Without a Summer (29 page)
Her other hand had one as well.
Pushing up her sleeves, Jane found more, and her whole body began to itch. She walked in a half circle as far as she could get from the bed. Pacing to put the itching out of her mind, she tried to work through what her options were. She could do little from inside the cell.
Jane had a moment of fancy in which she cast a
Sphère Obscurcie
and escaped when they left the door open, but the weight and rattle of the shackle quickly pulled her back to her senses. Even if she were to escape, what then? Vincent would still be chained, and there was a charge of treason against them. Perhaps one of Vincent’s college chums could help. He had studied law at university, after all. Surely one of them must be adept. University—why was she so worried? Vincent had met the Prince Regent while at school. He would pardon them as soon as he heard that they had been arrested.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and Jane hurried toward the door, stopped short by her chain. Keys rattled outside the door. Please God, let that be the gaoler with her father, or the Prince Regent come to rescue them … not that the Prince would come himself. Jane wet her lips and tried to compose herself.
The lock scraped and then the door opened. The gaoler was all smiles. “There now, Lady Vincent. Here’s the Solicitor General, come to see you.”
An older gentleman followed him into the cell, a withered man, no more than a rack of bones. He carried a leather satchel under one arm, which bulged with papers. “Thank you, my good man.” He passed Mr. Bradley a banknote. “Could you see to it that Lady Vincent has a good breakfast?”
As the smiling gaoler pocketed the banknote, Jane found her voice. “I am afraid you have the better of me, sir.”
“I am Sir Jeremiah Fisk.” The Solicitor General leafed through his papers. “I apologise for leaving you here last night. We usually conduct our initial interviews at Bow Street, but due to the nature of the charges, you were all brought directly here.” He pulled out a paper. “Ah. Here it is.”
Jane stood in front of him, waiting as he looked it over. Inhaling so that his nostrils widened, Sir Jeremiah pursed his lips. “Now … given your husband’s past service, I believe that we can come to an arrangement, if you will both cooperate fully with our investigation.”
“Of course. I am happy to cooperate.”
“Good. Good. I have some questions about Mr. O’Brien that I want to ask. Before we begin, though, let us be clear: a man found guilty of treason will be drawn to the place of execution on a hurdle, hanged, cut down while still alive, and then disembowelled, castrated, beheaded, and quartered. The state is lenient for women—they are only drawn and hanged till dead.” The solicitor looked down at the paper. “In exchange for your assistance, I can arrange to have your sentence converted to transportation for life.”
What a question. Jane clasped her hands in front of her and raised her chin. “You seem to be assuming our guilt.”
“The evidence against you is significant, I am afraid.” He frowned in consideration. “You were, perhaps, misled by your husband? We might be able to pursue that angle, I suppose. If you are willing to testify against him. Given his history, I trust that will not be an issue.”
“His history? I do not take your meaning.”
“Ah … you did not know.” He looked back at his paper. “I thought as much. It is often the case.”
“Know what?”
He hesitated. “Your husband is not who he has presented himself to be. His true name is Vincent Hamilton—”
Jane laughed. She could not help herself, even knowing that the laughter made her sound as though her senses were quite deranged. “Oh. That. Yes, I have known about that since he proposed. And no, I am afraid I cannot testify against him. Any other assistance you require, so long as I am not obliged to perjure myself, I am happy to provide.” Jane realised that perhaps the solicitor could help them. Knowing that the Prince Regent would vouch for them, it only required getting word to him of their difficulties. They were the Prince Regent’s glamourists, after all—surely it could not be so difficult to ask the solicitor to carry a message? “Sir Jeremiah, are you aware that my husband is a friend of the Prince Regent?”
The Solicitor General narrowed his gaze. “I was aware that he had taken commissions from His Royal Highness. That is not quite the same thing.”
“But they met in their college days.” Jane kept her hands closed.
“As his Royal Highness is some twenty years older than your husband, I rather doubt that.”
Jane hesitated. It was true. They had not attended college together. The Prince Regent had come down for a fête. Perhaps she was over-stating their acquaintance. “I am certain that, if it is possible to get a message to His Royal Highness, he can vouch for our innocence. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes … yes, I can. Though I make no promises, of course.” A complaisant smirk crossed the solicitor’s lips. “Many people claim a friendship with His Royal Highness when in a similar position.”
Jane dug her fingernails into the bug bites on the back of her hand. “I see.” She looked to the wall where the list of rules was posted, concentrating on the tack in one of the corners so that the Solicitor General was only a shadow at the edge of her vision. Jane let her breath out slowly. The charges were specious. The Prince Regent held them in high regard. So long as she was honest, it was only a matter of time before they were free. “Thank you, sir. Now, how may I help you?”
“First, I need to know exactly what your husband said about his part in the plot.”
“Once we realized that Lord Verbury had contrived the march to look like an revolt, Sir David and Mr. O’Brien attempted to stop it—”
“Lady Vincent, please.” The solicitor’s voice was entirely level. “I am offering you a chance, which not many would. If you do not cooperate, then I will walk out of this room, and you will not get another.”
“But—but I am cooperating.”
“By inventing a conspiracy to cover up your own? I assure you, I am well aware of the differences between Lord Verbury and his son. Attacking him with your fancies will do you no good.”
“This is a dilemma. You ask me to be honest, then reprimand me for that honesty. What am I to do?” Jane’s heart trembled. In the silence of the prison, she could hear only it and the solicitor’s breathing. She stared at the tack, counting the holes in the paper where the notice had been pulled down and replaced. Seven times, it appeared.
“It seems we have nothing to discuss at this time, then. When you are on the witness stand, remember my offer to commute your sentence to transportation.” He shoved his papers back into his satchel.
“And your offer to contact the Prince Regent on our behalf?”
“Of course. I am a man of my word.” With a grunt of irritation, Sir Jeremiah swung around on his heel and strode out of the room. The door hung open behind him, showing Jane a view of the long hall and the cells bordering it.
She stared out the door, but it was beyond her reach.
* * *
The breakfast that Sir
Jeremiah had so ostentatiously ordered for Jane never arrived. She suspected that he had cancelled the order on his way back out. Certainly, the gaoler was not in a good humour when he returned to lock her door.
Jane gathered her gown around her and sat down in the middle of the floor, not trusting the bed. She rested her head on her knees and tried to think. Thought came slowly. Her very mind seemed to fight her. Jane passed her time sitting on the floor, retracing her errors, pacing the room, or staring at the pocket of sky.
It had gotten significantly lighter, and Jane had time to regret the want of breakfast, before she heard footsteps again. The gaoler opened the door with fewer smiles, though still more cheerfully than when she had last seen him. “Your father.”
Jane scrambled to her feet as Mr. Ellsworth walked in. His face told her everything she needed to know about her state and their prospects in general. He carried a bandbox in one hand and a covered basket in the other. Tears dimming his eyes, he set both down and hurried across the room to wrap his arms around Jane. She clung to him and let herself fall apart, weeping as she had when she had been small. Her father murmured to her and patted her on the back, but Jane had no illusions that he could make anything all better.
“Oh, Papa. I am so glad to see you.”
He pulled back, beaming at her, but his face was wet and his chin trembled. “I am sorry I could not be here earlier. I went round to our solicitor first.” He sighed and gestured to the covered basket. “But we should eat something. That man said you had nothing to eat yet.”
Jane shook her head.
“Well.” He wiped his hands off and looked around at the bare cell. “Hm. A moment.” Going to the door, he pulled it open. Briefly, Jane was afraid he would leave her. He called down the hall instead, voice shockingly loud in the hush. “Sir!”
The gaoler was back in short order. From the sound of his footsteps, he had not gone far. Jane suspected he was used to this sort of thing. In fact, he brought a small folding table and two chairs with him. He did not, however, offer them to Mr. Ellsworth until that latter worthy had presented him with a banknote.
“Thank you, sir.” The gaoler carried the table and chairs in and set them up. “If I might suggest, sir, the young lady might be more comfortable with fresh linen and perhaps some candles.”
Mr. Ellsworth’s face turned red and a vein stood out on his forehead. Jane realized that she had never seen her father truly angry before. He pulled his pocketbook back out of his coat and removed two fresh banknotes. “I trust that I shall not hear of my daughter wanting for
anything
while she remains here.”
“Oh, no, sir.” The gaoler was unshaken. “I think you and I understand each other well enough now. I can always just send a bill around if that would be easier.”
“Thank you.” Her father’s teeth clacked against each other as he bit the words off. “Now. If you will excuse us.”
“Of course, sir. Of course.” The gaoler bowed his way out, folding the money and putting it into his pocket.
Mr. Ellsworth shuddered as the man left. “Major Curry warned me that this would be the case. I was still not prepared.”
“He came to see you?”
“Yes. This morning” Mr. Ellsworth pulled out a chair for Jane and held it until she was seated. Even such a commonplace courtesy made her eyes water. “He is why you have this cell instead of being in the general stews. He made arrangements for Vincent as well. I tried to restore his funds this morning, but he would not allow it.”
“He is a good man.”
Mr. Ellsworth set the basket on the table and pulled out a meat pie and a small wheel of cheese. “I recall you speaking fondly of him. Your mother is convinced he is the worst man in the world, in spite of my efforts to explain.”
Jane’s mouth watered as her father set an orange on the table. “I can well imagine.”
“She sends her love.” He put out a pair of tin plates. “These were Melody’s idea, by the way. I can leave them with you so you have something to eat on.”
Jane pulled the plate closer. “By which I take it that the visit to the solicitor did not go well.”
Mr. Ellsworth paused before setting a knife and fork on her plate. “No. I am afraid it did not.”
“Ah. Well, the morning seems full of unhappy visits with solicitors. The Solicitor General came this morning to interview me.”
“Dare I ask how that went?”
“He wanted me to testify against Vincent. He offered to make my charges go away. I told him no.”
Her father spun, aghast. “Call him back.”
“How could you?” It was not possible that her father could even contemplate such a thing. “No.”
“Jane—” His voice shook and he clenched his hands into fists at his side. “I do not think you understand. The punishment for treason is—”
“I know. But—during the war, when Vincent was a prisoner … no. I could not live if I were … No.” She turned in the chair to face him, her chain rattling against the chair leg. Her father looked down, wincing. “Besides, the Prince Regent thinks highly of us. Once he hears that we are imprisoned, he will let us out.”
Her father looked at the floor and covered his face. He drew in a deep breath and then dropped his hands. Something like a smile was on his face. “Well, then. Let us enjoy our meal, and we shall talk about this all later.”
He drew up a chair next to Jane’s and cut a piece of pie for her. During the rest of his visit, he told her stories of Long Parkmead, and how their neighbours were, and other gossip from London. He would say nothing about the charges, or Mr. O’Brien, or her situation at all.
When his visit came to an end, he reached into the basket and brought out a piece of paper and a pencil. “I thought you might want to write a letter to Vincent. I shall see him next.”
Jane pulled the paper toward her, but could think of nothing to fill it with. Where could she even begin? There was so much to say that any words she imagined failed.
Her father stood at the window again, looking out.
“Can you see anything?”
“Hm? Yes, the river is just visible.”
She ran her finger over the page, imagining Vincent’s face beneath her fingers. Taking up the pencil, she began to write.
My dearest Vincent,
My room has a view of the river …
Every morning, Jane expected to hear that the Prince Regent had called for their release. Her father reported that Vincent had written to him, and yet they heard nothing. She tried very hard not to become vexed, but the continued silence—oh, the silence. It broke only when she had a visitor, and then Jane found herself inclined to chatter as if she could prevent the silence from returning.
Jane and her father fell into something of a routine over the next several days. True to his purchased word, the gaoler brought Jane clean sheets, a washbasin, and even a rough chest to put her few possessions in. Her father brought Jane’s work-basket from home, with letters from her mother and Melody. He refused, however to let either of them accompany him to see her.
