Lord Ashford's Wager (10 page)

When John had not arrived by the time the prisoners were served their meager supper, Tony realized he was going to be spending the night in the main quadrangle. He paid a few more shillings for an extra bowl of soup and a cup of ale. Despite the smells, he was surprised to find he was still hungry and was just regretting his payment to his cadaverous protector when he felt himself being jostled on either side and a hand reaching into his coat. As he yelled and pulled away, his “friend” grabbed the two thieves and knocked their heads together. “This one’s mine,” he told them. “So get ye off.” As the two slunk away, Tony stammered out a thank-you to his rescuer. “No need, guv. Ye paid fer hit.”

Later, when Tony had stretched out on a low pallet and pulled a moth-eaten blanket over himself, both of which had cost him more money, he was suddenly aware that someone was running a hand over his hair and tracing the outline of his ear. He tried to pretend he was asleep, but couldn’t help shivering as a voice whispered in his ear: “Yer ‘air shines like a new guinea, lad. Move over and I’ll show ye ‘ow good ye can feel with Jem as yer mate.”

The words were sweet enough, but the tone was hard and brooked no denial. Tony was just getting ready to send his elbow back into the man’s stomach when he felt the weight lifted off him.

“Oi already told ye, Jem, ‘e’s off-limits fer tonight. Now find someone else.”

“Aw right, Bill, aw right.”

Tony could have wept with relief until Bill crawled in next to him.

“I thank you for your help, Bill, but what are you doing in my cot?”

“Why, that’s part of my protective service, guv. Hif yer known to be mine, then no one else will go after ye.”

“How much will it take to have you find another bed?”

“Oh, Oi can’t do that. But another few shillings, and Oi won’t do nuffink more than sleep ‘ere.”

Tony reached into his pocket. “Done.”

“Fanks, guv.”

Tony shrank to the edge of the pallet, balanced precariously on the edge as Bill pulled closer and wrapped his arms around him. He lay awake and vigilant, waiting for his companion to make a move. But very soon Bill was asleep, breathing softly, hand clasped around Tony’s as though they were children taking shelter from the cold.
At least, I am safe until morning,
Tony thought.
Please God, let John come early,
and he drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

The next morning, Bill was gone and Tony awoke with a pounding headache. He had not slept well, but had kept waking up to the varied sounds of the prison: a fight breaking out, one man’s taking pleasure with another, and men calling out in their sleep.

How was he to endure another day of this? He sat on the edge of his cot, head buried in his hands, and thought that even Spain had been better than this, or at least, no worse. Surely no one could really believe he was a murderer? If Ned were alive, he’d tell them. He’d have gotten Tony out within an hour. But, of course, if Ned were alive, he wouldn’t be here at all. He’d be back in his tent in Spain rather than rotting in Newgate. He wouldn’t be the goddamned Earl of Ashford. He wouldn’t be responsible for the estate. He would never have had to court Lady Claudia Fairhaven.

But when he thought of Claudia, all he could think of was their first meeting, when each had felt an instant sympathy with the other. He had not wooed her only for her money. He had cared for Claudia very much. He just hadn’t loved her. That was his only crime. He knew she had loved him and he had taken advantage of her affection. But even that wasn’t true. He had been honest about himself. And who was to say he wouldn’t have come to love her? For Claudia, who was lovely and generous and sympathetic, deserved to be loved in return. Instead, she had been murdered. He wanted to cry for her again, but he couldn’t. Not here.

Someone was calling his name. It was the turnkey, telling him that John had arrived. Thank God, he would at least have a private room for the night.

The expression on John’s face almost made Tony laugh. He looked down at his rumpled clothes and rubbed a hand over his unshaven chin. “I know you are horrified, John, but there was not much I could do about it. Were you able to sell anything?”

“Yes, my lord. I got five guineas for the boots and two shirts and your maroon superfine.”

“Good man,” said Tony, with a broad smile. He felt as much relief as if John had brought enough to clear the estate. “That will buy me a private room for a while. Speaking of privacy,” said Tony, addressing the turnkey, “can I have a few minutes alone with my valet? I promise you he has not come to help me escape,” he added jokingly.

“All right, my lord, I can take you to the visitors’ room.”

When the turnkey had closed the door to the small chamber, Tony motioned his valet to sit down.

“John, I did not kill Lady Fairhaven.”

His valet jumped out of his seat. “Of course not, my lord. As though you would think that I could entertain such a suspicion.”

“Sit down, sit down. The point I am trying to make is that if I did not kill her, then someone else
did.
And that someone is still at large.”

“I had not thought of that, my lord.”

“Now, I was supposedly the last person to see her alive. But what of her new footman, Jim? He let me out and he has disappeared. Perhaps he did it—for the money.”

“Or it could have been an intruder, my lord.”

“But if it were a burglar, then where is Jim?”

“Run away, my lord. Or perhaps dead?” John offered tentatively.

“Hmmm. I think a burglar is the weakest possibility. No, I think Jim is the stronger one. Not, of course, that I can do anything about it while I am in here,” added Tony hopelessly.

“I heard the hearing is set for the day after tomorrow.”

“Another two days here. I don’t think I can stand it. You’ll have to sell another jacket and two shirts. I need every shilling I can get.”

“I’ll be back with more money tomorrow, my lord.”

“And John.” John looked expectantly at his employer. “Thank you for believing in me.”

* * * *

The morning went excruciatingly slowly after John left. Here and there in the corners were groups of men with dice or tattered decks of cards. Tony could have joined them, but had no desire to. Whatever fire had fueled his obsession was banked for now, perhaps completely extinguished by the humiliation of asking Claudia for more money and then the realization that in some way, his gambling might have led to her death. Perhaps Jim had seen the rest of the money in the desk drawer. Perhaps someone else had known he had asked her for a loan… There was no logic to his feeling of guilt. He hadn’t loved Claudia the way she deserved to be loved, he had involved her in his financial difficulties, he had disappointed her, and she was dead. Had he not been frequenting St. James Street, maybe none of this would have happened. At any rate, he couldn’t imagine ever wagering on anything again, even for a penny a point on a game of whist.

He had paid the turnkey for a room, and at last, in early afternoon, he was given a small cubicle off the main quadrangle. It wasn’t much, but it was a hundred times better than living in the middle of a crowd of felons. The pallet was relatively clean and comfortable and there was a small deal table and chair and even a chamberpot. Granted, the pot didn’t look as if it had ever been scrubbed, but it was empty and gave him privacy.

“Candles and plate cost half a guinea, my lord,” said the turnkey as Tony inspected the three candleholders, which held only stubs. “A lantern is more.”

Tony handed over the money with an unamused laugh. “You do well for yourself. Does the prison supply anything but bread and gruel?”

“Not much, my lord, not much,” replied the man with a grin, and left Tony to himself.

He spent what felt like hours going over the past months since Ned’s death. What could he have done differently? He wasn’t his brother, that was certain. He hadn’t been raised to the title, nor had he the temperament for the responsibilities. It now appeared ludicrous to him, however, that he had thought a few good nights at the tables would resolve all his problems. But at the time, the slow, methodical, painful way Ned had chosen had seemed the ridiculous solution. He had been twisting and turning his signet ring while he sat there remembering, and now he pulled it off and looked at it. “I don’t deserve this, Ned,” he whispered. “You should have lived and I been the one to die in Spain. God got it all wrong, Ned, all wrong. But I swear,” declared Tony, pushing the ring back on his finger, “that I will do better. But, oh, God, I wish you were here to help me.” It seemed to Tony that his brother was very close at that moment, watching, listening, and the sense of his presence and the kaleidoscope of memories that was going through his head broke through, at long last, the barrier he had erected against his grief. He turned his head to the wall, and burying his face in his pillow, wept from a place so deep that he thought he might retch his insides out. He cried for Ned, gone away too early, for his mother and Charlotte, and finally for Claudia, his good friend. And then, at long last, he slept.

He was shaken awake a few hours later by the gatesman. “Wake up, my lord. You have another visitor.”

“What?” mumbled Tony, sitting up and rubbing his swollen eyes.

“But you don’t look half ready to see this one, guv. I can send a basin of water and a towel for ten shillings, hif you wish.”

“Is my valet back?”

“Oh, no. This time it is a young woman. Or a lady, I should say. She calls herself Lady Joanna Barrand.”

“Joanna! She shouldn’t be here. Send her away immediately.”

“I told her as how this was no place for a gentlewoman. But she did bring an abigail with her. And she insisted I tell you she was here.”

“Oh, God,” groaned Tony. “I can’t see her like this.”

The gatesman put out his hand.

“All right, all right. Bring me the water and towel, and I’ll see her for a minute or two.”

The water wasn’t clean, nor was the towel, but then nothing was in this dreadful place. Tony did the best he could and smoothed his hair and brushed off his trousers and shirt and then followed the gatesman out to the visitors’ room.

Joanna had been pacing the small room while her abigail sat stiffly in a chair with her handkerchief held to her nose. Although the smell of the prison was fainter here, it had permeated the walls enough to make both women feel queasy.

When she heard footsteps, Joanna turned and watched Tony and his guard walk down the corridor. She had never seen Tony look so bad, not even when Ned was dying. His clothes were wrinkled and dirty, he was unshaven, and his eyes looked as if he had been up for three days straight. His usually light athletic step had become heavy. Another day or two, thought Joanna in horror, and he would be shuffling.

He stopped at the door and the gatesman almost had to push him in.

“I’ll give you some privacy, my lord, but remember, I am right outside the door,” the guard said, and closed it behind him.

“Joanna, you shouldn’t be here!” Tony protested in a hoarse voice.

Joanna had decided that a matter-of-fact approach rather than sympathy would save them both from embarrassment.

“Of course I would come, Tony. You are one of my oldest friends.”

“Please sit down, then, Joanna.”

Joanna sat and signaled to her abigail with her eyes. Sally rose and stood by the barred window, giving them the illusion of privacy.

Tony stood for a moment or two, and then seated himself into the chair opposite.

“What are you doing here, Jo? I can’t believe your parents would have allowed it.”

“They don’t know I am here,” she admitted. “They think I am out shopping. But I couldn’t stand the rumors. I wanted to talk to you myself and see if there was anything I could do.”

“And what are the rumors? No, don’t tell me,” Tony continued. “I can guess. The heartless and desperate young suitor of an older woman kills her in a moment of anger when she refuses him money to pay his debts.”

“Something like that,” Joanna said. “But how anyone could believe it…”

“Oh, I don’t know, Jo. It is so close to the truth, why wouldn’t they?” Tony responded wearily.

“But you didn’t kill her, Tony.”

“No,” he replied, looking directly into her eyes. “No, I didn’t kill her. But somehow I feel I may as well have been the one to put my hands around her neck. I feel responsible, Jo. I
was
desperate. I did borrow from her and she did at first refuse to give me more money. The butler heard that much before going to bed. But what he didn’t hear was the rest of our conversation. I convinced her that I was sincere in my determination to stop gaming, and that I cared for her. By the time I left, we were unofficially betrothed. And she had given me the money that incriminated me.”

“Did you love her, Tony?” Joanna asked, without really thinking. She
had
to know.

“We were good friends, Joanna. Like you and I. There was an instant sympathy between us. But Claudia knew how I felt about her. And I knew how she felt about me. She loved me, Jo. But I swear I was honest with her, and was sure that our marriage had every chance of becoming a very happy one, despite my motivation.”

“To save Ashford?”

“Yes. What other way was there? And I thought it was not such a bad thing I was doing after all. I mean, most of the marriages we know are founded on less than friendship. And I think Claudia hoped I would eventually come to love her.”

“And would you?”

“I will never know now, will I?”

“We must get you out of here,” Joanna declared.

Tony gave her a bleak smile. “The magistrates’ hearing is in a few days’ time. I can stand it until then. Indeed, it feels like fit punishment,” he added.

“For what?”

“For letting Ned down…for wasting what little money I had. For not loving Claudia. I feel that most strongly of all. That somehow I am responsible for her death. That had she not met me, she would still be alive.”

“That is nonsense, Tony. She was probably killed by an intruder.”