by Nan Ryan
Exhausted, nerves raw, afraid as she’d never been before in her life, Claire longed to unburden herself, to confide in someone who would listen and learn the truth.
But no one would believe her if she did.
She sat there in the darkness, berating herself for accepting the position of governess to the powerful Lord Nardees’s three spoiled children.
She had gone to Stonehaven in mid-June, only two short weeks ago.
Late last night, the portly Lord Nardees had pounded on her third floor door, awakening her from a deep slumber. She’d lunged up in bed, sleepy and confused. Before she could rise, the lord, dressed in white cotton attire that looked like a physician’s protective gown, stalked hurriedly into her room and told her that she had to come with him at once. Supposing something untoward had happened to one of the children, she had thrown on a robe and anxiously rushed after him.
“What it is, milord?” she asked, alarmed, as together they dashed down the wide upstairs corridor.
“Shhh,” he cautioned. “We must be quiet.”
Claire said no more, but dutifully swept into the room when he opened the door at the end of the hallway. He hastily followed. Once inside she looked around.
No one was there. No sick child.
The room was empty. But it was well lighted, every lamp blazing. The only furniture was a physician’s examining couch, which sat at the very center of the room. A white sheet was draped over it. Beside the couch, on a small utility table, was a white shaving mug and brush and a pair of scissors.
And, gleaming in the lamplight, lay a silver, fully opened straight-edged razor.
Instantly alarmed, Claire turned to give the lord a questioning look. She was horrified to find that he was now stark naked, the white uniform discarded and lying on the carpeted floor. Beneath his flabby overhanging belly, his male member was fully erect.
“Lord Nardees, how dare you!” she exclaimed in shock and outrage. “Cover yourself at once!”
She made a move toward the closed door. But the lord stood before it, blocking her way, his beady eyes gleaming and a drool of spittle slipping down from the left side of his mouth.
“My dear,” he murmured, stepping close, “since the first moment I saw you, I’ve wanted you for my mistress.”
And with that declaration, the naked nobleman had swiftly caught a stunned Claire up in his arms, pressed her against his big belly and tried to kiss her. Horrified and repulsed, she turned her face away and began to struggle to free herself.
“Let me go, damn you! Stop this at once!” she demanded, hitting his beefy arms and broad back with doubled up fists.
“Ah, yes, fight me a little while I rub myself against you, sweet beauty! I like my lovers to be fiery.” The eager lord shoved Claire’s robe off her right shoulder, yanked the yoke of her nightgown open down her chest and buried his wet, fleshy lips in the curve of her neck and shoulder.
“Let go of me, you miserable swine, or I shall scream so loudly your wife will come running.”
Sucking eagerly on the tender flesh of her exposed throat, Lord Nardees ignored her threat. Claire was well aware that his homely, lazy wife was probably snoring soundly in their suite on the mansion’s first floor and would not hear her screams. Claire continued to beat on the baron’s bare back and tried to kick his shins. Vainly, she struggled to free herself from the excited, perspiring man.
Finally, having no other recourse, she turned her face inward and bit his jowls. Hard. Drawing blood. Shocked and in pain, he automatically raised his head and loosened his hold. Claire seized the opportunity and viciously kneed him in the groin. He released her and grabbing himself, sank to his knees, keening in agony there before the closed door.
Claire knew she had to get out of that room and out of that house. Finding strength she didn’t know she possessed, she shoved him over onto his back, grabbed him behind the knees, and dragged him away from the door. She darted around him, opened the door and fled down the hall to her room. Heart pounding, she hurriedly dressed and began packing.
She wasn’t sure what the thwarted lord would do next, but she had no intention of staying in his home long enough to find out. After only a few short minutes spent collecting her belongings, Claire was ready to make her escape.
But she was too late.
The door to her room was now locked and barred from the outside. Claire ground her teeth in frustration. The angry baron had already summoned his minions to confine her.
She dropped her valise and hurried to the tall leaded windows that faced the estate’s rolling back gardens. She opened one of the windows and looked down. She had never realized how high off the ground this third floor room was. There was no balcony on which to step outside. No trellis on which to climb down. It was a sheer drop of forty feet to the ground below. If she jumped she would likely break a leg. Even if she didn’t, guards patrolled the vast rear grounds at night. She’d never get past them.
She was trapped.
Throughout the long night Claire paced, worried and wondered what would happen to her.
Come the morning she found out.
While the entire staff watched and whispered, Claire was taken from the baron’s house by two uniformed policemen. Lord Nardees had accused her of stealing some of his wife’s valuable jewelry and had alerted the authorities.
At police headquarters Claire had vowed her innocence, but to no avail. Her repeated requests for counsel were refused. After the long tiring day of futilely demanding that a barrister be appointed for her, she was thrown into Newgate prison’s Common Cell with a stern reminder that stealing from one of England’s titled noblemen would surely get her several long years in prison.
Now in the prison’s darkness, Claire swallowed hard and fought back the tears that clogged her tight throat. The terrible truth dawned that she might never get out of this dungeon.
Dawn was not far off when Green Tooth slowly turned her head, looked at the fair, blond young woman and saw that she was sleeping.
Finally.
Green Tooth glanced warily around at the rest of the prisoners to make sure all were asleep. Satisfied they were, she reached down and dug deep into her worn left shoe and pried from its sole a shiny gold coin. A coin she’d treasured for years.
She laid the coin in her lap and reached into the pocket of her filthy skirt. She withdrew a small pad of paper and a stubby lead pencil.
In minutes she was up and silently crossing the Common Cell. She waved a thin arm until she attracted the attention of the head turnkey who was back on his perch above. She motioned to him. He frowned, shook his head, but dropped the ladder over and came down it.
“Need a favor, gov,” Green Tooth whispered and handed the guard a folded note and the gold coin.
The turnkey glanced at the note, bit the coin to check its authenticity, and nodded in affirmation.
Three
Alas, it wasn’t weeks or months until Claire’s arraignment. It was later that very same morning.
Nine sharp.
Thursday, the twenty-seventh of June, 1895.
Claire’s case was first on the docket. If indicted—which seemed assured—she would be convicted and sentenced to twenty-five years in prison.
The honorable Percival Knowlton sat on the bench above in his colorful flowing judge’s robes and curly white powdered wig. The prosecutor, Cecil Twiggs, a slight man with thinning, sandy hair and sallow complexion, was there to represent the Queen.
Claire stood beside him as Twiggs stated the charges. “Your honor, the defendant, Mrs. Claire Orwell, betrayed the trust and kindness of her employer, Lord Wardley Nardees. Mrs. Orwell was employed…”
The arraignment, a predetermined farce, had begun.
Once the charges had been fully read, the elderly judge sat back in his chair, reached up under his white wig and rubbed a spot on his temple.
He looked at Claire. “Who speaks for the defendant?”
Rising to her feet, Claire looked
around, searching in vain for the aging hack barrister the crown had appointed as her counsel. She turned back to address the judge.
“No one, I fear, milord.”
At that moment a large hand came to rest on her shoulder. She turned and looked up to see a giant of a man, resplendent in legal raiment bearing the Old Queen’s own colors. The powdered wig only added to his towering height.
“I kindly beg to differ.” The giant’s voice was low and surprisingly soft. “I speak for the accused, your worship.”
Cecil Twiggs paled and the slim prosecution brief slipped from his fingers. He bent and picked it up, his hand visibly shaking.
The judge sat upright, imperious in his tall-backed leather chair. He adjusted his spectacles, leaned forward and asked, “To what happy circumstance do we have the honor of the Queen’s own Counsel gracing our humble criminal court? Welcome, Lord Northway.”
Lord Northway thanked the judge and smiled at the awed Claire. He was an impressive man in both stature and manner and well known for his keen legal mind.
Lord Northway’s father, Henderson Northway, had been elevated by Queen Victoria forty-five years ago for the outstanding legal, diplomatic and political advice he had given as the Queen’s Counsel on affairs both domestic and foreign. Most notable was his opinion that the Queen’s highly opposed recognition of the Republic of Texas would, if done, be unchallenged.
The grateful Queen had rewarded him with a peerage.
Claire was as puzzled as the learned judge and the nervous prosecution that Lord Northway had come to her defense.
From his bench above, Judge Knowlton nodded toward Twiggs. “State the charge.”
“Grand theft, milord.” Twiggs opened the brief. “To be specific, jewelry belonging to Lord Nardees’s wife, valued by these appraisals in the amount of three thousand pounds.”
“Any witness besides the good baron?” asked the judge, a noticeable frown on his face.
Twiggs shook his head.
“What say you, Lord Northway? State your case.”
“No case, milord, but a few questions for the crown, perhaps.”
“We are honored to take questions of the Queen’s Counsel.” The judge waved a permissive hand.
“Thank you, milord.” The tall barrister turned to Cecil Twiggs. “These appraisals you have before you in the amount of three thousand pounds?”
“Yes,” Twiggs eagerly responded.
“How many separate appraisals and who made the appraisals?”
“There are six separate appraisals all made by Lloyd’s of London, of course.”
The quality and power of his voice demanding total attention, Lord Northway promptly pointed out that Claire Orwell’s accuser had not filed any claims with Lloyd’s of London.
“Your honor, Joseph Phillips, Esquire, of Lloyd’s of London waits just outside. He will testify to the fact that no claims have been made by Lord Nardees. May I add that Lloyd’s of London has insured the lord’s belongings for thirty-five years.” Lord Northway turned to Cecil Twiggs. “Over the last ten years, how many charges has Lord Nardees brought against his servants?”
Twiggs blanched, looking to the bench for help and direction.
“Answer,” said the judge with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Twiggs spread the brief before him on the prosecution table. “Perhaps four accusations.”
“Perhaps six,” Lord Northway softly corrected.
“Possible,” said Twiggs. “I have only—”
“Lord Northway, are you calling Lord Nardees a liar?” asked the judge. “That’s your defense?”
“Not at all, your honor. I’m simply pointing out that perhaps a mistake has been made. Honorable people can disagree and—”
“Approach the bench,” the judge interrupted.
Lord Northway again stated, “Nardees has filed no claims on past charges. Perhaps the items Lord Nardees thought were stolen have only been misplaced. And subsequently found.” Lord Northway paused and drew himself up to his full, imposing height. “Are we to send this poor young woman—” he nodded to Claire “—who has no history of committing any crimes, to twenty-five years and ruin her life—or more accurately, end her life? She may not survive…” Again he paused, then said, “I respectably ask for all charges to be dismissed.”
The judge looked intently at Lord Northway. “I will rule later today.”
At 6:00 p.m. the judge told the prosecutor that he had dismissed the charges. He also considered the failure on the part of Lord Nardees to file insurance claims. He told the barristers he was going to deny a true bill and that Claire Orwell was to be set free. Claire and the barristers rose to their feet. The judge asked Lord Northway to stay. Claire turned to thank her gallant defender.
Lord Northway smiled warmly and said, “If you’ll wait just outside, I must speak with you before you go. I won’t be long.”
Claire nodded and walked out with the prosecutor.
“Tell me, old man,” the judge beseeched when the two were alone, “what in the name of God brings you to defend this poor woman?”
Lord Northway smiled, reached into his weskit pocket and extracted a large gold hunter-case watch. He gave the stem a slight twist and the case opened, revealing a yellowing enameled miniature.
The judge gasped audibly.
“Yes,” acknowledged Lord Northway, “an exact likeness of Claire Orwell.”
“Painted years before Claire was born,” the judge said.
Lord Northway nodded. “My father handed me this watch on his deathbed.” He looked at the faded miniature. “She was the love of his life.”
“I see,” the judge sat back in his chair.
“Father instructed me to help her daughter, Claire, if ever she needed me.”
“How did you hear about her being in trouble?”
“A timely missive from a miscreant in Newgate known as Green Tooth,” said Lord Northway.
Claire looked up, smiled and rose from the bench in the corridor as Lord Northway approached. Still puzzled that he had come to her defense, she was even more puzzled when the stately lord handed her an envelope.
“My dear,” he said in that rich baritone voice, “I’ve a bit of good news for you.”
Claire listened and learned that she was being offered the opportunity to sail to America to open up the Saratoga Springs, New York, summer house of Britain’s flamboyant Duchess of Beaumont. The young, blond widow was one of Britain’s more colorful royals, a woman who cared not one whit what the gossips said about her.
Claire had read of the duchess’s exploits and her photograph had often appeared in the London Times.
“Your duties,” said Lord Northway, “if you choose to accept the position, will be to hire a small staff and have the Saratoga residence made ready for the arrival of the duchess herself. She’ll be coming to the Springs in mid-August for the summer racing season.
“It is,” said Northway, “entirely up to you. If you wish to accept this offer, all the necessary arrangements will be made for you.”
“Yes, of course, I accept!” said Claire, excited. “I can think of nothing I’d like better than to…to…” She stopped speaking and frowned suddenly. She couldn’t go. She couldn’t leave the poor old woman known as Green Tooth behind. She owed the woman her life. She couldn’t be ungrateful and turn her back on the poor creature.
Claire looked up at the tall, imposing man and said, “On one condition, milord.”
“Which is?”
“I’ve a friend who must accompany me to America.”
His eyebrows raised. “A male?”
“No, female.”
“I see no difficulty. Your friend can serve in some capacity as part of the staff.”
“Actually, it’s not quite that simple,” Claire said. She took a deep breath and informed him, “She’s presently a prisoner in Newgate. But she’s good-hearted. She saved me from a terrible physical attack and I will take responsibility for her.”
“What’s her crime?”
“I honestly don’t know, but I would guess petty theft or some such minor charge. I beg you, Lord Northway, find a way to free the poor woman and allow me to take her with me.”
Lord Northway reluctantly agreed to look into the charges and see what he could do. The astonished Green Tooth was freed that same afternoon.
The next morning Claire went directly to the bank and withdrew what meager funds she’d managed to save over the years. Then she requested entrance to her safe-deposit box. She took the box into a small private room, opened it and lifted from it a small velvet drawstring bag.
Claire loosened the tasseled drawstrings and looked inside. She smiled, as she always did, when admiring the sparkling treasures inside. After only a few seconds, she reluctantly drew the strings tight once more.
Then she lifted her full skirts and pinned the velvet pouch in among the folds of her full petticoats. She dropped her skirts, patted the concealed treasure, and left the bank with a spring to her step.
With the money she’d withdrawn, Claire promptly sent the woman who had saved her life to the dentist and to have her hair cut and buy some new clothes. And Claire bought her frail friend a fine-looking hickory walking cane with a gleaming silver head.
Days later Claire Orwell and Olivia Sutton—Olivia Sutton looking nothing like the unkempt woman dubbed Green Tooth and Claire vowing she’d have Olivia speaking like a proper lady by the time they reached New York—happily set sail for America on a bright, clear June morning.
Four
Virginia City, Nevada
Friday, July 5, 1895
Strong alpine sunlight streamed in through the open bedroom windows of an imposing three-story mansion perched on the cliffs high above the little mining city.
The sunshine had slowly marched across the spacious upstairs room until finally, at midmorning, it reached the bed. And the bed’s occupants.
A man and a woman.
The man groaned when the penetrating light shone through his closed eyelids, disturbing him, annoying him. Without opening his eyes, he grabbed a feather pillow, stuck his dark head under it, muttered a curse and promptly fell back to sleep.
