“I’m not anxious to get the pox!” Gordon snapped.
The city of London was an excellent place to encounter the pox, for prostitutes swarmed the city streets. But Gordon had been infected twice already and had no desire to go through the terribly painful cure once again. The three men stopped at a tavern and drank for a while, and by the time they staggered out, the streets were less crowded, but the sounds coming from the inns and taverns that lined both sides of the avenue were loud. Sir Bartley Gordon was still in a foul mood, angry at having suffered such losses at the cockfight. When this happened he usually struck out at someone vulnerable. His power, money, and high connections had saved him from paying for this sort of behavior, but now he blinked and stared through the murky fog, ready to exercise his will on anyone weaker.
———
Sabrina took the bank notes from the small gray-haired man and handed over the necklace. “Thank you,” she murmured and tucked the bills into a small reticule.
The jeweler shook his head. “Not wise to walk the streets with that much cash, miss.”
“I’m only going a short way. I’ll be all right.”
“If you were wise, you’d leave that cash here and pick it up in the morning.”
Sabrina shook her head. She had left her aunt’s house earlier after having a furious argument with her. Elberta had informed her that she was insane to leave England, that she would be scalped by the red Indians, but Sabrina had paid her no heed. Her mind was made up, and she was anxious for the adventure to begin. Now that she had the cash in hand, she did not want to turn loose of it. She was not an expert in bargaining, but she had held out for a good price for the diamond necklace. She felt the weight of the money and the pleasant plumpness of the reticule and felt that she was not ready to surrender it even for one night.
“I’ll be fine. Thank you, sir,” said Sabrina as she left the store.
Nervously she peered through the fog for a hackney carriage, but there seemed to be none on this narrow, twisted street. She straightened her back and walked on, passing many inns and taverns. The sounds of the city seemed to be muffled by the heavy blanket of fog. Suddenly three dark forms loomed up in front of her. She shrank back against the shop that banked the street and allowed them to pass, but instead the smaller of the men suddenly turned to confront her. The two other men, one of them very large and the other tall and thin, formed a half circle around her. “Well, now, what have we here? A lady of the evening, no doubt.”
“Let me pass,” Sabrina said as firmly as she could. She was aware of the reticule filled with money, and fear came on her as she thought of what could happen in a situation like this. She berated herself for not giving heed to the jeweler’s advice, but now tried to appear more confident than she felt. “Get out of my way!” she demanded.
The smaller of the men, she saw, was dressed in an expensive, ornate outfit. Taking a good look at his face, she suddenly recognized the man, for she had met him briefly at social functions. “Pardon me, Sir Bartley. I must hurry.”
Bartley Gordon was very drunk. He peered at the woman closely. “You know me?”
“Yes. I’m Miss Fairfax. We’ve met several times.”
“Well, it is indeed Miss Fairfax!” He stepped closer, and Sabrina could smell the raw alcohol on his breath. He was smiling at her crookedly, and there was something sinister about the man that frightened her. “You wouldn’t give me a dance the last time we met in Bath. Perhaps we’ll have one now.”
“Please let me go. I’m late.”
“There’s no hurry.” Gordon took her arm and turned to give Gere a wink. “This lady refused the pleasure of my company. Can you believe that, Gere?”
“Hard to believe, Sir Bartley. But she can’t refuse you now.” Gere laughed coarsely and said, “Go on and have your dance.”
Gordon was obviously enjoying his moment. When Sabrina tried to pull away, he closed his hand and held her tightly. “Now, there’s no hurry.” He laughed drunkenly and turned to nod at Yule. “She won’t be so proud now. Her father lost all his money. From what I heard you were thrown out on the streets. Well, you and I may be able to fix that.” He pulled her closer and tried to kiss her, but Sabrina turned her head and shoved him away.
“You’re not a gentleman! You never were!”
The words inflamed Gordon. “Not a gentleman! Well, you’re not a lady, so that makes us even. Come along. You can show me a good time. Maybe I can make up some of the money your fool of a father threw away.”
Rook Gere suddenly laughed. “She’s got a purse there. Me and Yule will take that, and you can have her, Sir Bartley.”
“That sounds fair enough. Come along, sweetheart.”
Sabrina suddenly screamed at the top of her lungs. “Please, somebody help me! Somebody come—please!”
Gordon slapped her across the side of the face, and the cry was broken off. “Shut your mouth, wench!” he snarled. “You had your fun with me, and now it’s my turn to get some of my own back!” He started dragging her toward the mouth of an alley that opened darkly ten feet away. Sabrina continued to cry out for help, but again he cuffed her, and she fought him with all of her strength.
Gere and Yule laughed, and it was Yule who said, “Let’s have that reticule, woman. It’ll get in your way while you’re having your dance with your gentleman friend here.”
Yule reached out and made a grab for the reticule, but Sabrina jerked it back and with a catlike swipe ran her fingernails down the side of his face. They broke the skin, and Yule let out a screeching cry. He cursed and said, “Come on, Rook, help me get that bag.”
Black terror filled Sabrina. She had never in her life been threatened in any way, and now she knew that the very worst awaited her. She cried out again and this time tried to dodge as Sir Bartley Gordon struck at her with his fist. One of his blows caught her high on the forehead, and stars suddenly wheeled in front of her eyes. She fell back against the brick wall of the building and felt the hands of one of the men pulling at her reticule—but at the same time she heard a new voice.
“All right, you three—scratch for it!”
Sabrina turned and saw that a man had appeared out of the fog and now stood confronting the three who were gathered around her. “Please help me!” she cried.
“On your way, fellow!” Bartley Gordon snapped. “This is none of your affair!”
“I’ll go, and I’ll just take the lady with me.”
Sabrina could not see the face of the speaker clearly, but she noticed a slight foreign quality to his speech. He didn’t appear to be carrying a weapon. She started to get up off the ground, saying, “Help me get away!”
Rook Gere clamped his huge hand on her arm. “Stay right where you are!” he growled and then turned to face the newcomer. “Get out of here or I’ll break your face!”
Sabrina was aware of the crushing power of this man. His hand on her arm was so powerful that it was paralyzing her. She tried to pull away, but she might as well have been encased in cement.
“I’ll give you one more chance and that’s all. Now let the lady go.”
“Beat him down, Gere!” Bartley Gordon screamed. “He’s only one.”
Sabrina felt her arm released and staggered, but she was instantly grabbed by Gordon. She struggled against him but kept her eyes fixed on the scene before her. The monstrous man advanced toward the newcomer. She did not see what happened next, so quick was the movement, but she heard a sudden woosh accompanied by several other solid, meaty-sounding blows. She saw Rook driven backward against the wall, and then the stranger struck him in the face, sending him down. The stranger whirled and landed a hard right on the chin of the other man, who had moved in behind him.
Now he turned to Sir Bartley. “Let go of her,” he said as he took a step closer. Gordon did not move, and the stranger suddenly struck out. His fist caught Gordon right under the heart, and he uttered a short, piercing gasp and staggered backward.
Sabrina, now that she
was free, moved away, and the man who had come out of the fog directed, “Down this way, miss.”
“Stop right where you are!”
Sabrina turned her head and saw that Sir Bartley Gordon had pulled a small pistol from under his coat. She heard the click as he pulled the hammer back and said, “I’ll kill you if you don’t leave right now. The lady stays here!”
Sabrina froze with fear. She had never been in such a deadly situation, and she felt herself growing faint.
“Put the gun away.”
“I’ll put you away!” Bartley screamed. He lifted the pistol, and perhaps by accident or perhaps intentionally, his finger tightened on the trigger. The explosion seemed very loud to Sabrina, who saw the stranger lunge forward and grab the pistol from Gordon, then strike him full in the face. The force of the blow drove Gordon back, and he fell full length.
The stranger turned his eyes to the two men who were struggling to their feet, then said quietly, “We’d best go at once, miss.”
But they had no chance to leave, for suddenly four men appeared. “What’s all this?” the largest of them said.
“These men were trying—” Sabrina had no opportunity to finish, for Sir Gordon had scrambled to his feet and was screaming.
“This man was trying to rob me! I shot at him, but I missed.”
“What’s your name?” one of the watchmen said. The other three had surrounded the group and stood watchfully. They all carried large billy clubs, and one of them had a pistol in his hand.
“I’m Sir Bartley Gordon, and I demand you arrest this fellow! He’s a cutpurse.”
“That’s not so!” Sabrina said hotly.
“She was in it with him. She came out and accosted us. She’s a harlot! Take them in at once!”
The man said, “We’ll go down and get this straightened out.” He picked up the pistol that was lying on the street and looked at it. “What do you know about this?” he asked the stranger.
“These three men were trying to abuse this lady, and I tried to help. This one pulled the pistol and shot at me, so I knocked him down.”
“What about the other two? You knocked them down, too?”
“That’s the way it was,” Sabrina said quickly.
“Well, we can’t do anything in the middle of the street.” The sergeant looked around at the small crowd that had gathered to see the action. “Come along. We’ll let the magistrate decide about all this.”
****
The magistrate was a feeble man who should not have been in charge of anything. The only thing he really heard when the watchman explained the situation was Bartley Gordon’s title: Sir. Judge Isaac Jones was a worshiper of the upper classes and could not conceive of anything being done wrong by such a one as this. He listened as Sir Bartley explained how he and his companions had been accosted by the two, and then he turned his attention in a halfhearted fashion to hear the story of the accused. “What’s your name?” he said in a surly tone.
“Sion Kenyon.”
At that moment Sabrina suddenly realized why the man had seemed so familiar. She had not had time to exchange a word with him, but when they had come into the light of the station he had looked familiar. She remembered suddenly that this was the man she had seen in the prizefight on the River Thames, the one she had given ten pounds to. She stared at him in disbelief, but she had no time to do more than that, for the judge said roughly, “Robbing is a serious business in London. You’ll pay for it. I’ll bind you over for trial next Thursday. Case dismissed.”
“But, Judge, he didn’t do it!” Sabrina exclaimed.
“She’s in it with him,” Sir Bartley retorted.
“You have no proof of any of this. Just their word,” Sabrina said.
“I’m holding this man! Get out of here, and if I see you again, I’ll show you how rough I can be on harlots walking the streets of our fair city!”
Anger laced through Sabrina at the injustice of the situation. She turned to face the man who had come to her rescue and said, “I’ll find some legal help for you.”
“Thank you, miss,” was all he said.
As Sabrina turned and left the station, she found herself weak. The reticule still dangled from her wrist, but if Sion Kenyon had not appeared out of the darkness of the night, she well knew what her condition would be at this moment. I’ve got to help him, she thought desperately. I’ve got to do something!
****
Before this whole mess started, Sabrina had purchased passage on a ship that would leave tomorrow for Portsmouth, Virginia. After studying her deed and a map of the New World, she had determined that it would be fairly simple to find her way to the land that now belonged to her. Now she thought again how strange it was that she had encountered the boxer that she had witnessed not too long ago on the barge. She was not a great believer in providence, but she well knew he had saved her from a terrible fate.
She headed for the court where the trial would take place. She had never been to a trial of any kind, and she was unhappy with the barrister she had hired to help Sion Kenyon in his battle. His name was Everett Slavins, and she knew nothing about him—she had simply asked for someone in the office who could help her friend. Slavins had been unimpressive, but his fee had been impressive enough. He had listened to her story and said finally, “Miss Fairfax, I will go to appear for your friend, but I’ll tell you now there’s little hope.”
“But he didn’t do it.”
“But Sir Bartley Gordon says he did.”
“Well, I say he didn’t, and I’m an impartial witness!”
“The judge that Kenyon will appear before will believe Gordon, and you can believe me on that.”
Sabrina had paid the minimum fee for which Slavins had agreed to appear in court. He had warned her it would be a very brief appearance, for his fee was nominal.
Now as she entered the courtroom, Sabrina took her seat. She found a noisy, loud crowd and sat through several cases. The judge sat on a high platform, wearing his white wig and black robe. He said little, but there was a harshness about him that spoke of long practice at putting people in jail or sentencing them to the gallows. Finally Kenyon was led in, and Sabrina saw his eyes go over the courtroom. He found her, and when their eyes met, she tried to smile. He returned the smile rather tightly before sitting down beside Slavins.
The trial was not what Sabrina had expected. The judge listened as the prosecutor stated the case and made an impassioned plea for ridding the streets of riffraff so that innocent people would be free to walk in London without fear of being robbed or murdered.
A handsomely dressed Sir Bartley Gordon took the stand first. Speaking calmly and simply, he explained, “My two friends and I were walking along the street when this woman came out and accosted us. We thought she was a harlot, of course, and we told her to be on her way. Then this other fellow came out and put a gun on us. He demanded our money. One of my friends knocked the gun from his hand, and it went off, and there was a scuffle. That’s when the watchmen arrived and took the man into custody.”
Slavins rose and tried to shake Gordon’s story, but Gordon simply stared at him as if he were an insect. Finally the judge said, “That will be enough badgering. Sit down, Mr. Slavins.”
After Slavins sat down, the judge asked, “Do you have any defense?”
“I would like to call Sion Kenyon as my witness.”
Kenyon made his way into the dock. When Slavins said, “Would you please relate what happened?” he began to speak.
Sabrina was impressed at the simplicity of his reply, for she knew it was the truth, but she could see that the judge did not agree. When the prosecuting attorney, a big bulky man named Simmons, got up, he began to demand answers.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Kenyon?”
“I’m a pugilist.”
“Oh, one of the roughs!”
This gave the key to Simmons’s prosecution. Everyone knew that prizefighters were violent men and thieves as well, the very low
est class of English life. He tried to shake Kenyon’s story, but when Kenyon simply stuck to it, he laughed and said, “Well, that’s what you would tell, but I’m sure the judge knows whom to believe.”
It was a lost cause, Sabrina recognized, and in the end the judge simply said, “I find you guilty and sentence you to ten years of hard labor.
“Oh no!” Sabrina said under her breath. She could not see Kenyon’s face, for he was facing the judge, but when he was taken away, he gave her one look and a nod.
Sabrina went straight to Slavins, who was busy gathering up his papers. “I told you it would be that way,” he said gloomily. “There’s no hope.”
“But isn’t there something that can be done?”
“He was found guilty. He’ll go to prison. He might get a few years off for good behavior, maybe not.”
“There must be something we can do, Mr. Slavins!”
Slavins straightened up and looked at her. He felt bad about losing the case, even though it was lost before it began. He studied the woman before him and said, “There are only two things I can think of.”
“What are they? I’ll do anything I can to help him.”
Slavins lowered his voice and leaned forward, speaking almost in a whisper. “Sometimes men who are found guilty and sentenced are pressed into service for the navy. It’s a terrible life serving on one of His Majesty’s war ships, but it’s better than prison.”
“Why, I can’t do anything about that.”
“Of course not, but there’s another way. The prisons are full right now, and they’re anxious to get rid of as many men as possible. Sometimes people take on convicted felons to serve as indentured servants.”
“How does that work?”
“They agree to be responsible for the prisoner, who is obligated to serve them for a set number of years. Two or five or even ten years. At the end of that time they’re set free. It’s a form of slavery, in effect, and many people who are starting plantations—say in the Caribbean—need cheap help, so they take a bunch of felons with them. Pretty hard on them, they are. Work them to death most of the time.”
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