The Infamous Rogue

by The Infamous Rogue (lit)

  William looked grave. “We have to get to him before word leaks that he’s been captured and the gaol is surrounded with spectators.”

  Quincy nodded. “Last time a woman hanged, forty thousand gathered at Newgate to witness the execution.”

  “Salacious criminals and infamous crimes draw spectators.” Edmund frowned and crossed his arms across his chest. “How many do you think will come to Newgate once word spreads that Black Hawk’s in the gaol? We’ll never get inside the fortress then. We have to do this tonight!”

  “Think of Belle,” Quincy pleaded, eyes round and imploring in that charming—hoodwinking—fashion. “She almost died in childbirth two months ago. She’s still recovering from the ordeal. The stress of James’s execution might send her into regression.”

  “All right.” Sophia lifted her hands in defeat. The pup had sensed her misgiving. He had offered her the one bit of sound reasoning she was willing to listen to: the duchess’s good health. “I’ll help you save James from the gallows for Belle’s sake. What do you want me to do?”

  Chapter 24

  The walls of Newgate stood thick and craggy with soot.

  Sophia stared at Debtors’ Door: the ominous gateway that the condemned had to pass through on their short journey to the scaffolds. The hangman was already preparing the ropes for that morning’s executions scheduled to commence at eight o’clock sharp. Simple wood coffins lined the platform, ready to protect the corpses from the rowdy mob seeking macabre souveniers and preserve them for the anatomists.

  Sophia shuddered. She had a hard belly. She had witnessed many executions on the island. But knowing James was inside the sturdy stone walls, that soon he might stand on the gallows and take his place inside a dark coffin, chilled her.

  “Where are they?” grumbled Edmund. “They’re never late. It’s every morning at half past seven, right?”

  Quincy gesticulated with his hand. “Here they come!”

  Sophia eyed the troupe of hooded ladies, dutifully bobbing along Old Bailey Street. The females turned the corner onto Newgate Street and headed south toward the prison gates.

  Quincy pressed the basket into her hands. “Remember your guise?”

  “I’m part of the woman’s reform movement for the better treatment of convicts,” she repeated the mantra, while Edmund lifted her hood.

  William then grabbed her by the arms and looked firmly into her eyes. “Find him. Signal us when it’s safe to enter. Don’t go after him yourself. If you’re captured aiding his escaping, you’ll hang alongside him.”

  She nodded brusquely.

  “We’ll have you home in time for breakfast.” He sighed. “Good luck, Sophia.”

  She snorted. Luck? She didn’t believe in the rot. Sound wits, good instincts, and a flair with a dagger were all she needed.

  Sophia stepped away from the protection of the shadows and scurried across the junction under the cover of dusk. She eyed the great dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral, struck by the juxtaposition between eternal life and gruesome death, before she surreptitiously joined the line of females, pretending to be part of the charitable organization.

  As she neared the gaol gates, she gripped the wicker handle with more vim. The looming structure was three stories high. There were two single doors at ground level, positioned under lintels, leading to the quarters for the turnkeys. The main entrance was raised and flanked by the lesser doors. Two sets of steps, one from the north, the other from the south, sloped at a steady elevation toward the center entranceway.

  Sophia mounted the northern steps, gazing through the double arched windows as she waited in formation, for each woman had to present the contents of her basket before she was permitted entry into the formidable gaol.

  Sophia licked her lips as she reached the main door. She flicked her wrist and removed the white kerchief, revealing the bread and cheese.

  The burly sentry prodded the contents with a fixed frown before he bobbed his head, granting her passage.

  Sophia swallowed the sigh that had welled in her throat. She skirted after the other philanthropists, moving through the keeper’s house and past the lodges for the turnkeys. The group cut through the chapel, located in the center of the gaol. William had offered her a printed map of the interior, and Sophia had memorized the layout of the prison.

  She passed through the men’s quadrangle, a vast stone courtyard. Female felons were housed to the south and debtors to the north. She had only a few minutes to peruse the male convicts, housed in the east wing, and locate James before the humanitarians moved on to the other inmates.

  Sophia quietly tailed the ambitious matrons as the party entered the poorly lit men’s ward. She quickly gasped as the putrid stench of sickness and unwashed bodies filled her lungs, making her choke, and she tamped the urge to vomit into the bowel of her belly. The floor was greasy, and the pitiful whimpers from the chained prisoners resounded throughout the tunnels.

  Sophia shivered. She set to work, handing out the loaves of bread and cuts of cheese through the small rifle slots in the iron cell doors. The eager convicts— men and boys alike—reached their grimy hands through the openings, fingers trembling with hunger.

  Sophia was brimming with compassion. But she wasn’t here to set all the wretches free…just one.

  James.

  He was in the dark hell, trapped. But where? She glanced through the tunnels, peered into the dank wards. How was she going to locate him in the labyrinth?

  “Thank ye, miss.”

  Sophia glanced at the frail hand clutching the rye bread. It was a child’s hand, and she crouched, peering through the square portal. “What is your crime, young man?”

  A set of gloomy eyes observed her. “Pickin’ pockets, miss.”

  Sophia sighed. “What is to become of you?”

  “The colony, miss.”

  Australia, she thought grimly, patting the boy’s hand in support, about to move off, when she thought to inquire in a whisper: “Is there a new prisoner? I have bread for him, too.”

  “Aye, miss.” The lad stuffed his gaunt and sallow cheeks with the fare, mumbling, “He come through last night, thrashin’ and hollerin’.”

  That sounded like James, she thought dryly.

  “Did you see where the gaolers took him?”

  The urchin pointed a sharp and bony finger through the portal. “There, miss. Up them steps.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  Sophia lifted off her haunches and traversed the passageway. Curved steps spiraled between the two male wards—and one cantankerous-looking guard defended them.

  James had to be secured apart from the other convicts; his notorious reputation warranted the segregation. But she had to be certain before she summoned the rest of his brothers inside the gaol. If she was wrong, if the brothers aimlessly fumbled through the prison looking for the captain—and were captured—it might mean all their necks in a noose.

  Sophia meshed her lips together. She steadied her thumping heart with a few measured breaths before she coolly approached the sentry.

  The surly devil moved to curtail her steps. He obstructed her ascent with his wide shoulders—and belligerent glare. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Unflappably she lifted the basket. “I have food for the prisoner.”

  “No.” The man’s words clipped. “No food for this one.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sophia quickly retreated. If she pestered the gaoler, he might suspect something was amiss, and yet she was convinced James was secured upstairs. How to reach him and be sure?

  Sophia spotted the hairy ball. It scuttled across the slick stone floor. She smirked, an idea popping into her head.

  She tiptoed after the vermin, glanced from side to side, then scooped up the rat by the cool, slick tail, gently setting the wriggling rodent into the basket of a passing matron.

  Sophia swiftly skirted off. She ensconced herself in the shadows…and observed as the woman reached inside h
er basket.

  The scream bounced off the walls in the long and cavernous passage.

  A whistle shrieked. Sentries circled the woman, perhaps convinced the convicts had accosted her, but the kerfuffle would last only a few seconds before the truth was revealed.

  Sophia glanced at the stairwell. The stationed guard had abandoned his post to assist the philanthropist, just as Sophia had surmised. She slipped out of the shadows and briskly climbed the winding steps. On the second level, she found another ward. She whisked through the tunnel, past the empty cells, and headed for the one sealed door at the end of the passage.

  Sophia hunkered. She opened the rifle slot and peeked inside the room. “James?”

  A large, dark figure rested in the opposite corner, surrounded by dank-smelling straw.

  “James?” she hissed, tongue parched. She licked her lips again and squinted, the portal small. “James, is that you?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Something quivered in Sophia’s belly at the sound of his raspy voice. It was a profound sentiment that stirred her blood and swelled in her veins, making her heart throb and her muscles clench.

  “Shhh.” She glanced over her shoulder, but the passage remained empty. “I’m going to fetch your brothers.”

  “No.”

  She huffed. “What?”

  “Get out, Sophia. And stay out! Don’t bring my brothers back here. Do you want us all to hang?”

  She mulled that over. “You’re right.” She set aside the basket and reached for the small dagger tucked between her breasts. “I’ll get you out myself.”

  “Sophia…”

  She ignored the man’s growl and slipped the shiny blade into the keyhole. She then yanked a hairpin from her bun and inserted it into the pin and tumbler device, counting the pins and judging their length. She pressed the knife against the shorter pins and…

  “I’ve got it!”

  Sophia tucked the dagger back into the sheath between her breasts. She grabbed the basket before she opened the cell door and slipped inside the chilly room.

  Her heart seized.

  The pirate captain squatted in the corner of the cell, ankles manacled, arms listless at his side. There was thick, dry blood smeared across his handsome features. Bruises scarred his cheeks and swelling lips.

  Sophia closed the door. “They beat you?”

  He grunted. “I’m not very well-liked.”

  “You mean Black Hawk isn’t very well-liked?” She dashed across the cell and settled beside him. “You don’t sound too incensed over the thrashing.”

  He shrugged. “I wanted to fight.”

  It was that one little word—“wanted”—that had her scowling. The man might be in a sour mood about the strife with his brothers, but he wasn’t suicidal. A good duel with fisticuffs had cooled his frustrations.

  “I think Quincy’s feeling guilty about your strife.” She set the basket aside and lowered her hood. “He was sure you were feeling melancholy, that you might even confess your true identity in court because you wanted to hang.”

  “Quincy’s an ass.”

  With tender taps, she fingered his jaw. “Is it broken?”

  He jerked his head away. “No.”

  “Well, you’re welcome,” she said tersely.

  He glowered. “What are you doing here, Sophia?”

  “Your brothers beseeched me for help.”

  “I’ll kill them.”

  She snorted and reached for her knife again. “I can take care of myself.” She examined the shackles. “I can’t believe they chained you, too!”

  But James ignored her peevish cavil. He pressed on with “They had no business placing you in harm’s way.”

  She slipped the blade between her breasts again. The steel tip was too wide to fit inside the narrow keyhole. She burrowed through the lock parts with the hairpin instead.

  “I placed myself in harm’s way.”

  She stiffened. He stroked the loose curl at her temple, winding it around his bloody knuckle. The tender ministrations made her shiver, and she dismissed the growing ache that filled her belly and squeezed her heart.

  She furrowed her brow in studious regard, jammed the hairpin…

  The clip-clop of boots resounded.

  She looked at Black Hawk, spooked.

  He gnashed his teeth. “Get out!”

  “It’s too late,” she whispered.

  “Damn it, I told you—”

  She placed her finger against his plump and battered lips. “Quiet.”

  Swiftly she crawled toward the door and wedged herself in the corner, hugging the basket against her breast.

  She murmured, “Look miserable.”

  He scowled.

  The footfalls rested beside the door.

  Sophia stopped breathing.

  She sensed the gaoler’s eyes peering through the rifle slot, but she was hunched in the nook beside the door. It was impossible for the man to detect her presence at that angle…unless he discovered the door was unlocked—and stepped inside the cell.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four seconds later, the footfalls retreated.

  Sophia sighed. Blood rushed into her head. To be sure it wasn’t a ruse, she mouthed silently: Is…he…gone?

  Slowly James nodded.

  Sophia dropped the basket and scurried across the cell floor once more. She knelt at the captain’s feet and inserted the hairpin in the manacle’s lock.

  James grabbed her wrist. “Get out, Sophia. Now!”

  “I’m not leaving without you.” She wrenched her fingers loose and defeated the first shackle. “Hold still!”

  She fished for the right pins. As soon as the second lock snapped, James bounded to his feet. He grabbed her arm and hauled her toward the door.

  She snatched the basket and trailed behind him, trapped in his robust grip. Even after the bloody scuffle, the pirate lord still possessed enough strength to secure her…and she resisted the impulse to let his vigor seep into her bones.

  He was still the rogue who had shattered her heart. He was still the villain who had wanted her to suffer, to feel despair. That he’d bewitched her senses was moot, for he had also devastated her dreams. And she would not forgive him for that.

  “There’s a guard stationed at the bottom of the steps, James.”

  He looked at her sharply. “Stay here.”

  He vanished.

  The “oomph” and muffled thud that followed seconds later snagged her attention, and she waited with bated breath as a figure mounted the stone steps.

  But the hulking shadow was James. She recognized the man’s stout form. He hauled the unconscious gaoler up the uneven steps, then dragged the limp body across the passageway and into the cell.

  Sophia maintained a vigil, her heart in her throat. The din from the gathering rabble was growing more dense and vociferous. It was almost eight o’clock. It was almost time for the executions. If the mob discovered Black Hawk escaping…“Hurry!”

  James snapped the manacles around the man’s ankles and piled the straw next to his head, concealing his features. He then closed the cell, leaving the rifle slot opened. The gaoler carried no key on his person, for only the turnkeys possessed them, so the door remained unlocked. But the mock prisoner would offer them more time to escape, as no one would sound the alarm if they believed the pirate still secured and chained.

  James clasped her by the wrist again, but she wriggled loose, taking his meaty hand instead. “Follow me. Your brothers are waiting.”

  He didn’t protest. He followed her, let her guide him to safety.

  “Why did you come, Sophia?”

  She steered him through the passageways, careful to keep to the shadows and avoid the other gaolers roaming the causeways.

  “I told you, your brothers asked me for my help.”

  “You could have told them to bugger off.” He demanded fiercely, “Why did you come?”


  She huffed. “I didn’t want your hanging to upset your sister.”

  The man’s black mood blackened even more, for he stiffened his fingers and clenched her palm.

  Sophia disregarded the pressure on her hand. She also overlooked the growing pressure in her heart as she tried to convince herself she didn’t give a damn about the pirate captain, that she was just saving his arse for Belle’s sake. But the more she repeated that mantra in her head, the hollower it sounded.

  She maneuvered James along the stone wall and toward the southernmost entrance, where she and the brothers had previously agreed to meet.

  The couple slipped through the vacant turnkey’s quarters. The ground floor door was farthest from the gallows, which was located at the northeast corner of the street. Even so, as soon as she unfastened the bolt and slipped through the door with James in tow, she was swarmed by myriad spectators.

  Sophia gasped. The wall of energy, the dense thickness of limbs was suffocating. James shielded her from the crushing crowd with his weight. The mob hollered, anxious to witness the day’s hangings. Ten wretches were already lined along the platform, awaiting death. Even the gaolers were too preoccupied with the frantic throng to detect their stealthy escape.

  Swiftly a mantle smothered James. Edmund and Quincy had circled the captain, concealing him from public view. The rabble was too thick, too randy to recognize the captain’s visage, but the precaution was wise, nonetheless.

  William grabbed her. “You were supposed to come get us, Sophia.”

  The reprimand in his voice lifted her hackles, and she snapped, “The plan changed.”

  William glowered at her before he looked at the fledglings and ordered, “Take him to the ship.”

  But James resisted. “Sophia!”

  “I’ll take care of Sophia.” William avowed, “I’ll see her safely home. Now go!”

  “Go, James,” Sophia urged him, glaring at him. “Go before they find you missing or it will have been for nothing.”

  James stopped struggling against his kin. He let his brothers, and the swaying movement of the other bodies at large, determine his steps and steer him in the opposite direction from her.

  Their eyes locked one last time as the bells tolled eight o’clock and the trapdoors parted, snapping the necks of the condemned.