Midnight Raider

by Thacker, Shelly

  This brought a wave of chatter from the spectators, who would not be quieted this time.

  “My lord,” Rochambeau’s attorney called out over the noise. “I believe I can settle this question—and this case—if you would allow me to bring one final witness.”

  “By all means, sir, do so!” the justice shouted back. “You are excused, Lady Kimble.”

  “But, my lord,” she complained, “we’ve not yet questioned her about the whereabouts of my coach—”

  “Madam, you will step down.”

  A bailiff escorted her from the box, as the attorney addressed the jury.

  “This final witness, sirs, will leave no doubt that this woman is a vicious criminal who merits the gallows!”

  He turned toward Elizabeth with a look of anticipation that made her feel ill. Who could possibly have such deadly evidence against her?

  Surrounded by bailiffs, the witness was escorted in from the far side of the courtroom. She couldn’t see him until he shuffled his way up into the box.

  Even then, she couldn’t place him. He started to fall and one of the bailiffs caught him, holding him up straight. Elizabeth frantically studied his profile, but she didn’t think she had ever seen him before.

  “Please identify yourself to the court,” the attorney asked.

  The man turned to face Elizabeth, sneering, and recognition hit her with a stunning impact. He was badly disfigured, but she knew his identity even before he said his name.

  “Gideon Lowe,” he called out. “Dandy Gideon Lowe.”

  Chapter 26

  Elizabeth shifted her eyes toward the gallery on her left, panic-stricken when she saw that Marcus was still in his seat. He had to get out of here, now!

  “Mr. Lowe,” the attorney said. “Are you not the same Dandy Gideon Lowe who is infamous for acts that have terrorized the North of England, including robbery, burglary, rape, and murder?”

  Lowe was still leaning on the bailiffs, shaking now with the effort to remain standing. “The same,” he said with apparent pride.

  “Yet you have come there today voluntarily?”

  “When I read about her in the newspapers, I knew I had to do my duty as a citizen.”

  “But you realize, sir, that by coming to this court today, you risk the gallows yourself.”

  “I’m already dying,” Lowe said bitterly. “That bitch did me in.” He turned a hate-filled gaze on Elizabeth. “If I’m going to hell, I’m taking her with me!”

  The galleries burst into a flurry of discussion.

  The attorney waited until the crowd had quieted. “And please tell us, sir,” he said in dulcet tones, “precisely what you mean when you say, ‘The bitch did me in.’”

  “She was part of my knot,” Lowe replied, turning his scarred face toward the justices. “But she got greedy and turned on me.”

  “It’s not true!” Elizabeth cried. No one paid her any heed, all of them engrossed in Lowe’s accusations.

  “Can you recall for us, sir,” the attorney asked, “the specific occasion that brought you to this”—he gestured to the highwayman’s face—“this state?”

  Lowe was taken by a fit of coughing and couldn’t speak for a moment. The bailiffs kept him on his feet. “She was with us when we raided a farmhouse, up north—”

  “Near the accused’s home town of Northampton, was it not?” the attorney prodded.

  “Right, Northampton.”

  The attorney turned toward the jury and raised a meaningful eyebrow. “So she carried out her heinous criminal activities not only upon strangers in London, but upon people she knew, near her own home?”

  “She was one of the best of ’em.” Lowe nodded. “Until that night we took the Halfords’ house. Her share wasn’t enough for her, and we argued. She shot me, right in the face.” He raised a hand to his once-handsome features.

  “And she wounded you in the side as well, did she not? Could you show us her handiwork?”

  Lowe shook off the bailiffs and dramatically opened his shirt to reveal a horribly infected wound. Cries of shock echoed through the courtroom.

  “So she left you for dead. And the wound is mortal, sir?”

  Lowe’s voice was heavy with bitter ire. “They can’t amputate, now can they? The ride down to London near killed me, but I wanted her to get what she deserves!” He lapsed into another fit of coughing.

  The courtroom was abuzz again. The attorney picked up a sheaf of papers from his table and carried it to the jury. “If any doubt this man’s word, you may examine his statement, sworn before the magistrate two days past, describing this woman right down to the color of her eyes!”

  “He’s lying,” Elizabeth insisted helplessly. “I was never one of his gang!”

  “She was,” Lowe shot back. “Her and her partner both! A big, strapping bloke he was. Dark hair and eyes. I’d know him if I saw him again.”

  This brought a louder uproar from the spectators.

  The justice pounded on the bench. “Mrs. Thornhill,” he shouted. “Do you still expect this court to believe, even after the testimony of this witness, that you acted alone?”

  Elizabeth could only cling desperately to her story, watching her chance for mercy slip through her fingers. “Yes, my lord.”

  The justice regarded her with an ominous expression, then turned to the attorney. “I think we have all heard enough from your final witness, sir.”

  The bailiffs half-carried Lowe from the witness box. As they took him out of the courtroom, he yelled, “Hang the bitch!”

  Completely numb, Elizabeth stood trembling as the chief justice summed up the case for the jury. The bailiffs didn’t bother to take her back to her cell while the jury deliberated. No one doubted they would reach their verdict quickly.

  And they did, an hour later. On the charge of murder: not guilty.

  Elizabeth’s heart fluttered. She held her breath as the rest of the verdict was read.

  On the charges of highway robbery and attempted murder…

  Guilty.

  Her vision went hazy at the edges. She couldn’t breathe. An expectant hush fell over all present, and then the justice was passing sentence on her—in a tone that was no longer paternal, but filled with the fury and power of righteous moral authority.

  “Mrs. Elizabeth Thornhill, you have been found guilty of taking up arms and committing highway robbery and attempted murder. The fact that you are a woman makes your crimes all the more unnatural and offensive. If such behavior were to receive only a mild sentence, it might encourage other women to such unlawful acts.”

  He paused. “This court has made every effort to be lenient. We have given you every opportunity to cooperate, yet you have willfully thrown our mercy back in our faces. You obviously acted under the order of a man, yet you most stubbornly refuse to name him.”

  The room seem to whirl dizzily, the sound of the justice’s voice deafening. Elizabeth shut her eyes.

  “Therefore, it is the decision of this court that you be taken to Tyburn on Monday next, where you shall be hanged by the neck until you are dead.”

  The finality of it rang in her ears, snapped the last fragile thread of her hope. The courtroom went spinning, her mind reeling with shock and denial.

  It lasted only an instant before she fainted.

  ~ ~ ~

  As Elizabeth crumpled, Marcus surged to his feet with the rest of the spectators, his heart slamming against his ribs. He shoved through the crush of people and reached the railing just in time to see the bailiffs lift her limp body and hand her over to the turnkeys, who carried her out.

  He fought an insane impulse to leap from the gallery and snatch her from their grasp.

  The nobles around him started moving toward the exits, their afternoon’s entertainment over. Directly below, Rochambeau and his attorney were shaking hands, smiling, congratulating each other on their victory.

  Marcus forced himself to release his bruising grip on the smooth balustrade. Getting shot or th
rown in gaol wouldn’t do Elizabeth any good. He turned away and stalked to the nearest exit.

  Outside, the spectators were making their way to their coaches, laughing and chattering about their plans to attend the opera this evening, the latest concert at New Spring Garden tomorrow, and Elizabeth’s execution on Monday.

  His hands curling into fists, Marcus kept walking.

  Quinn was waiting with a coach on a street two blocks away. Marcus swung up beside him on the driver’s seat. The thought of riding inside like the rest of his aristocratic peers suddenly made him feel ill.

  He yanked the pearl stickpin from his cravat and tore the length of lace from around his throat. “Did you find a suitable bank?”

  “Yes, sir.” Quinn set the team off at a trot. “A highly reputable one, near Saint Paul’s Cathedral. They were happy to accept the gold—and all of your conditions.”

  “Good.” Marcus felt only a little better knowing that the money was secure. The crown wouldn’t be able to touch it. He had opened the account in his own name—and while Marcus Worthington might be considered a nefarious outcast, he was a peer of the realm.

  He had deposited every last shilling he’d taken from Montaigne… after the Viscountess Alden and Mrs. Osgood had given their blessings to his plans for it.

  “What of the lady, sir?” Quinn asked hesitantly. “Is… is there no hope of mercy from the court?”

  “None.”

  “My lord, I can’t tell you how sorry I am—”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Quinn. We never could have guessed that she had some way of cutting through the damned window.”

  His friend didn’t reply, just sat there looking miserable.

  Marcus sighed. “What about the viscountess and Mrs. Osgood? Have you taken care of everything?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve finished closing down both the shop and their home. They’re waiting for us at your town house.”

  “Good.” Marcus nodded. “The Frenchman might have been planning to bring charges against them as well if he could find enough evidence.”

  “They were a bit disgruntled, sir, that you wouldn’t allow them to attend the trial.” Quinn cleared his throat. “Mrs. Osgood was particularly vociferous about it.”

  “I can imagine.” Marcus almost smiled. “But we couldn’t take the risk. The viscountess is well known among the gentry, and Mrs. Osgood is one of their favorite shopkeepers. They might have been recognized.”

  Quinn nodded in agreement. “They remain greatly concerned about how you intend to rescue Mrs. Thornhill. It’s hard to imagine there’s any way to get her out of Newgate.”

  “There isn’t any way to get her out of Newgate.” Marcus clenched his jaw. “Not judging by the way they’ve got her shackled. They’ve likely put her in a secure cell, heavily guarded. They might even have her chained to the floor.”

  Quinn gave him a perplexed look. “Then… what are we to do, sir?”

  Marcus met his gaze, eager to put his plan in motion. “Simple,” he said. “Elizabeth Thornhill, Lady Barnes-Finchley, and Blackerby Swift are going to die.”

  Chapter 27

  Until you are dead… Until you are dead…

  The words echoed through Elizabeth’s mind until she nearly screamed to shut them out. Only the knowledge that her keepers would take pleasure in her suffering held her silent.

  She didn’t remember being returned to her cell, but the guards had taken the shackles off her wrists and chained her to the floor once again.

  The turnkeys, delighted with the outcome of the trial, were making a fortune from Londoners eager for one last chance to see the condemned before her hanging. The price had gone up to fivepence a look.

  A few kindhearted visitors tried to give her food, and one tossed a Bible into her cell, but the guards snatched it all away. No one, they snapped, was permitted to give the prisoner anything. They weren’t taking any chances that someone might sneak in a file or a weapon.

  Two more artists were also let in to sketch Elizabeth’s portrait. Didn’t they realize, she wondered bitterly, that competition would make for lower profits?

  That bit of cynicism almost sounded like something Marcus would say. Her throat tightened at the thought of him. The way she had collapsed after hearing her sentence had robbed her of the chance to look at him one last time, to offer any kind of farewell.

  She would never see him again.

  All she could do was hope that he had done the sensible thing by now, and departed London with the gold. Regret and resignation settled over her, blotting out everything around her, even the prayers and words of sympathy from her visitors.

  The stream of sightseers gradually thinned to a trickle as the hour grew late. The turnkeys finally hustled away the last stragglers, then brought her the daily meal of gruel and water, and shut her door.

  Grateful to be left alone, Elizabeth curled up on the floor and shut her eyes. Unconsciousness would be a blessing now, the only means of escape she would find in Newgate.

  But a short while later, she heard the gaoler turn the key in the lock. Squinting against the light of his lantern, she raised her head as he came in.

  “Up ye go, yer ladyship,” he demanded. “We got another artist what wants to draw ye. And this one’s payin’ extra to see ye tonight. Guess he don’t want all the others to beat him to the print shops.”

  The gaoler stepped aside and handed over the lantern to a cloaked figure beside him, who carried a sketch pad and easel.

  “Yer ten pounds buys ye half an hour, mate. The magistrate’ll have me flogged proper if he finds out I’m lettin’ folk in at night.”

  Nodding, the artist moved into the cell as the keeper closed and locked the door. Elizabeth turned her back, refusing to sit up so he could see her. It was humiliating enough being gawked at by curiosity seekers. Being preyed upon by these vultures was too much.

  She had thought herself beyond tears, but felt them well again. “I’m not going to pose, you greedy lout, so if you—”

  “Elizabeth,” a deep, familiar voice said softly. “It’s me.”

  For a second, disbelief made any response impossible. In the next heartbeat, Elizabeth turned toward him, blinking in the lantern’s glow, half afraid he was only an illusion, a desperate dream.

  He didn’t vanish. Kneeling beside her, Marcus lowered the hood of his cloak.

  “Oh God,” she whispered, fresh tears on her cheeks as he reached toward her and pulled her into his embrace. “Marcus.” She clung to him, unable to hold back her sobs. His arms around her felt so strong, so warm and safe. She cried out all the regret and fear in her heart.

  “Shh, my sweet lady,” he soothed, cradling her against his chest. “We don’t want the gaoler coming back.”

  She buried her face in the clean-smelling linen of his shirt, muffling her tears, struggling to keep her voice low. “I love you, Marcus. I love you. I should have told you a long time ago. I don’t know how you can forgive me for—”

  “Elizabeth, there’s nothing more for either of us to forgive. When I saw you in that courtroom…” His voice broke and he didn’t finish the sentence. He tilted her head up and their gazes met. “I have never loved anyone in my life the way I love you.”

  She laid her head on his shoulder and slid her arms about his back, her fingers gripping his cloak. They hung on to each other for a long moment, not saying anything, just holding one another as they knelt on the floor of the cell.

  Then they started whispering, repeating those three words again and again, a mingling of voices that felt almost as intimate as lovemaking, that made desperation and hopelessness seem very far away.

  He kissed her, softly, before he set her away from him, his hands on her shoulders. “We haven’t much time, and there’s a great deal I need to tell you—”

  “Are Nell and Georgiana all right? No one came to question them?”

  “They’re fine. They’re with Quinn at the moment.”

  “And he’s all right a
s well?” She lowered her lashes. “You didn’t get angry with him because I escaped—”

  “No,” he assured her. “Now stop worrying about everyone else. You’re the one in danger.”

  “But there’s nothing anyone can do now.” She brushed her fingertips over his cheek. “I’m just grateful that we had a chance to say goodbye. I-I couldn’t go to my death without telling you that I love you.”

  “Elizabeth, I have no intention of letting you go to your death.”

  “What are you… you don’t mean to trade places with me.” Fear seized her heart. “You can’t! I won’t let you—”

  “Shhh.” He touched her lips. “That’s not my plan. Unfortunately, you’re too small to walk out of here wearing my cloak. Even in this dark hellhole, the gaoler would never believe it.”

  “Then… then what?” She shook her head. “You can’t bribe them into letting me go. They’re making too much from all the visitors to risk their necks for money. Even if you offered them Montaigne’s gold—”

  “If I still had it.” A slow smile curved his mouth.

  She nodded in understanding. “Were the Worthington estates auctioned so soon, then? You have them all back?”

  “No, actually, I deposited the money in a bank. All of it. I’ve set up a trust.”

  “You… you’ve… set up…” Elizabeth blinked at him. “But what about Worthington Manor? And the country estates, your family’s rightful place in the peerage—”

  “As soon as I heard you’d been arrested, I seem to have lost the consuming desire to reclaim my place in the peerage. Without you… those estates could never be home to me again. Buying them won’t bring my parents back. Let the courts sell the properties to someone else. And I hope they live there with more happiness than I could have.”

  Elizabeth felt stunned. The sacrifice he had made was enormous. He had walked away from the money entirely. And given up any claim to lands that had been in his family for generations. “But w-what kind of trust is it that you’ve created?”

  “Montaigne’s gold will replace your charity.” He smiled at her. “I’ve called it the Anne Worthington Trust for Women and Children.”