Around the River's Bend (12 page)

“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 lowest 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.”

“Would it be possible for me to do that?”

“Are you sure you want to? You'd be taking on a man you don't know.”

Sabrina had already made up her mind. At the same time she was thinking of the debt she owed to the man, she was thinking also of how she needed someone as a protector. Sion Kenyon had showed that he had at least some instincts of decency, and he would have to do.

“I want to do it. Will you help me?”

“Yes, I'll draw up the papers. It's fairly simple. We can do that right now if you'd like.”

“Yes. It's what I want to do.”

****

Sion was sitting on the floor waiting to be transferred to prison, for there was no furniture in the common cell. Several of the prisoners had been quick to inform him about the hellish place it was. The cell was cold, and he had only a thin coat on. He leaned back against the hard, cold stone and thought with desperation of his condition. He had gone to the aid of a woman without thinking about the consequences, and now because of his hasty action, Rees and his family would have no help.

His thoughts were interrupted when a guard came in through the barred door and called out loudly, “Kenyon!”

“Here I am.” Kenyon got to his feet.

“Come this way. You've got a visitor.”

Kenyon hurried after the guard somewhat confused. He thought it might be Ned Chaps, his manager, but he knew that Chaps was gone to the north of England with the Bristol Mangler for a series of matches.

The guard led him down a corridor, turning several times, and finally opened the door and said, “In there, and let's have no trouble.”

Sion was surprised to see the young woman when he entered the room. He had learned her name during his short hearing. “Hello, Miss Fairfax.”

“Hello,” she greeted hesitantly. “I'm sorry I got you into all this,” she said. “I had hoped they would turn you loose.”

“It's not your fault,” Sion shrugged. He studied the woman carefully, wondering what her purpose was. Perhaps it was just to tell him she was sorry. “Don't worry about it,” he added.

“Well, of course I'll worry about it, but I've come up with something that might help. Do you know anything about farming?”

“Farming! Why, I do know a bit. I worked on a farm in Wales for several years. It's what I've done most of my life.”

“Have you ever heard of such a thing as an indentured servant?”

“No, miss, I haven't.”

Miss Fairfax pulled the papers out of her reticule and explained the process to him. Finally she said, “I'm going to America. I have a piece of property there, but I need some help.”

“And you want me to go with you as your servant? What did you call it?”

“Indentured servant. Yes, that's what I'm offering you. But let me tell you it's a dangerous place. There are Indians, and it's a long voyage, and to be truthful with you, I don't know what I'll find when I get there.”