Harry looked uneasily at Bert and then squared his shoulders. “ ’Twere a trap, ma’am, laid by the Vicar ’imself. Word is, the Vicar said ’e ’ad ye and the babe.”
“Dear God.” Michael had rushed to save them and in doing so had walked into a trap. She swallowed and stared at the bread on a pretty china plate. The sight made her stomach roil.
“You must leave as soon as possible,” Temperance said from the doorway. She was out of breath as if she’d run from wherever in the town house that she’d heard the news. “If the Vicar has Mickey O’Connor, he’ll come after you next. I’ve ordered the carriage made ready. We can have you out of London before dark.”
“No!” Silence stood. “I’m not leaving London.”
Harry looked uneasy. “The Vicar’ll still be lookin’ for ye and the babe, ma’am.”
“I realize that,” Silence said. “And I’ll take all possible precautions, but I’ll not leave while Michael is in prison.”
“But dearest,” Temperance protested, her sherry-brown eyes wide and distressed.
“No. You can’t ask it of me.” Silence looked at her sister and drew a quavering breath. “You know full well what the likely outcome of a trial will be.”
Temperance closed her eyes, but didn’t reply. She didn’t have to.
The punishment for piracy was hanging.
“TO THE COMPLETION of the brand-new Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children!” Lady Hero raised her small glass of sherry high.
“Here! Here!” Around the cramped meeting room the members of the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children obediently raised their wineglasses in toast.
Isabel Beckinhall smiled and sipped her wine. Who’d have thought over a month ago when she’d attended her first meeting that the Ladies’ Syndicate would turn out to be so much fun?
She selected a scone from the tray Mary Whitsun was carefully holding and looked at Lady Hero. “When are the children due to move into the new home?”
“Next week, we hope,” Lady Hero said, still flushing prettily from the triumph of her toast. “Lady Caire and I examined the new home just yesterday, before she left town, but I think Mr. Makepeace will have to do a final inspection as well with one of us.”
“Can’t you go, my lady?” Lady Penelope asked, her pretty face creased into a confused frown.
“I’m leaving tomorrow with Lord Griffin,” Lady Hero said. The color which had begun to recede from her face rushed back. “He’s to show me the ruins at his country estates to the north.”
Lady Margaret, who was Lord Griffin’s sister and thus Lady Hero’s sister-in-law, snorted delicately. “That’s not the only thing he’ll show you at his estate, I’ll wager.”
“Megs!” Lady Hero’s shocked gasp was rather ruined by a giggle. “How much of that sherry have you drunk?”
Lady Margaret squinted at her glass. “This’s only my second glass.”
“The wine is very good,” Miss Greaves broke in tactfully. “Simply perfect to toast our success with.”
Lady Hero shot her a grateful look.
“Hmm,” Isabel murmured as she took another scone—really it was the orphan girls’ best pastry. “The sherry is delicious, but it’s a pity you were forced to smuggle it past Mr. Makepeace.”
“I didn’t exactly smuggle it,” Lady Hero said with dignity.
“But you did have it packaged in a box with no markings,” Lady Margaret pointed out.
Lady Hero wrinkled her nose. “It’s just that Mr. Makepeace is so…”
“Dour,” Isabel said.
“Stern,” Lady Phoebe piped up from where she sat next to her sister.
“Religious.” Lady Penelope shuddered.
“And rather lacking in a sense of humor,” Isabel added to round the whole thing off. She bit into her tender scone.
“But he is quite handsome nevertheless,” Miss Greaves said judiciously.
Lady Penelope tossed her head. “Handsome if you like severe, unyielding gentlemen.” The faint curl of her lip indicated that she, at least, did not. “I do think that the home is sadly lacking in a female influence now that Mrs. Hollingbrook has abandoned her brother.”
“We’re a female influence!” Lady Margaret said somewhat indignantly.
“But we’re not here all the time,” Lady Penelope pointed out. “ ’Tisn’t the same.”
“What about the female servants?” Lady Isabel asked, amused. She herself did not subscribe to the idea that Mr. Makepeace needed female help—or any help, for that matter—to run the home, but she was fascinated by Lady Penelope’s prejudiced and somewhat convoluted thought process.
“Servants,” Lady Penelope sniffed and that seemed to be her entire argument.
Isabel hid a smile and popped the last bite of her scone into her mouth.
“In any case,” Lady Hero said hastily, “we need someone to meet Mr. Makepeace at the new home the day after tomorrow. Someone tactful, charming, and able to deal with Mr. Makepeace’s er… sternness.” Her eyes met Isabel’s and Lady Hero smiled sweetly—and rather craftily. “You’d be quite perfect, Lady Beckinhall.”
Chapter Eighteen
The years went by and Clever John grew old. His once black hair turned snowy white, his broad shoulders stooped, and his strong hand shook. And in all those years he never again saw Tamara. Finally the day came when he knew his time on earth was drawing to a close. He sat on his grand golden throne in his wonderful castle, with his treasure chest beside him overflowing with jewels but he had eyes for none of that. Instead he examined five brightly colored feathers upon his lap….
—from Clever John
Mick O’Connor lay on a bed of straw in Newgate Prison’s castle—the strongest cell in the prison—and contemplated his life.
The life that very well might end on the morn tomorrow.
After a month of prison he had an escape plan, of course, for he was a man who’d spent a lifetime planning. The castle was near break-proof, and a dozen of Captain Trevillion’s dragoons had been assigned to guard him. They were immune to bribes, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see visitors. Pepper had made several calls, helping Mick to set his affairs in order, and it’d been child’s play to smuggle out an escape plan to the rest of his men.
Mick had calculated that the best time to make an escape was just before the execution cart reached the gallows tomorrow morning. There would be crowds of people, families out for a holiday, hawkers selling meat pies and fruit, and of course scores of soldiers. But the soldiers would be hampered by the crowds. If his men made a commotion just as the cart neared Tyburn gallows, they would draw the attention of both the soldiers and the crowds. During the confusion a second group of his men might be able to rescue him.
It was a long shot escape plan, but it was his only chance. He’d gambled before on his life and won. Why not now, as well?
On the whole Mick had few, if any, regrets. He didn’t regret pirating, he didn’t regret the men he’d killed in his life, and he sure as bloody hell didn’t regret throwing vitriol into Charlie’s face and saving himself from a buggering at the age of thirteen.
There was one thing he did wish he could change, though. He regretted that he hadn’t found the proper words to make Silence stay with him. He should’ve lied, should’ve told her he’d give up the pirating, give up the palace, give up anything she damned well wanted if she’d only stay with him. Hell, maybe he should’ve really given up the pirating for her. He wanted only to sit at a table with her and feed her exotic foods that made her beautiful hazel eyes widen with wonder. And later he’d make her eyes widen in other ways. He’d caress her creamy skin and tell her—
Tell her what?
Jaysus. He’d tell her that he loved her. That she was the only woman save his poor mam that he’d truly loved.
Mick squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the laughter, the moaning, and the cries that were Newgate Prison. If he had it to do o
ver again he would’ve chained her to his bed and made sweet love to Silence until she admitted that she couldn’t live without him.
Because God knew that he couldn’t live without her.
He’d stay with her always, perhaps even marry her, if she insisted. He chuckled to himself to think of Charming Mickey O’Connor domesticated. And if they someday had a babe—
His eyes suddenly snapped open on that thought.
He’d never considered—because he’d always thought she’d stay, damn it—that she might be with his child.
Jaysus! Mick jumped to his feet, pacing the length of his leg irons, barely six feet. If Silence were with child, she’d be frantic. He didn’t give a damn or not if his child were born a bastard, but she would be deeply ashamed. She’d be an outcast. Her family loved her, but they were very strict. Would they toss her into the street? Where would she find the funds to care for both Mary Darling and a new babe? Dear God.
“Thinkin’ on that noose?” the gaoler, a dirty little man who was puffed with pride that he was guarding the notorious Mickey O’Connor asked. Of course the real guarding was done by the dragoons, but that didn’t bother the gaoler. His ugly face appeared at the barred window on the cell door, fingering his own neck. “The last one we ’ung ’ad ’is neck stretched near a foot.”
Mick ignored the man, going to sit on the clean straw pallet he’d purchased at an exorbitant sum, his head in his hands. After a bit he no longer heard the gaoler’s voice, so the man must’ve grown weary of taunting a prisoner who wouldn’t respond.
But that didn’t matter to Mick. All that mattered was Silence and what he might’ve done to her.
Mick closed his eyes again and did something he hadn’t done since he was thirteen.
He prayed.
THE STREETS WERE still dark, the dawn only an hour away when Silence made her way to Newgate prison.
“This’s barmy,” Bert growled. “Sneakin’ about the streets in the dark. ’Imself will ’ave our ’eads.”
“Don’t think even ’Imself can ’ave us punished, where ’e’s now,” Harry said soberly.
“I need to see him, Bert,” Silence said. “Don’t you understand? I love him. I can’t just let him go to his—”
She cut herself off with a choked sob. No, not now. There would be time afterward to weep and wail. Now she had to be strong for Michael. She hadn’t seen him in over month. Winter and Temperance hadn’t wanted her to visit him in Newgate Prison during the trial. Only with his death sentence had they relented, admitting that it might be best for her to see him one last time.
Harry patted her shoulder awkwardly. “We do understand, ma’am. Like a fairy story it is, yer love for ’Imself. And we’ll make sure ye see ’im afore…”
Harry broke off and gulped.
The two guards might be stoic about it, but Silence had seen their faces on the day the news of Michael’s sentence had been announced. Harry’s big ugly face had sagged into permanent lines of sorrow, while Bert had surreptitiously swiped at his eyes when he thought no one was looking.
The men kept close to her as they neared the prison. Silence held the lantern so they might have their hands free should anything untoward happen.
Silence shivered and pulled her cloak more firmly about herself as Newgate Prison loomed suddenly in the dark, hulking and ominous. The ancient gate spanned the road, but next to it was the slightly newer prison. A guard with a light was dozing by the big double doors. He woke and glared at them as they approached.
“We’re ’ere to see Mickey O’Connor,” Harry said pleasantly.
“No one’s to see the pirate,” the guard snapped.
Harry tossed a coin at the man, which the guard caught easily.
The guard looked at the coin and sneered. “A shillin’?”
Bert bristled. “A shillin’s quite fair!”
The guard started to say something more, but Harry sighed and gave him another coin.
This time the guard smiled. “Ye’ll be gettin’ closer.”
“ ’Ighway robbery is what this is!” Bert exploded, advancing on the guard.
“All right! All right!” the guard said, backing a step. “I’ll let ye see ’im, but I’m makin’ a special deal jus’ for ye.”
Bert muttered something rather offensive about “deals” and the guard’s parentage, but fortunately the guard didn’t seem to hear. He opened the big door, leading them inside a gloomy corridor. It was still dark and so the inmates of this place were mostly asleep. But here and there could be heard the sounds of humanity: sighs, mumbles, snores, and coughs.
The guard led them through a courtyard with sleeping forms and up a series of steps. On the upper level were barred cells to one side of the corridor and a locked door at the end. The guard opened it to reveal a small anteroom and a dozen or more armed soldiers, standing or dozing in chairs.
The guard went to the cell door at the back of the room and scraped his huge key ring across the window bars, making them clang. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, peering, and shouted, “Oi! O’Connor! Ye got—”
An arm shot out from the dark cell and caught the guard by the throat. Michael stepped forward, still holding the guard, and looked at Silence.
His inky hair was down about his shoulders. He was in his shirtsleeves, despite the chill of the prison, the fine lace at neck and sleeves incongruent with the surroundings. Thick chains rattled when he moved for he had leg irons on both feet. But his cell was surprisingly clean and furnished with not only a pallet, but a chair and table with quills, ink, and papers on it as well. A small brazier glowed near the pallet. Michael looked, on the whole, as arrogant and strong as the first time she’d seen him sitting on his throne. Not even prison, it seemed, could daunt Michael O’Connor.
Something inside Silence rejoiced at his brutal power.
His black eyes glittered in the lantern light. “Bert, take this vermin and fetch the prison chaplain.”
He let go of the guard who fell back several steps, gasping. The soldiers had risen at the interruption and one approached. “What’s this then, Mickey?”
Michael shook his head. “Nothin’ that need bother ye, George. Seems I’ve visitors.”
George the soldier frowned heavily. “The captain won’t like that.”
“He’s not here to care, is he?” Michael asked him, but his eyes were on Silence. Absently he twisted off the moonstone ring from his finger and tossed it to the guard.
He was looking at her as if trying to memorize her every feature.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from sobbing at the thought. She must be strong.
“I prayed ye’d come,” Michael said low to her.
The soldier, apparently satisfied that Michael wasn’t trying to escape, pocketed the ring, and stepped back along with Harry.
Silence came closer. “Is there any way to get you out of here?” she whispered. “I could have Harry and Bert bring the rest of your men.”
He shook his head a faint smile on his lips. “No one escapes from this part o’ Newgate Prison, darlin’. Besides, they fear me so much that they’ve brought in dragoons to guard me. A rescue try would only lead to me men dyin’ without me gettin’ free.”
“Dear Lord.” Silence stared at him, not knowing what to say.
“I’ve had a bit o’ time to think in here, love, and I wonder if ye might do me a very great favor,” Michael said softly.
“You know I will.” Silence searched his dear face.
His wide mouth quirked. “There ye go, agreein’ to things without knowin’ what they might be.”
She sighed and touched his shoulder with a trembling hand. “I’d do anything for you, Michael, you know that.”
“Except stay with me?” He tried to step toward her, but the leg irons brought him up short.
She shook her head, a tear slipping past her lashes. All her arguments and fears meant nothing now. “That… that was different. If you had only—”
&n
bsp; He laid a warm finger against her lips. “Never mind. I’m sorry I spoke o’ it. I didn’t mean to aggrieve ye.”
She looked at him, mutely, her eyes swimming with tears despite her best efforts.
“Come here,” he whispered and pulled her into his warm arms. He leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry, so sorry, I made a mess o’ things at Windward House. I should’ve known ye and the babe were all I need—all I’ll ever need. The money, the piratin’ they were jus’ shields I was holdin’ on to, fearful-like. ’Twasn’t me best decision, love.”
“Oh, Michael.” She closed her eyes, willing the tears back, for his honest admission made her love him even more. If only this wasn’t their last moment together. If only they had weeks and years to discover everything about each other…
“But I’ve somethin’ important to say to ye now,” Michael rumbled softly. “What I meant to say when ye came in was that the very great favor I’d like o’ ye is for ye to marry me.”
She pulled back and stared at him in shock. “Is that why you sent for the prison chaplain?”
“Aye.” He smiled, dimples slashing into his olive cheeks. “He’ll do most anythin’ if the money’s right. Not what I’d like for ye, love, but beggars can’t be choosers. Will ye marry me, Silence Hollingbrook?”
It was silly but her heart leaped at his words, even here. She didn’t even hesitate to think. “Yes, oh, yes, I’ll marry you, Michael.”
He grinned and kissed her fast and hard just as Bert came back with the guard. An elderly man with a shock of white hair and a bleary expression from having been woken up accompanied them.
The chaplain turned out to have a lovely, resonant voice. Silence stood in a dazed and delighted fog and in a few minutes found herself married to Michael.
“Here,” Michael said, taking his ruby and gold ring off his little finger and putting it on her thumb. “That’s to remember me by.”
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