Secret Nights

by Anita Mills

  "Might've. Whores all look alike in the dark, don't they?"

  "Did you ever purchase her services?"

  "I told you—I might have. Between you and me, I ain't been one to look much at 'em. All I was wanting was someplace to put it."

  "Then you could have bought Miss Parker?"

  "There you go—a-callin' 'em misses like they was proper females," Rand protested. "I already said I might've had her."

  "But you do not recall precisely?"

  "No."

  "Did you know Maddie Coates?" "The old whore as took m'money? Aye."

  "What about Thomas Truckle?"

  "Who? Oh—collect you mean the butler as was in the papers."

  "Yes."

  "Well, if I was there, I must've seen him."

  "Probably. Now, to be specific, how well did you know Maddie Coates?"

  "I answered that."

  "You were not a regular customer?"

  "Damme if I ain't answered that also!"

  "If Mr. Peale brings girls from the Coates establishment into court to testify, can they say you were there frequently?"

  "I already told you—" Rand saw the impatience in Patrick's eyes. "Aye, I suppose they could," he decided finally.

  "Maddie indicated that there was an old gent who preferred Peg, but due to his misusing her, he was no longer admitted. Mr. Rand, were you that man?"

  "I ain't never been turned away nowhere."

  "All right. I suppose the females of the establishment would know that also."

  Rand flashed him a look that bordered on dislike. "They might say it," he conceded. 'They wasn't always wanting to do what I was wanting."

  "Which was?"

  "Now they ain't going to tell that in court, I'll be bound!"

  "They will be under oath, Mr. Rand."

  "Well, I was wantin' her to let me bite her so's she'd squeal a bit." The old man looked up. "At my age, it ain't so easy anymore to keep going, if you was to know my meaning."

  "Did you bite her?"

  "Aye."

  "That scarcely seems sufficient to get you turned out, sir."

  "Well, sometimes I drew blood and they howled as I was killing 'em. And I kinda liked it like that."

  "There were bite marks on Annie Adams's breasts," Patrick reminded him.

  "I said I was with her, didn't I?" Rand countered. "I ain't being tried for that, anyways."

  "I expect Peale will examine the coroner's records for Peg Parker and Fanny Shawe also, as well as those for every other female found in the river during the past several years, so if there is anything you wish me to know, you'd best tell me now."

  "Bitin' ain't exactly one man's vice," the old man retorted.

  "You did not know Fanny Shawe?"

  "How many times I got to say it? I might have, and I might not. Surely I ain't expected to remember every whore I put it to, eh?"

  "No, if their numbers are legion, I suppose not," Patrick murmured dryly.

  "You ain't meaning to tell me you ain't never visited no whores, Hamilton? Well, I'm not believing it."

  "Mr. Rand, I am not on trial. Now—let us consider Maddie Coates herself," Patrick went on. "You knew her—you have admitted that already."

  "Not in the biblical sense."

  Rand chuckled as though he'd made a jest, but Patrick didn't crack a smile. "She would have recognized you, wouldn't she? If she had encountered you anywhere, she would have recognized you?" he persisted.

  "Aye, she might, I expect."

  "Have you ever frequented the Red Dragon?"

  "Where is it?"

  "A blind alley in the rookery."

  "Then I expect I been to it, and if they got whores, I've probably been in it."

  Patrick's expression grew pained. "It is an opium den, sir—the one where it is believed Mrs. Coates died."

  "If I got any addiction, 'tis the females, not eating opium!" Rand snorted.

  Duly noting he'd said eating rather than smoking, Patrick leaned forward to look directly into Bartholomew Rand's face. "Were you there when she died? Do you know anything about how it happened?"

  "I thought you was my attorney, sirrah!" Rand fumed indignantly. "Besides, she wasn't killed, as far as I know it. The papers was saying as how—"

  "Did you know she used opium?" Patrick asked, interrupting him.

  "I told you I did not—the other day, I told you."

  "And at the time you were lying to me about knowing her, so why should I believe you now?"

  "Dash it, sirrah, but I don't—" The old man caught himself. Looking sheepish, he nodded. "Aye, I got to tell m'lawyer, don't I?"

  "Yes."

  "Where was we?"

  "Maddie's opium use," Patrick reminded him dryly.

  "Oh, aye. Well, I seen the pipes, but I cannot say as whether 'twas for her or the men as was visitin' her place."

  "But you never saw her eating any opium?"

  "If I did, I wasn't knowing what she was eating. It ain't like I ever ate any myself, you know. Stuff's too demned bitter by half! Why they's fools as takes it that way—fools!"

  "But you know what a hookah is?"

  "Aye, 'tis a Turkish pipe, ain't it?"

  "Yes." His eyes intent on Rand, Patrick asked flaty, "Is there anything you can think of that Peale might use against you during your trial, Mr. Rand?"

  "Nothing you ain't already said."

  "No witnesses who can connect you to the deaths of Peg Parker, Fanny Shawe, or Maddie Coates?"

  "No," Rand lied. "And you are the only one as wants to try me for them, anyways, ain't you?"

  "I dislike surprises, Mr. Rand." Patrick stood up. "Very well, that will be all this time, sir."

  "Huh? But you ain't done nothing but beat m'brow, Hamilton! You ain't told me as how you mean to get me off!" the old man complained loudly.

  "If I can produce statements from acquaintances of Annie Adams's pimp to the effect that he misused her, I can probably discredit his testimony against you. More than that I am not prepared to discuss just yet. A great deal depends on what the chemist discovers in Maddie's opium."

  "Well, I hope you ain't meaning to ask questions as will get me charged with the rest of it," Rand muttered. "Don't know why they are needful of a chemist anyways."

  "To see if the seeds and bits of plant found in what was left were from the poppy or if something else was added."

  The old man considered Patrick for a long moment, then sighed. "Aye, I suppose. But it don't make no sense to me, none at all. But I got you, so I guess I ain't supposed to worry none over it, eh?"

  Patrick smoothed the sleeves of his dark blue superfine coat, then picked a small piece of lint off one of them before he spoke to Rand again. "I want you to be very careful in here. I do not want you to speak familiarly with the guards—and above all, I don't want you to ask them to procure a female for you. I don't want Peale to be able to call a jailer who can testify you have misused anyone in here."

  "Eh? Here now—that ain't right!" Rand protested. "I mean, they ain't offered, but if they was to—"

  "I doubt that, sir. Girls are to be had here for a tuppence to feed their babes."

  "And if I was to get me one, what's the harm to it? A man ain't supposed to live like no demned monk, you know."

  "While you are here, you will. Otherwise, you can find yourself another lawyer."

  The old man's face darkened. "The hell I will! Now, you listen to me, sirrah! I'll do as I want if I want— ain't nobody as tells Bat Rand he ain't getting laid when he's wanting it."

  "Either you do as I say, or you can hang by yourself. Do you not understand plain-speaking, sir? One girl in here, and I will wash my hands of you."

  "Aye," Rand muttered. "But I still ain't seeing no harm to it?"

  "It will be a great deal easier to persuade the jury that you are the victim if it appears Annie Adams enticed you."

  "Well, and she did. Asked if I was wanting to feel her, you know. And when I was squeezing the jugs, she
offered the rest of it."

  "Later on this afternoon, Mr. Banks will come over to obtain a deposition from you. I would suggest you make yourself look as green and gullible as you can."

  "Dash it, but I ain't green!"

  "No, but if you persist in appearing belligerent, you may be perceived as threatening. And while you are here—and when you are in sitting in court, you are going to appear as meek and self-effacing as you can. It is your duty to make yourself likable."

  "Still don't see any harm," the old man muttered under his breath. "They ain't hangin' a respectable businessman over no whore, are they?"

  "Yes. And I would that you did not drink either."

  “What?” Rand fairly howled. "Now, see here, sir!"

  "The same jailers that provide your wine can testify to everything you tell them."

  "Oh, but they ain't—"

  Patrick sighed. "All right, I'll put it in language you can understand, sir—their lips are oft as loose "as the legs of the whores you have frequented."

  "But I'm payin' em!"

  "And the money stops when you are hanged," Patrick reminded him. "Good day, Mr. Rand."

  He was halfway to the door when he heard the old man grumble, "Ain't going to be much good to it, if you was to have your way about it."

  As Patrick emerged from Newgate into the dreary drizzle, he looked down to where Fortitude and Truth still supported the Recording Angel. Squaring his shoulders, he reflected wearily that he was going to need a great deal of the former to obscure enough truth to exonerate Bat Rand, for in his heart he was certain the old man had lied to him.

  Nonetheless, he crossed Newgate Street toward the Bailey resolutely. After he met in chambers with Justice Tate on another matter, he would seek out Peale and try to weasel the man's strategy out of him. And then he would have to beard Dunster about Jane.

  "Hamilton! Good to see you!"

  Clapping Patrick's shoulder familiarly, the Earl of Dunster guided him toward the formal saloon in the front of the elegant townhouse. As he stepped back to let the younger man pass, the earl motioned to a liveried footman. "Break out my best claret," he ordered. Turning to Patrick, he smiled. "Jane tells me we have something to celebrate, sir."

  "Well, I had planned to broach the matter a bit more properly," Patrick admitted.

  "No need to stand on ceremony—none at all, I assure you. I've been following your career for years, sir, and I've liked everything I've seen."

  "Thank you."

  "Handsome girl, my Jane," Dunster murmured.

  "Yes, she is."

  "Got everything a man could want—good looks, good breeding, good manners. The sort of female to help a man's advancement."

  "I have admired her for some time, sir."

  "Of course you have! And I have seen that she has waited for you. I could've taken Dillingham, you know, but she had her heart set on you, for you are the handsomer, she says." Dunster noticed that the footman had returned. "Ah, yes. That will be all, Thorpe." Moving to where the man had set the tray, the older man poured hefty amounts of the claret into two glasses. "Well, don't stand there, Hamilton—come get your share, eh?"

  As Patrick took one, the earl lifted the other, smiling again. "To the future of the Tories!" As their glasses clinked together, the older man sobered. "You are the future of the party, Hamilton."

  "I hope so, sir."

  "No doubt about it." Dunster sipped from his glass, then indicated two chairs drawn up to the blazing fire. "Sit down, my boy, for we've a great deal to discuss."

  Patrick took a seat, then drank of his claret. "Quite good stuff," he admitted.

  "I've been saving it, sir, for precisely the right occasion, and I should say this fits that bill, eh?" Dunster held his glass out to the fire, letting the flames reflect off the deep red of the wine. "Best stuff ever smuggled into England from Bordeaux," he declared proudly.

  "As an officer of the court, I shall try to forget that, sir," Patrick murmured, smiling.

  "Mean to talk about that also. But just now there are other things more to the point." The earl's eyes met Patrick's. "Settlements, for instance."

  "I don't expect a great deal, my lord. Your patronage means far more than money."

  "Oh, I mean to be generous," Dunster insisted, waving aside Patrick's words. "Jane wants you, and I want her to have what she wants. Of course, I shall expect your candor also. Between us, we want to see that she has the sort of life she has come to expect, don't we?"

  "I assure you that I can afford her."

  "Of course you can! I have made some preliminary inquiries, and I think I have a fair notion as to where you stand financially, dear boy." The earl smiled, then sobered. "You've come far in the ten years you have been in London, haven't you?"

  "I've had my successes."

  "And you've made a name for yourself, there's no denying that." "Thank you."

  "You've got a good rep, Hamilton." When Patrick said nothing, Dunster continued, adding, "But I must admit I was more than a trifle disappointed to see you defend the Coates woman."

  "The jury found her innocent."

  "Innocent!" the earl snorted. "An unapt description of the harpy, if I have ever heard one." "Not guilty, then."

  "Yes, well—" Dunster cleared his throat. "Well, I daresay it didn't hurt you in the end, for it will be long forgotten ere the elections. Besides, God got His justice, anyway, didn't He?"

  "I don't know, my lord."

  "Well, she's dead, in any event. And I have assured my colleagues in the party that you do not mean to make it a practice of rubbing shoulders or anything else with that sort of person."

  "Mrs. Coates paid me a goodly sum," Patrick said evenly.

  "Harrumph! I daresay when we are done, you will not need to concern yourself with such things. The short of it, my dear Patrick, is that I intend to make you a wealthy man."

  "I do not count myself particularly poor now, sir."

  "How much are you worth?" Dunster asked bluntly.

  "I thought you said you knew."

  "I think I do, but I'd like to hear the figures from you."

  Patrick neither liked the earl's tone nor his manner, and yet he knew his political future, if he were to have one, depended on Jane's father. He sat rather still, staring into the red-orange flames, composing himself to answer.

  I have nearly seventy thousand pounds in the 'Change, and almost none of it was touched by the recent troubles, my lord. And I have recently bought Farmington's estate near Barfreston without touching my principal." He paused for that to sink in, then added, "I paid cash for it."

  "Really?" Seemingly impressed, Dunster nodded.

  "I have been considering marriage for some time," Patrick admitted, "and I thought it a rather snug place to rear a family."

  "How many rooms?" the earl wanted to know.

  "Twenty-seven-—and Farmington has added several water closets." When Jane's father said nothing, Patrick murmured apologetically, "I am well aware that it is nothing like what your daughter is used to, but it ought to do very well for us."

  "Dunster Castle is possessed of nearly one hundred rooms and nineteen chimneys, sir," the older man reminded him.

  "And how many water closets?" Patrick inquired mildly.

  "Well, there are but three inside," Dunster conceded irritably, "but they are centrally located."

  "As Jane has already informed me there are to be but two offspring, I cannot but think twenty-seven rooms ought to suffice, my lord."

  Perceiving the slight edge to the younger man's voice, the earl retreated, allowing heartily, "Of course there are enough, sir! It was not my intent to disparage the place—not at all! I am sure Jane will be content enough there."

  "I hope so," Patrick murmured dryly.

  "Yes, well, she can be a biddable girl if you put your mind to it, my boy. But we were speaking of settlements, weren't we?"

  "We had not quite gotten to that, my lord. I need to add that I also have another twelve tho
usand pounds in the bank."

  "Eighty-two thousand—and the country house, of course, which does not count your current dwelling here," Dunster calculated. "Most impressive, sir. But I daresay your father—"

  "My father sent me off with nothing, sir," Patrick said. "It was the Duke of Hamilton who paid for my studies at Cambridge."

  "Yes, of course," the earl murmured soothingly. "One could have wished it were Oxford, but I am sure Cambridge provides a fine education also. And Hamilton is a fine fellow—a good connection."

  "I don't plan to draw upon that, sir. Indeed, but aside from my name, there is no connection at all there, I assure you."

  "I see," Dunster said, seemingly disappointed. "Well, in any event, it would have been easier to promote you amongst my colleagues in the party had you gone to Oxford, and I cannot deny that, of course. One tends to identify with one's school, you know, and Cambridge seems to have delivered up a preponderance of Whigs."

  "I cannot very well go to Oxford now."

  "No—what's done is done, isn't it? And you will do very well, I am sure. I have spoken to the Prime Minister, and Liverpool is agreed we are in need of new blood to revitalize the party. He suggests you stand in a safe district, and as Billingsly is withdrawing for his health, we think perhaps Wychott West would suit you."

  Patrick sat very still, every fiber of his body absorbing the news he'd been waiting for years to hear. Dunster had already laid the road for him to follow to Parliament.

  "I am honored," he managed finally

  "Oh, I quite expect you will earn it. After the lengthy debates on the Corn Laws last year, we are decided we need a man of your oratorical abilities to persuade those who would waver. You have a gift there, sir—a divine gift for argument."

  "I shall certainly try," Patrick promised.

  "No, my boy, you will do it." Dunster regarded him soberly, then nodded. "I have had my eyes on you for two years, Hamilton, and if you would have the truth of it, 'twas I who brought you to my daughter's attention. Not that she was not in alt once she saw you."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes. Why should the Whigs have all the firebrands, I ask you?"

  "Why indeed?"

  "You remind me of Fox in his heyday—the man was as eloquent as any. But a Whig," Dunster recalled, frowning. Recovering, he straightened in his chair. "But we were speaking of settlements, weren't we? I'd hoped to surprise you greatly, but it would seem I have underestimated your worth by nigh to a half. Well, that doesn't signify, I suppose. It only means that you will be able to keep my Jane in style, after all."