Devil's Lady

by Patricia Rice

  Toby had removed his stifling neckcloth and coat. He tugged now at his leather jerkin as he contemplated the question. “They hang them if they can.”

  She had known that. But the qualifying “if they can” intrigued her. “Is there some possibility that they can’t?”

  Miles made an irritated rumble in his throat and answered gruffly. “Judges can be bought. Prisoners can plead clergy; although it’s meaningless these days, it gives the court something to chew on. If they’ve never been before the court before, they might be branded. Or they can be transported. It’s just a matter of who pays what to whom. You’re not to think on it. We’ll buy Morgan off.”

  “Branded?” Horrified, Faith raised her head to stare at Miles. Just the image of burning flesh, Morgan’s burning flesh, made her gorge rise. “Branded?” she repeated.

  “I told you not to think on it.” Miles slammed his fork down and took another deep drink of his ale. He choked. “It’s better than hanging. It’s probably better than being transported and sold into servitude for fourteen years. Now, let’s change the subject.”

  Silence fell as everyone’s thoughts turned to Morgan’s proud character submitting to the humiliation of public branding, or being forced to work at degrading labor for the better part of his years. Hanging almost seemed preferable.

  Faith couldn’t bear to think of it. She scrambled desperately for a different topic, something to distract them from these horrifying images. Her mind sought the peace and security of their cottage in the forest, and there she found her one and only treasure. She played with it for a while, steadying her nerves with new ideas and questions, until the silence became unbearable and she released the toy to ease their anxiety.

  “What do you know of publishing books, Miles?” She asked as she forked a leathery carrot.

  Both men stared at her as if she had taken leave of her senses, but she met their gazes calmly, and Miles replied. “I don’t know much, but it is easy enough to find out. One of my mother’s brothers has a printing press and prints pamphlets. He’ll know whom to talk to. Are you planning on writing a book?”

  Faith smiled at the idea. “I think not, but my father did. The copy is not perfectly clear, and he never had time to correct it, but he was a very good writer, almost as good as he was at speaking. Do you think anyone might be interested in seeing it?”

  This was a beautiful topic. Miles took a deep breath of relief, and even Toby looked less green.

  “I don’t see why not. Would you have it printed under your father’s name or a pseudonym?”

  Faith tilted her head and gave it some thought. “I would like to see his name on it, if I could. The world shouldn’t be allowed to ignore his existence. Yes, I think I would very much like to see his name in print, with a dedication to my mother.”

  What she was suggesting was very dangerous to her health, but Miles gave her a smile of approval. “Then once we have you settled into your new rooms, and Toby goes back to fetch the horses, he can also fetch your father’s papers. You can go through and edit any errors and copy pages in a fair hand while I look for someone who might be interested in publishing it.”

  Faith offered a smile in return, and their conversation carried on in choppy fits and starts until it was time to leave. As Miles guided her out into the streets, she threw one last look in the direction of the tower block of Newgate, then turned her back and walked away. She vowed that when next she saw Morgan, he would be a free man.

  ***

  “I thought Edward said he had found the girl.” Lady Carlisle winced at the almost querulous tone of her words. The nightmares were back, and she couldn’t seem to escape them. The lack of sleep had stretched her nerves to a thin elastic. Wrapping her frail hands around the knob of her walking stick, she held her back straight as she sat before the fire, watching the marquess stride restlessly about the brilliant carpet.

  “It wasn’t the right chit. Edward should have known better than to believe any harebrained notion of that runner’s. Imagine believing George’s daughter would live in sin with a highwayman! I hate to say it, Lettice, but that son of mine has mush between his ears.”

  Lady Carlisle sniffed disdainfully. “And your brains have always been in a different location, Harry. After siring two sons, you wasted yourself on actresses and lightskirts instead of producing more legitimate heirs. I feel no sorrow for you. George was a good boy. A trifle loose in the beam on some subjects, perhaps, but we cannot all be practical. You should never have thrown him out, Harry. I place the sole responsibility for my granddaughter’s loss on your shoulders.”

  Mountjoy growled and glared at the fire. “Don’t call me the only guilty party, Lettice. Your infernal husband—and to hell with the dead—was as eager to disown him as I. Methodists! Whoever heard of such puling, miserable—”

  Lady Carlisle rapped the floor with her stick. “I will not hear another word of it, Harry! My granddaughter can be a heathen Oriental for all I care. I want her returned to me, and I want her now.” Her voice broke, and she struggled for the regal composure that had held her together all these years. “She’s alone, Harry. I know what it means to be alone. You must find her. I cannot bear to think... What if this highwayman...?” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. They came too close to her worst nightmares.

  The marquess stiffened as her fears met his. “We’ll find her, Lettice. And if that damned highwayman has touched a hair on her head, I’ll see him hanged. That’s a promise.”

  That was a promise he would have no difficulty keeping, since he had no confidence at all that the highwayman knew aught of his granddaughter. Edward was being led around like a pig with a ring in his nose by that wretched runner.

  To hell with the highwayman. No, the Methodists were where the search should begin. Wesley hadn’t produced any satisfactory results yet, but at least he was a gentleman. That was more than could be said of that damned lying runner who had got their hopes up once too often.

  Talking himself into the confidence that he was doing all that could be done, the marquess took his chair and poured himself some brandy.

  ***

  Faith was still making promises to herself two days later when she tied the hood of her mantle and started down the stairs to the first floor and the street. Any day now, Morgan would be a free man. Any day now, they could step out into the world as man and wife. Today she would meet with Miles and he would tell her Morgan was ready to leave that dreadful place.

  In the last two days, Toby had brought not only her father’s papers but also changes of clothing, and Miles had insisted that she buy the small necessities to make her a lady in the eyes of her neighbors. He didn’t know she had chosen the hooded mantle not because it was stylish, but because it hid her face. She felt as if there were a thousand things written in her face that no proper lady would ever know. She felt safer behind its protection, from herself as well as the rest of the world.

  Arriving at their appointed meeting place, Faith shook back her hood and unfastened her mantle in the warmth of the inn’s fire.

  A streak of sun from a dirty window caught the red glint of her hair, causing Miles to catch his breath. Faith had always seemed plain and small to him, but he suddenly had a glimpse of what had caught and held Morgan’s eye. It was as if she had come to life before him. Her smile, when it came, was almost devastating.

  “You have news for me?” she asked eagerly.

  It wasn’t the news she most wanted to hear, but Faith was intelligent enough to know that. Miles held out a chair for her, and after she was seated, waited for the servant to take their order and leave.

  “Only to tell you that Morgan is scheduled to come before the court tomorrow. The docket is a long one. I cannot give you the time. Some days, it is long into the night. Do not get your hopes up too far.”

  Faith twisted her fingers together and forced her hopes into abeyance, but she couldn’t help the sudden leap of hope. “Have you arranged everything as you said
? There will be no complications?”

  Miles laid his hands upon the table and gave her a stern look. “Do not look at me as if I am God. I am only human. I have arranged everything that I know how. I have seen to it that the fence who was arrested got off easily and is now out of the country, so he cannot testify against Morgan. The only other witness is the Runner who followed Morgan. He is the most dangerous part of the plan, for he not only witnessed Morgan selling the jewels but also saw the actual robbery. Since he is in your uncle’s employ, he is not easily bought. I have made other arrangements to keep him away from the trial tomorrow. If they fail, I have one of the best barristers in the business to stand up for Morgan in court. I make no promises. Without a witness, there is no case, but I cannot know if your uncle is still interested or to what lengths he is prepared to go.”

  Faith nodded in understanding, hiding her fears as well as her hopes. The servant brought their hot chocolate and buns, and she waited for the man to leave again before she asked the next question. “And if all goes wrong and he is found guilty?”

  Miles flattened his tricorne against the table as he lifted his cup. “We will bribe him out of Newgate and you will have to run for a ship. He won’t be safe here any longer, but the long arm of the law has not yet reached the colonies to any great effect. Morgan didn’t hire me because of my simple mind.”

  Faith smiled faintly. “I have observed that. You seem an honest man, Mr. Golden. I do not know how you know so much about these nefarious duties.”

  Miles shrugged. “I was brought up in the streets of London, Mrs. O’Neill. I was fortunate enough to have a large and caring family, but others were not. I learned from what I had and from those who had not. And I never turned up my nose at any man because of his profession or breeding. One in my position cannot.”

  He did not say one of his religion could not, but it was understood. Centuries of their presence had not made Jews any more English to the English eye than Gypsies. Faith did not know his whole story and probably never would, but there were undoubtedly many similarities to Morgan’s. Her own paled in comparison. “Morgan is fortunate to have you for friend. I hope he has not strained the relationship too far in this.”

  Miles offered a small grin. “He pays me well to test the boundaries of our friendship. I have never asked of his family, but only a true nobleman can afford to be as generous as he. And I am not talking just of money. There are those who are willing to take my coins and my services but will not sit at the same table with me. Perhaps Morgan is a right royal bastard at times, excuse my language, but he has character. I’ll take that against all the noble names you can produce.”

  Just to be able to talk of Morgan eased Faith’s pain. Sheltered as she had been, there had been no one to speak of him, no one who could confirm her opinions or call her fool if she were. It was good to have her loyalty to Morgan justified by someone else.

  “From what I understand, my family’s noble names mean little in the way of true nobility. I am glad my parents taught me to place small reliance on such worldly things. I hope when this is over that you will still call me friend too.”

  Miles ignored the cloud covering the sun. From what he understood of Morgan’s curt commands, she would be needing a friend when this was over.

  He touched his hand to hers where it rested on her cup. “I hope when this is over, you won’t turn me aside.”

  Chapter 26

  The weight of a hundred pounds of chains on his wrists and ankles was heavier on Morgan’s pride than his strength. He kept his gaze turned straight ahead without looking at the equally weighted wretches to either side of him. Some were practically bent double beneath the iron. Others coughed with the hacking croup that spoke of near death.

  But besides those whose imprisonment had left them weak and ailing, there were those who were familiar with their surroundings. They joked and gambled and pressed their attentions on the various and assorted females in the chilly holding room. All waited for judgments on their crimes, and most were certainly heading for the gallows or transportation. There were few crimes that allowed for anything else.

  They had already been here for hours, and the stench was becoming unbearable. Morgan had learned to stand his own in any kind of company, but he had always before had the freedom to leave when he pleased. The guilt that had eaten at him for so long found an outlet as he saw himself in these craven creatures.

  Morgan tried to concentrate on the court proceedings below, but it was like watching a Punchinello show. He could not concentrate on the elaborate arguments and voluble tirades and outbreaks of angry cries and wails. Every so often, as another victim was branded, the courtroom grew quiet to savor the screams of pain, but these only served to tighten the knot around the meager breakfast Morgan had taken.

  He had already scanned the crowd in search of anyone he knew, and felt some measure of relief that she was not here. He had feared Faith would overcome Miles’s objections and insist on waiting throughout the day for his turn. He had known he would say anything to get her out of here.

  Miles was here somewhere, but Morgan wasn’t interested in facing him either. The humiliation of being caught was great enough. If they wished to hang him, Morgan wished they would just get it over with and be done. He had known this day would come, but now that it was here, he wondered if he should have done things a little differently.

  Morgan squared his shoulders and clenched his teeth as another poor soul was put to the brand. His main regret was that he had not accomplished what he set out to do, he told himself. He had allowed the bloody Sassenachs to win. The anger kept him strong.

  The image of Faith’s trusting face floated before his mind’s eye, but Morgan refused to acknowledge it. There was one sin he would not carry on his soul should he fail. Faith would be taken care of. Perhaps he should not have forced himself on her that last time. It might be better if she could have that farce of a marriage easily annulled without the fear of a child. But he could not regret the thought of a child.

  She had his name, or part of it. If she stayed with him, he would only pull her down into the gutter. He had caused her all the pain that he intended to cause. No, he wouldn’t think of Faith with regret. She was good and whole and he would tarnish her no more.

  A cynical smile crossed Morgan’s lips as he watched the approach of a stout man in feathered hat and gold braid. He knew who the man was; his brief time in gaol had taught him that. The fact that the man had set his beady eyes on Morgan did not bode well, but he could always kill the bloody rogue if he didn’t like what he said. If rumor held fact, the feathered macaroni had his hands on the biggest crime network in the history of London. What interest could he find in a lone Irish highwayman?

  He was not to hear immediately. James O’Neill was summoned to the bench, and the guard jerked Morgan’s chains, shoving him toward the stairs. His time had come.

  ***

  “There ’e is, that one talking to the bloke in the feathery ’at. Fine figure of a man, must ’ave paid well to keep that fancy shirt on his back. Look at ’im! Mean as any they come, I’d say. Want me to fetch ’im for ye?”

  Edward grimaced in distaste at the sidewalk urchin. “Scarcely. Where’s your employer? Why isn’t Watson here? And why in bloody hell is that bastard out on the street? Shouldn’t he be in chains?”

  The grimy boy shrugged his skinny shoulders. “Don’t keep up with Watson. Now, the bloke on the rattlin’ lay, he’s out on the street ’cause some fancy man got ’im off. I wouldn’t mind workin’ for the likes o’ ’im. Bejesus iffen ’e don’t seem fine. There’s coins there, mind you. And if ’es’s paired up with the thief-taker general, then there’s accountin’ for the coin.”

  Edward let this idle blather pass on by, not caring to decipher the cant. The highwayman was out on the street and not in chains, and Watson was nowhere to be seen. His choler rose to detrimental proportions, but there was one chance left. Pulling a coin from his purse, he held it out to t
he ragged urchin. “Here, boy. There’s more where this came from if you follow the highwayman and report back to me. Find out where he stays, whom he meets with. Do you understand?”

  The boy’s eyes grew round at the sight of the coin. Everyone knew where the general went. And the highwayman was walking off in his company now. The boy bobbed his head, grabbed the coin, and took off at a run.

  * * *

  Miles Golden waited in a fury for his client to come out of the meeting with the biggest piece of scum to walk the face of London. When Morgan finally appeared, cordially shaking hands with the oily scoundrel, Miles had half a mind to walk off and leave him there. But there was the matter of a certain lady waiting in lonely rooms for the cad’s arrival, and for her sake the attorney lingered.

  “What in bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Miles spat out as Morgan sauntered over. “The general has his hand in every scam and shady undertaking in the city. They say he trains children to steal from the time they’re old enough to walk. And any who dare try to escape his hold end up on the gallows. I get you out of Newgate to let you fall into the hands of scum like that?”

  Morgan began striding toward a well-lighted tavern spilling drunken laughter and riotous music. “It is more a matter of the other way around, if the truth be told, but you needn’t concern yourself. I owe you a tidy sum for whatever you did to buy off that Runner. Reckon my accounts, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Cold fury got the better of him. and Miles grabbed Morgan’s coat sleeve and jerked him around. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Morgan raised a black eyebrow. “Am I?”

  Now Miles understood how Faith had felt when she punched the bastard in the stomach. The urge was great, but Miles had learned patience the hard way, and he exerted it now. “You have a wife waiting to hear how you fared. If you do not appear, she will think you on the way to the gallows. And if I am not mistaken, you do not know where to find her. Shouldn’t you let me take you there first?”