Chapter 13
Bradford Nash gaped at Gideon Warburton in a way that made the other man uncomfortable. He’d told him what he learned the day before, but Nash seemed incapable of accepting the situation. It’d taken Gideon days to finally find someone who could answer his inquiry, but what he’d learned was so baffling, that he’d been reluctant to bring the information to Bradford, hating to disappoint him.
“Gideon, are you are telling me that Neve Ashley, the woman held in Newgate, has never been formally charged with anything? There is no record of her arrest?” Brad asked again.
“None. She was brought in by some men who paid to have her incarcerated. No guard at Newgate will turn down a sizeable sum, especially when they don’t need to do anything for it but feed her some mush twice a day,” Gideon replied calmly.
“And who were these men?” Bradford asked, gaping at Gideon.
“I can only assume they are mercenaries who’ll work for anyone who’s willing to pay. Someone clearly wanted to have Mistress Ashley out of the way,” Gideon explained patiently.
“So, does that mean that she can be released?” Brad asked with mounting excitement. “If there’s no formal arrest, then there’s no reason to keep her incarcerated. All we have to do is go see whoever is in charge of running the prison.”
“No, my friend, it doesn’t mean she can be released. Once someone is brought to Newgate, they leave either to be tried, executed, or buried. No one just leaves. They might not have needed paperwork to admit her, but they will need paperwork to release her. No one will take it upon themselves to just let a prisoner go for fear of being duped. With Mistress Ashley being there unofficially, it’s even more difficult to get her released since she doesn’t exist on any magistrate’s docket.”
“Oh, dear God,” Bradford moaned, slumping into a chair. “So what’s to be done?”
Mr. Warburton shrugged. “Nothing. I’m afraid we have no legal options in this case.”
“Are you suggesting that we simply leave her there to die?” Bradford asked, horrified. “That’s unacceptable.”
“There’s nothing to be done. The only way for the lady to survive is to escape from the prison. It’s difficult, but it can be done. Several prisoners have escaped over time.”
“Gideon, how can she escape on her own? She is alone, pregnant, and without funds. She can’t pay anyone off, nor does she have any knowledge of the prison or anyone on the inside who can help her,” Bradford fumed, gazing at Gideon as if it were all his fault. Bradford was pacing the parlor like a caged animal; his hair standing up on end as he ran his hand through it repeatedly in his agitation. His eyes were blazing with anger, which wasn’t really directed at Gideon, but still made him uneasy.
Gideon hated bringing the news to Bradford Nash, but he was a man of law, and it wasn’t in him to repress information. He knew Brad would be very upset. This woman seemed to mean a lot to him, and it suddenly dawned on Gideon why. She was Bradford’s mistress, pregnant with his child. Oh God, why hadn’t he seen it before? Of course Bradford would never admit to it, his wife being Gideon’s cousin, but it was clear as day. Gideon didn’t really disapprove of Bradford having a mistress; he simply hoped that Beth would never find out. It was better for everyone involved.
Bradford wouldn’t be the first or the last man to keep a mistress and get her with child, but it wasn’t often that a prominent man’s mistress was accused of witchcraft, particularly in such an underhanded and malicious manner. She must have really crossed someone, or perhaps there’d been another lover before Brad, whom she’d thrown over without realizing the extent of his ire.
In either case, there was nothing to be done. Gideon didn’t want to say out it loud, but the woman was as good as dead, as was her child. If it were born in Newgate, it would never survive, and given the fact that she wasn’t due until next year, neither would she. There were some who received better treatment than others when money changed hands, but the people who couldn’t pay for food were given just enough to be kept alive in order to face trial and execution. Few people were released.
Gideon supposed that someone could be bribed to look after the lady, but keeping her alive longer was not necessarily a good idea. With no chance of release, her suffering would only be prolonged, especially if she delivered her child while in prison. A quick death would be best for everyone involved, especially Bradford since it would spare him further suffering. If he wanted a mistress, there were plenty of women to be had by a man who was young, handsome, and generous. Mistress Ashley was lost to him now, and that was the end of that.
“Now, your other client seems to be doing better,” Gideon said, hoping to steer Bradford’s mind away from the problem with the woman. “Since I’ve taken on his case, he hasn’t been beaten or tortured, has been receiving decent meals and candles, and is in somewhat better spirits. I believe a trial will be scheduled imminently. It will be presided over by a special committee since this is not only a matter of attempted murder and abduction, but of high treason.”
“And do you know who the presiding members will be?” Brad asked. “Will it be the same as last time?”
“Not as of yet, but I have reason to believe they will be men who are difficult to sway and even more difficult to convince. However, I don’t think George Jeffreys will be among them, which is excellent news.”
Gideon rose to leave, having delivered his message. He was a man of few words, given to bouts of isolation from society. Unlike most men of his age, he didn’t enjoy romps with whores, visits to Court, or outings to the theater or bear-baiting pits. He liked to be alone with his books, reading into the early hours until his eyes burned, but his mind felt sufficiently nourished. Gideon didn’t have any friends, nor ever needed any. He was a solitary man, content to be in his own company.
The only person he’d ever enjoyed being with was Beth. She was a bright light among the darkness, a kind-hearted, sensitive soul who understood Gideon’s taciturn nature. He thought he’d lose her when she married, but he had to admit that he genuinely liked Bradford Nash. He found him to be a man of great intellect, honor, and integrity, although this affair did tarnish his reputation in Gideon’s eyes. Was this his first mistress or had he kept mistresses throughout his marriage to Beth?
Gideon himself had never had a mistress. He’d never been with a woman, and felt no desire to alter his virginal state. What went on between men and women seemed obscene and disgusting. His father had taken him to a brothel when he was eighteen, and when Gideon refused to go upstairs with a whore, forced him to watch as he took his pleasure with a girl who was no older than Gideon. Gideon had been appalled, but fascinated at the same time, watching his normally reticent and stern father grunting and panting as he swived the girl, who actually seemed to be enjoying the act. Perhaps she was paid to pretend, but the whole thing left Gideon with no desire to ever do anything like that himself. Women held no interest for him.
It wasn’t until he met Bradford that he began to experience the first pangs of sexual desire. He’d hated himself for what he felt, prayed for forgiveness, and mentally self-flagellated until his head hurt, but every time he saw Bradford, he felt like a moth flying too close to the flame. Bradford was so handsome, so polite, and so at ease in his own skin. He smiled easily, laughed without holding back, and appeared to Gideon to be like a gilded demi-god who’d come down to earth just to torment him. He’d had several sexual dreams about Bradford, waking with a wet stain on his nightshirt and a smile on his face, but that would never be, and his love had to be from afar. When Bradford had asked Gideon for his help, he was overjoyed. Here was a service he could perform for the man he loved, and he would be happy to do it. Of course, bringing bad news and seeing Bradford so upset had not been part of the plan, but all Gideon wanted was for Brad to appreciate him and give him a smile of thanks. That was enough.
The two dilemmas that Bradford Nash had presented him with were interesting puzzles. Gideon Warburton felt absolutely noth
ing for either prisoner. They were just problems to be solved, riddles to be deciphered. What happened to the actual human beings was of no interest to him, but he would do anything he could to help Bradford, for to bask in the glory of his approval was more than Gideon could have hoped for.
“I will do my very best, Bradford. You have my word.”
Bradford nodded his thanks and shook Gideon’s hand before seeing him out. He returned to the parlor, poured himself a large drink and sat down in his favorite chair by the hearth. The fire was blazing merrily in the grate and the flames had a calming effect, as did the brandy. Brad was drained by the events of the past few days and more than a little confused. Nothing made sense.
This latest information from Gideon made things even more complicated, indicating that someone had wanted to intentionally hurt Neve and get her out of the way, but why? Someone, presumably Jane, had paid the men to abduct her and put her into prison on a trumped-up charge. The thought of imparting this bit of news to Hugo made him even more agitated, but it had to be done. Hugo needed to know since it might have bearing on his scheme. Brad had known Hugo since they were children and never had he felt as strong a kinship to him as he did now. The poor man was in Hell.
Brad walked out into the hall and called Billingsley. The older man shuffled into the foyer, having clearly been in the middle of his dinner. “I’m sorry, Billingsley. I didn’t mean to interrupt your meal,” Brad said apologetically. “I wanted to ask you to pack a small bag and travel to Surrey tomorrow morning. Take Matty with you.”
“But who will see to you, Mr. Nash?” the old man asked, scandalized. He’d long suspected that the master was looking to put him out to pasture, so perhaps he was bringing in new servants. Matty was almost as old as Billingsley, having been cook and housekeeper to Master Nash’s father. They’d been married for nearly thirty years and hoped to spend their twilight years in the Nash employ.
“Not to worry, my man, not to worry. I can see to myself for a few days,” Bradford replied with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“As you wish, Master Bradford,” Billingsley conceded, “as you wish. You do want us back, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. In a week or so, I should say. My wife will be most pleased to see you both. A spot of fresh air and rest might do you good,” Bradford suggested, only aggravating his servant’s fears. Bradford fully realized what the old man was thinking, but there was no help for it. He needed the house to be empty, and there was nowhere else to send the elderly pair save Surrey. They might be suspicious of the forced holiday, but he had to get them out of the house and then make sure that all the things Hugo asked for were on hand. The clock struck 3 p.m. at a nearby church tower, and Brad hurried from the house. He had to meet Hugo to confer one last time before Hugo and Archie put their plan into action.
Chapter 14
Max Everly wrapped himself in the thin blanket and huddled on his cot in the darkness of the cell. He’d run out of candles and would ask for some more when the guard came to bring him breakfast. He didn’t really need the light anyway. He’d read the one book he had backwards and forwards and even memorized some of the passages, finding them to be a comfort. Gideon Warburton had chosen well when he brought the Sonnets of John Dunne.
The days dragged on with a painful slowness, making Max wish for a speedy resolution, whatever it was going to be. He couldn’t stand being cooped up this way any longer. His nerves were stretched to the breaking point, and every time he heard a jangle of keys or a heavy footstep in the corridor he wondered if someone was coming for him. Could they execute him without a trial? Was that legal in this time? He supposed they could do anything they wanted. It’s not as if anyone would protest very loudly, especially when he was believed to be a traitor to king and country.
Damn Hugo Everly, Max thought for the thousandth time. He realized that he had no real reason to be angry with Hugo, but he needed someone to blame and Hugo was a ready target. Max couldn’t help imagining Hugo, sitting at some local London pub with Neve, a frothy pint of beer in front of him as he watched football and cheered with the rest of the patrons. Hugo would have been in the future for four months now, so he’d have had time to acclimate and get his bearings. How convenient that he was living the high life while Max was under lock and key awaiting a trial for Hugo’s crimes.
Max shifted on the cot to get more comfortable and stared up at the dark ceiling. He had to admit, although he’d never say it out loud, that Hugo was a brave man. Seeing what Max had seen down on the green over the past few weeks would discourage anyone from plotting against the Crown, much less as openly as Hugo had been doing. This wasn’t the twenty-first century where he’d get a jail sentence and then get out early for good behavior with a slap on the wrist; this was serious business. Max had seen several men executed since the young man, and he’d watched with admiration as they walked up to the scaffold, heads held high, shoulders back, and fully in control despite the gut-wrenching fear they must have been feeling. Some had even joked with the executioner before they laid their head on the block, knowing full well that in a few minutes it would be severed from their body in a barbaric and brutal way.
Had Hugo been prepared to die like these men? He was; Max knew that, just as he knew that Hugo wouldn’t be afraid, wouldn’t cower, or piss his trousers. Hugo would have been in control until the very last, not a trace of fear showing through the cracks. No wonder Neve had chosen Hugo over him. Hugo wasn’t the class clown or the sugar daddy who could dazzle women with his wealth and power. Hugo was a man of conviction, a man of courage, a man whose cock was probably a foot long, Max mused bitterly. Damn, he hated the man!
Chapter 15
I forced myself to sit up despite the dizziness that swept me along. A bite on my cheek was bleeding, and I wiped it with my hand, smearing blood and snot, no longer caring if it got infected. I wasn’t hungry either. The hunger pains disappeared days ago, leaving me lethargic and weak. I still forced myself to eat, but couldn’t get even half the gruel down my throat. I hadn’t peed since yesterday; I was severely dehydrated. My lips were dry and flaky, and all my nails had broken off. My tattered dress hung off my frame; the fabric crusted with dirt, sweat and waste. There were bloodstains at the hem where the rats had bitten my ankles, and I felt as if I were constantly in some alternate state of being.
I began to hallucinate a few days ago and the hallucinations grew worse, but I didn’t mind. In them, I was always happy and healthy, laughing with Hugo and playing with the child who would never be born. I’d felt a flutter of movement in my belly. At first, I thought it was just hunger, but then realized it was the first time I’d felt my baby move. It would have been a joyous occasion had I been free. I closed my eyes and imagined Hugo’s hand on my belly, smiling as he felt the butterfly wings brush against his palm as he made contact with his child for the very first time.
I might have cried, but I had no tears left, and no water left to spare in my withering body. I had no idea how long I’d been here, but my time was running out. I no longer knew if it was day or night, nor did I care. There was nothing to wait for, nothing to hope for except a quiet, peaceful death. Perhaps I would just float away, leave my body behind and simply disappear as if I had never been. At one time, that thought would have devastated me, but now it didn’t seem like such a bad way to go, certainly a better alternative to being drowned or burned. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes as another wave of dizziness swept over me, making me nauseous.
I barely registered the guard who stepped up to the door. He wasn’t the usual thug who brought my gruel, but a younger man, possibly still in his twenties, with a thatch of dark hair and a broken tooth. His skin was severely pock-marked, and it reminded me of the craters of the moon as I crawled toward the door, hoping against hope that he might have some news for me.
“Come here, you,” he hissed. “I brought you something to drink. You look thirsty,” he said guiltily. I took the cup with shaking han
ds, afraid to spill even a drop of liquid and drank it all in one go. The ale tasted strange, a cross between bitter and sickly sweet, but I didn’t care. It was hydration that I so desperately needed.
“Can I have some more?” I begged, but he just shook his head.
“Give the cup here,” he hissed again, and I reached out and gave it to him as my knees gave way.
I had no energy to stand or to even sit. I lay down on the filthy floor and wrapped my arms around my belly, giving my baby one last ounce of maternal protection. My head felt like lead, and I was very cold as I began to drift. I tried to conjure up Hugo’s face and focus on it, but I couldn’t. It seemed to be swimming in front of my closed lids, the color of his eyes changing from black to blue and back again, his hair suddenly going platinum. But it wasn’t Hugo’s hair; it was a warm, white light that beckoned me forward, and I longed for its embrace. I hadn’t seen daylight since I’d been here, and it looked heavenly. The light seemed to grow brighter as I gravitated toward its warmth, eager to feel it on my face. My last conscious thought was of the baby as I finally succumbed and walked toward the light, feeling wonderfully at peace.
Chapter 16
Hugo looked around the room one last time to make sure that nothing had been left behind, then closed the door and went to join Archie. Archie had taken all their possessions to Brad’s house that morning, leaving only what they would need to facilitate Neve’s escape. He’d purchased some secondhand clothes from the rag man, the only criteria being that they should be as plain as possible and dark-colored. Hugo and Archie needed to melt into the night and become one with the darkness, their grubby clothes marking them as men of poverty and low class. The church clock had just struck 10 p.m. as they slipped out of the inn and made their way down the empty street.
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