The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  "I hope so," Alistair said, glowering. "For if they don’t, I shall wring Sidmouth’s neck myself with my bare hands."

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Viola took Alistair home, forced him to take some broth, and got him into bed for an hour or two of rest.

  Then it was time to return to Newgate. It was the least they owed the condemned men, who needed to try to put their worldly affairs in order in the short time they had left.

  Some had been confident that they would somehow manage to beat the capital sentence. Others were taken by surprise and at a loss as to what to do.

  James Ings asked Viola to help write a letter to his wife Celia just before his execution. He dictated, "I must die according to the law, and leave you in a land full of corruption, where justice and liberty have taken their flight from, to other distant shores. Now my dear, I hope you will bear in mind that the cause of my being consigned to the scaffold was a pure motive. I thought I should have rendered my starving fellow-men, women, and children a service."

  Viola restrained a sniffle and continued to the end of his political sentiments. Then he wrote a few more personal words and entrusted the letter to her care.

  Viola and Alistair exchanged looks; she had never seen her husband look so despairing.

  Once they were home in the peaceful haven of their silk-draped bed, Alistair laid his head on her bosom and sighed.

  "I can’t even imagine having to write a letter like that."

  "Pray God you never have to."

  He stroked her bare shoulder tenderly. "I just want to say thank you for your love. Even if I forget to say it at times, you’ve been my beacon in all this darkness. I really couldn’t bear it if I lost you."

  "You won’t. I’m fine. We’re both fine, and we’re going to stay that way. I know how hard this is for you, but there’s nothing we can’t face if we’re together."

  "Yes, but together for how long," he worried aloud.

  "Always, no matter what."

  "It sounds like paradise, but I can't ask you to follow me into danger again."

  "You've never asked. I've offered. Wither thou goest, my darling, no matter what."

  Alistair kissed her, but then stiffened. "Oh no, love, you’re not coming with me to the exec—"

  "I have to," she said firmly. "They were my clients too, people I knew and liked, friends almost, some of them. We’ll go to Newgate together, and stand at the front. Let them know that not everyone in the audience is there to enjoy a good spectacle."

  Alistair kissed her hard, and willed the whole world to melt away as he allowed himself to be caught up in their swirling vortex of passion.

  His whole world hadn't stopped spinning since he had begun dreaming about Viola, then met her in the flesh. He wondered if he would ever feel like he was on solid ground again.

  But as he kissed his wife and held her close, he thought, solid be damned. There was only here and now, and the giddy delights of love found, and enjoyed. Of pleasure so acute it made his whole body sing, his spirit too. Even if it ended tomorrow, nothing could ever take away from all they had shared.

  All this exquisite bliss was his for the asking, he thought as he melted into her arms. The question was, what would he have to sacrifice to keep them all safe. Had he given his soul for Viola's sake? And if he had, how could he ever live with himself knowing he had sacrificed the lives of innocent men to keep his own loved ones safe?

  Was he any better than Sidmouth and Castlereagh, doing whatever they could to get what they wanted?

  "I love you, Alistair. But you're all too human, my love, for all your worldly power. There are some things even beyond your control," Viola whispered against his lips, before undulating her hips against him in a sensual gesture which sent him spiralling off into the uitimate bliss.

  "You're not the same as those men just because you bargained with Sidmouth. Your motive was love, and love alone. Theirs is only greed and hate of anything they can't understand or control.

  "So let it go, Alistair, let it all go. You were never so free as when you had died." Her hand stroked between them, hardening him still further.

  "Let it all go, my love, and live. Reborn in my arms in these flames of passion, like the phoenix. To live and fight again. To regain your faith, hope and charity, and love not only me, but all fellow men, and bring them justice one day. Black, white, rich, poor, man, woman."

  "Yes, Viola, yes, my love, yessss….."

  They melded, merged, became one with the love emanating from each other in scorching waves. As his climax wracked him, making him feel as though his outer shell had at last been peeled away and he had been turned inside out, at last Alistair knew true peace.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The morning of the first of May dawned clear and cool. Instead of celebrating the rites of spring, Viola and Alistair were in the midst of the valley of the shadow of death.

  But the men did not seem to fear. In fact, as they stood upon the scaffold, only Davidson took a blessing from the minister of the prison.

  They all refused the sacks over their heads as well, ensuring the spectacle would be gruesome in the extreme.

  Even if the hangmen were skilled, it could take a man as long as ten to twelve minutes to die if the drop from the scaffold trapdoor didn’t snap the neck. They would be struggling for air all the while, and thrashing in their death throes.

  The executioner, who trembled like a jelly, was a long time tying up the prisoners. While this operation was going on, a dead silence prevailed among the crowd.

  Viola was relieved there were no cheers and jeers. All was dignified and respectful, and proclaimed loudly the extent to which people sympathised with the five luckless men.

  The silence was broken the moment the drop fell, when the general feelings of dismay and regret were manifested by deep sighs and groans. Viola could hear, "Shame!" being muttered all around her.

  Thistlewood struggled slightly for a few minutes, but each effort was more faint than that which preceded it. Finally the body soon turned round slowly, as if upon the motion of the hand of death.

  Tidd, whose size gave cause to suppose that he would pass with little comparative pain, scarcely moved after the fall apart from a twitch or two. Mercifully, his neck had been cleanly broken.

  The struggles of Ings were great and most piteous to behold. The assistants of the executioner pulled his legs with all their might. Even then the reluctance of the soul to part from its body was to be observed in the vehement efforts of every part of his thrashing and twitching frame.

  Davidson, after three or four great heaves of all his limbs, became motionless at last.

  Brunt suffered extremely, and considerable exertions were made by the executioners and others to shorten his agonies by yanking on his legs until his neck finally snapped with a loud crack which made Viola’s stomach lurch.

  She hid her face against Alistair’s broad chest. He held her up by her elbows for fear she would tumble to the cobblestones in a dead faint.

  Traditionally they would have been cut down after only a few moments of strangulation, and then had their bowels ‘drawn’ or removed from the body, and singed with hot pokers. Finally the men would be beheaded.

  Viola was relieved to see the unfortunates were dispatched so swiftly, and could only guess it was because the executioner in charge had decided they merited clemency insofar as he could give it to them. But their heads were struck off and consigned to the Tower, to be stuck up on the gate for all of London to see.

  Alistair was determined to cover his wife’s eyes, but she shook her head. "No, I owe it to them, at least. I never want to forget. And I know who to blame."

  Then the bodies were cut into quarters, with each quarter sent to the four corners of the kingdom to demonstrate what happened to men who dared commit treason.

  Philip shook his head. "It’s going to take more than some poor dead bastards’ haunches to stop the working and middle classes from agitating for reform.
The only thing they’ve done today is added fuel to the fire of reforming zeal in this country. I’m going to use every cent of my personal fortune remaining to see that it comes about."

  John Hobhouse, one of the government ministers, stood on the other side of Alistair and said, "Trust me that this shall not go by without some form of commentary upon the significance of the occasion. I shall make a full report to the paper and my constituents."

  "And what shall you say happened here this fine May Day?" Alistair asked bitterly.

  "The truth, of course. That the men died like heroes. Ings, perhaps, was too obstreperous in singing ‘Death or Liberty’, and Thistlewood said, ‘Be quiet, Ings; we can die without all this noise.’ What else is there to say?" he sighed. "It’s over."

  "A great deal more," Viola said, trying to swallow the bile in her throat. "This isn’t finished yet. We’re not going to let this all just get swept out of sight."

  The older man shook his head. "Very commendable my dear. I admire your passionate conviction and tender heart. But it is truly over."

  Viola was determined that it would not be. After the execution of the five men, the Grants and the Rakehells had managed to stir up public opinion sufficiently for many people to raise questions in Parliament and elsewhere about the role played by Edwards in this case.

  Thomas and Randall had been relentless in their attempts to secure an appeal, but Eldon had vanished out of the city and all their efforts had been for nothing.

  Since they were Radicals, or as good as, and their sympathies clear, it remained for other more moderate people to take up the torch of freedom.

  On 2nd May, 1820, the Member of Parliament Matthew Wood stated in the House of Commons that he had information that revealed that Edwards was an agent provocateur who had organised the Cato Street Conspiracy himself and then betrayed it for ‘Blood Money’.

  Another MP, Joseph Hume, complained that Edwards was one of several spies that the government had used to incite rebellion in an effort to smear the campaign for parliamentary reform.

  The writer Edward Aylmer carried the investigation further even though the five men were dead and asserted in the Times, "Edwards was not merely an informer, who appeared to accede to the plots of others for the purpose of revealing and defeating them. He was a diabolical wretch who created the treason he disclosed, who went about - a fiend in human form - inflaming distressed and desperate wretches into crimes, in order that he might betray them to justice and make profit of their blood."

  Finally, a week after the executions, Alistair and Viola came home from the prison and saw an envelope with her name on it.

  "It’s from my brother," she said, tearing the missive open eagerly. She scanned it through and nearly slumped in relief

  "Sebastian’s got something." Viola handed it to him.

  Alistair looked it over and shouted for Philip at once.

  "Look at this," he gasped, shoving the papers towards him with trembling hands.

  "My God. George Edwards to Henry Hobhouse, Permanent Under-Secretary at the Home Office, no less, dated 5th May, 1820."

  He read aloud now. "‘According to your desire, I gave all the papers I had in my possession together with the copy of Depositions to the gentleman you sent to me on Sunday evening last. I am now in the Isle of Guernsey and think I may remain here in perfect safety till you direct otherwise.

  "‘My money will be exhausted by the time I hear from you. I beg leave your benevolent attention to my family, whom I am sure must want financial assistance by the time this letter reaches you. Whatever way you direct my wife to proceed in, she will get my brother to accomplish. All letters I receive from you shall be destroyed as soon as read."

  "It proves he is a government agent and spy," Philip said excitedly.

  "So now what?" Viola asked.

  "Now we go to Sidmouth and tell him he can’t get away with this any longer," Alistair declared.

  Viola looked doubtful. "I say we just expose him and that will be the end of it."

  "Or we force Edwards to come home to England to stand trial."

  Philip shook his head. "They will never arraign him. And all of the witnesses are dead, or convicted criminals whose testimony will be thrown out. It’s over, Alistair, I’m sorry. If only we had had this information sooner."

  Alistair was lividly angry. "I’m not quite ready to give up yet. I’m going to see Sidmouth."

  But when he got to the minister’s home he was told Viscount Sidmouth was not available. He could see the lace curtains twitch at the front of the house, however, and made several rude gestures at the window to give vent to his feelings.

  Viola, waiting patiently in the carriage, gave him a tender smile.

  "If I were any less of a lady I’d moon at the house."

  "He’d probably enjoy that too much, love. You have a gorgeous bum."

  "Where to now? Home or the chambers?"

  Alistair sighed. "I think I really have to resign—"

  Viola glared at him in outrage. "And let the buggers win? No chance. Besides, the three of us made an excellent team, and the Rakehells are still managing to keep the whole Cato Street affair very much in the minds of the public.

  "Just wait a bit longer before you decide. The last thing we want is for it to look like you’re running with your tail tucked between your legs because you’re afraid of them."

  When they got back to the chambers, however, there was a note from Lawrence Howard saying he needed to see them urgently about a package which had arrived for them from overseas.

  Alistair and Viola looked from one to the other, and shrugged. But they were always glad to visit the Howards, and so headed off in the carriage once more to see what unexpected surprise awaited them.

  George too got an unexpected summons from an old acquaintance a short time later.

  Damn, he was the last person he wanted to talk to when he was waiting for news from his friend at any moment.

  "You sent for me, Boss?" he demanded, placing just the right amount of inflection upon the last word to make it sound insulting.

  Castlereagh smiled thinly. "It would appear that our mutual friend Sebastian Morrison has been aiding his brother-in-law despite being told that this was contrary to the government’s interests."

  George kept his face perfectly still. "And what would make you think I know anything—"

  The Foreign Office minister shook his head. "Please, spare me. I know you saved the girl from Sidmouth’s men. Know you’ve been sweet on her for some time. So I’m telling you now, I want him back. There’s a bomb in one of the Rakehell houses. You have two hours to get me Edwards here safely, or I shall give the order to set it off.

  "And just in case you think you can be in several places at once, there's a cannon aimed at Alistair’s house which is going to accidentally go off in two hours as well. You bring me Edwards or else."

  "You bastard," he hissed. "And besides, why should I care? They won’t be home. It’s just a house."

  "Oh, they will be. They’ve got a note from you asking them to go to Fulham House—"

  George's eyes widened. "You bastard!"

  He glared at Castlereagh, who possessed the autocratic face of a man accustomed to commanding and to being obeyed without question. Only George was damned well questioning now.... Should have done a long time ago.

  "You might just have enough time to catch them if you hurry. I need Edwards back right now."

  "And my brothers?" George demanded furiously.

  The government minister inspected his nails with an infuriating insouciance. "I think you’ve forfeited any chance of garnering any information or favours from me at this point. Get me Edwards immediately."

  George paced up and down in front of the desk. "And what if I say I don’t believe you? Or better still, that I tell you I don’t care. That people will be asking all sorts of questions about the so-called accidents, and your government will come tumbling down like a house of cards—"

&nb
sp; "I would say you’re bluffing. Get me Edwards."

  George stood in front of the desk, his arms folded, feet planted firmly, immovable.

  Castlereagh and he faced each other squarely. In the end it was Castlereagh who yielded. "Remind me never to play cards or gamble against you. All right, what do you want?" he asked with a sigh.

  "Sebastian out of the game and the Rakehells safe. All of them."

  "And your brothers?"

  "I’ll find them, and I will look forward to living until a ripe old age. You, on the other hand..." He gave his best Gallic shrug and ‘phut’ noise.