EscapeWithMe (13 page)

“The half-naked woman?” the watchman asked. “Tall? Red
hair?”

Ryder didn’t want to guess at how naked Samantha had been.
He relaxed enough for Henry to release him. “Yes, where?”

“Another took her to the watch-house, sir.”

“Which one?”

“He’s a watchman of St. Giles, sir, and we’d patrol a couple
of streets together, but he said his watch-house is full up. I don’t know if
she’d be there.”

It was enough. Ryder gently took Mary by the arm and led her
outside. A quick explanation to Oliver left her in the coachman’s care and
Ryder mounted his horse.

He had to find her before the law took over.

* * * * *

The watchman’s grip around her arm was tight, though not to
keep her from running away. She could barely stand and stumbled along the dirty
streets, her bare feet burning with pain and her head lolling about her neck. A
migraine was stabbing through her head, her cheek was swollen, and she was
fighting to keep the remaining contents of her stomach. Though the watchman
held aloft a lantern, she couldn’t see much of the surrounding buildings unless
one boasted a candle at its door. The criminal and the homeless skittered along
the shadows in the alleys, avoiding the light of the watchman’s lantern.

“Where are we going now?” The St. Giles parish watch-house
had been full and the beadle had turned her away, though not before scolding
the watchman for bringing in criminals from the wrong parish, having learned
that she’d been picked up in Covent Garden. He had taken her to that
watch-house, but it was also full.

Sam didn’t know how far they had walked in total. Just
staying upright and conscious was all the effort she could muster.

“St. Martin’s is the closest.”

“What’ll happen to me?” She couldn’t speak without slurring
but she was scared. Maybe the one to judge her would be lenient, but Sam’s luck
hadn’t been good the last couple of days.

“You’ll be off my hands, God be good.”

Sam thought of Ryder and if he even knew what had happened
to her, or if he had gone home to forget about her. She worried about Mary
being hurt, and what Mary had said about being caught in another cage. Would
she ever see her again?

“What’s this now?” a man asked and Sam realized they were
approaching the double doors of the watch-house. Another watchman was leaving
and held up his lantern to see her better. She undoubtedly was a wreck.

The one holding her arm pulled her inside the building and
the well-lit public room was full of activity. Other watchmen were sitting
about on benches or at tables, eating or resting between patrols. Extra
lanterns, rattlers and clubs were gathered near the door where some watchmen
had hung their coats. One of the side doors was likely a privy and a solid oak
door at the back obviously led to the watch-house cells.

A man dressed a little better than his fellow watchmen sat
at a desk where many sheafs of paper and a large bound logbook sat, as well as
the necessary inkwell and quill. A young boy, no more than ten years old, was
being questioned by the seated man, who wrote down answers in the log.

Sam weaved on her feet while they awaited the beadle,
grateful that the watchman with her had kept his hand on her arm. “Steady yourself,
girl.”

Some of the watchmen glanced at her, but most didn’t spare
her a look. She kept her coat clutched around her throat, fiercely protective
of the locket that Mary had so adamantly said was “her life”. They couldn’t
take it from her or she’d never get it back.

“Step up then,” the beadle called. Sam’s arresting watchman
guided her to the desk from which the beadle glared sourly.

“Which parish are you from, watchman?”

“St. Giles. Found this one in Covent Garden but both
watch-houses are full up.”

“Your name, girl?”

Sam briefly wondered if she should provide an alias, but
those accusing her knew her real name already and if anyone else were trying to
track her down, using her real name would help them find her faster. “Samantha
Reed, sir.” The beadle made a contemplative noise and wrote her name on a new
line in the logbook.

“I’ve not seen you in here before. You seen her about,
watchman?”

“No sir. Not this one.” More notes.

“What are her crimes?”

“Assaulted a woman in her house on Bow Street and stole the
underthings she’s wearing beneath her coat, a corset and shift. She says the
clothes there are her own and the accuser didn’t argue.” The watchman pointed
at the bundle of modern clothes Sam held in her other hand.

Sam wanted to argue, but none of the charges were untrue.
She had pretty much done all those things. She would’ve interrupted with the
circumstances, but the beadle wasn’t the one to hear it as she had learned
after trying to explain herself at the other watch-houses. Neither of them had
cared about her side of the story.

“We’re nearly full ourselves, but the justice will be
sitting in a few hours. You’ll be held until then, girl. Take her back,
watchman, and have her return the stolen articles,” the beadle pronounced.

Her heart sank. She didn’t know what she expected but the
prospect of being crammed into a cell with other criminals was daunting.

The watchman tugged her around the beadle’s desk and toward
the solid oak door in the back. Tears stung her eyes. Another watchman unlocked
and opened the door to lead them inside. The cell area was dark and the air was
stale. It stank of sweat and urine. The watchman’s lantern lit up about six
cell doors and she was steered to the right toward the second-to-last one.

“You have two minutes to change and I’ll be expecting the
stolen clothes to come back through this door. Understand?” Sam nodded, unable
to talk past the lump in her throat. The cell door was unlocked and she was
pushed inside. Six women were already crammed into the tiny cell. Two slept on
the single bench, another on the open floor, and the other three sat against
the stone walls. Only a couple turned at the light.

The door shut, leaving them all in darkness, and Sam ripped
apart the bundle of clothes. She tossed down her coat, put on her pants and
then tugged loose the laces of the corset to slip it off. Only a second after
shucking the chemise and pulling on her blouse, a knock sounded on the door and
it opened again. The watchman took the stolen clothes from her and the door
shut again. The sound of a lock turning made her eyes sting.

“Got any food?” a voice whispered in the darkness.

She was too choked up to answer. She hugged the rest of her
clothes to her chest, crammed herself against the wall, and cried.

* * * * *

Ryder didn’t wait for Oliver to open the coach door and
jumped to the street. His driver had caught him up just as he was leaving the
St. Giles watch-house and together they had gone to the watch-house in Covent
Garden, to which the St. Giles beadle had directed them. Samantha hadn’t been
there either and dawn was soon approaching. The Covent Garden beadle had
recalled the red-haired woman, having suggested to the watchman that had
brought her to try either of two other watch-houses, for both were close and
had larger cells for the holding of criminals awaiting a justice of the peace.

Not knowing to which one the watchman had led her, Ryder had
first gone to a third watch-house in St. Clement Danes, only to be told that no
one by that description had been brought. The watch-house in St. Martin’s
parish was his last hope, and he was near to screaming with anxiety as he
strode to the door of the watch-house. If Samantha wasn’t here, he wasn’t
likely to find her.

He barged into the watch-house and stormed up to the
beadle’s desk where the beadle was in the middle of processing a young man with
a bloody nose.

“Have you a Samantha Reed in your cells?”

“You’ll wait your turn, sir, or I’ll have you tossed out,”
the beadle barked. Ryder heard men shifting behind him, preparing to do just
that.

“Tall, red hair. She was picked up in Covent Garden by a
watchman of St. Giles parish.” Ryder felt a leap of hope at the beadle’s
hesitation and the spark of remembrance on his face. The seated man pressed his
lips together and looked down at his logbook. He turned back a page and ran his
finger down the entries.

“Yes, Samantha Reed. Assaulted a woman in her house and
therein stole two items of clothing.”

Ryder leaned over his hand on the desk and lowered his
voice. “I would ask that you release her into my custody.”

“I can’t do that,” the beadle squawked. “I’m not some
midnight magistrate.”

“The woman was forced into a brothel that I am now
prosecuting, sir. She was fleeing an abusive bawd who attacked her first. She’s
not been in trouble with the watch before and I ask for your leniency.”

The beadle stroked the frown on his lips and was quiet a
moment. His eyes looked to the bloody-nosed man and another watchman waiting to
hand over a sullen woman. With a sigh, he wrote additional notes in Samantha’s
entry.

“We’re already to the brim here. I’ll need your name and
address, sir.”

Ryder gladly gave it. A watchman escorted him to the cells
in the back. The stench had him covering his nose. None of the doors had a
window through which to allow air and he wondered at the condition of the
prisoners. A cell door was unlocked and the watchman had difficulty at first
opening it.

“Move it,” he ordered. “Door’s opening up.” When the door
opened, Ryder nearly shoved the watchman aside. Samantha blinked at him from
her seat next to the wall just inches from the swing of the door. She lifted
her hand to shade her eyes. Clear streaks cut through the dirt on her face. Her
other arm was wrapped around her legs and she was wearing her men’s clothes
again. Her bare feet were raw and covered in filth.

“Ryder?”

He offered his hand to her and the watchman gestured that
she stand. “Come on out of there, girl. You’re to leave with this man.”

She sighed with relief but was frowning as she accepted
Ryder’s hand. He pulled her to her feet and into the hall of the holding area.
While the watchman locked up, Ryder couldn’t stop himself from embracing her.
It had been only four hours since he had been carried out of her room at the
brothel, but so much had happened in the interim. Samantha was stiff in his
arms.

No doubt the rotund gentleman who had staggered from the
bawdy house had been “the duke”, and Mary had said that he and Sam were
together.

His blood boiled at the thought. He tightened his arms
around her, willing it not to be true. He regretted treating Mrs. Hayes so
gently. He wanted to pound Hull’s head into the ground until it was as mangled
as a butcher’s scraps.

“After you, sir,” the watchman said. Ryder released Samantha
and they returned to the main room of the watch-house. She stepped carefully on
her bare feet, wincing and limping. His jaw tightened. The beadle only looked
at them briefly before returning to his logbook.

At the door, she moved to put on a pair of strange brown
shoes before leaving the watch-house, but Ryder lifted her into his arms. Would
that it was for the same reason as the last time he had done so. She hugged her
only possessions and looked away from him. Ryder shouldered through the door.

The light of dawn had brightened the streets. Oliver stood
ready. Upon seeing him, his driver opened the door of the coach and lowered the
steps. He then removed his hat when Ryder neared with Samantha. After
depositing her inside, he grabbed the frame of the door to pull himself in.

“Heading back now, sir?” his driver asked.

“Yes, Oliver.” He sat with relief on the rear-facing seat.
Still holding his hat, Oliver folded up the stairs and shut the door with a
click.

“Sir?”

He looked tiredly at his driver. “What is it?”

Oliver looked at Samantha, who was staring silently at her
fingers. “I just wanted to say that I understand now, sir.”

Ryder nodded. When the coach was in motion, he stared at the
woman across from him. Now that he had found her, he wasn’t sure what to do
next. He wished to comfort her, but she hadn’t returned his embrace in the
watch-house and had been prepared to walk out on injured feet. He searched his
coat pocket for a kerchief to offer her, but realized he had not brought one
when changing clothes.

“How fare you? Do you need a doctor?”

“No.” She only held his eyes for a second. “I think.”

He glanced down at her bare toes peeking out from the hem of
her breeches. “And your feet?”

“I…I don’t know yet.”

“Your cheek? Did Hull hit you?”

She nodded and he clenched his hand, the slight ache in his
knuckles a reminder of the punch he had landed in the bully cock’s stomach.

He knew the question he really wanted to ask, but he
couldn’t bring himself to do it. Had the duke…?

“What now?” she asked her lap. “Am I yours?”

When it was put so bluntly, Ryder balked at the notion of
anyone belonging to him.

“I’ll not pretend that I will not see you as a lover,” he
said with hesitance, “but I’ve considered the offer you extended earlier this
evening. I’ve ledgers for you to study regarding my brother’s dealings. I need
to understand the type of cargo he smuggled. Who his buyers are, who his
contacts are on the Continent, his margin of profit.”

For the first time since leaving the watch-house cell, she
looked at him fully. He wondered if a bruise would flower on her swollen cheek.

“I can accept that,” she said.

“I’ve also extended employment to Mary, if that is all right
with you. I know she was the one who led you out of the house.” Samantha
covered her mouth and her eyebrows turned up. “I can certainly place her elsewhere
if you do not wish her as your personal maid, but I’ve no manservant and I know
next to nothing of womanly things.”