“You’re not invited.” Her eyes flashed blue fire.
“But I would very much like to meet some of these success stories.”
“Perhaps another time,” Tess interjected, leaving no doubt that she’d prefer that the time would never come.
Bills coughed into his fist. “I must respectfully protest, on behalf of my dear friend, that is. He cannot go to a prison for females.”
All eyes turned to Heath as Bills continued, “Pray do not make much of it, but my friend here is working on, and is indeed, improving his lot in life. In that vein, he has gained a venerated position with the office of the solicitor-general and he is courting a young lady of a very respectable family of the ton.” He lifted his brows with meaning.
Heath frowned. Bills made it sound like Heath was a grasping social climber trying to fit in with the ton. “That’s not exactly—”
“I know I shouldn’t be so plainspoken,” Bills interrupted with a raise of his hand. “But you must consider how hard you’ve worked and how precarious your position can be.”
Tess rubbed her chin. “I wonder how applying for membership in our society affects your reputation? Detrimentally, perhaps?”
Heath glared at Bills. “Not detrimentally in the least. And neither will going to a prison to perform good works.”
Clapping her hands, Miss Gammon smiled. “Then it’s settled. The prison is not a problem for any of us, and I’m as intrigued as the next person to see the inside. So we can all go together.”
The countess shuddered. “You must be joking!”
“Oh, please? It’ll be fascinating, don’t you think?” Miss Gammon hopped about like an excited rabbit.
Tess stepped backward, her skirts swooshing around her ankles. “Although a wonderful idea, it’s impossible. My coach only seats four.”
The countess raised her hawkish nose in the air. “Mine seats six!”
Raising her finger with triumph, Miss Gammon grinned. “It’s settled then! We’ll take two coaches and we’re all off to prison!”
Heath smiled at Tess, communicating that he’d won this little skirmish. Those crystal blue eyes narrowed, clearly unwilling to admit defeat. Heath was reminded once more how much Tess had changed. She was no longer the young chit ready to cave in at the first sign of resistance. She was more resilient, ready for a fight. She had a mutinous streak a mile wide, and it was alluring as hell.
Chapter 8
Marks-Cross Street Prison was a hulking gray building of stacked stones and ironwork perched alongside the Thames. It was a pile of proper strength and simplicity, and gave Heath the same grim and forbidding impression he always got when visiting an English prison. Birds squawked overhead, and the air was so cloyingly damp that the icy wind bit through even the thickest wool coat. It seemed that temperamental Spring had turned her back on London for a few weeks more, at least.
As the carriages rolled alongside the compound, twenty or so filthy, half-naked women reached through a grille along the wall begging alms from passersby. Their pitiful cries and calls were enough to twist even the most hardened heart.
Lady Blankett scowled. “Those poor women have to pay for their keep, from their food to having a blanket in this freezing cold!”
“Aren’t we going to stop?” Heath asked, wondering how much coin he had in his purse.
Tess’s gaze was lost to the scene outside. “Nay, we can do much more good inside. And for all the women, not just a few.”
Heath nodded. He’d visited Newgate Prison and Tothill Fields’ Bridewell a time or two for his prosecutions, where the accused was usually either well placed or wealthy and segregated from the prison population. While there, he’d always focused on his legal duties and had kept the visits short. Never had he concerned himself with the conditions of the general prison inhabitants. He realized now that he’d avoided them as much as was possible.
“Who’s the warden?” Heath asked.
Tess turned to him, her assessing gaze showing that she was impressed that he understood how important it was. “Until a couple of months ago it had been Mr. Hurt. Now the papers patent belongs to Mr. Pitts.”
Lady Blankett waved her fan about, seemingly trying to dissipate the scent of refuse permeating the air. “The extortion is outrageous. There’s a fee for turning keys for taking irons off. Then another for a blanket and another for a pallet. Those without means are forced to beg.”
Tess grimaced. “At least under Mr. Pitts’s watch the women don’t have to pay to keep the very clothes on their backs that they had when they entered the place.”
Lady Blankett pointed her fan toward Tess. “Thanks to you. Our Tess has a way with Mr. Pitts. He’s particularly open to her suggestions.”
Heath shifted in his seat, uneasy about Tess having such rapport with a prison warden. What, exactly, had Tess done to ingratiate herself with the man? Did she use her feminine wiles to influence Mr. Pitts, just as she’d done with George Belington? That mutinous streak coupled with her crimson hair and shapely form were a fiery combination that could entice even the most contained man.
An odd spark of anger flashed within him, but he couldn’t quite recognize at whom it was directed.
Lady Blankett waved her fan. “The reformers are at it again.”
At the entrance to the wrought-iron gates, a crowd of ten or twelve fairly well-dressed men and women marched in a circle to the rhythm of their cries. “Prison reform, now! Prison reform, now!”
“They do have a point,” Heath muttered.
Sniffing, Lady Blankett jabbed her fan like a weapon. “Which they should take up with the lawmakers, not Mr. Pitts. They have a martyr obsession if I ever saw one.”
Tess looked out the window. “They believe that since Mr. Pitts is the holder of the patent of this prison and he has control of every aspect of how it’s managed, they can change things here and now.”
“What do you believe, Tess?” Heath asked.
Her blue gaze was thoughtful. “The best way to improve the lot of these women now is to convince Mr. Pitts that it’s in his best interests to do so. Chanting doesn’t help, it only makes him nervous. He fears these reformers are trying to undermine his living. I wish someone would tell them that one gets more flies with honey than vinegar.”
Lady Blanket snorted. “Even if you told them, they wouldn’t listen.”
Heath’s brow furrowed. “Honey?”
“A fine brandy. Fresh baked goods. But coin seems to afford the best results.”
“You bribe him?”
Lifting her chin, Tess shrugged. “It’s all about the best effect we can have on the most number of people. We’ve had the stocks removed as a punishment, every inmate given an extra ration of bread, and even provided some meat at the evening meals.”
Heath couldn’t decide which surprised him more, that the daughter of Lord Wallingford would be so cool about bribing a warden, or that she would be involved in improving the lot of women so beneath her station.
His eyes fixed on Tess’s lovely profile set against the dark gray walls. Her brow was furrowed and her peach-colored lips pressed together in a determined line. She was obviously moved by the goings-on here. Could the need for funds to bribe the warden have motivated Tess to rob George Belington? A valiant intention perhaps, but theft was theft and there was no good excuse.
As he stared at the prisoners begging through the bars, it struck Heath that whatever Tess’s reason, Lady Bright was determined to see her among those women, in the direst straits possible. Involuntarily, Heath’s hands tightened on his cane. He’d prosecuted many a case, but never did the consequences strike home as they did just now. He couldn’t imagine placing Tess behind bars. But he must serve justice; he was a servant of the law.
As the carriage rolled through the wrought-iron gates and into the open courtyard, the sounds of hammers and shouts could be heard.
“Excellent!” Lady Blankett declared, motioning to the laborers dismantling the stocks. “The final ones are coming do
wn.”
“I need to commend Mr. Pitts.” Tess nodded. Surprisingly there was no triumph in her gaze, only a sense of purpose.
Silently they disembarked just as the countess’s carriage rolled into the courtyard behind them.
The countess made a big to-do about the odor and the biting cold, while Miss Gammon kept going on and on about the scant attire of the women begging at the grille. Still, she was a calming influence on the distressed countess, and soon they were all headed inside.
An air of tension blanketed the party as they made their way through the dank, ominous corridors.
“I’ll catch up with you shortly.” Tess extricated herself from the group and moved to speak with one of the guards.
Heath followed her. “Where are you going?”
“To see Mr. Pitts.”
Grabbing her arm and setting it into the crook of his elbow, he smiled. “I’ll join you.” The lavender scent she wore was a pleasant contrast to the musty corridor.
Tess turned to the guard. “If you would give us a moment, please?” The man stepped out of earshot.
Removing her hand from his elbow, Tess looked up at Heath. Her face was closed and unreadable. “It’s not a good idea for you to join me.”
“You want me to see your good works…”
She gritted her teeth, and defiance simmered in her eyes. “That’s not the point. Mr. Pitts will not take kindly to your presence.”
“You’re very opinionated, aren’t you?”
“When I know I’m right.” She crossed her arms, making her bosoms swell nicely beneath her navy blue cape. She really was shaped quite agreeably.
“You’ve just got the devil’s charm, you know,” he teased.
He liked how her eyes flashed blue fire and her cheeks flushed to a rosy hue. “So you’ve noticed I’m not trying to curry favor with you.”
What he’d noticed was that he was enjoying looking at her and verbally sparring with her far too much. So instead he focused on the fact that she didn’t wish for him to meet Mr. Pitts, which meant he was coming along whether she liked it or not.
He made his tone firm. “I’m here, I’ve heard a lot about this Mr. Pitts, and I wish to meet him. Let’s stop discussing it and move along, shall we?”
She didn’t budge. She had a will, this one. But then again, so did he. He didn’t pull himself up from being the son of a tutor to a barrister with the solicitor-general’s office by backing down at every obstacle.
“Shall we?” he asked once more, gently urging her forward.
Lifting her dainty chin a notch, she bit out, “Has it ever dawned on you that Mr. Pitts might be intimidated by your presence?”
“Has it ever dawned on you that I might be of service? That my position with the solicitor-general’s office could influence this Mr. Pitts more than any bribe ever could?”
She glared at him. “You’ll do more harm than good, I tell you. People have long memories, and few wardens can forget what happened to T. L. Cambridge.”
“T. L. Cambridge was a barbarian of the cruelest sort who deserved everything he got. He abused his power as warden and went beyond the bounds of human decency. He very rightly paid for the error of his ways.”
“But he was a warden, Heath! A warden who went from being king of the castle to prisoner in the dungeon! Those are the only facts that will impress Mr. Pitts!”
“My position with the solicitor-general’s office notwithstanding, I’m not here to start an inquiry, and I’ll tell Mr. Pitts as much.”
Unwinding her arms, she raised her hands in entreaty, as if he was the one being daft. “You assume he’ll believe you! Fear is an astonishingly potent argument, no matter what pretty words you use in contradiction.”
Setting his cane and readying to go, Heath chided, “Nonsense. As you said before, I’m here in my capacity with the society.”
“Must you always be so starched and full of yourself?”
He blinked, surprised and suddenly hurt. Was that how she saw him?
She dropped her hands, and her face softened. “I’m sorry about that. You just keep reminding me of your position, as if I’m going to somehow forget how far you’ve come. And…well, you seem to bring out the worst in me. I apologize. I think it’s wonderful that you’ve risen so high—”
“Your condescension is admirable,” he retorted stiffly. “But false flattery will not change the fact that I’m coming with you.”
“It’s not false—”
“Can we go now, please?”
Exhaling in exasperation, Tess turned and motioned to the guard. The man led them down a dank, narrow corridor. Still, she kept her distance and did not accept his proffered arm.
The very air around Tess was a few degrees colder for her vexation. Her skirts swished with alacrity, and her boot steps resounded with a crisp clip-clop. Heath didn’t mind; she deserved to be ruffled.
Starched and full of himself?
Hardly. He was proud. And well he should be. He’d worked hard for all he’d accomplished…
He recalled his words, Has it ever dawned on you that I might be of service? That my position with the solicitor-general’s office could influence this Mr. Pitts more than any bribe ever could?
My Lord, I sound like a presumptuous prig!
Her indictment had stung so badly because it was true!
Inwardly he groaned, never imagining that he would be such an uppity stiff.
He supposed there was still a part of him that was the son of a humble employee hoping to impress the master’s daughter. Ugh. He hated how he must have sounded.
With how many other people had he puffed himself up or driven to impress? Scowling, Heath straightened his shoulders, forcing himself not to dwell on it. There was naught he could do but simply stop being such a prig in the future.
Soon they came upon a swarthy guard standing before a tall, black-painted door. Upon seeing Tess the man knocked, poked his head inside, and muttered a few unintelligible words.
The guard swept open the door and escorted them into a large, whitewashed room with tall windows and a series of closed doors. Then he left and joined the other guard outside.
A large mahogany desk was the centerpiece of the room, with two straight-backed chairs facing it. To the left of the desk was a huge hearth, to the right, the closed doors. No doubt these were avenues to reach the different parts of the facility, and in an emergency, a means of escape.
Even with the fire blazing, the room had a dampness that chilled the bones. The scent of cloves filling the air was a pleasant contrast to the odors of the other parts of the prison. Yet this chamber was far from warm and cozy.
Mr. Pitts was a rotund man with a round face, bulbous nose, and lengthy jowls. Between his graying hair and his thick gold spectacles, he had a professorial air that was only emphasized by his old-fashioned attire of knee-breeches and stockings.
Stepping forward, Mr. Pitts bowed. “Lady Golding, so good to see you again.”
Extending her arm toward Heath, Tess nodded. “May I introduce Mr. Bartlett. He is here to observe the society’s good works.”
Mr. Pitts’s smile waned. “Mr. Bartlett? The barrister?”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Heath stretched out his hand, trying to sound jovial and not priggish in the least.
Mr. Pitts’s pale brown eyes flitted from Tess to Heath and back again. “What, pray tell, brings a member of the solicitor-general’s office to my door?”
Heath’s hand lowered, and he tried not to be irritated by the rebuff. “I am not here in that capacity. The only reason for my being here relates to the society’s good works.”
Moving to stand behind the desk, Mr. Pitts busied himself with shuffling papers. “Our accounts are all in order, I assure you.”
Tess sighed, sending an “I told you so” look Heath’s way. Then, pasting on a sweet smile, she stepped forward. “I’m so glad that you’re enjoying the scents for your fire.”
“Yes, t
hey’re very nice.” Mr. Pitt’s tone was distracted as he shuffled more papers. “Our accountant is unavailable at the moment, since his office is not here on the grounds. But I can call for him if need be.”
“I have no interest in the accounts, Mr. Pitts,” Heath tried to reassure, leaning on his cane in a relaxed pose. “I am, however, most interested in the Society for Enrichment and Learning’s reform efforts.”
“Reform?” Mr. Pitts gulped, his face draining of color.
“I mean their efforts to rehabilitate women so they can join the productive workforce.”
The papers shuffled more loudly. Mr. Pitts’s hands visibly shook. “Where are those accounts…?”
Exhaling, Tess stared out the window as if to say, You’re the cannoneer who fired the ball into this ship, you can bail the water.
Heath stepped forward. “Honestly, Mr. Pitts, I don’t see what’s upsetting you so much.”
Mr. Pitts straightened. “Upset? I’m not upset in the least! How dare you make accusations as if I have something to be upset about?”
For the next twenty minutes Heath tried every avenue to calm Mr. Pitts’s fears, without success.
Finally, at Tess’s urging, Heath and Tess quit Mr. Pitts’s office.
Silently they walked along the corridors accompanied by the guard.
“I can’t understand why the man wouldn’t accept that I had no hidden motive.” Heath strode alongside her, his frustration eating at him like a parasite. He was a barrister, for heaven’s sake; he should’ve been able to convince the man of his honest intentions.
“He couldn’t accept it because there’s no good reason for you to be here.”
“With the society—”
“My point exactly. There’s no good reason for you to be making application to the society. It begs the question of what you are about.”
“We’ve been over this ground before–—”
“Not to my satisfaction, or obviously Mr. Pitts’s.”
“You both should accept my word as fact.”
Sari Robins Page 8
