The Hidden Thread

by Liz Trenow

  As the story unfolded Anna could hardly believe what Charlotte was telling her. The devastation of hearing Guy’s sentence must have caused Henri to lose his senses.

  “Mariette said the people at the French church are doing all they can to get him released,” Charlotte went on. “I really have no idea what to do for the best. Which is why I got in touch with you. In case you might know someone…”

  Theodore’s face darkened. “This is why we have hastened here, dear Miss Charlotte,” he said. “I suppose Henri has already been asked whether he knows of anyone who might testify to his innocence?”

  She nodded. “I believe Monsieur Lavalle has pressed him on this point, but he says he was so befuddled by the ale that his memory is poor.”

  “Is it possible to visit him?” Anna asked.

  “I am told that Newgate is a terrible place—a very hell on earth, someone described it. Monsieur Lavalle would not allow Mariette to go because it would be too upsetting. If you decide to visit, you will have to be strong.”

  “I can be strong as an ox with my father by my side,” Anna said.

  “I know how much you mean to Henri,” Charlotte said, a wan smile warming her cheeks. “He will be very happy to see you. Promise you will return to let me know how he is?”

  • • •

  Anna’s strength seemed to evaporate as they entered the prison.

  The gatekeeper, an overweight, unshaven man with grease stains down his jerkin, grabbed her father’s proffered sixpence with a burly hand and then, painfully slowly, scanned a long, well-thumbed list.

  “Condemned cells,” he grunted. “That way.”

  “That can’t be right,” Anna cried. “He is not yet come to trial.”

  “What it says here, miss,” was the curt reply.

  Panic filled her heart and she clung to her father’s hand as they walked the dank, gloomy passageways. It truly is a very hell on earth, she thought to herself. The howls and curses, the clanging of doors, the foul stench, and the surly, aggressive guards made her wonder how anyone could survive the place.

  It reminded her of the time when, as a small child, she had been locked into a pigsty by some older boys. The terror of being unable to escape the fetid gloom, the air so vile that you could barely breathe, and the ear-splitting squealing of the terrified pigs had caused her nightmares for weeks afterward.

  She almost wept with relief when the jailer at the condemned cells claimed no knowledge of a M. Vendôme and redirected them back to the main block.

  When they eventually found the right cell and persuaded another jailer—with more pennies—to unlock the door, she could barely believe that the pathetic human form gazing vacantly at them without recognition, his clothes filthy, his skin scabbed and cheeks hollow, was Henri. Under the layer of grime, his face was deathly pale.

  “It’s me, Anna,” she said tentatively, holding out the small parcel of bread and cheese they had brought at Charlotte’s suggestion. As she took a step toward him, he cowered as if fearing a blow and then, to her horror, fell to his knees and buried his head in his hands. “Non, non, non,” he said through muffled sobs. “Je ne supporte pas que vous me voyiez dans cet état.” I cannot bear for you to see me like this.

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “Miss Charlotte wrote to me. I had to come.”

  Slowly, he turned his face and pulled himself to his feet, stiff as an old man, shaking his head. “Je ne crois pas. I have dreamed of you so much. And now you are here,” he whispered.

  “This is my father, Theodore Butterfield,” she said.

  Henri gathered himself and made a small bow. “Reverend, sir, I thank you. I do not deserve this kindness.”

  “It appears, from what we have heard, that you do not deserve to be here at all. My daughter holds you in high regard, and we have come to ask if there is anything we can do to ease your situation or to get you released.”

  Theodore’s words seemed to strike Henri dumb. He stared at him, mouth agape, for several seconds, until Anna said, “Henri, what is it? He’s my father. He will not hurt you.”

  Henri sat down heavily on the bench, shaking his head and rubbing his ears with his hands. “Forgive me, sir. Your voice…I recognize it. Have we met?”

  “I do not believe so,” Theodore said.

  “The man…that night. With the…”

  “The night you were arrested?” Anna prompted.

  “No, it is impossible,” Henri said, shaking his head again, as if to clear the confusion. “That man was younger.”

  “You recognized my voice?” Theodore pressed.

  “Please excuse me, sir, it is the way you say some words.” Henri seemed to mutter to himself, and she could hear that he was repeating “deserve” and “released,” imitating her father’s slight fudging of the sibilant consonants.

  “Who was this man?”

  “He was with me when the Runners arrived,” Henri said. “But he disappeared and I do not know who he is.”

  “And why do you need to find him?”

  “Because he could tell them I was not with the Bold Defiance men.”

  As he spoke, Anna had a flash of intuition. The slight lisp ran in their family. Being more like her mother, she had not inherited it. But Theodore’s sister, Aunt Sarah, had it, and Lizzie and William also spoke that way. Surely it could not have been him in the street that night?

  “Can you remember what the man was doing?”

  Beneath the filth, Henri’s face seemed to color. “C’est embarrassant.”

  “Was he with a woman?” Theo asked.

  “Précisément. How you say, a working woman?”

  With a prostitute? Little about William would surprise her anymore. Her mind raced as she realized that, much as she would dearly wish to offer Henri some crumb of hope in this desperate situation, for the moment she must keep her suspicion to herself. If she was to have any chance of eliciting the truth from William, she would have to do it discreetly.

  They stayed a few moments more, talking about M. Lavalle’s efforts to get the charges lifted. “Do you have a lawyer?” Theodore asked.

  “A legal clerk from the French church,” Henri said. “But he does not succeed yet.” He smiled ruefully. “I am still here.”

  It was the smile that brought Anna to the brink of tears. In it she saw something of the real Henri, the one with whom she had fallen in love. Watching him converse with her father, man to man, she realized that although complete strangers from utterly different worlds, the two were really quite alike: the modest demeanor, the self-deprecating humor, the sharpness of mind concealed within a thoughtful manner, the economical mode of expression in which a few words could convey layers of meaning. And how, when talking with you, their eyes would meet yours, clear and uncomplicated, without demur. Nothing was hidden. You could trust them entirely.

  As they took their leave, Theodore asked whether Henri would mind if he blessed him.

  “Je serais honoré,” he said.

  Her father placed his hands gently on Henri’s bowed head, whispering a short prayer, and Anna found herself sending up her own, heartfelt plea: I don’t care if he is never mine but please, God, release him to live his life to the full. He is too good to die in this terrible place.

  • • •

  Theodore led her in the direction of Saint Paul’s Cathedral. “Come, my darling, we need some peace. We shall pray for him.”

  Anna was too overawed by the splendor of the interior to pray with any devotion, but the stillness was comforting. After a few minutes, her father rose from his knees, and they sat in silence for a while.

  “You are right. He is a good man, Anna,” he said, taking her hand. “We must do our best for him. I’d like to meet this legal fellow, to see what he has managed to discover, if anything.”

  “Henri’s master, Monsieur Laval
le, would surely introduce us.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  • • •

  They knocked at the door of 37 Wood Street for as long as they could without seeming impolite but, despite the clack and thud of looms working overhead, no one answered. Anna was reminded of the time she and Miss Charlotte saw Henri clinging to the gantry, nearly falling from the loft window. But today, as a bitter cold wind funneled showers of sleety rain between the tall buildings, the windows remained firmly closed.

  They returned briefly to Miss Charlotte’s shop, where they offered her reassurance as to Henri’s well-being, and then made their way home to Spital Square, exhausted.

  That evening, after supper, Anna managed to corner William. “I must speak to you privately,” she whispered. “Later tonight. It is urgent.”

  He took a step toward the door. “I am going out,” he said.

  “Remember our pact?” she said, placing a firm hand on his arm. “It still holds, William.”

  He scowled. “Very well. I will return by half past ten o’clock. Shall we meet in the office? We are less likely to be disturbed there.”

  “That is less than two hours,” she said, glancing at the clock on the mantel. “Mind you are back in time, William.”

  He was late, of course, and she waited with increasing impatience as the candle burned lower and lower. She lit another and took out some of the pattern books to pass the time, turning the pages in a desultory fashion, but found it impossible to concentrate. So much rested on this meeting.

  Finally, the handle turned and he entered, breathless and disheveled.

  “So what’s all this secrecy about, then?” It was clear he’d been drinking, but this might even work to her advantage.

  “Take a seat and listen carefully.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, tugging at an imaginary forelock.

  As she explained her suspicion that he had been in the area of the Dolphin the night of Guy’s trial, he began to shake his head.

  “Bethnal Green? Never go there,” he said. “Not a place for a man of my standing.”

  “You see, someone I know saw you there. In an alley close to the pub.”

  He shook his head more violently this time.

  “You were with a woman, William. Don’t deny it, or I might find myself having to tell someone that you consort with whores.”

  The smug grin fell from his face. “So?” he snapped. “Every man does it, Anna, you poor innocent. And anyway, you’ll never prove it.”

  “As I said, someone recognized you. They know your voice, and your face, too.”

  “And this someone is?”

  “A silk weaver who was wrongly arrested that night, and who desperately needs your testimony to prove his innocence.”

  “A frog, I’ll warrant. Send the lot of them home, I say. We’d be better off without them.”

  Anna rose from the chair and began to pace, trying to control her fury. “Yes, a Frenchman. A man who I know to be honest and respectable. A man who does not dissemble, or cheat, or lie. He is a dear friend, and that is the reason Father and I have returned to the city. A terrible miscarriage of justice has occurred and his friends have asked for our help.” She stopped and glared at him. “If you do not admit to this, I will tell Uncle Joseph about the cash you stole.”

  Now William stood too, bearing over her just as he’d done in this very room all those months ago. This time she was not afraid. “You little…” he hissed. “You expect me to help that filthy cur in the alley who puked all over my boots? I can’t believe it.”

  He’s admitted it, she thought to herself, silently enjoying a sweet moment of triumph. There is no way back for him now. “I do, William,” she said calmly. “If you testify that you saw him in the alleyway that night when the Guards arrived, there will be no mention of the whore, nor of the stolen cash. You may not even have to appear at the trial.”

  “I will do nothing, you understand, nothing, if there is any chance my name will be splattered all over the newspapers. I will only talk if we can do this discreetly.”

  “If we move quickly, we may be able to get the charges lifted altogether. But at present he only has the support of a legal clerk. We need a proper lawyer, with contacts at the Inns of Court and at the prison.” She paused for a second, allowing him time to catch up with her thoughts. “I think you know who I have in mind.”

  He looked blank for a moment and then his eyes widened with incredulity. “Charles? Phuh! He threw you over, didn’t he? And he hasn’t spoken to me since Pa’s disgrace.”

  “But you know about his gambling debts, don’t you?”

  After a second of confusion, William burst out laughing. “God’s teeth, Anna, you are a minx. First, you blackmail me; then, you ask me to blackmail my friend.” She maintained her severe expression, and his laughter stopped as suddenly as it had started. “You’re not serious?”

  “I have never been more serious in my life.”

  He sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Very well. I will visit him. But only if you come too.”

  She let out a slow breath and the tightness in her neck and back began to ease. We’re nearly there, she thought.

  William sat down again. “So let me get this right. You’ve returned to London to get this cabbage head out of jail? Just why is he so important to you, Cousin Anna?”

  She refused to be drawn. “A mutual friend wrote to me, asking for our help.”

  “I did not know you were friendly with frogs.”

  “You have no cause to be rude about the French. They weave fine silk, do they not, and you have made a fair penny from their labors?” Anna relit her candle from the nearly exhausted stub on the table stick, ready to take her leave. It was cold in the room, and she was weary from the day’s emotions. “Besides which, the mutual friend is Miss Charlotte. She is not French.”

  “Miss Charlotte?” He paused, his mind seeming to wander elsewhere. “Now there’s a thought.”

  “What kind of thought, William? It is late and I wish to retire.”

  “You heard Pa at suppertime last evening, blathering on about how well he knows the market and how only he knows how to find silks that will steal the new queen’s heart?”

  She waited.

  “The truth is he doesn’t have a clue. He’s out-of-date and all his contacts are too old. They dressed the last queen, decades ago, for heaven’s sake! This one is only eighteen and will want the very latest fashions—or at least that’s what her costumiers will be advising her to want—as will the courtiers and other guests. We need advice from someone who really knows.”

  It was Anna’s turn to be incredulous. “You want me to ask Miss Charlotte if she will advise you? Have you forgotten how poorly she was treated by your mother and her cronies? They deserted her and took their business elsewhere, if you remember.”

  “Look,” he said, rising to his feet and lighting his own candle. “You have asked me for a favor—two favors. The least you can do in return is ask her for me. We desperately need a couple of good commissions to get us out of debt, Anna. The fine has been deferred for two months, but if we don’t pay it, we’ll be in the Marshalsea before you can say Mecklenburg-Strelitz.”

  • • •

  The response was cool, but at least he agreed to meet them. Come to my chambers 12 noon tomorrow. Charles.

  She was dreading it: begging a favor from the man who had spurned her, having to endure his pitying looks and patronizing tone. But if it achieved a reprieve for Henri, then anything was worthwhile.

  It was a crisp, sunny day as she and William walked to Gray’s Inn. She had only been here in the dark before—for the ball—and was surprised by the spacious beauty of the place. The chambers buildings, clustered around peaceful courtyards and cloistered walkways, reminded her of the cathedral close at Norwich she had
once visited with her father. An air of privilege and learning suffused the green spaces and ancient buildings. It was a far cry from the chaotic, noisy streets of East London just a few miles away.

  Charles’s rooms were less impressive: on the third floor, chilly, cramped, sparsely furnished, and clearly shared with several others. Fortunately, they found him alone.

  “Miss Butterfield, William, welcome to my humble lodgings,” he said, pulling up two rackety chairs. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

  William looked at Anna. “You start.”

  She explained the bare bones of the story: that she had a friend who had been wrongly arrested and needed the help of a lawyer to get him out of prison. “We have found a witness to attest to his innocence, but the witness cannot risk appearing in public should the case go to court. So we must get the charges dropped before that eventuality,” she explained.

  Her little speech elicited a surprising response. Instead of the surly reluctance she’d expected, Charles leaned forward and listened attentively. When she finished, he leaned back in his chair and smiled genially.

  “It sounds just up my street, this case. I’m flattered that you have come to consult me,” he said. “I have been looking forward to my first real commission—so far all I’ve had is the dross the others don’t want to deal with. The experience will be very helpful when I come to apply for acceptance at the bar.”

  Anna steeled herself. “There is just one small matter, Charles. You know our situation only too well. Neither we nor the defendant have any money to pay you. We are asking you to do this pro bono; that’s the legal phrase, isn’t it?” Her father had used the words the previous evening, when she’d told him of her plan.

  The smile fell instantly from Charles’s face. “And you have the nerve—”

  William interrupted. “You and I have been good friends, have we not, for many years? And in that time, we have both had our ups and downs?” Charles narrowed his eyes as William went on. “It was last year, wasn’t it, that you fell on hard times yourself, my friend? When you were in it up to your neck and you came to me desperate to borrow money? I didn’t have any, of course, but I knew someone who could help you make the debts go away. Or has that slipped your memory?”