Carla Kelly (13 page)

The suddenness of the sound stopped all the low-voiced conversations in the assembly room for a moment. When Breedlow continued to cry, the talking began again, like water washing around a boulder in a stream.
All this misery, and no one has any pity
, Emma thought to herself as she watched Lord Ragsdale's former secretary.
Yes, this is very much like Irish prisons. I shall feel right at home.
She moved toward the bench and then looked back at Lord Ragsdale, who had remained by the door.

“My lord? My business will take some time, so perhaps if you wish to give your secretary a piece of your mind, you might go first,” she said.

There was no reply. “My lord?” she repeated.
It is different, is it not,
she thought as she watched Lord Ragsdale's face,
to turn someone over to justice in a fit of rage, and then to see the results of it.
“Really, my lord, you may go first. I don't mind.”

“No, Emma,” he said finally. “I will wait for you in the hall.” The door closed behind him.

Emma seated herself in front of Breedlow and handed him the marquess's handkerchief. “It is only a little wet,” she said.

He took it, wiped his eyes, and then stared at her.

“I am Lord Ragsdale's new secretary,” she said. “I believe that you can help me. You see, I am reforming Lord Ragsdale.”

HE HOUR PASSED QUICKLY. SHE TOOK NOTES rapidly and trusted her memory for the rest of Breedlow's information about how to manage Lord Ragsdale's affairs. “I am certain he will ask you to write his letters for him,” Breedlow continued as the guard by the inner door blew a little brass whistle. “He's not that difficult to please.” He paused and looked toward the guard. “I only wish he had not been so lazy. Perhaps then I would not have been tempted …” His voice trailed away as the women on the benches started to rise.

“How long before you are transported?” Emma asked, wishing there was something she could do for the man.

“Very soon, I fear,” he replied. He took a last dab at his eyes and then started to hand back Lord Ragsdale's handkerchief. He hesitated. “May I keep this?”

Mystified, she nodded. “Why would you want to?”

Breedlow bowed his head, and she could tell that her question had humiliated him further. “I can sell it for food.” He raised his eyes to hers. “You can't imagine how hungry I am.”

“Oh, I can,” she said softly as the guard blew the whistle again. “Keep it, by all means. I wish I had some money to give you.”

He shook his head and managed a ragged smile. “Actually, I have enjoyed your company. You are my first visitor. My sister lives too far away to visit.” Again he stopped and looked away as the tears came to his eyes. “And now I will never see her again, and it was all for twenty pounds.”

They were both silent. Emma leaned forward then and reached into her reticule. “Please, Mr. Breedlow, can you do me a favor?”

He stared at her blankly. “How could I possibly do you a favor?”

“I want to hand you a letter. Please take it to Australia. See if you can deliver it for me.” She kept her voice low as the guards began to herd the women together at the other end of the narrow room.

He shook his head. “You daren't hand me anything. The guards will only tear it up and beat me later.”

“It was just a thought,” she said then and withdrew her hand from the reticule. “Mr. Breedlow, good luck.”

He started to reply, when one of the women near the door screamed and fainted. As the other women clustered around, jabbering and gesturing, the guards hurried to that end of the room.

“Quickly now.” It was Breedlow, holding his hand out to her. She grabbed the letter again and thrust it at him, grateful for the unexpected diversion. It disappeared as soon as she handed it over.

Order returned quickly, and a guard gestured her toward the door and thrust his key in the lock that chained Breedlow to the wall.

“Good luck, Mr. Breedlow,” she called again as he was led away. “Please don't lose that letter,” she said softly as the other women, more of them crying now, hurried from the room. She watched the former secretary until the door clanged behind him and then sighed and stepped into the hall again.

Lord Ragsdale waited for her. He snapped open his pocket watch. “I trust you learned all you need to know, and I hope you don't have anyone else to visit at Newgate. As it is, I am certain I will never get the stench of this place out of my coat.”

“No, my lord, I have no one else to visit,” she replied as he started back down the hall. “But I do want you to stop in the governor's office for a moment.”

“Not if my life depended on it,” he assured her and hurried faster.

“I want you to give the governor some money to keep Mr. Breed-low from starving,” she said and then held her breath and waited for the storm to break.

She was not disappointed. He stopped, took her by the arm, and gave her a shake. “Emma, he robbed me!” Lord Ragsdale shouted.

Why am I doing this?
she thought as she nerved herself to look into his eye and stand her ground, even though he was taller than she by a foot at least, and seemed enormously large in that many-caped coat he wore.

“And Mr. Breedlow is going to a lifetime in a penal colony for stealing a paltry twenty pounds from you,” she continued, surprised at her own temerity.
I am not afraid of you
, she thought, and to her amazement, she meant it.

“So he is,” Lord Ragsdale said, calm again. He let go of her arm and hurried her along the endless passage, past cells crammed with wretched people, prisoners for whom all time was suspended into a continuous, dismal present that she understood very well.

Emma did not really expect Lord Ragsdale to stop at the governor's office again, but he did. The governor ushered them into the office that still smelled of elderly mutton.

“This is for David Breedlow's upkeep,” the marquess said as he slapped a handful of coins down on the desk and then scowled at Emma.

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied and edged closer to the row of ledgers as the governor searched around on his messy desk for a receipt book. In another moment she was looking through the newest ledger, running her finger down the row of names of prisoners incarcerated in the last five years. There were so many, and the governor's scribe had such poor handwriting.
This will take me an hour at least, and I do not have an hour
, she thought as the governor scratched out a receipt and handed it to her employer.

“Come, Emma,” Lord Ragsdale said. He stood next to her, and she jumped at the sudden intrusion on her rapid scramble through the ledger. “We have come to the end of this day's philanthropy, I trust.”

She closed the book reluctantly.

“Looking up relatives?” the marquess asked. “Close relatives, I would imagine.”

He was teasing her, she could tell. “Of course, my lord,” she responded promptly. He could think what he chose.

Blessedly outside the prison, Lord Ragsdale nodded to his tiger, who unblanketed his horse.

They started out in silence. It was almost dark now, and Newgate was only a hulking shadow. She shivered, hoping that she would not dream tonight.

“I trust we needn't repeat a visit to my late secretary.”

“No, my lord,” she said. “Tomorrow, though, we need to visit your banker and find out what bills remain to be paid. Breedlow tells me that your banker has his ledgers.”

“It can wait, Emma,” he grumbled.

“It cannot, my lord. The sooner your finances are organized, the less I will bother you.”

“Thank heavens,” he replied fervently. “In that case, I am yours this evening too.”

Silence filled the space between them. They might have been miles from each other instead of touching shoulders. She knew she should be silent, but Breedlow's face was still so vivid in her mind.

“My lord, did you ever ask Mr. Breedlow why he stole the money?”

“No. I don't care why.”

The marquess spoke with such finality that Emma knew she did not dare to continue. But she did, as though some demon pushed her onto an empty stage, daring her to perform for a hostile audience.

“His sister's husband died, and that twenty pounds was to cover funeral expenses and a year's rent for her.”

She could tell he had turned to look at her, but it was dark and she could not see his face. “I told you I did not care. Thievery is thievery, Emma.”

She looked straight ahead and plunged on, driven by some imp that she did not recognize. “When I straightened out your desk this morning, I noticed that you wagered seventy-five pounds that Lord Lander could not push a peanut with his nose down St. James Street during the evening rush of traffic.”

His reply was quiet, and she knew she should not prod him any farther. “It's my money, Emma,” he said.

“Yes, it is, isn't it?”

“Emma, you are aggravating!” he said, his voice low but intense. “When we get home, I am going to find that stupid paper I signed and tear it up, and you can spend the next five years cleaning out my kitchen! To perdition with my reformation.”

Well, that is that
, she thought to herself as she pulled as far away from him as she could and stared into the gathering dusk.
Oh, why can I not learn patience? I have ruined everything.

When they arrived at the house, Lord Ragsdale flung himself out of the curricle, snapped his orders at the tiger, and took the front steps in two bounds. Emma followed more slowly, drawing her cloak about her again. She sniffed at the fabric. Lord Ragsdale was right; the odor of Newgate had permeated the material.

He slammed the door behind him, not quite in her face, but almost. She opened it and forced herself to go inside.
I wonder if Lady Ragsdale found me a place to sleep
, she thought.
I cannot bear another night on the stairs.

Lady Ragsdale and Sally Claridge, dressed in evening wear, stood in the front hallway conversing with Lord Ragsdale. The older woman nodded to Emma and then made a face as Emma slowly removed her cloak.

“I was telling my son how much Sally and I were looking forward to his escort tonight and during this Season, and what does he tell me but you have commanded his appearance in the book room this evening?”

Surprised, Emma glanced at Lord Ragsdale, who stood slightly behind his mother. He stared at her and gave her a slow wink. She understood perfectly and resisted the urge to cheer as she sighed and then shook her head at Lady Ragsdale.

“That is how we must get on, my lady,” she said, striving for that perfect blend of regret and determination. “Until your son's business affairs are regulated, I must claim his attention. I am sure that later in the Season he will be delighted to accompany the two of you.”

To her relief, Lady Ragsdale nodded her head. “I am sure we understand, Emma. Come, Sally. I don't believe Lord and Lady Tennant were expecting my son anyway.”

Lord Ragsdale kissed his mother's cheek and managed a look of rue so counterfeit to Emma that she had to turn away to maintain her countenance.
I never met a more complicated man
, she thought as Lord Ragsdale expressed his profound sorrow at missing an evening with London's finest and closed the door behind his mother and cousin. He turned back to her, and she held her breath.