Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 ..

by Taylor, Winchcombe

  Young Joe tended him, sleeping on a pallet in the room, and Kane —well paid—came frequently to dress his wounds, drink his brandy and tell him of the prison and its inmates. In thieves' cant it was the "University" or "Whittington's College," after the famous boy who, tramping toward London with only a spare shirt and a cat, was about to return home when he fancied Bow Bells jangled: "Turn again, Whittington, Lord Mayor and Citizen, Lord Mayor of Londonl" He did turn, did become lord mayor and later left a bequest for the prison's improvement. But that was in the fifteenth century and, Kane admitted, it hadn't improved since.

  Next day, Ram learned that he was to come up for trial on Monday. Sir Joel Lark had accepted his case for 1,000 guineas retainer, and both Joseph and Kelton had had success. Joseph had traced the chairmen and the linkboy, who would testify where they'd set Ram down and that they'd heard shouts and clashing weapons as they were walking away. The attorney had found an even better witness, having sent Hilary Brown visiting the dens. In one was a bandaged man who said he'd been on a "job," but had had his cheek laid open by the intended victim's sword. He and his fellows were bitter, for their hirer had been killed in the attack; they'd not even been paid for their risk.

  But no news of the Morgans or their servants. All had vanished.

  The Daily Courant appeared with: "C-p—n A r, not long back

  from Hindustan and known to his friends as Nabob, recently outfaced a late officer of the H.E.LC.'s service at G-n—l W — 's residence.

  The host composed their differences, but on Saturday the M-j-r was found weltering in his blood with the Nabob bending over him. The C-p—n is presently in the College to be tried for Murder."

  Worse came when The Postboy smirked: "The gentleman known as the Nabob who killed Major Rale last Saturday was about to enter the house of a lady, also lately from India, whose spouse had left for his native W-l-s. Was it the lady's bright eyes that brought this effusion of blood?"

  This was damaging, Murray thought and spoke pointedly; so Ram was forced to confess the truth.

  "Then even should we find Mr. Morgan, he'll be no favorable witness," the Scot frowned. "We'd best give up the hunt and depend on the rogue you wounded to confess he'd been hired to kill you. We might find the rest of his cullies, but Morgan and his lady would be prejudicial; he from malice and she from shame."

  The news items brought Ram's acquaintances flocking, Deane and Holton among the first. Ladies whom he'd met casually in salons or at games of whist or loo came to ogle the handsome Nabob who must stand trial for his life. And letters came. One from Essex regretted that neither the writer nor her esteemed husband could come to town at present, but both sent wishes for his good success. It was signed Isabella Tapley.

  Ram was wryly amused that the scandal of Sparrow's death had driven the pair into a marriage which surely neither wanted. For Harry's Essex estate was deeply mortgaged, and Isabella had little to bring him. So the two hawks must peck at each other until some new sparrows appeared.

  On Saturday his room was crowded, but at last the visitors left and he could confer with the impatient Kelton. " 'Twill rest with the judges," the attorney said. "Our defense is somewhat thin, but if your fine friends pack the sessions room and act as friends, applauding our evidence and decrying the Crown's, they may sway the jury and the judges. Look calm and wear your fetters as if they were a mark of honor. These small matters count. So, Captain, till Monday."

  Ram downed some punch. Bah, he was growing gloomy! His real hurt was because of Annie. Why had she deserted him? He drank again.

  Next day it was raining outside and he was restless. He was glad

  when Dr. Kane dropped in and asked if he cared to see the chapel service.

  The chapel was crowded with prisoners and visitors, and the ordinary was preaching as the pair entered the gallery. Ram looked down at the enclosed space in the center. In it was a black-draped coffin, around which sat four men and a woman, all heavily manacled and gyved. Tomorrow, while he was on his way to be tried at the Old Bailey, they'd be on their way to Tyburn—and eternity.

  Life hadn't made Ram squeamish, but this sight gagged him. Five poor devils were to die, probably for running off with a yard of lace or filching a purse. Wordlessly, he left the doctor and returned to his room. Next week he himself might be sitting in that enclosure while the ordinary mumbled down at him to prepare his soul for salvation! He spent the forenoon with the punch bowl.

  "Your honor, a female requests a word with ye," Young Joe announced, "Most insistent, she is." He held his nose and a moment later Ram knew why, for the girl who entered had certainly not washed for months. Her fetters clanked as she came toward him.

  "Y'honor, you named Ramillies Anstither?" she squeaked nervously. "The name serves." He wished she would keep her distance. "There's a pore lass wants t'see ye, sir. Mrs. Rowton, she is. The pore creeture wot's to be topped off termorrer. She begs yer'll come dahn to the condemned 'old an' spare 'er a minute, sir,."

  Mrs. Rowton? He knew no one of that name. But how could one refuse? He was too close to the noose himself to be indifferent.

  "Won't ye 'ave ter git a turnkey ter come dahn to 'er, sir?" the girl asked. She looked around in wonderment. "Lor,' you ain't 'arf got a bitta orl right 'ere, you ain't!"

  "Get Flint," he told Young Joe. "And give this lass a guinea for her pains." After biting the coin, the girl called weird blessings upon his head. "Thank ye, ma'am," he said gravely, anxious to be rid of her stench. "I'll follow anon."

  Alone he paced, despite his lame leg. Mrs. Rowton! Could she know anything of Annie? Was Annie's disappearance due to foul play, and did this condemned woman wish to confess about it?

  "Capting, sir." Flint appeared. "I 'ear ye want to see the condemned female. Me, I'd ha' thought ye'd prefer one 'oo'd be ahrand a bit

  longer. Well, come this way." He led along the corridor and down steps, at the top of which Ram was assailed with a stink that increased powerfully as they went lower. Upon arriving he'd been too sick to notice the prison's usual smell, and since then he'd not stirred from his well-aired room.

  "She's a bad 'un, she is," Flint confided as they reached the bottom. "We 'ad to quiet 'er dahn a bit after chapel, we did. Took on rare bad. Wot yer want to see 'er for, if it's any concern o' mine?"

  "She sent for me." Ram's handkerchief was covering his nose. "What's she condemned for?"

  "Sime as you, Capting—murder. Ah, 'ere we are." Flint unlocked an iron-studded door. "I'll be dahn the passage when ye want ter come aht."

  Nauseated, Ram entered and Flint locked him in. The hold's only light came from a small high-set grille. While his eyes were adjusting to the semidarkness, he heard rats squeaking, then he made out a figure chained to a corner of the stone floor. With a rattling, it rose.

  "Ram—Ram, is it you?"

  That voice! He went forward until he stood before the woman and was peering into her face.

  "Great God!" Carla!

  "It is you!" she sobbed. "I saw ye in chapel, but ye left and I couldn't be sure. Oh, Ram, how fine ye've grown!"

  Horror drove him back to pound frenziedly on the door. "Open! In God's name, open!"

  A groan came from her and she sank, weeping, back to the floor.

  "Damn your poxed souls!" He was bruising his fists on the stout timbers. "God's name, why don't ye come?"

  "Steady, Capting, I'll 'ave ye out in a thrice." The door swung open. "She's a rum 'un, ain't—?"

  "Bring the governor! Get her out of here! Get the surgeon or I'll—"

  " 'Ere, 'ere, steady on! Wot's this all abart?"

  "Fifty guineas if you get her up to my room at once! Get those cursed irons off her. Move, pox your eyes!"

  Flint hesitated, but—fifty guineas! "Yore room? Ye want 'er up there—an' 'er as gamey as rotten fish?"

  "By God—" Ram checked himself. "Bring her out—at once!"

  Puzzled by the low taste of so fine a gentleman, Flint fumbled with his keys. "Carn't take 'er
fetters orf," he muttered, unlocking the padlock of her floor chain. "There y'are, lass, the capting's payin' me fifty golden guineas for yer services."

  Ram was shaking as he urged her through the doorway. 'Fore God, there must be some way to save her! Bribes—aye, money could do anything in this foul hell! Her chains clanking, they helped her up the steps. She was trembling and whimpering.

  Young Joe opened the door for them, then gaped as Ram gently pushed her within. The lad's hand went to his nose, but then he dropped it hastily and stood aside.

  "Water, women's clothes, the surgeon—waste no time!" Ram led Carla to a chair. He turned to Flint. "The governor—now!"

  The turnkey hurried out, locking the door behind him.

  Ram looked at her. In the chapel he'd noticed merely that one of the condemned was a woman. Now he saw she wore little more than a torn, fouled shift and a filthy kerchief around her head. But it was Carla, changed and heavier, her eyes sunken but now bright and swimming with tears.

  "They say ye're to be tried for murder too," she said faintly. "Why?"

  "Oh, my dear!" He knelt beside her. "It matters not about me. But you! What have they done to you? Why are you condemned?"

  For a while she could only sob, but at last said bitterly, "I killed my husband. He beat me and I struck back. He hit his head on the table edge and—that's all."

  Even his great tenderness could no longer withstand her terrible odor and he had to move away. But the door was unlocked by Flint, to admit Young Joe with a great can of steaming water and followed by prisoners with more water, a tub and towels.

  "Surgeon's compliments and he'll be here anon, sir," Joe reported. "A messenger's gone to buy clothes."

  "Guv'nor regrets 'e carn't wait on yer now, Capting, but 'e'll be along directly," Flint reported.

  "Get these irons off her," Ram snapped. "How can she bathe, chained like an animal?"

  "Becos she is an animal," the screw retorted. "Took two o' the partners ter chain 'er dahn, it did." But he did unlock her handcuffs. "Cam't do no more. The gyves is riveted on."

  "Begone. Here." Ram handed him a banknote that sent hnn off gleefully. After Young Joe had paid the carriers and left with them. Ram turned back to Carla. "I must stay to help you," he apologized.

  "I can manage." She sniffed to hold back her tears. "Oh, 'tis Heaven to see ye again! Aye, and Heaven to wash away the filth. Please leave me."

  He went out to pace the corridor. That he had ordered Newgate officials about as if they were privates in his regiment made him smile. Why not? After tomorrow, he too might be chained and awaiting the Tyburn cart. But how to save her? How, how?

  Surgeon Kane arrived, panting. "Sir, what ails ye? Stap me, I thought ye'd had a fit, the way your lackey came running."

  "Mrs. Rowton, d'ye know her—she who's condemned?" Ram spoke rapidly. "She's closer to me than a sister or wife—her mother fostered me in the Flanders wars. I must save her, cost what it may."

  Kane shook his head. "Only the King's pardon can save her. She killed her spouse. But for clemency, her sentence would be burning. I told her to plead her belly—we've lusty lads here who'll serve condemned females who can pay—but she said she'd nothing to give nor would she prolong her life by such means."

  "Then the King's pardon! Damnation, others have won it!"

  "Only those with powerful friends." Kane looked around cautiously. "This I'll do. See she drinks heavy tonight and I'll provide some laudanum to mix in the spirits. When time comes, she'll know nothing. Yes, and send her in a mourning coach. 'Tis more decent and she'll not be exposed to the mob." He sighed. "That's all I can do, save I'll slip word to Ketch to turn her off quick—a gift from you should make him more than willing."

  Ram chilled. He'd counted upon Kane. "An escape? Would five hundred guineas be of service?"

  Kane groaned. Even with the perquisites of his office, five hundred was a fortune. "I'll see. But discovery would ruin me—it might lead me along the Tyburn road too!"

  Governor Pitt arrived. He listened to Ram's thinly veiled offers of a huge bribe, but in turn shook his head. "I'm a King's officer. I dare not risk it!" He felt it was too late to seek a reprieve, though would request one on some pretext. "At best 'twould mean transportation to America," he concluded. He agreed she could remain

  with Ram until such time as a reprieve came or she must leave for Tyburn.

  With that Ram had to be content. He knocked on his door.

  "Enter!" Carla was wearing a modest gown, her wet hair in a turban, her face shining, a woman's edition of the girl he'd known. She smiled shyly. "Ram, water and I've been strangers these many weeks."

  Carla, filthy! Carla, who'd swum in the Flanders canals, in the Danube, where she'd shown him the way to love!

  "My own sweet!" he murmured through tears.

  A discreet knock made him turn. Young Joe brought in some prisoners to remove the tub and its dirty contents. Ram told him to set out food and wine and then to go to the surgeon. "What he gives you, bring me secretly," he whispered. With studied formality, he poured two brandies and proffered one to Carla. " 'Twill revive you," he urged and she took it gladly.

  When they were alone, he led her to the table and watched how her eyes sparkled at sight of the food. "Come, madam, no ceremony, I beg." He refilled her glass. Laugh! Keep her thoughts off tomorrow! Talk of the past—anything! Pray for the reprieve! . . . But if it fails? . , . Where's that laudanum? . . . Would it be wise to use it? . . . Suppose chance comes to escape? No, best not use it.

  When she'd eaten—he himself pecked like a bird—he made her sit on the bed and drew up a chair beside her. He talked, airily at first, then urgently as he prepared her for the idea of escaping.

  "No," she refused. "No, to flee would be but to live hunted and afraid. Let me go in peace."

  "We'll escape together!" he cried. "There's safety for us somewhere."

  She shook her head. "Time enough for you to flee should your name be on the Report. Even if 'twere possible, do ye think I'd ruin your life by going with ye, I, a common whore and you a fine gentleman?"

  More rapping. He went impatiently to open the door. The ordinary stood in the threshold, smiling unctuously, a writing tablet in his hand. "Sir, your fine humanity is vastly praiseworthy," he began, "yet the poor doomed creature needs the comfort which only a man of God may provide." Slipping past, he went to Carla. "My poor sinning sister, time draws nigh for ye to seek the Almighty's for-

  giveness." Ignoring her revulsion, he took out an inkhom and quill. "As I've already told ye, you can find Redemption only by confessing."

  "I'll not have ye writing a broadsheet on me!" she cried. "I know ye, with your foul 'Dying Confession of the Notorious Whore and Murderess Carla Rowton, Sixpence a Sheet!' Begone, I'll make my peace with my Maker my own way!"

  "My poor erring sister—" But then fingers gripped the cleric's throat.

  "Go! Priest or not, go or—!" Ram was quivering. Faugh, a man of God fattening on such things! "Here!" He dropped gold into his hand and pushed him out, just as Young Joe returned.

  The lad gave him a small bottle. "Not too much at a time, sir, the surgeon says," he whispered.

  "Leave me, I need nothing more. Go home and return tomorrow." If escape had to be made, he didn't want the boy in it.

  "Can't I help, sir?" the lad muttered. "I've sharp eyes and perchance I could drop some o' that stuff in the turnkey's grog."

  Ram was tempted. "Come back later," he conceded. If he could change Carla's mind, perhaps she could be smuggled out in Joe's clothes.

  But when, alone once more, he reverted to the plan, she refused almost angrily. "Lad, I've had no easy life and I'm weary. What matters a rope and no ground below? I've seen men die as often as you. Some went hard, in fear and pain. I'm beyond both. I want only rest." She smiled wanly. "For the likes of me, the Book says Hell awaits. But I'm in Heaven now, as I never dreamed to be. Oh, Ram, why did we have to grow up?"

  He thought she welc
omed death because she had loved her husband, but when he asked her, she cried bitterly: "That pimping prig! I hated his soul! He sent me on the streets when I thought by marriage to escape such things. A sly cove, he was, who posed as a gentleman the better to steal and cheat!" She was so stirred he hurriedly gave her more brandy. "I'd ha' left him long since," she went on, "but he never gave me a farthing I could keep. That's why I fought him. We'd gone to a masque to prig the pockets of the gulls. I spotted one dressed like a Turk, with real jewels and—"

  "Was that you?" he gasped. "Oh, my God!"

  "You—you the Turk?" She stared at him, horrified. "And I prigged from you!" Sobs racked her. When at last she could speak, she went on woodenly: "I knew the spray was real and I tried to palm it and say I'd missed it when the Turk—you!—was so quick shoving a pistol in Jack's belly. After I'd fenced it, I was going away—anywhere. But he found it on me and beat me sorely. I hit back and—he fell."

  He was half crying, half spitting oaths. If only he'd recognized her instead of Annie! He put his arm around her. 'Toor Carla, poor Carla!" he comforted, as if they were children still.

  Her head rested on his shoulder and for a while both were lost in the past. But there came a handbell ringing in the press yard below and a man chanting dolefully: "You prisoners who for wickedness and sin, after many mercies shown you are now appointed to die tomorrow in the forenoon, give ear and understand that tomorrow morning the greatest hell of Saint Sepulchres shall toll for you in form and manner of a passing bell as used to be tolled for those who are on the point of death, to the end that all godly people may pray —"

  They both shivered and she put fingers over her ears. "Give me brandy." She gulped it down.

  Once more there was knocking. This time it was Flint. "Guv'nor regrets no reprieve's possible." He looked Ram full in the face. "An' there's an armed watch outside here." He locked the door after him.

  Not even bribes! Ram steeled himself. He must treat her now as a dear friend who was about to die peacefully abed. But the laudanum—at least that!

  It was growing dark and he lighted candles. She lay back on the bed watching him.