by Ruby Moone
“Can you get in?” Jo appeared at his elbow.
David examined the safe and the lock.
“It’s a lever,” he said, and she smiled. A lever lock was much easier to pick than the newer Barron locks with their square cut mechanism which was much harder to manipulate. David pulled out a long instrument from his pocket and set about opening the door. It didn’t take long before he was pulling it open with a pounding heart. They took out bundles of papers, careful not to disturb them, and sorted through methodically, but when they had been through the contents three times they were forced to admit defeat. The letter was not there.
Jo put a hand on his shoulder. David closed his eyes and breathed deep. “Where else?”
“Bedchamber?”
David nodded. He returned the papers and letters carefully so as not to alert the owner to the fact that they had been tampered with, hesitated a moment, and slid a packet of documents into his pocket. He might not have found the letter he wanted, but the information he had inadvertently found would be explosive in the right hands and might be useful leverage if it came to it. Any kind of communication with the French government had to be useful, particularly one that identified members of the British aristocracy. He smiled to himself and wondered if anyone was just what they seemed.
Once everything was returned, they slid silently out of the room. The large landing was deserted.
“Any ideas,” David said, looking around at the opulence.
“Next floor?”
They ran lightly up the stairs and followed the widest corridor, dipping into rooms occasionally to avoid maids and footmen at work. Eventually they located what looked like the master’s rooms, but a valet was there. Frustrated, they waited in an adjacent room for him to leave, but he didn’t. He remained stubbornly in place, doing whatever it was valets did when their master was absent. Apparently, it was a lot of things.
* * * *
An hour later, the valet left the room. At the soft click, both jumped, and David put his eye to the crack in the door they hid behind, and watched the valet walk away. Once he was fully out of sight, and the corridors empty, they moved towards Standish’s door. It wasn’t locked.
“We can only take a moment,” Jo said. “Let me keep a lookout. If he comes back I will pretend to be lost and try to divert him.”
David took a breath, and then proceeded to work the room methodically. He went through everything. Drawers, pockets, books, everything and found nothing. Nothing at all.
He was stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips when Jo returned.
“Nothing?”
He shook his head.
“We need to get out of here.”
David nodded.
It was with a heavy heart that he exited the Standish mansion. He ached inside at the thought that he had failed. Completely and utterly.
Once outside, David squeezed Jo’s arm. “Let’s go home. You should change. You look odd like that.” It was true.
She nodded and gave him another smile. This one, almost shy.
“What?” he said when she hesitated, and was stunned when she came and put her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek.
“What?” he repeated, laughing.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Something went warm in David’s chest. “Soft sod,” he said, returning the hug. “Let’s go home so you can get your dress on.”
Jo pulled away, straightened the collar of David’s jacket, and then looked at him. Her eyelashes were wet. “I told him about me. He was lovely. We’ll get him back.”
David swallowed and nodded.
Chapter 20
When the door to the cell room opened again there was weak light filtering into the room which suggested he’d been there all night. Jeremy held his breath. When the guard opened his cell, unlocked his shackle and dragged him out his heart beat frantically. Was this it? Had David come?
“Where are you taking me?” he managed to croak.
The guard dragged him up the stairs, and Jeremy had to squint at the bright light. They shoved him out of the door and into a waiting cart with two other men in.
Jeremy staggered and grabbed the side of the cart. It was freezing cold and a light rain had settled in. “Wh…where are you taking me?” His heart beat so fast he felt lightheaded. Where was David?
The guard pushed him hard, and he fell on his backside. The guard grabbed his leg and snapped on a set of shackles, manacling his hands making it impossible to move. Panic bubbled inside him.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Sit still,” one of the men said. He was an older man, grey in his hair and a beard on his chin. He looked dishevelled but had the demeanour of a gentleman. “They are taking us to Newgate.” He nodded to the huge edifice of the prison that loomed in front of them.
“They can’t take me there, I haven’t had a trial. Don’t I get a trial? I don’t want to go there,” he said, tugging at his chain, stumbling as the cart jolted. The man caught him and forced him to sit.
“You will be brought before the jury, have no worries. They will take us to the prison to await trial.” His voice was weary.
The cart rattled across the road to the imposing building beyond. Newgate was, for Jeremy, the very definition of hell. It rose before them, huge, cold, and unyielding. He closed his eyes and held onto his composure.
David, David, where are you?
* * * *
The stench was abominable. Jeremy clamped his hands over his mouth and nose as best he could, and he gagged. Once inside, he was separated from the man in the carriage who had spoken kindly to him. He was taken to somewhere called the Stone Hall, but Jeremy was dragged to the Press Yard. He could barely walk with the shackles on his legs and stumbled to keep up. His stomach heaved repeatedly, and the warden laughed.
“Bit rich for ye, laddie?”
There were burly guards with what looked like cudgels standing by the door. Jeremy’s heart was racing so fast he was shaking. He knew what the Press Yard was, he knew who were kept there.
“I haven’t done anything,” he whispered.
“What they all say.”
“But I haven’t. I’m not a condemned man, I haven’t seen a jury, I don’t belong in there!” Panic was making his voice shrill,
“You’ll ‘ave the run of the Press Yard and the Association Room if you behave,” the man said. The yard was long and narrow. High walls with windows on each side. “Except on Mondays when they dance the Newgate Hornpipe,” the man said with a cackle. Jeremy was thrust into the yard where several men sat idly. Some manacled, some sleeping, others staring blankly at him for a moment before turning away. The gaoler removed the manacles from his hands, but left his legs bound. He walked briskly away without another word. Alone, Jeremy stood shaking. His stomach heaved again, and he sank to the floor and huddled against the wall, hoping no-one would take any notice of him. His legs and ankles were in agony. The coarse metal of the manacles bit into his skin and the brief walk had torn into his flesh. He moved and tried to find somewhere on his legs they could rest without touching the raw skin, but it wasn’t possible. The freezing cold had numbed him, but not enough. He swallowed several times and tried to hold onto his composure, but his head was pounding, his entire body hurt, and his heart beat so fast he couldn’t stop trembling. Inside his head he was screaming and screaming but he sat quietly.
And waited.
* * * *
They arrived at Kendrick’s and were ushered into the back room. Kendrick was the only other person who knew Jo Crawford’s past. Kendrick looked grim.
“What is it?” David asked, moving to take Kendrick’s arm. “What has happened?”
“They’ve moved him to the Press Yard.”
Jo sank into a chair with a hand to her mouth. David’s heart hammered in his chest. “He’s not been tried. The Press Yard and the Association Rooms are where the condemned are kept. He’s not
been tried.”
“Doesn’t need to be,” Kendrick said. “Apparently he’s keeping quiet and keeping his head down which is a good thing. He needs to stay out of trouble.”
David pulled himself together and paced the small room, running one hand through his hair and the other over his mouth.
“I can pay to get him moved to the gentlemen’s accommodations. I need to go and see him. He needs to know we are going to get him free.”
“I don’t know if they’ve put him in the salt boxes,” Kendrick said. David pinched the bridge of his nose. The salt boxes were the cells the condemned were thrown into.
“Can you get a message to him? Do you have people inside?”
“I do, but it will cost.”
“Anything.”
“What do you want to say?”
David thought of all the things he wanted to say. Of all the things he hadn’t said. He swallowed several times and pursed his lips. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
“I’m coming for you.”
* * * *
The butler put them in Charnley’s study. Jo sat by the fire, hands held primly on her lap, having changed back into her own clothing, David paced, hands scrubbing through his hair again.
Charnley came into the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
“What is it?” he said, taking one look.
“Did you draft the false document?”
Charnley sucked in a breath and looked pointedly at Jo.
David just shook his head. “Mrs. Crawford is my housekeeper. She knows everything.”
Charnley walked to the sideboard and held up a decanter of brandy. He gestured to David who nodded. He poured two glasses. “I envy you your certainty in your staff.”
David gave a small smile as he exchanged a glance with Jo.
“I take it you didn’t find the letter?”
“No. Nothing. Went through his safe and personal possessions but nothing.”
“Disappointing,” he said, and passed a brandy to David. “Can I get you something, my dear? Ratafia perhaps?” he said to Jo.
“Brandy will be fine, thank you.”
Charnley hesitated momentarily, and then glanced at David as if Jo’s word wasn’t enough. He stared back, so, with a small shrug Charnley poured her a small glass and handed it over.
“Jeremy has been moved to Newgate. The Press Yard.”
Charnley grimaced. “Then we need to move quickly. If they try him, it will be a matter of days before the punishment is exacted.”
“So, you need to give the evidence to Standish. Today.”
Charnley took a drink, clearly deep in thought. David wanted to scream but remained silent. Charnley nodded.
“But, we need Jeremy out of Newgate before he gets his hands on it.”
Charnley flicked him a glance and David’s temper began to fray. “Do not play me false in this, brother,” he said.
Charnley looked him square in the eye.
“Is this you asking me for help?”
David moved to stand in front of him. “I need your help just as much as you need mine. Play false and I will ruin you and Kingston more thoroughly than Standish could ever dream of doing.”
“As I would have you and Naylor hung so fast your head would spin.”
They stood toe to toe.
Jo cleared her throat. “Gentlemen? Might I suggest that we simply get on with matters and continue the posturing when there is less at stake?”
Charnley’s eyes closed and he swallowed. “Forgive me. You are right, Mrs. Crawford. Let’s get on.” He walked to his desk and pulled out a sheaf of documents and spread them for David and Jo to see. It appeared to be signed by the king.
“This should do it.”
“Secrets for your letter and Jeremy’s release.”
Charnley nodded.
“Do it now. I want him out of there.”
“Lambert, we need to play this very carefully. Let me deal with it. I will see Standish first thing.”
David had no option but to agree. But it meant Jeremy had to spend the night in Newgate.
* * * *
David lay staring into the darkness, unable to sleep. Eventually he was forced to get up and light a candle. The clock told him it was three o’clock in the morning. He poured himself a drink and sat in a chair by the window. He wished he could be sure of Charnley, but he wasn’t. He had never been able to fathom the man’s attempts at friendship. Never wanted anything to do with the Charnley family. Yet tonight, they appeared to have reached a tentative agreement. He took a long drink and thought about Jeremy and wondered if his message would be delivered. Wondered if Jeremy had faith, knew that he would get him out. Eventually, his thoughts drifted to his mother. He hadn’t thought of her in many a year. Remembered the feeling of complete and utter helplessness and fear as he held her hand, how he willed her to get better, but the fever had taken her. A feeling he hadn’t felt before or since, until now.
He drank the rest of his brandy and then got dressed. It was cold outside, freezing inside the prison, he’d wager, so he pulled on his greatcoat and hat. He left the house quietly and walked. He walked and walked until he stood outside Newgate gaol. He’d been in there once. Only a short spell, and he’d managed to get out relatively unscathed, but he knew what happened to people in there. Knew what gaol fever was like, knew people died before they even got to the gallows. He stood before the great gate and looked at the windows. The turnkeys would be in those rooms. He walked around, mapping the interior in his head. He could remember the parts that he had seen, even though he’d been barely conscious, and knew that if Jeremy was in the Press Yard he would be well guarded. He sat on the ground opposite the building and leaned against a wall. They would be constructing the gallows soon for the hangings planned for Monday and the whole area would be teeming with people. He thought a moment.
Teeming with people.
His heart beat a little faster. The prisoners would stay locked in cells whilst the hanging took place, but attention would be on the hanging, and he might, just might be able to get inside. He had no idea how difficult the locks would be to pick, but they couldn’t be overly complicated, they were old. He bent his knees and rested his elbows on them. He was freezing. Jeremy would be freezing, too.
He sat, and watched, and thought.
* * * *
Jeremy lay on a cold, hard cot with a thin, stinking blanket. He was frozen. His head ached abominably, his feet and ankles throbbed, and every part of his body felt flayed and raw. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the warmth and softness of David’s bed, and the feel of his skin, but he couldn’t. He tried to remember the glide of silk across his skin, but he couldn’t. He coughed and listened to the cacophony of sounds from the prison. Hundreds of terrified souls shackled and freezing. He wondered if anyone ever froze to death in the prison. David would come before that happened. David would come.
* * * *
“You look like death.” Jo Crawford poured him some tea and handed him a plate of eggs. He couldn’t even look at it. Shaking his head, he accepted the tea. It had been a long night, but by the end of it, David knew what he had to do. It was Saturday morning, he had two days to work with Charnley and if that produced nothing, then he would break into the prison whilst the hanging was taking place and get Jeremy out. Simple. He felt better for having a plan.
“Will you let me visit him?” Jo said.
David smiled sadly at her. “It would be folly. What if they suspected. Imagine what would happen.”
She nodded. “I’ve thought of that. I’d go as Joseph.”
David hesitated. “I cannot keep asking this of you.”
“He needs to know that we are working to get him out. Needs a friendly face. We also need to keep you away from the place.
“If you could go and note where he is being held, if I get in I will know where to go.”
“Get in?” Jo frowned at him. “Are you going to try and get into the prison
?”
David scrubbed his face. “If we don’t have him free by Monday, I’m going to get in whilst everyone is distracted by the hangings.”
Jo’s posture shifted, and she became alert.
“I’ve heard there will be three hangings on Monday, one of them a woman, so the crowd will undoubtedly be huge. I think I can get in quickly and get him out.”
David watched as Jo thought. One finger tapping her lip. “He’ll be manacled, but you would be able to pick that easily.”
“I imagine so. If you could tell me what kind of locks are in there, manacles and doors, that would help.” David felt a surge of hope.
Jo nodded thoughtfully. “If you do break in you could take clothes for him, a hat perhaps? Less conspicuous.”
David nodded, thankful to actually talk about it, have a plan. “If you visited, you could tell him to be ready for me? Tell him I will come for him whilst the hanging is taking place?” He got up and paced the kitchen. “You could take him some decent food. He’ll be starving by now.”
“Definitely. And some salve for his legs. The shackles are vicious.”
David nodded. “I’ve paid for him to have accommodations in the gentlemen’s quarters, but I’ve no idea how long that will take, or even if it will happen.”
“What might help is someone on the inside.” Jo tapped a finger to her lips as she thought. “Could Charnley get an invitation to the hanging? He could divert people for us.”
David thought about that. It might just be possible. He felt the first flicker of anticipation. They could do this.
* * * *
Jeremy ate the stale bread that had been left for him and drank a little of the brackish ale and grimaced. His entire body hurt. His head still pounded, and he felt oddly hot despite the cold. They’d put him in a cell away from the others. He didn’t know what that meant. It was Sunday. They would be hanging people tomorrow. He could only pray he wouldn’t be amongst them. Could they do that? Could they hang him without a trial? Was that why they had moved him? Nothing would surprise him.