Bad Miss Bennet

by Jean Burnett

  My wants in life have always been modest. A few pretty gowns, a sprinkling of diamonds, a matching pair of footmen (so, so fashionable) and of course a respectable roof over my head, some land and a handsome, attentive, wealthy husband. These are the dreams of any well brought up female. I cannot imagine how they became entangled with outlaws, royal plots and fraudulent bankers.

  Inevitably, I agreed to visit Mr Getheridge although I was in a state of terror the whole time. I could not pursue the matter of Almack’s as Mr Getheridge was due to be hanged in two weeks’ time. Even Lord Finchbrook declined to accompany me, so great was the fear of cholera. Chivalry had died a death.

  Selena pointed out that I must remain anonymous. I therefore travelled in a common hackney carriage wearing a dark cloak and hood that covered every part of my body and face. I carried a plentiful supply of lemons as an antidote to disease as well as a basket of food and drink to comfort the prisoner. I saw no sign of Jerry but no doubt he was lurking somewhere in the background. He was probably spying on me from a corner. That would be his idea of escorting me.

  I was greatly relieved to discover that my poor friend was not in the insalubrious prison itself but in nearby lodgings that were available to the better class of prisoner for two guineas a week. I offered some silver coins to the evil-smelling guard who hovered outside and he let me into the premises with a sneer.

  Mr Getheridge’s room was far from well appointed: the pockmarked plaster was peeling from the walls and the furniture consisted of a wooden chair, a small wooden table bearing a candlestick, and a narrow trestle bed. He was gratifyingly pleased to see me, weeping a few tears over my hand and thanking me for the food in sepulchral tones.

  Selena had instructed the cook to prepare some broth and a few meat patties, bread and honey and a small bottle of brandy. There were also some pills to purge the head which Miles swears by, although I cannot think that the prisoner will have much use for them in the circumstances.

  My former patron offered me the chair and sat on the bed to eat a little bread and honey. For a while we exchanged pleasantries and discussed food. He confessed that he had made a request for a final meal of hind of pork and rout cakes with a glass of champagne.

  ‘I am glad you have not lost your taste for the finer things in life,’ I remarked, then regretted the sharpness of my tone. The poor man was facing a dreadful end with some fortitude after all.

  He gave me a reproachful look. ‘I know that I am regarded as a great villain, dear Lydia, but my intentions were never evil. I believed that I could have resolved everything if I had been given time. I was also greatly distracted by the prince’s affairs.’ He heaved a deep sigh.

  ‘Has the prince abandoned you to your fate?’

  He nodded sadly. ‘His Highness cannot afford any more scandal.’ I thought it a poor thing for any man, prince or pauper, to abandon a man to the gallows who has rendered him a considerable service. I remembered my papa declaiming, ‘Put not your trust in princes’ although I cannot remember the source of the quote.

  I tried to bring the conversation delicately around to the subject of Getheridge’s own fortune and its whereabouts, if any, but he had other matters on his mind. Reminding me that he had been deserted by his womenfolk he patted the bed and smiled winningly.

  ‘I entreat you to visit me again, my dear, before my end. We will be undisturbed here for a while!’ I was so startled I bit down on a lemon and almost choked at its bitterness. Selena’s instructions ran through my head. How could I broach the subject of money not to mention convincing him that I could help him to escape?

  The scent of lemon hung in the air and I felt juice dribbling down my chin. He was looking at me expectantly.

  ‘Of course I will, you dear thing,’ I cried. ‘But you must not despair.’ I launched into a breathless description of our rescue of the prince’s emeralds. ‘If we can accomplish such a thing why should we not, my friends and I, rescue you from the gallows? Of course, it would necessitate considerable expense,’ I added. He shook his head.

  ‘It is too late for me, dearest Lydia. All I can hope for is a little comfort at the end.’ He looked meaningfully at me and then at the bed again.

  ‘I would do anything for you, my dear,’ I declared, trying to keep a note of desperation out of my voice. ‘We could even become man and wife if you wish.’ He seized my hand and drew me towards the bed.

  ‘I already have a wife and little use she is to me.’ How was I supposed to resolve this situation? Selena was far too glib with her suggestions.

  I allowed myself to be deposited on the hard and none-too-clean bed and I patted Mr Getheridge on the cheek. ‘My regard for you is too great, sir. I could not forgive myself if we did not put together a plan for your deliverance.’

  ‘Oh, whatever you say, my dear.’ He pulled me towards him and two fat lemons suddenly shot out from my bodice where I had secreted them against the fetid airs of the prison. My companion was so startled that he fell backwards across the bed and on to the floor. He rose to his knees, shaking off the dust and looking petulant. I seized my cloak, waved my hand and fled, promising to do everything in my power to remove him from harm’s way. Jerry was waiting for me outside.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Did he tell you where the money is hidden?’ The question was predictable and I heard myself replying in the whining, wheedling tone I usually adopted with him. I despised myself for this but I was helpless, having never truly been in love before, dear reader, except for my passion for Lord Byron which remains unrequited – for the moment.

  ‘He did not tell me anything. I do not believe he has any money. Surely that was the point of the embezzlement?’ Jerry shook his head sadly.

  ‘You are naive, my sweet. The man had fingers in many pies. He has swindled everyone from the highest in the land to the humble tradespeople. Did you not read the reports in the Times newspaper?’ I acknowledged that I had heard rumours to that effect.

  ‘If he has not made a secret profit then he is a spectacularly bad example of a banker.’ Another thought occurred to me. ‘Surely that is the reason why he is being hanged at Newgate, because he was not successful?’ My highwayman laughed. ‘He was not quite clever enough but he fooled many people for a long time. You must try harder with him, my dear.’

  We were standing in the street called Faringdon as we spoke. Suddenly, the great doors of the Fleet prison opposite slowly opened and foul, stomach-clenching fumes wafted over us. I knew that Getheridge would be transferred to Newgate forty-eight hours before his execution and I had no doubt that the environs of that place were every bit as ghastly as this one. I swallowed hard and whined again.

  ‘There is so little time left, only a few days before he goes to Newgate. We have enough money for now. Cannot we spend a little time together, my love?’ I rested my head against his lapels and looked up imploringly at him. Jerry remained unmoved. He looked down at me incredulously. ‘And lose the chance of a fortune? Stop this girlish nonsense. We must make plans.’ He loosed himself from my grasp and sped off promising to contact me ‘soon’. He had not even offered to escort me home. As I ran off to find a hansom cab I began to wonder whether he cared for me at all.

  On the journey back to Portman Square I kept the lemons pressed against my nostrils until we reached a more healthful area of the city. I had once passed the place where the Fleet Ditch outfall empties into the Thames and that hellish stench was the worst thing I had ever known. The odours floating around the prison had been almost as unbearable, and there was cholera in the city. Panicstricken, I rushed into the house leaving Miles to pay the cabbie.

  I commanded the servants to bring hot water as soon as possible and to burn the clothes I had been wearing all day. As the gown had a charming and most becoming cherry print border one can imagine the desperation I felt. Even after bathing in hot water and lemon juice I felt unclean. At dinner I ate little and while the others enjoyed fig tarts I sucked on more lemons until my face was
wrinkled up like a bleached walnut kernel.

  Miles, none the worse for his recent bloodletting, gave us a vivid description of a hanging and its attendant rituals which he described as the finest entertainment imaginable.

  ‘Your banker friend will soon be doing the morris, my dear.’ When I looked perplexed he explained that the squirming and writhing of the prisoners at the end of the rope was known as doing a morris dance. My blood ran cold at the thought.

  ‘Do they not die instantly?’ I asked in a low voice.

  ‘Oh dear, no!’ carolled Miles. ‘But if the prisoner pays something to the hangman the matter is concluded faster. The executioner will grab the prisoner’s knees and pull on them to assist the process.’

  ‘That is quite enough of that, Miles,’ said Selena with a glance at my face, but her husband was not to be suppressed.

  ‘Of course, we must secure a place at the Magpie and Stump Inn where we will have a good view of the proceedings. A window will cost at least ten shillings but their breakfasts on these occasions are famous, the devilled kidneys are a triumph.’ At this point I lost my appetite completely and retired to my bed where I lay awaiting the first symptoms of whatever deadly disease might afflict my body. I recorded these facts in my journal fully expecting it to be my last testament in this life.

  Whatever poor Getheridge had done he surely did not deserve his fate. He had rendered services to the Prince Regent and that alone should have secured a reprieve, but perhaps death was preferable to imprisonment for life in a sewer. Of course, there was transportation, why had I not thought of that? He could begin a new life in Van Diemen’s Land if it could be arranged.

  I turned my head and saw in the faint light of the candle the diamond and amethyst bangle lying on my dressing table. Getheridge had expected something in return for that and I had not provided it. Wickham’s words came into my head to torment me.

  I bought you my dear …

  What is a young woman to do? Urged on by Jerry’s commands and my own feelings of guilt I waited for forty-eight hours to pass before returning to Mr Getheridge. He was already in Newgate prison and this time the guard had to be more heavily bribed in order to turn a blind eye.

  ‘’E’s a marked man,’ the fellow commented, jerking a thumb in the direction of the prisoner’s door. ‘Off to the dance ’e is, tomorrer. You, madam,’ he sneered, ‘are by way of bein’ ’is last visitor.’

  I hurried in to Mr G’s room to find him with his head resting on the bed and his knees on the floor in an attitude of complete dejection. He had been writing letters – the pages were strewn over the thin coverlet.

  ‘I have been putting my affairs in order, Lydia, writing my last letters. You are kindness itself for making this visit.’ He waved away the basket of victuals I offered, saying that he was not hungry. His depression was in marked contrast to his manner on my first visit. I was relieved that he no longer had designs on my person. After I sat gingerly on the bed the unfortunate man placed his head in my lap and wept bitterly. He poured out a good deal of stuff about the bank and its affairs, letters of credit, guarantors, gold reserves and other matters that I did not comprehend. I had never before received anyone’s last confession and I felt ill-equipped for such a role. It appeared that he had little time for religion and had not asked for any spiritual comfort.

  I ventured to ask him as tactfully as possible about the mechanics of the execution. In fact, there was no tactful way to broach such a subject.

  ‘Have you thought about your, er, knees?’ I whispered.

  He nodded, ‘I will pay for such comforts as may be obtained in the circumstances.’

  ‘And your families …’ I continued, ‘are they well provided for?’ Perhaps I should not have used the plural but it slipped out without warning. He did not appear to notice.

  ‘I have provided for all my dependants. I made sure of that before things began to go wrong.’ He gave me a pitiful look. ‘It all started with the prince, you know.’ He did not enlighten me further.

  I patted his unadorned, thinning grey hair. It was strange that a man so hairy in the body should have so little upon his head. He gave me another woebegone smile.

  ‘If things had gone according to plan, my dear, I would have settled a charming little house on you. It is in Richmond, I have the deeds still.’

  My heart skipped a beat. Had I heard correctly? A man had planned to give me a house – a roof over my head. Only my papa had ever provided such a thing, and that one entailed. What did he mean if things had gone according to plan? Was it because I had not become his mistress, or was it because of the circumstances?

  ‘In Richmond, you say?’ I struggled to breathe slowly. ‘I am gratified that you wished to provide for me, sir. I have nothing in this world, as you know.’ I allowed a tear to trickle down my cheek. I am always touched by my own predicament.

  He shook his head sadly. ‘It is all too late now … too late.’ Suddenly galvanised into action I cried out, ‘But if we were to be married I could inherit the house! Allow me to be your wife even if it is in name only.’ Mr Getheridge regarded me seriously for a moment. His spirits were returning somewhat.

  ‘Yes,’ he declared, ‘and there might be time to consummate the marriage if we are quick about it.’ He leapt to his feet with surprising agility and called for the guard. There was a hurried consultation, a few coins exchanged hands and the man disappeared. He returned within ten minutes accompanied by a dishevelled, grease-flecked fellow of middle height who wore a clergyman’s collar askew over a shirt heavily marked with his last meal. The fellow swayed a little on his feet and almost tripped over the basket of food.

  ‘Always happy to be of service to a fellow prisoner,’ he leered at us while holding out a hand to Getheridge who dropped some coins into it. This time I saw the glint of gold.

  ‘Are you really a man of the cloth?’ I asked. I eyed him doubtfully as he smiled revealing several missing teeth.

  ‘I am the closest you will get in these parts, madam. Reverend Abel Imray (unfrocked) at your service.’

  ‘Hurry, man, hurry,’ urged Getheridge. ‘There is no time to lose. The sands of my life are running out.’ I stood up and we joined hands. He tore a signet ring from his finger and gave it to the reverend who produced a tattered prayer book from a pocket and muttered a few lines from the marriage service. The ring was placed on my finger and then removed because it was too large.

  ‘I pronounce you man and wife,’ he remarked before collapsing on to the bed and requesting some strong liquor ‘to toast the happy couple’. At that moment the guard reappeared and ordered me to leave. I was shooed away as Getheridge argued loudly with the man.

  ‘The deeds, the deeds!’ I called frantically. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘At Jasmine Cottage,’ shouted my new husband. I was never to see him again.

  ‘A Fleet marriage is not valid in the eyes of the law, Lydia. You are aware of that, I trust?’ Selena gave me one of her superior looks when I returned to Portman Square in a distracted condition. ‘You must flee to Gretna Green these days.’ I clenched my hands in fury. Had she not urged me to ingratiate myself with a condemned man, advising me to do everything in my power to take his money? I found myself raising my voice in an unbecoming shriek.

  ‘How can you adopt that tone with me, madam? Have I not succeeded in doing what everyone wished me to do?’ I was including Jerry in this statement although Selena could not know that. She ignored my rage and looked excited.

  ‘Do you mean you have his money – or some of it, at least?’ How easily the need for solvency overcomes our finer feelings. I lowered my voice just as Miles entered the room.

  ‘I do not have his money, but I have a house. It is called Jasmine Cottage and it stands in Richmond Park. We have only to go there and make a claim. The deeds are at the house and I am his wife – for a short while.’

  Selena rang for tea at this point and we sipped it slowly, thinking over the events of the day. M
iles suddenly frowned and again gave evidence of some thought processes at work. He seized my left hand and peered at it exclaiming,

  ‘You have no wedding ring.’ I explained that we had used Mr Getheridge’s own ring for the ceremony and it was too large for normal wear. ‘If you have no ring, no doubt you are without a marriage license also. Your lack of forethought is astonishing,’ Selena chimed in. I was temporarily crushed by this evident truth, but I pointed out that the likes of the reverend Abel Imray were unlikely to be in possession of such a thing in the circumstances.

  ‘Surely it does not signify, if the marriage is illegal?’ Miles remarked brightly. ‘Did you not tell me, my dear, that Getheridge already had a wife or two?’ His wife tapped her teacup impatiently.

  ‘All the more reason to stake a claim quickly before the authorities discover the truth. Miles, you must hire a carriage and take us to Richmond Park immediately.’ He protested that it was already four-thirty in the afternoon and time for a ‘libation’ as he put it, but his wife was unmoved. I was touched by their enthusiasm on my behalf. I knew that Selena was concerned about where they would live after Portman Square.

  In my mind I could see myself departing for Paris with the Count and leaving my friends in charge of Jasmine Cottage. I would be a woman of property at last, even if it was only a small one. I wondered uneasily about Jerry and his plans for me but if my future lay with the Count Jerry would have to be jettisoned at some point, however hard that would be for me to accept.

  We were soon rattling through London on our way to the park while Miles reminded us that Getheridge would be hanged on the following day. He had arranged places at the Magpie and Stump but I knew I could never watch such an event.

  ‘Surely a wife’s place is among the onlookers on such a day?’ Miles was grinning and being provocative again. I protested that I had no stomach for such a thing and least of all for the devilled kidneys afterwards.