The three other women in the room watched as they left, shutting the door behind. They passed through the courtyard, the smell of sewage growing as they neared the door of the prison. The turnkey looked up as they approached.
"This young woman," said Charles, "was wrongfully imprisoned, and she will be leaving with me."
The young man drew back, clearly unaccustomed to such forthright language from those passing through the gate. A mulish expression appeared on his face. "She'll not be leaving on my watch, sir. The only prisoners as leave here for good is them as has paid their dues."
Hetty tugged on Charles's arm. "Never mind, Mr. Galbraith. I shall just go back." She tried to turn away toward the courtyard, but Charles didn't move, keeping a firm hold on her arm.
His eyes stayed trained on the young turnkey. "Then I suggest that your superiors arrange for a proper trial where those dues can be determined—if any such dues exist, which they do not."
The corners of the young man's lips turned down, and he scratched at his cheek. Charles was fairly sure he had intimidated the young man. It was time to strike while the iron was hot. "Because Miss Robson was wrongfully imprisoned through bribery and corruption, she has not received, nor is she likely to receive, a trial."
The turnkey folded his arms across his chest. "Them as brought her in had said she owes a debt of five pounds."
"And yet," said Charles, "if you were to look at the fastidious records no doubt kept by the men who run the prison, you would find no such record on the ledger."
The young man looked shaken by the logic presented, but he tightened his folded arms. "I don't know the particulars, sir. I only know that I can't let her leave without paying the five pounds."
Charles reached into his pocket, pulling out a five-pound note. He held it in the air with raised brows. The young turnkey looked at it with hungry eyes.
"And to whom would she pay this supposed five-pound debt if there is no formal record that she owes it?"
The turnkey's eyes shifted back and forth between the note and Charles's face. "I suppose," he said slowly, "that I could arrange it all for the young miss if she was agreeable?"
Charles nodded and moved to hand the note to the young man only to suddenly pull it back from his reach.
The turnkey's eyes widened, a hurt look in them.
"And what assurance does Miss Robson have that you will truly 'arrange it all,' as you say?"
The man put a hand to his chest, staring back at Charles with the energy and sincerity of a child. "On my honor, sir. I knows just what to do to tidy it all up."
"If I find," Charles said, walking up to the turnkey and looking down on him, "that you have not followed through, you will receive a second visit from me. And rest assured that it will not be so pleasant."
The young man shook his head frantically. "There'll be no need, sir. I swears it."
Charles's mouth broke into a large grin. He handed the five-pound note to the young man and clapped him on the shoulder amicably. "Thank you. You've done a good turn today, my friend. I won't forget it."
The turnkey looked at the note for a moment, swallowing and licking his lips, then glanced around before placing it in his pocket. He nodded at Charles and Hetty then unlocked the gate for them to pass through.
They stepped out onto the street just outside the prison's border wall, and Hetty let out a sob as the door clanked shut and the key turning in the lock sounded.
"Thank you," she said, her hand over her mouth.
Charles grimaced and put a reassuring hand over the arm linked with his. "I am so sorry, Hetty. You should never have experienced such a thing."
She continued to cry, and he handed her a handkerchief. "But they will bring me back!"
Charles shook his head adamantly. "They won't have the chance. I hope to arrange things for you so that you will be rid of Mr. Farrow. As for your mother, you would only need contact her if you desired it."
"Really?" Every bit of the earlier hopelessness in her eyes had been replaced with an equal measure of hope.
"Yes," he smiled at her implicit trust in him. "But it will take some arranging. I will take you to Isabel until everything is in order."
Hetty began to cry again, this time with a smile on her face.
She had been through quite an ordeal, and it was natural and understandable for her to express it all through tears. But Charles felt exhausted. He clearly wasn't cut out for high-strung females like Hetty.
18
Paxton looked at Isabel with an impassive countenance. "Mr. Galbraith is here to see you, Miss. I've shown him into the morning room."
Isabel blinked rapidly. She had not been expecting any visitors, and definitely not Charles. When he had said he would be in touch, she had assumed that he would send a note if he had any news of Hetty.
She dismissed Paxton and rubbed her lips together with a large intake of breath. Her interaction with Charles the day prior had been...confusing. She had been blue over Hetty's sudden departure, and she had not known how to react to the intimacy of the interaction they had shared. It had felt so real and yet so contrary to what they were working toward.
When she opened the door to the morning room, she stopped in her tracks. Hetty stood next to Charles.
She rushed over and wrapped her arms around Hetty, looking up at Charles with gratitude and wonder. She knew an impulse to wrap her arms around him next, but instead she only whispered, "How?"
The half-smile he had been wearing was replaced by more of a grimace. She nodded her understanding. He would tell her more about it when he could.
"I have a few matters to arrange on Hetty's behalf, but she cannot, as you know, stay with me. I hope this isn't a problem, though. If it is, perhaps Miss Holledge could take her in for a night or two?"
Isabel wrapped an arm around Hetty's shoulders and squeezed her. "It is no problem at all."
"Are you sure, Izzy?" Hetty said, looking up at her with anxious eyes.
Isabel's dimple peeped through. "I'll have you know that even Anaïs has been blue since you left. She has taken to muttering in French even more than usual, and, what's more, I saw her attempt that new coiffure you tried on Cecilia the other night—the one she criticized so heavily."
Hetty laughed, and Isabel went to ring the bell. "I would like to be present when she sees that you've returned. I'm sure you'd like to clean up a bit and perhaps have something to eat?"
Hetty's eyes widened, and she nodded quickly. "Yes, please."
The door opened to reveal Paxton, and Isabel instructed him to fetch Anaïs. She arrived shortly, opening the door and standing with her hands clasped in front of her as she looked at Isabel for instruction.
Isabel only smiled, waiting for her to see Hetty.
Anaïs' gaze shifted to Charles and then to Hetty, and her eyes ballooned. She hastened toward her with all the grace of a Frenchwoman, hugging her and saying, "Mais quelle surprise!" and continuing in French too rapid for Isabel to understand.
Isabel looked at Charles, who blinked slowly as he listened to the French maid babble away.
Hetty stood stunned for a moment, clearly unprepared for the suddenly-warm treatment she was receiving. "English, Anaïs. English!"
Anaïs's chin came up. "Jamais. Le français, c'est la langue des anges." She paused and then said in slow and heavily-accent English, "Engleesh eez a language of —" she sputtered "—cows."
Isabel laughed as she glanced at Charles's stunned expression. "Anaïs, will you please make sure that Hetty has a chance to clean up and eat some food?"
Anaïs nodded, wrapped an arm around Hetty, and began to scold her in French for the filthy state of her clothing. The door closed, and Isabel found herself alone with Charles.
"Remind me never to employ a Frenchwoman," said Charles, still staring wide-eyed at the door.
Isabel laughed out loud. "If you say that now, I wonder what you would have said to see her before Hetty's departure. The two were always at one anoth
er's throats, disagreeing on every detail of Cecilia's and my toilettes. But Hetty has found her way into the hardest of hearts in this house." She gestured for him to take a seat. "But come, tell me how it comes to be that she is here."
She knew that it was not at all comme il faut, as Anaïs would say, for her to entertain Charles alone. But what about their relationship had been comme il faut? Besides, she needed to speak to him in confidence.
Charles shrugged and let out a breath as he sat. "It is not a happy story. It is even more diabolical than you had feared." He relayed to her his interaction with Mrs. Robson and then his experience at Marshalsea. Her horror grew as she listened to him recount it all.
When he finished, she sat in stunned silence for a moment, staring at nothing in particular. "I don't even know what to say." She looked at Charles, who was watching her with concern.
"That’s not entirely true. I do know one thing I wish to say," she said. She paused and took in a breath, looking into his eyes intently. "Thank you." The words seemed so feeble compared to what she felt.
"It was nothing," he said, waving a dismissive hand as he shook his head.
"It was not nothing to me, Charles." She shook her head. "You went to much trouble for Hetty."
He looked at her with an almost blank expression. "I did it for you just as much as I did it for Hetty," he said.
Isabel's lips parted. She clamped her jaw shut. He didn't mean anything by it. At least not what she had hoped he meant. They had become friends, had they not? Friends helped one another when they were in need, and that is what he had done. "You are a true friend," she said, smiling at him through the bittersweet emotion she felt.
For a moment, it seemed as if anger or hurt flashed in his eyes, but it was gone as soon as it came—if it had truly been there at all. Whatever the expression was on his face after, it was unreadable to her. "I hope we shall always be friends," he said.
Isabel thought of the future. If they could always be friends as they were now, she might have agreed with him.
But it would not always be as it was now. He would marry Miss Darling, and to continue their friendship then would be a choice to willfully inflict physical pain on herself each day. What need would Charles have of her then, anyway?
She smiled wryly. "Wouldn't that be wonderful?" He looked ready to inquire her meaning, so she rushed to add, "I won't forget what you did, and neither will Hetty."
She shook her head as she thought on what Hetty had been through over the past day and a half. "What kind of people would throw their own child to the wolves for such reasons and for such a paltry sum of money?"
Charles grimaced. "Thirty pounds? Much like thirty pieces of silver, isn’t it? So, someone with the heart of Judas Iscariot, I suppose."
Isabel stood and shook her head, blinking slowly. "Indeed. But Mrs. Robson had set her sights on marrying Hetty to Mr. Farrow."
Charles shrugged. "Perhaps she saw Hetty as a sacrifice for the greater good of her family. Besides, I imagine Mr. Farrow can be quite convincing when he chooses to be."
"Menacing, more like," Isabel said. "He is more dangerous than you know." She glanced at Charles.
Charles's frowned. "What do you mean?"
She wrung her hands as she paced. Could she tell him what she had learned from Mr. Safford?
No, she couldn't betray the rector's confidences. The more people who knew, the more likely Mr. Farrow was to obtain the information he needed to find the will. "I can't say more than that, but please believe me when I say that he is capable of doing harm to anyone who stands in his way."
Charles drew back in his chair. "Can't say more?"
Isabel sat down and folded her hands in her lap, looking down at them and feeling conflicted. He had done so much for Hetty—didn't he deserve to know? But she couldn't in good conscience tell him without first asking permission from Mr. Safford. "It is not my secret to tell," she said, gripping her lips together.
His eyes were tight as he looked at her with incredulity. "What are secrets when Farrow poses a danger to people?"
Isabel's head snapped up, her body stiff. "People," she said softly. "You mean Miss Darling?"
His returning stare challenged her. "Is it wrong to be concerned for her safety? Surely she doesn't deserve to suffer due to unnecessary ignorance."
Isabel swallowed, speaking slowly. "You believe she is entirely ignorant of Mr. Farrow's character?"
Charles stood, his eyes hard. "Yes. I know Julia."
Isabel turned her head away. Hearing him defend Miss Darling made her stomach tie itself in knots.
Perhaps he was right, though. Perhaps Miss Darling was unaware of Robert Farrow's true character. And if that was so, she deserved to be made aware. Besides, this could be what they had worked for all along: the proof that would lead Miss Darling to let go of Mr. Farrow and reconcile with Charles.
"No one who is innocent should suffer needlessly," she said, staring at the wall. "But if telling someone's secret puts them in greater danger, how have we solved anything?"
Charles said nothing, his jaw moving left to right as he stared at Isabel. His thick, dark brows made him look particularly angry. She couldn't stand to look at him, knowing he was upset with her.
"In any event, Hetty must be kept safe from Mr. Farrow," she said. "And if her parents insist on having dealings with him, they are every bit the danger that he is."
Charles walked toward the window, looking out it as he responded. "I will be sending a note to the Robsons' instructing them to stay away from Hetty. I believe I made Mrs. Robson to feel that I was in earnest. As for Farrow—" his jaw clenched shut for a moment "—I must find a way to ensure he understands that his dealings with Hetty are over."
Isabel shook her head. "You have done enough. The information I have will keep Mr. Farrow away from Hetty. Let me arrange that side of things."
Charles's head came around. The anger was gone, but the frown remained. "If Farrow is as dangerous as you say, threatening him will only put you in harm's way."
Isabel smiled wryly. At least he seemed to care for her safety, too. "I will make sure he does not know my identity."
Charles took in a deep breath, not looking entirely convinced. But he seemed not to have an alternative plan and simply nodded.
Once he had taken his leave, Isabel's arms fell to her side limply. She sat down on the settee, her eyes glazing over. The way she had been affected by Charles speaking of Miss Darling told her that she had let herself hope far too much after their interaction in the churchyard.
She could have sworn there was something between them there. But no. Nothing had changed. His sights were still on Miss Darling.
19
Charles rubbed his forehead as he sat in the library, reading over the letter he had written to Mr. Solomon Abbott. It was a waste of time, really. Of course the man would have no interest in assisting Hetty, knowing the particulars of her situation. But he was running out of ideas.
He stood up and walked over to the window. He needed to get out of his own head. When had things become so tangled and confusing?
His visit to Belport Street with Hetty had left him in a strange state of frustration and worry. But unraveling toward whom those feelings were directed had been perplexing. Was he worried for Julia or Isabel? Or both?
Why had Isabel's comment about him being a true friend hurt him? It made no sense to take offense at a compliment. Nor had she meant ill when she had suggested that perhaps Julia didn't need to be informed about the danger Farrow was.
And yet Charles had been bothered by the insinuation. The Julia he knew wouldn't have anything to do with a man like Farrow if she knew. But how well did Charles know Julia anymore? The amount of time she passed in Farrow's company seemed ample to show her what a rake he was.
He rang the bell and then picked up the stack of papers in front of him, tapping them on the desk to organize them neatly, and setting them in the top drawer.
Charles instructe
d the footman to have his horse made ready—perhaps a ride in the park would do him some good. Fresh air, a change of pace, and conversation to redirect his thoughts.
Once he had changed clothes and was mounted on his horse, he headed in the direction of the park. He would likely see any number of people there. Julia made a habit of strolling in the park at this time of day.
He took in a large breath at the thought of seeing her. Time in her company always left him feeling confused now. He had hoped that more time with her would bring about a change in her, that the woman he had loved for so long would return in full force. So far, though, he had only caught glimpses of that woman.
Sure enough, the park was full of ladies and gentlemen walking and riding. He ran into a number of acquaintances, though, before he spotted Julia and her mother, strolling arm in arm down the lane ahead of him with their backs to him. He gave his horse a gentle nudge and trotted up toward the Darling women. Dismounting when he caught up with them, he greeted them both.
The skin around Julia's eyes wrinkled as she recognized him, and his heart skipped a beat to see her smile. She was so much more beautiful with that genuine smile than with the arch one she often wore in society these days. It was the smile from their days at home; the one he had fallen in love with.
He led his horse by the reins, walking alongside Julia. Mrs. Darling stayed silent, letting the two talk and laugh, as they reminisced. Charles hadn't felt in such charity with Julia since the beginning of the Season. She seemed to be in an agreeable mood, and he couldn't help but admire her beauty as she threw her head back in laughter again and again.
Charles's brows jumped as he noticed Mrs. Darling falling back behind them. It was a gesture which Charles appreciated, but it surprised him. Mrs. Darling had been the most vocal opposition to the prospect of them becoming engaged before Julia’s Season.
Julia seemed to notice his observation, and she smiled. "Mama looks more favorably upon your suit now than she did at the beginning of the Season."
Isabel: A Regency Romance Page 15
