"Now that you're all here, allow me to introduce these gentlemen," she said. She indicated the redhead. "This is Mr. Clancy. His colleague is Mr. Higgins. They are law enforcers, commonly referred to as 'thief-takers,' and they are employed by my uncle, Roderick Mann. As you may know, he's a magistrate on Bow Street."
"What's that got to do with us!" Cook exclaimed, her huge body quivering with indignation. "We ain't done nothin'! Not a one of us! Been workin' here nigh on ten years, I 'ave, and never once 'ave I been so... so 'umiliated! I'm not gonna stand 'ere and—"
"Shut your mouth!" Higgins growled.
He glared at her with vicious brown eyes, looking as though he'd like nothing better than to knock her down. Cook went pale, clasping her hand over her heart and backing away. One of the maids began to sob. The grooms grumbled—one of them clenched his fists—but all the servants were much too intimidated to say or do anything that might agitate the thief-takers. These men were clearly ruthless, and they represented a cruel and merciless authority that brooked no insubordination.
Lord Mallory strolled casually into the room, a pleased look on his face. His wife looked at him. Lord Mallory gave her a nod. That thin smile flickered on her lips again, and then she continued in a pleasant, almost chatty tone of voice.
"Last night, when I returned from the country, I brought my emerald necklace with me. It was in a long white leather case. I set the case on the dressing table in my bedroom. This morning it was gone."
Millie began to tremble. I squeezed her hand. The other maids began to babble, but one sharp look from Higgins shut them up. Lady Mallory patted a faded blond curl, quite pleased with herself. She looked straight at me. There was triumph in her eyes. I knew then. My heart began to palpitate. My whole body seemed to grow cold. Lord Mallory leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, watching me with that dark, mocking amusement. I knew why he had been going upstairs and why he had nodded to his wife when he came back into the parlor.
"There was no sign of forced entry," Lady Mallory continued. "Jeffers swears that all the doors and windows were securely locked when he made his rounds this morning. That leaves us with only one conclusion—one of you slipped into my bedroom and took the necklace. As none of you have left the house today, we'll undoubtedly find it hidden in one of your rooms."
These last words created a sensation. Cook began to shriek. Brandy began to bawl. The maids and the grooms and foot men vehemently protested their innocence. I was silent. I seemed to be paralyzed. I stared across the room at the man leaning so nonchalantly against the wall, unable to believe he had done what I knew he had done. He and his wife had planned it together, and Lady Mallory was savoring my plight as much as her husband was, perhaps even more. When the furor finally subsided, Lady Mallory exchanged looks with her husband. Both were enjoying themselves immensely.
"Your rooms will be searched one by one," she said. "We wouldn't want to give the thief an opportunity to slip up to his or her room and remove the necklace, so Clancy and Higgins will take you to your rooms one at a time, search it, then bring you back down here where the others will be waiting. No one will leave the room until they leave with these two gentlemen from Bow Street. We'll begin with the maids. I think—yes—Millie will be first. Millie, you'll take Mr. Clancy and Mr. Higgins up to your room and stand aside while they search it."
"I 'aven't stolen anything!" Millie cried. "I 'aven't! I'm scared to go up there alone with 'em! I know what they do to poor workin' girls. I've 'eard tales. Please, milady, don't make me—"
Higgins stepped over to the girl and slapped her across the mouth with such brutal force that she stumbled back against the other servants, almost falling. She began to cry hysterically, the imprint of his hand burning a bright pink on her face. Brown eyes smouldering, Higgins seized her arm and jerked her forward. Millie struggled, and he gave her arm a savage twist, thrusting it behind her and up between her shoulder blades.
"I reckon she's th' guilty one, milady," he said. "They don't carry on like this 'less they've got somethin' to hide. You're gonna be sorry you opened your mouth, wench. Clancy and I know how to handle the likes of you—"
"No!" Millie cried. "Milady, please—"
Higgins held her arm in a brutal grip, and when she continued to struggle he gave it a sharp upward thrust. Millie screamed, bending forward. With his free hand Higgins seized her hair, gripping the tarnished gold curls in his fingers and jerking her head back against his shoulders, putting even more pressure on her arm. The girl almost passed out from the pain. The other servants watched in horror, much too terrified to go to her aid.
I stepped toward them. "Let go of her!" I ordered.
Higgins was so startled that he actually obeyed me. Millie stumbled forward, and Brandy hurried over to her, wrapping her arms around the girl and murmuring words of comfort. Everyone else stared at me, and then Higgins turned to Lady Mallory as though for direction.
"What's this?" he asked huskily.
"Yes," Lord Mallory drawled, "what is this?"
"There's no need carrying on this elaborate charade," I said in a flat voice. "The necklace is in my room. You know it is. You put it there just a few minutes ago."
"Did I?" Lord Mallory looked amazed. "Really, Miss Danver, you have quite an imagination."
"There's no need to subject the other servants to any further humiliation. I'll take these two—two creatures up to my room. I'm quite sure they'll find the necklace. It would save time, of course, if you'd simply tell them where you planted it."
Lord Mallory shook his head, looking at the thief-takers with a perplexed expression. "The lass is out of her mind," he said, "but if she wants to be first, let her be first, by all means. My wife and I will keep an eye on the others while you accompany her to her room, gentlemen."
Summoning all the dignity I could muster, I walked out of the parlor, my chin held high. Higgins and Clancy sauntered along behind me, talking in low voices as we moved up the staircase. My bronze taffeta skirt made a crisp, crackling sound. I was perfectly calm because this wasn't real. It was happening to someone else. As I opened the door to my room and stood aside to let them enter, I felt as if I were far away, watching with cool objectivity some drama on a stage that didn't concern me at all.
"Cool one, 'er," Clancy remarked.
"Cool as can be," Higgins agreed. "A bit too high and mighty to suit me, I don't mind tellin' you. I see she has her bags all packed, ready to make a quick getaway. Reckon we might find the gems in one of 'em."
"Reckon so," Clancy said.
They opened the bags, pulling garments out and tossing them aside. In a matter of moments my clothes were strewn all over the room, on the floor, across chairs, over the bed. Higgins examined my undergarments, chuckling to himself. I stood against the wall, watching, feeling nothing but the curious numbness that made it impossible for me to believe this could really be happening.
"Ah," Clancy exclaimed. " 'Ere's th' white leather box, just like milady described it, and—why, look 'ere, 'iggins, 'ave you ever seen such pretty baubles?"
He held the emeralds up for his colleague to admire. They sparkled and flashed with shimmering green and blue fires, just as they had when I had seen them resting against Lady Mallory's bosom. Clancy dangled them between his fingers, shaking his head as though unable to believe he was beholding such splendor. Higgins looked thoroughly disgruntled.
"Reckon we 'ave our thief," Clancy said.
"Reckon we do," Higgins grumbled. "I was hopin' to get that maid up to her room and teach her to show a little respect for the law. I was lookin' forward to a spot of fun."
Clancy glanced at me, his gaunt face expressionless. "I 'magine we'll both 'ave a spot uv that 'fore this is all over with."
Higgins's wide lips curled into a grin, and his brown eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Yeah," he said. "We'd better go down now 'n' turn the jewels over. Later, in the coach—"
He left the sentence dangling and took hold of
my wrist, clamping his fingers tightly around it. I made no effort to pull free as he led me out of the room and down the stairs. Clancy moved ahead of us, slinging the necklace around and around as though it were a watch chain. Lord Mallory was standing in front of the door to the parlor, waiting for us.
"I see you found the necklace," he remarked.
Clancy handed him the string of glittering emeralds. "We found it, all right. Wench 'ad it 'idden in 'er bag. If we 'adn't got here when we did, she'd 'ave made a clean getaway."
"I suppose you'll be taking her down to Bow Street now."
"Aye, them's our orders," Clancy replied, nodding gravely. "She'll spend th' night in th' cell there. I 'magine 'is lordship will pass sentence tomorrow. 'E don't waste no time."
"I want to thank you gentlemen," Lord Mallory said, his voice ever so smooth. He reached into his pocket and took out two gold coins, handing one to each man. They were amazed—and delighted. "And... uh... you'll be gentle with her, won't you?"
Higgins caught his meaning immediately. He grinned again, nodding slowly. "Gentle as can be," he said. His hand tightened on my wrist.
"I thought I could count on you," Lord Mallory replied. "She's a bit uppity, gives herself airs. I imagine a couple of chaps like you might be able to teach her some humility."
"We'll do that very thing," Higgins promised.
Lord Mallory stepped over to the front door and held it open for us. My numbness had worn off now, and fear possessed me, fear such as I had never felt before, but I refused to show it and give him that satisfaction. Lord Mallory smiled, savoring his triumph, and as Higgins led me past he made a courtly bow, mocking me. I pretended not to see. The sunshine was dazzling as we stepped outside. Higgins jerked my arm viciously, causing me to stumble down the steps.
A large black closed carriage stood in front of the house. Two powerful horses stood in the shafts, stamping impatiently. The driver perched high on his seat in front, smoking a cheroot. Clancy opened the carriage door, and Higgins thrust me inside. There were two seats facing each other, upholstered in split brown leather. The interior reeked of tobacco and sweat and gin. The curtains at the windows were brown velvet, ragged, the nap worn. Higgins squeezed in beside me and wrapped a muscular arm around my shoulder, pulling me against him. When I tried to pull away he tightened his grip, crushing me to him.
"You wanna be friendly, wench. Me 'n' Clancy, we don't like to be snubbed."
Still standing on the pavement and holding the carriage door open, Clancy yelled at the driver, telling him to take his time getting back to the station, and then he climbed inside. Sitting down on the seat opposite us, he slammed the door shut. As the carriage began to move down the street, he pulled the shabby curtains over the windows, shutting out the sunlight. It was dim and dusty inside, but I could see Clancy's bony face and that mop of blazing red hair. His black eyes were burning with anticipation, and a wide grin split his mouth.
"Well-well-well," he said, " 'ere we are, all snug 'n' cozy."
"Lass don't wanna be friendly, Clancy," Higgins told him. "I believe she thinks she's too good for us."
Clancy stared at his colleague in mock dismay. "You don't mean it? 'N' 'er a common thief. Stealin's a 'angin' offense."
"Like as not she'll swing," Higgins agreed.
"Seems a waste, don't it?"
"Terrible waste, but we got plenty a time. It's gonna take Jenkins 'alf an hour to reach th' station. You ever done it in a carriage?"
"Can't say as I 'ave," Clancy replied.
"Reckon I'd better go first then, show you how it's done."
I struggled violently, trying to pull away from him. Higgins shoved me against the side of the carriage and slapped me across the face, again, again, until my cheeks seemed to be on fire. He jerked me toward him, then planted his mouth over mine. He wrapped his arms around me, crushing me to him. I thought my bones were going to snap. He finally pulled his head back, savoring my panic.
"She don't like us," Clancy exclaimed.
"Reckon we're gonna have to show her what a couple uv dandy sparks we are," Higgins said. "Fight all you want to, wench. Truth to tell, I like it that way—makes it more excitin'."
The carriage bounced and jostled, swaying from side to side as it passed over the rough cobblestones. Higgins pushed me down flat on the seat, pulling up my skirts. I fought, scratching at his face. He clutched my throat and squeezed viciously until I could fight no more, and then he fell on me, the weight of his body knocking the breath out of me. He began his assault, and Clancy applauded, urging him on. During the night that Lord Mallory had used me repeatedly, I had thought I knew what it was to be degraded. I hadn't. Until now I hadn't even known the meaning of the word.
CHAPTER 4
There were three cells in back of the building on Bow Street. Although I knew the other two were occupied, as well, I could neither see nor communicate with the other prisoners, as thick stone walls separated us. Not more than ten feet square, my cell was like a small stone box with a heavy iron door. The rough stone floor was littered with damp straw, and there was one narrow cot with no mattress cover and, in the corner, a cracked chamber pot. The air was fetid, reeking with the odors of sweat and excrement and fear. The one tiny window in the back wall, barred, let in very little fresh air. It looked out over a filthy alley lined with squalid hovels.
As soon as I had arrived, the gruff, strapping locksmith had put two tight iron bracelets on my wrists, a heavy chain suspended between them. My ankles had been shackled, too, the chain just long enough to allow me to pace the floor in short, cautious steps. Twice each day the bailiff unlocked the door and set down a tray holding a bowl of thin gruel, a hunk of stale bread, and a small earthen jug of water. I had been here for two days now, and he had not seen fit to empty the chamber pot, but then prisoners were not to be pampered.
At least it wasn't Newgate. I could be thankful for that. Squalid and uncomfortable as it was, the cell was luxurious compared to that dreaded prison whose inhabitants lived no better than the rats that infested it. I had read about the horrors of Newgate, reports that chilled the blood, and I knew that death was preferable to internment in that monstrous hell hole. Would I eventually be sent there? The mere thought of it caused me to grow weak with terror.
I had already given up any idea of a fair trial. Lady Mallory's uncle, the magistrate, was undoubtedly in league with his niece and her husband. He had the power to sentence me, and I was at his mercy. By rights I should be taken to Justice Hall Court in the Old Bailey and there tried before the six judges in scarlet robes and long, woolly white wigs who sat in their tall wooden chairs. By rights I should be given an opportunity to defend myself, but I knew it wasn't going to be that way. Roderick Mann could do with me as he wished, the finer points of the law be damned. Justice, real justice, was for the rich and powerful.
Still, I wouldn't give way to fear. It would be all too easy to succumb to the panic inside, to scream and cry and become a helpless wreck, but that would accomplish nothing. If I gave way now, I would be utterly defeated. I had to summon all the strength inside and cling to it. I had to endure the filth, the cruelty, the hunger, the humiliation with a stoic calm. The nightmare would soon be over. I had to keep telling myself that, over and over again. If I could endure that horrible carriage ride, I could endure anything else.
I had actually wished for death. Higgins had taken me, using me with brutal force, deliberately hurting me, while Clancy watched—a pitiful voyeur. When the coach finally stopped in front of this large, formidable brown building on Bow Street, they had had to drag me down the dark, narrow corridors, for I had been unable to walk. Now, forty-eight hours later, my body was still bruised and sore. My bronze taffeta dress was torn and soiled, my petticoats filthy. Auburn hair was damp and tangled, and there was a cut on my cheek. I knew I must look like some battered harlot from the foulest back street, but that hardly mattered.
There was a distant rumble of thunder. Cautiously, my chains
clanking as I moved, I stepped over to the window and, holding onto the cold iron bars, peered out. The sky was a dark slate gray filled with ponderous black clouds that seemed to drip a sinister purple light. The alley below was littered with fruit rinds and paper and rotting debris, and the row of flimsy brown wooden hovels seemed to be clinging together to keep from collapsing. Something long and furry scurried among the debris. A cat perched on one of the narrow window sills let out a long howl and pounced, catching the rat between its jaws and dashing down the alley with it. I shuddered.
As I clung to the bars, an aged, grotesque obese old woman in a filthy blue dress and tattered black shawl staggered into view, clutching an almost empty bottle of gin. Glancing up as she passed, she grinned a toothless grin and waved at me. I could hear her cackling with delight that someone else was behind bars and she was still free to shuffle through the squalid alleys with a few drops of gin left in the begrimed bottle.
Turning away from the window, I moved across the cell and sat down on the cot with its filth-crusted paper-thin mattress. The faint sunlight slanting through the bars had awakened me hours ago. It must be almost noon by this time. Would the mighty Roderick Mann send for me today? Probably not, I told myself. They would... they would keep me here for a week, perhaps a little longer, and then I would be released. Of course I would be released. He wanted to punish me, to crush my pride, to put me in my place, that's all. He wouldn't let me be sent to Newgate. He wouldn't let me hang...
Half an hour passed, and then I heard a key turning in the lock. It must be time for lunch, I thought, nauseated at the prospect of more of the thin, oily gruel and mouldy bread. The heavy door swung open, and the bailiff entered, but he brought no tray. He was a short, stocky, affable fellow in scuffed boots, soiled tan breeches, clingy white shirt, and leather jerkin. His chatty, pleasant manner didn't deceive me at all. I knew that he could become brutal at a moment's notice. One of the other prisoners had displeased him yesterday. Even though the stone walls were thick, I had heard him using his fists, heard the prisoner's screams. He stepped into the cell now with an amiable grin. The locksmith was right behind him, a ring of heavy keys hanging from his belt.
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