Elyse Mady (9 page)

“Yes. That’s right.”

“They had no right,” she said weakly. “The fabric was not theirs to take.”

“It matters not.”

“But Robert—”

“I will send a man to the prison. He will lack for nothing while you recover.”

Hester snatched at his hand and squeezed it. The impulsive gesture was unstudied, and though Thomas knew that she meant nothing by it but to express her gratitude, the feel of her small fingers, pressing against his own, felt natural.

“Thank you. We are both indebted for your every kindness.” She smiled, the gesture distorted by her swollen face.

Her gratitude sat uneasily with him. He didn’t want Hester to feel beholden to him for a few simple acts of charity. His sole concern had been for her well-being. Watching Hester put a brave face on her situation, he was struck by how slight she was, her form dwarfed by a veritable swath of shawls.

Her hand felt hot in his. He laid the back of his hand against her forehead and then her cheek. Her skin was warm to the touch. Was she taking a fever? He disliked the feeling of helplessness. On board his ship, he always knew what to do. Life on land was infinitely more complicated. He resented it. Small wonder he preferred to always be at sea.

“I must look a fright,” she said, brushing at a matted strand of hair that lay across her cheek. He plucked it away and tucked it behind her ear.

“You look just as you ever did,” he assured her.

He studied her face, telling himself it was for her care alone that he did so. Her colour was a little heightened and a deep bruise ran across her cheek, swollen and raw, darkening her eye. The signs of her attack would linger for days but in truth, they did not detract from her looks in his opinion. She was a striking woman, and all the more appealing for being so unaware of her charms.

He was ashamed at how strongly he wished she was in his bed for another reason altogether. “You are a well-looking woman no matter the circumstances.”

A weak laugh met his assertion. “You must think my faculties still impaired, sir.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as though to gather her strength. When she opened them again, she met his gaze directly. Her eyes were clear and penetrating, with no signs of confusion.

“No, I do not—”

“If you think I am going to be taken in by a Banbury tale like that. Well-looking,” she scoffed, coughing a little as she did.

“Would you like something to drink? My housekeeper made up some lemonade. The doctor thinks it would not do to have you eating anything quite yet.”

“Yes, please.” She tried to right herself but could not. Thomas helped her sit up, arranging the pillows to support her. He was very aware of her closeness and the fact that he could feel her body beneath her night rail. She was without the protection or countenance of a male family member. They should not, by any standard of civilized behaviour, be thus situated.

Hester’s eyes were closed, as though the movement had overset her tender head. He was grateful that she could not distinguish his expression as he aided her.

“Here.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and the mattress shifted, the ropes creaking in protest at his weight. He held the small sterling-silver feeder cup to her lips and she drank obligingly, draining it.

“More?”

“No, thank you.”

Thomas patted her mouth with a linen napkin and then folded it neatly, setting it beside the ewer.

“You are a very good nurse,” she admitted, a note of surprise in her voice, as she watched him perform the tasks. “I had not thought a man such as yourself…” She didn’t finish the thought. “But you do it very well.”

“On board a ship, a man must take on many roles,” he said, his arm still wrapped protectively across her thin shoulders. Conscious of the very great breach he was committing, he brought his legs onto the counterpane and stretched out beside her. Hester did not object. Indeed, she seemed unaware of the charged situation. He rested his back against the carved headboard and willed himself to relax.

“I never thought of that,” she admitted. “A ship must be a world unto itself.”

“Yes, it is. We rely on each other for our survival.”

She sighed, and Thomas closed his eyes, trying to remember the circumstances that had brought her to his home. He should not be thinking of how well she fit him, or of the fragrance of her hair. Or of his regrets that he had not kissed her when they were alone in his office two days ago.

Or more to the point how terribly he wished to kiss her right now.

Hester’s lips were still soft and pink, although the lower lip was marred, having been split in the melee. Mrs. Lytton had bathed it with dittany but it still looked tender. Slowly, he cupped her chin and turned her face towards the fire. He rubbed his thumb under her lip, careful not to touch the mark.

Hester swallowed. Her dark eyes were uncertain, but she did not pull away. The firelight played across her skin and made her bruises seem insubstantial.

The household was asleep. There was no one but them awake, cocooned in a world of shadows and flickering flame. He couldn’t bring himself to end the contact between them, although every iota of sense was screaming at him to stop.

Slowly, he let his hand slide down, tracing her jaw then across her neck.

“You frightened me today,” he said. How many more blows might she have endured if he had not arrived when he did? The panic that had swept over him returned, piercing him again, as he remembered the day’s terrible scene.

As his thoughts returned to the violence, his fingers pressed against the back of her neck and worked to relieve the knotted flesh he found there. Her head lolled back and she seemed to melt into his touch, making soft sounds that made his hand tremble. He forced his mind from the unpleasantness. Hester was safe now and so close that if he but twisted his head a little…

Instinctively, his arms tightened around her shoulder.

She winced and Thomas came to his senses with crashing suddenness.

The moment was, thankfully, past.

He swung his legs off the bed and regained his seat. Hester looked uneasy at his hasty retreat but he didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he contented himself by turning away as she arranged the pillows to her liking and winnowed down amongst the sheets once more.

She watched the embers, her eyes growing steadily heavier. But she was not asleep. Her face wore an expression of unpleasant concentration that belied her weary eyes.

“I suppose I will have to book passage on a ship,” she said.

For a moment, Thomas worried that she was confused, that the blow she had taken had done damage. “What do you mean? Why would you need to go on a ship? You are to stay here until you are quite recovered.”

She waved a languid hand. “Not now. Later. I will go on a ship when Robert comes home. I wish I didn’t have to, but Robert will prefer…not to live so close…disgrace.”

Her words were more and more disjointed, pain and the powerful opiates the doctor had given her combining to rob her of her usual eloquence, but he understood her meaning perfectly. “You would leave with him?” The thought of not seeing her again struck Thomas more forcibly than he wanted to admit. At times, many months could pass between their exchanging even the paltriest of greetings, let alone seeing one another. Yet the idea of Hester in proximity had seemed fixed in his mind. Now he saw how foolish that was.

“Must,” she said, as her head lowered. “Robert…only family. Only support. Where else…” Her words trailed off, growing softer and softer, until she was slumped against the pillows like a small child exhausted.

Except that she did not look like a child. She looked inviting and desirable and everything he might want in a woman sharing his bed. Clearly, he was far less of a gentleman than he’d previously believed, if he was to be brought to painful sensual awareness by nothing more than the smell of vinegar and plaster and the nearness of a young woman unconscious of his presence. He was disgusted that even now, as fragile and damaged as she was, he simply could not help but want her.

Hester called to him.

There was no other way of explaining it. He had always thought his life complete, but as he drowsed next to his vulnerable houseguest, he wondered if it would ever feel so again.

Chapter Eight

The press yard was crowded with men waiting in ragged lines for their bread as Robert made his way into the heart of Newgate the next morning. From a distance, he heard a baby squalling, but he couldn’t tell if it was housed in the debtor’s prison or on the women’s side. He saw Amos and James Done, another of the men taken up at the White Swan, but did not acknowledge their looks of interest. Cook was in the yard too.

He was a stocky man, nearly bald for all that he was not yet thirty. A woman was with him, dark-haired and very pretty. She was attracting a goodly degree of ribald interest from the prisoners. A suggestion on how she might entertain them all set Cook off and he swore angrily, drawing his wife nearer with a protective gesture.

The disgraced publican had never, as far as Robert had observed, joined the debaucheries that had taken place beneath his roof. He guessed the man’s sin to be avarice, not unnatural attractions. The couple retreated, until they stood an arm’s length away from Robert. Their voices were low and intent, seemingly unaware of his proximity.

“Has he told you a price?”

“No,” Mrs. Cook said. “But he sought me out at the inn and proposed himself as your lawyer. You must have one. They’re baying for your blood. When the magistrate denied you bail, I knew you’d stepped in it.” Her voice trembled, and Cook laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. She gave a weak smile.

“Nares is an ass,” he said. She gave a weak smile. “You should pay his kind no mind. He only granted Haycock and Toogood their liberty by making them pay through the nose.”

“But it’s men like him who’ll decide your fate,” his wife objected. “That’s why you have to have someone speak in your defense.”

“Do you trust him? This solicitor?”

“He’s a lawyer.” She sneered, searching through her pockets for a square of linen to dry her tears. “But he presents himself as a clever man and claims he can bring you through. I’d rather have one that were clever than one that were good.”

Cook laughed. “Trust you for that.”

“He’s asking for twenty pounds to secure him.”

“Give it him and when you have done so, have him call on me here.” He paused, as though ensuring he could not be overheard and continued so quietly that Robert had to strain to listen. “I would tell him what I know of my other clientele. There’s them that would intercede before they’d hear their names called in open court.”

There was an implicit threat in the way Cook relayed the words but if Mrs. Cook was disturbed by it, she gave no sign. She kissed her husband and he touched her face.

“Goodbye, Mr. Cook.”

He watched his wife go until she had reached the safety of the gate then turned to Robert and shrugged. “Did you hear anything of interest to you, Mr. Aspinall?”

“The lawyer—he knows the crime you have been committed for?”

“Hard to imagine he wouldn’t,” Cook said, joining the end of the breadline. Robert fell in beside him.

“Do you know if would consider taking on another client?”

Cook surveyed him shrewdly. “Have you ever met with a lawyer who’ll turn down custom?”

“Does he keep rooms?”

Turnkeys kept a rough order, giving the back of their hand or the occasional cudgel to anyone causing a problem. The man behind him stumbled, knocking into Robert and causing him to lurch forward. Cook caught him and hauled him upright.

“Lincoln’s Inn, I’m told. But for what he’d being paid, he’s calling on me here. If you wished to meet with him too, I’m sure he’d be
amenable. You’ve never been one who’s been shy about meeting new men, after all.” Cook smiled, the insult clear, but Robert held his temper, knowing he would take advantage of any weakness he might find. Cook was the sort of man who would always put his own interests above those of others, and Robert had already given him ammunition aplenty with his regular visits to the White Swan.

Robert put out his hand to receive a dense hunk of bread when it was offered and a cupful of brackish water to soften the unpalatable lump.

“I might,” he prevaricated. “If he’s as you say, I will consider engaging him.”

The publican shrugged, as though the matter was of little import. “When he comes, I will send for you,” he promised as he took his bread from the guard.

Robert followed suit, tucking the greyish hunk out of sight inside his shirt as he made his way across the yard. The small piece of bread, not much bigger than a man’s hand, was all any of the prisoners in the common side would claim for their suppers for the next two days and he knew there were some who wouldn’t hesitate to slit his throat for the pleasure of a full belly. Cook had disappeared and Robert wasn’t inclined to join anyone else.

When he sat down, the rocks behind his back were rough but warmed by the sun, the heat easing a little of the stiffness of his wounds. He dipped his meal in the water. His teeth still ached and he chewed carefully, favouring the left side of his mouth. He let his eyes close for a moment, trying to marshal his paltry meal. “And how are you enjoying His Majesty’s bounty?” a wry voice asked, nudging his shoe. Robert’s breath stuttered. He recognized the speaker. It was his unknown seducer.

He opened his eyes, squinting against the glare of the sun. His tormentor was slight, with sandy hair and a narrow face. He stood waiting, moving with an easy suppleness that belied his heavy manacles.

“Not as well as I’d enjoy my liberty.”

The stranger’s mouth twisted into a cynical smile. His teeth, Robert couldn’t help but notice, were good, flashing white against a tanned face that spoke of a great deal of time out of doors before his imprisonment. He had the slim build of a teenager but his muscles looked hard and used to labour.

“There’s more to life to enjoy than just liberty,” he replied, and Robert felt a lurch of panic at the knowing humour in his yes.

Would he reveal what had passed between them? Was it a threat? Robert’s situation was already precarious. He was known as one of the men who’d been detained at the White Swan. Hester had told him his name had been bruited about in the newspapers. He’d already fended off offers of assignation and assault in equal number. He could not afford to become embroiled in any more disgraceful behaviour.

“I myself enjoy bread that doesn’t break your teeth,” the man continued, as though unaware of Robert’s discomfort. “And meat that doesn’t crawl or stink or have you picking the maggots from the carcass.”

“I haven’t had that pleasure yet.”

“Aye, you’re newly arrived. Not even had the time to wear your bangles to a polish.” He glanced down to manacles identical to Robert’s own. “Sunday’s the day to wait for, for sure. Dr. Forde’s droning sermons to rot your soul and a few stingy scraps of horse meat to rot your gut.”

“Did you want me for something?” Robert interjected, uneasy in his presence. It was a simple matter to remember how this man’s lips had felt against his own. He could not let himself think of it. “I’ve better things to do than be bothered by the likes of you.” He fixed his eyes on his sorry meal but could see the young man hadn’t moved.

“Better things?” He laughed out loud, so hearty that Robert looked up again. He was a likely looking man in repose. Jesting, he was stunning. Robert squeezed his bread, crumbling it, wishing he hadn’t noticed his tormenter’s appeal. “It wasn’t better things that got you nicked, Robbie. No use in pretending here.”

“Robert. My name is Robert Aspinall,” he snapped, angrier at the man’s easy use of his Christian name than he was at the casual reference to his predilections.

“Well Robert, Robert Aspinall, I’m Timothy Langton.” He sketched a mocking bow then dipped his own bread into a tankard of ale. He bit off a large piece, chewing it with gusto.

“What do you want?” Robert tried to stand, tired of being at the disadvantage on the ground. He struggled to his feet, trying not to reveal his weakness. A callused hand, held out in an offer of aid, showed him to have failed. He swatted it away and Timothy shrugged.

“Suter be looking for ye,” his antagonist said, naming the head turnkey.

Hester
. Hester had come at last.

“Why didn’t you say so at once? Let me pass, that I might find him then.”

Timothy stepped aside with a fluid grace. Robert made his way through the yard as quickly as he could, heading towards the inner gate. Timothy trailed after him as though he had nothing better to do with his time. Their crossing was attracting interest. Even Amos was watching, his bruised eyes narrowed with speculation. Amos never missed an opportunity if it offered the possibility of something for himself.

“Do you mind?” Robert hissed over his shoulder. “The less my sister is exposed to ruffians like you, the better. ’Tis bad enough she must visit me here. I won’t have her infected by your—”

“Infected by my what?” Timothy challenged. “My nefarious character? My criminal tendencies to reject my employer’s advances? Or perhaps you speak of my ‘theft’? A bridle worth four shillings, gone missing the day after I told Tillyer, the old bugger I worked for as a driver, I wasn’t interested in his cock up my ass? They’ve hung men for less. Or transported them.”

Timothy’s face was drawn, his eyes angry. But it would be too easy to be taken in by his story. It was better they did not become better acquainted.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to bring you to this hellish place,” he said more. “But stay away from me. Stay away from my sister. I do not wish to repeat myself. I will not let you distract me from my efforts to free myself.

The young ostler didn’t argue further, but Robert could still feel his eyes watching him as he closed the last few yards to the gate.

A turnkey came about at his approach.

“I understand Mr. Suter is looking for me,” Robert said politely. “My sister is arrived?”

The guard inspected him with indifference through the heavy bars, then reached for the set of keys hanging at his waist. He sorted through them, his hands fingering them with familiarity, until he found the one he sought. He unlocked the small iron door set within the larger, the tumblers snapping into place. The door swung inwards towards the yard as the turnkey hailed the figure standing in the darkened passageway. “Come on then,” the guard called.

The young man in livery was a total stranger to Robert. The boy—for he was just a boy for all that he stood near to six feet—clambered into the prison, ducking his head to fit beneath the low opening. His eyes were wide in his pale face, although whether his pallid complexion was owed to fear or nausea, Robert could not distinguish.

“Mr. Aspinall?” he asked, clutching a large wicker hamper as though he imagined it was to be torn from his hands by a horde of ravening criminals at any moment.

“I am he,” Robert replied. “I was expecting my sister. Do you know where she is?”

“Yes, sir. I do, sir. She’s at my master’s house in Bruton Street.”

“Your master, Mr. Charlesworth resides in Watling Street, in Cheapside.” Robert amended. “Where is my sister?”

“I don’t know a Mr. Charlesworth. Your sister, she were set upon, outside your shop.”

“Set upon?”
God in Heaven
. “Tell me my sister’s fate and tell me now!” His shouting attracted interest from the other inmates but he didn’t care. The footman backed away, holding the basket tight to his chest for protection. Robert’s ribs ached with each breath he took. He strove for calm but it was an elusive goal.

“She is recovering,” the footman assured him, keeping a wary eye on Robert as though he expected another outburst. “It was my employer, Mr. Ramsay, who rescued her. Him alone, and the crowd a hundred or more. Frighted them off. Said it were the mischief of a man named Stroud. I heard him tell the doctor it were him that struck the blow that felled her.” The boy’s eyes were wide as he recounted the tale.

Ramsay? Hester had been attacked by Stroud and rescued by Ramsay? The story made no sense. “Are you telling me my landlord is harbouring my sister?”

“Yes, sir. ’Tis why he brought her home with him,” he said. “She were unconscious, struck a terrible blow to the head.” Robert muttered a harsh word and the footman hastened to reassure him. “The doctor was called and she’s out of danger now, though Mrs. Lytton has had her hands full with the nursing.”

All Robert heard were the words
out of danger.
“She makes a good recovery?” His throat tightened as he thought of his sister, hurt on his behalf. The injustice of it wounded him but he could do nothing to protect her, locked away as he was. He tried to hide his distress from Ramsay’s servant but the sympathy in the boy’s face was apparent.

He nodded eagerly, obviously hoping to bolster his spirits. “Her things have been collected from your lodgings and the shop though, so she has her books and everything comfortable.”

Robert needed to think on this, but worry and sleeplessness and hunger made his mind and body sluggish. He rubbed a dirty hand over his eyes, trying to clear his thoughts.

Hester ought not be staying with Ramsay. He knew, although his sister had always denied it, that she found him appealing. It would be best for everyone if she was not exposed to gossip, not now, when he was incarcerated and unable to lend her his countenance. And why were her things at the shop? They should have been moved to the Charlesworths’ residence already.

He swayed a little and the footman held out the basket.

“I brought you a hamper.” The boy lifted the lid and mouthwatering aromas wafted out, bringing a rush of saliva to Robert’s mouth. His stomach growled at the sight of a joint of ham, a loaf of bread and a stoppered jug. “There’s food and fresh linens and this.” The footman reached inside and drew out a small note, sealed with a daub of red wax. “Mr. Ramsay’s sent word. Here, take it.”

Robert took the note, slipping it into the pocket of his ruined waistcoat. Then he collected the basket. He would have hung it from the crook of his elbow but the heavy irons round his wrists prevented him, so he let it hang down by his side, wincing as it swung against the knee he’d injured in the melee outside the Brown Bear, where he and the others had been questioned following their arrests.