a trial... or had she dreamed the witness box and the red-faced judge? No, it was real. She had seen her father, but not Geoffrey. Of that she was certain. Her father had spoken to her... her father and someone else... Pride Ashton. Him she would never forget or forgive!

  It was late afternoon when Kate finally woke with a clear head. Her throat was still sore but she was ravenous. The brisk sound of a broom and a female voice singing came from the adjoining room. "Janet?" Kate called hoarsely. "Is that you?"

  Her round face appeared in the doorway. "Yes, ma'am, it's me. Feelin' better today?""Yes, yes I am. Is there anything to eat?" Kate sat up. Lying across the chair was a green velvet dressing gown. She reached for it, noticing the delicate table and fine leather trunk by the window. The room had changed noticeably since her illness. Kate lowered her bare feet to the thick rug and slipped into the soft wrapper. "I'm starving."

  "Stay there, m'lady. No need for you to get up yet. I'll fetch it in to you." She carried in a tray loaded with food, curtsied awkwardly, and set it on the table. "Drink this, ma'am, it'll give you strength." She offered a goblet of wine. "They's white rolls an' some fish. Cheese an' apple flummery. If they's anythin' else you want, ye've only to ask. The gentleman says yer to 'ave whatever you wish." Janet grinned shyly. "He sent the pretties an' the sittin' room's fancy as any lord's castle. I never seen such fine things, let alone to have the carin' of 'em."

  Kate paused in mid-bite. "Lord Ashton? He paid for this too?" For an instant she considered flinging the goblet aside, then drained it. He'd have no pay for his trouble! And if he came here again... "I 'm to have what I wish, those were his words?"

  "Yes, m'lady, 'Twas him what paid for the surgeon too. You woulda died without him. He let yer blood. I seen it. Three times he come, an' you know what they cost."

  "Then what I want is to never lay eyes on Lord Ashton again. He is not to be admitted to these rooms. Do you understand?" Kate's eyes were hard.

  "But, m'lady?"

  "I will not see him," Kate repeated. She took a deep breath. "I'm to die, aren't I? The judge sentenced me to Tyburn Gallows, didn't he?" Janet stared at the floor and twisted her apron into a knot. "When?"

  "Mayday, m'lady." Tears welled up in the serving girl's eyes. "But some are pardoned by the King. You could be, m'lady."

  "Do you know where Lord Storm is being held?" Janet shook her head. "He's not in this building?" The girl shrugged. "Are there any you could ask? It's very important."

  "Me father brings me to work in the mornin' and me brother, John, he sees me home. I'm not allowed to speak to no one, just the ladies I care for. It's not fittin' that I talk with these others at Newgate. I'm a good girl, ma'am. I'm sorry. But I know nothing about his lordship."

  "You've heard nothing of Lord Storm's case from your own father?"

  "No, ma'am. But if I do, I'll tell you first thing, I promise."

  "You do that. And when I... when I leave here, what's mine shall be yours. I don't know if Lord Ashton will send his servant to collect his belongings, but if he doesn't, keep them for your dowry."

  "Oh, thank you, ma'am." Her eyes widened with excitement. "I knew you was a fine lady the first time I seen you." She poured more wine. "We must put roses in yer cheeks. Such crowds come to watch the hangings."

  * * *

  Day by day, Kate's hope faded as there was no word from her father, no message from Geoffrey. How bright the sunlight glowed, spilling through the windows of her apartment; how fresh the air, even laden with the smells of London and the smoke of a thousand chimneys. Each hour was precious to her, and each slipped away like water through her fingers until the date of her execution arrived.

  A red-eyed Janet appeared earlier than usual with a new gown in her arms, a gown of lavender-and-white satin with a décolleté neckline edged in lace. There were high-heeled slippers to match, in the latest Paris fashion, and an exquisite white lace cap with lavender silk ribbons. "From the gentleman, m'lady, with his love. He asks will you agree to see him and he sent you this note." Hesitantly, she held out a creamy beige envelope.

  Kate snatched the paper away and crumpled it into a ball, then threw it into the farthest corner of the room. "I've made myself quite clear on that, Janet. I do not wish to see Lord Ashton again on this earth. You may repeat my words to him."

  "But you will wear the gown, won't you, m'lady? It's so beautiful." Kate sniffed noncommittally. "Oh, mistress, do wear it! The men will weep to see such a vision go to the gallows and the ladies will turn green with envy. The gentleman sent this too." She produced a velvet bag and poured silver coins into her hand. "To pay the executioner. "

  "I'm supposed to pay the bastard for stretching my neck?"

  "Yes, ma'am, it's the custom. Only those what ain't got pay naught. They say it promises an easy death. They's ways to make it painful if he wants." Janet clapped her hand over her mouth. "Forgive me, m'lady. I talk too much." Huge tears spilled down her scrubbed cheeks.

  Kate turned to the window, suddenly chilled. I don't want to die, she screamed silently. Not this way! She forced back the tears. Her father had reminded her of her duty. She was a Storm and must face death as one. "I'll wear the dress," she said. "If the mob wants a show, we'll not disappoint them."

  Janet ducked out again for wine and bread. Kate's throat was like stone. Nothing could force her to swallow even a bite, but she downed the wine. Instant courage, she thought wryly. She hoped it would be enough.

  A few minutes alone with a starkly dressed man of God, and Kate was escorted down the hall and through the passageways and down the outside steps to a waiting open carriage pulled by two ebony coach horses. The coachman and footmen were also garbed in jet-black livery.

  Light-headed, Kate allowed them to assist her into the vehicle. Across the court, a narrow door opened and she saw two guards shadowing a pale figure toward the carriage. "Father!" she called. Lord Storm looked up at her cry, his face pinched and drawn, the color of tallow. Kate caught her breath. Had he been ill too?

  Lord Storm threw off the hand that held his arm and quickened his step. His wrists were bound with crude iron manacles, but otherwise he was dressed as befitted his station. The steel-gray of his coat only accented the pallor of his complexion.

  "Father, are you all right?" She stepped from the carriage and hurried toward him. "Father?"

  A spasm of pain passed over his face. "Kate?" His eyes widened in shock and he clutched at his chest. "Kate," he crumbled and would have fallen but the guards caught him.

  "Father!" Kate threw her arms around him as they lowered him to the damp cobblestones.

  "Forgive me," he murmured. "I..." His voice trailed off.

  The guard shoved Kate away. "See here! This ain't no..." He held his hand in front of the prisoner's mouth. "He ain't breathin', Jake. His lordship's dead, that's what! He cheated the hangman. Damn me! Didn't he swear he would?"

  "No!" Kate protested. "No! It can't be! Let me to him." She fought her way to his side, raising his manacled hands to her lips. "Please no," she begged. "Father, don't leave me. I can't do it alone."


  The older guard motioned to the footmen. "Sorry, m'lady. He can't hear ye now. He's cheated the hangman, certain. Maybe it's for the best." The footmen took Kate's arms. "Go along, ma'am. It's time. He'll be looked after. A Christian funeral's been paid for. Go along."

  Stunned, Kate allowed them to walk her back to the carriage. Father was dead. He was dead. Was it God's mercy? Would that she had gone with him. So quick the light had gone from his eyes, so quick. Even now, his face looked gentler, the lines of pain and worry erased.

  The jailer waved and the carriage, flanked by four prison guards on horseback, lurched ahead across the courtyard and through the open iron gates. Kate sat erect, frozen, her eyes wide, seeing nothing. The coachman whipped the team into a gallop and the carriage careened through the twisting cobblestone streets toward Tyburn.

  Pedestrians scattered, horsemen veered aside, cursing the carriage and its occupants. Soon the coach horses were forced to slow to a walk by the sheer number of people, farm animals, and vehicles clogging the street. Dirty-faced urchins darted behind the wheels, shouting and catching hold of the rear of the carriage. The coachman was forced to clear a path with his whip, cracking it menacingly over the heads of those who hindered passage. The tip of the leather caught the ear of a beggar and he howled in indignation as he scrambled to safety, seconds before he would have been crushed by the carriage wheel. In his haste, he bumped into a baker's apprentice who dumped a dozen fresh loaves of bread into the street.

  Passersby grabbed at the bread and in the confusion a ragged pickpocket snatched the purse of a fat woman. "Thief! Thief!" the goodwife bellowed.

  Kate stared straight ahead, oblivious to the pandemonium. She should be crying. Her father had died before her eyes. Why wasn't she crying? Nothing in her sheltered life had prepared her for the brutality of this day. Fear the rope? No, she welcomed it to end this waking nightmare. Her pain was so deep and all-encompassing that nothing could frighten her further.

  Just ahead of the carriage was a two-wheeled cart bearing a wooden cage containing two prisoners. "Tyburn fodder!" someone cried, and the chant was taken up by the street brats. Overhead, a pox-faced maid emptied a chamber pot onto the cage from an upper story window.

  "Tyburn! Tyburn!" the mob shouted. Three apprentices began singing a lewd ditty about a hangman and a whore.

  The jeering pierced Kate's stupor and she looked about anxiously. The boys were throwing stones at the cage now and one bounced off the carriage. Kate flinched.

  "None of that!" a guard threatened, wheeling his horse in the boy's direction. "If it's a split head ye want, I'll give it to ye!" Laughing, the stripling ducked into a narrow alley. "Don't worry, yer ladyship," the guard promised. "We'll not let them turn ugly."

  The prisoners in the cage were not as fortunate. Rotten vegetables and fish pelted the bars A half-grown boy had climbed to the top of the cage and was poking at the men with a long stick. "Hangman! Hangman!" he shouted, and the crowd roared its approval. Kate watched helplessly. No matter what they had done, the prisoners were human. They deserved to be treated like men, not beasts.

  "It's the lady highwayman!" a woman called. "They're hangin' the lady highwayman today!" The mob crowded close around the carriage wheels and the footmen paled.

  "Are ye the one?"

  "Be ye the Mistress Turpin that robbed the King's highway? "

  "Aye!" Kate answered boldly. "Toss me a flintlock and I'll teach the executioner a new dance!"

  Loud laughter and cheering came from the onlookers. "She's a game cock!" one cried.

  "No cock, but a hen!"

  Kate clung to the edge of the carriage as it rolled on, thankful for the solid wood. She could not have stood up to save her life. Sensing her safety depended on the goodwill of the hecklers, Kate traded jest for jest and forced herself to laugh at their crude humor.

  A florid-faced loafer pulled himself into the carriage and grabbed Kate's arm. "Gi'e us a kiss, wench! Them red lips will be cold soon enough!"

  The sot smelled of sweat and stale ale, and Kate's stomach lurched as he brought his leering face close to hers. "Take your filthy hands off me!" Kate demanded, raising her fist to strike him.

  There was a clatter of horse's hooves on the cobblestones and the crowd scattered. A horseman brought his mount close to the open carriage and leaned from the saddle to seize Kate's assailant by the shirtfront. "Back to the gutter where you belong, scum!" He dragged the man across the pommel of his saddle, then dumped him headfirst into the street. "Be glad I don't run a sword through yer stinking ass!" With a cry the man scrambled to his feet and ran. The horseman turned back to Kate.

  "Nothing more's hurt than your pride, I trust. Sorry we couldn't get here sooner. There was a fire on the bridge and we had to come the long way." Pride Ashton removed his feathered hat and nodded a greeting. "My men will see there are no more incidents." He indicated the dozen armed riders in green livery that surrounded the carriage.

  Kate struggled to regain her composure as she straightened her gown. "For your rescue, Lord Ashton, I thank you." Her tone was strangely chilled. "I do not appreciate being mauled by strange men, as you should remember. But that man has hardly humiliated me more than you have done. Am I to show public gratitude to the man who has caused the death of my beloved father? I can only believe that you are here today to take some enjoyment from my execution."

  Pride flushed crimson. "So, I am a sadist who finds perverse gratification in a woman's suffering? Very well, you are entitled to your opinion. My condolences on the death of your father. I will trouble you no longer with my presence." He brought his riding crop down hard on the bay's rump and the animal leaped ahead. "My men will see you to Tyburn, Lady Kathryn."

  Kate stared after him until horse and rider disappeared around the corner. Why? Why was he doing this? What did he have to gain? Without his testimony, she would not have been convicted and her father might still be alive! Pride Ashton was her executioner as much as the black-hooded figure waiting at Tyburn. And yet... yet she could not deny the thrill that coursed through her veins when she caught sight of him. She was losing her mind! Well enough that the hanging be today, before she turned into a raving lunatic!

  The open square at Tyburn was so crowded that the carriage could inch forward only a foot at a time. The citizens of London had turned the executions at Tyburn into a fair. Sweetmeat sellers and prostitutes were elbowed aside by uniformed soldiers of King George. Red-cheeked country girls traded glances with apprentices and drunken sailors. Barking dogs and screaming children scampered underfoot and added a note of innocence to the scene.

  In the center of the square loomed the gallows, a raised platform occupied by several figures in black, a bewigged official, and a hanged man. Kate averted her eyes. Death came to all mankind, but to provide sport for this bloodthirsty mob seemed sacrilegious. How could a loving God permit such awful things to happen?

  Kate descended from the carriage unaided and made her way through the passage which opened in the human mass. She tried to pray, but her mind was blank. She could remember nothing but a bedtime prayer her father had taught her when she was a child. By sheer force of will, Kate straightened her back and walked toward the gallows. If Geoffrey was there in that vast crowd, he would feel no shame in her death. Her foot found the first step and she began the climb.

  There was the loud crack of the trapdoor and the second man dangled, kicking from the gallows. The assemblage roared their approval. Kate closed her eyes for a fraction of a second and uttered a silent prayer for the prisoner. Would anyone do as much for her? What did it matter? She was a Storm. She could do without their prayers. Her chin went a little higher and she continued up the wooden stairway.

  "She's a bloody tough'n!" a woman cried.

  "Aye, the wench! See the nerve of 'er!"

  "A spine like hickory!" yelled a one-eyed sailor.

  "'Tis the female highwayman!" came another cry. "She's got pluck! Here's to ye, darlin'!"

&
nbsp; Kate flashed a false smile and waved light-heartedly to the onlookers, then held up the bag of coins Pride had sent her. "I'll not waste this on the hangman," she declared, tossing the silver high over the heads of the cheering multitude. "Take it and welcome!"

  "You're mad, child," a black-frocked clergyman said, taking Kate's hand. "Your thoughts should be on your immortal soul and confession, not on jests with that rabble."

  Kate pulled her hand away. "Let God judge my sins, not you."

  Two guards took her arms and pulled her roughly forward. Kate's breathing became more shallow. She bit the inner flesh of her lip until she tasted the warm salt of her own blood. She'd not faint and be dragged like a sack to the rope! Dimly she was aware of the roar of the crowd in the background. The sheriff unrolled a scroll and began to read her sentence.

  Just behind him stood a tall figure in black. Only his eyes showed, large and unblinking like those of some hooded bird of prey. Kate stared into them boldly, until the gray inhumanness flickered to pity. He's just a man, she thought, a man like any other. Man or demon from hell, he had no power to frighten her. She... What was the sheriff saying?

  "...the mercy of the King. That the prisoner, Lady Kathryn Storm, sentenced to death, shall be spared the finality of the rope. It is the decision of this court that the prisoner be transported to the colony of Maryland and there be sold as a bond servant for a period of not less than twenty years."

  Kate's eyes widened. "What? What did you say?" Not to die? To be sold like an animal? A slave? "No!" she protested. "No." But the guards were already hustling her from the platform and down the steps.

  Pride Ashton waited at the bottom. "Ah, Katy. You'd have saved yourself a lot of grief if you'd only read my note. I persuaded my uncle to have your sentence commuted to transportation. I've known since yesterday." He took her in his arms and kissed her soundly to the delight of the onlookers. "God, darling, but you've got nerve. A man would think you were going to a ball, not a hanging."

  Kate stared at him, speechless. Again he'd interfered with her life. Her lips stung from his kiss; her legs felt unsteady. His strong arm supported her as blackness invaded her brain.