Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine Page 5

  “A-Abigail!”

  “Your daughter? What’s amiss with the lass?”

  Lillian replied because Lavinia could not. “She has been arrested.”

  The magistrate stared open-mouthed at her. “When?”

  “This very night. What is worse still, she has been taken to Newgate.”

  Huffington showed genuine shock. “Why is she not being held in the magistrate’s cells at the Old Bailey?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Forgive me, you are?”

  “Countess Lillian Houghton.”

  “Of course, forgive me, madam. It is the hour. You have been pointed out to me on several occasions.” Nestling Lavinia’s hand beneath his arm, he guided them into the parlor. “I would say it is an honor, ma’am, were it not for the circumstances.”

  Lillian motioned Jack to follow them. “Jack was apparently there when it happened.”

  “Mrs. Aldridge, perhaps Harry should light the stove—”

  “Forgive me, sir. But we do not have the time.”

  “No. Of course not.” He offered Lavinia his own handkerchief as he looked at the man hovering in the parlor’s doorway. “Jack, did you say?”

  “Aye, your worship, sir.”

  The magistrate might have been raised from his bed, but his mind obviously was still very sharp. “You’ve stood in chains before the bench a time or two, I warrant.”

  “That I have, your worship, sir. Too often to count, if truth be known. But all that’s behind me now, thanks be to the good Lord Jesus and His saving grace.”

  “Ah, a believer. Excellent. Which church do you claim?”

  “Soho Square, your worship, sir.”

  Lillian suggested, “You may address him as Mr. Huffington or Your Honor.”

  Huffington helped Lavinia settle into the sofa before saying, “All right, I’m listening.”

  “We was passing pamphlets out down Soho way, your wor . . . Mr. Huffington. Our reverend had a new convert working out of a theatre on Cambridge Circus.”

  “Who was your leader this night?”

  “Derrick Aimes, Your Honor.”

  “The former boxer?”

  “The very same.” Jack was clearly proud of the recognition. “Reverend Aimes is as powerful a man with the Spirit as he was with his fists.”

  “And which theatre did you approach?”

  Jack glanced at Lavinia, then reluctantly allowed, “Cambridge Theatre, Your Honor, sir.”

  Clearly the name meant nothing to Abigail’s mother. The magistrate, however, looked appalled. “You dragged that innocent girl into the Cambridge? Why, it’s hardly better than a bawdy house.”

  “Forgive me,” Lavinia said, her voice a full octave lower than normal. “A what?”

  Huffington quickly said, “It’s a figure of speech, my dear woman.” He frowned a warning at Jack. “Really, this is quite extraordinary.”

  “We didn’t drag the lass nowhere, Your Honor. Matter of fact, I suggested she take herself off to Leicester Square. But she wasn’t having none of it. And you know what Miss Abigail’s like when she gets her dander up.”

  Lavinia leaned forward. “You know my daughter?”

  Jack scuffed his boot across the floor.

  “Speak up, man. Answer the lady.”

  “She’s been with us a time or two,” Jack grudgingly allowed.

  Lavinia said shakily, “I-I don’t understand. My daughter has entered Soho on more than one occasion?”

  Huffington patted her hand. “We can worry about such things later, my dear Mrs. Aldridge. Right now we must concentrate upon freeing your daughter.” He turned back to Jack. “Would you care to have a seat?”

  “No thank you, Your Honor.” Jack remained stationed by the doorway. “So we came into the theatre by the back entrance, and our guide led us up to the stage. I held back when I spied what was what, if you catch my meaning. So did the lass, Abigail. But Reverend Aimes, why, he marches straight out in front and gives them both barrels.”

  “I can well imagine,” Huffington said. “I had the occasion to hear him speak a while back. The man was astonishing.”

  “Aye, that’s our reverend in a nutshell. So off he goes, and they give it straight back at him, but the pastor, why, he just stands there and shows what it means to turn the other cheek, until . . .”

  “Yes, go on, man.”

  “There was an officer in the crowd. He didn’t take lightly to the reverend interrupting the night’s entertainment, such as it was. He called back to his men in the upper tiers, and they came tromping down like the footsteps of doom itself.”

  “An officer. Did you notice which regiment?”

  “Not me, Your Honor. Soon as I saw them soldiers, I was off like a shot. I tried to take the lass with me, and we got partway back to the exit. But then the soldiers came pushing into the backstage area and it was sixes and sevens, your honor. Sixes and sevens. All the ladies screaming and the soldiers shouting and grabbing hold of whoever they can get. But Abigail, she stands out, like. There’s no question but what the little missus don’t belong in that crowd. They latched on to her.”

  “And the reverend?”

  “Aye, they got him as well. I hung back, found myself a mop and a bucket and stood holding it like it was the rope to heaven itself. The reverend called out for them to let the lass go, begged them. But the officer wasn’t having none of it.”

  “You’re certain of where they were taken? This is crucial, man. The officer ordered them straight to Newgate Prison?”

  “Heard it with my own ears, I did. The officer, he writes out this paper for the sergeant to hand to the head peeler.”

  The magistrate stroked his beard. “He must be with the Royal Horse Guards. Someone with considerable clout. Which makes matters quite serious indeed.”

  Lavinia protested, “But surely my daughter has done nothing wrong!”

  The magistrate did not bother to respond. Instead, something in Lillian’s expression seemed to catch his eye. Huffington studied her so intently she was tempted to turn away. But she resisted the urge and met the penetrating gaze head on, not attempting to hide anything.

  Huffington ventured, “You are familiar with Newgate?”

  “By name and reputation. I have, however, visited other such places.”

  “You understand the situation?”

  She nodded. “I do indeed.”

  “What?” Lavinia turned frantically from one to the other. “What is there to understand?”

  Huffington’s gaze did not waver. “I cannot be seen to appear in the night, a magistrate taking a personal interest in someone arrested by an officer of the royal household.”

  “Indeed not,” Lillian agreed. “It would serve no purpose in regard to Miss Aldridge’s freedom, and destroy your career in the process.”

  Huffington’s lips tightened in a grim smile of approval. “I think perhaps Mrs. Aldridge is well served to have you at her side tonight, my lady.”

  “You will prepare the request?”

  “Most certainly.” Huffington rose and walked to his desk. He drew over a sheet of fresh parchment and dipped his quill into the polished inkwell. He said as he wrote, “Mrs. Aldridge, I would advise you to do whatever the countess suggests.”

  “Very well. But what is it you are not telling me?” Her frantic question fell into a long silence.

  Huffington finished writing, inspected his work, then dusted the paper before replying. “All you should concern yourself with this night is your daughter’s safe release. Are we clear on this matter?”

  Lavinia’s eyes tracked back and forth once more. Something in their set expressions caused her frame to shudder. “Of course I shall do as you advise.”

  “Excellent.” He rose from his desk, walked over, and handed the paper to Lillian. “Do be so kind as to have your man report to me once this matter is resolved.”

  “It may be quite late, sir.”

  “No matter what the hour,” Huffin
gton replied. “I shall not sleep a wink until I hear from you.” He steered Lavinia toward the door with a hand set gently upon her shoulder. “Until that time, I shall be praying as fervently as I know how.”

  Chapter 6

  The carriage ride from the magistrate’s home to Newgate Prison was a dark and endless trek. They left the fashionable districts behind with their bright streetlamps, carefully tended boulevards, fine townhouses, and broad sheltering trees. For Lillian, they ventured not just into the cramped and fetid lanes of London’s impoverished East End. They also entered a realm that brought on a nightmare of memories.

  Lavinia was too anxious to notice. “Abigail has always been an impulsive girl. Not bad natured, nor immoral in her intent. Never that. Which has made it so hard sometimes to discipline her. She is as strong a believer as ever I have met. But tied to this is a nature which—oh, it is so hard to explain.”

  Lillian fastened her attention upon the handkerchief Lavinia knotted and coiled with her fingers. But ignoring the scenes outside the carriage did not help. Everywhere she looked, she saw the same thing. “She attracts danger,” Lillian finally said.

  “No, not that exactly. But she does so enjoy questioning everything.”

  “She seeks out the wrong sort of folk to call friends,” Lillian continued.

  “H-how do you know Abigail so well?”

  Lillian merely continued, “She launches herself into anything that might appear to offer what her staid life does not.”

  The carriage jounced them hard as it pulled to a halt, and then Ben clambered down from up top. “Newgate Prison, ma’am!”

  “I must go.” Lillian moved for the door Ben held open. “You must wait here.”

  “But shouldn’t I—”

  “Remember what I said, Lavinia.” Lillian reached for the dark hooded garment resting on the opposite seat. “It is vital that you do as I say.”

  “Wait.” Lavinia extended one hand. “Pray with me.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh, I know you do not share our faith. But if you are to act as my emissary in this matter, I must at least know you are shielded by prayer.” She motioned Ben forward and then waited while he in turn brought the former thief into their circle. “Oh my dear Lord God,” Lavinia began earnestly, “I have turned to thee on occasions beyond count. But never with a greater need than now. Guide the steps and actions and words of this dear woman, whom I am certain thou hast brought to us in this hour of direst need. Shield her from all who seek to do her harm. Open all locked doors, as thou hast done for other believers before us. Let her speak, and let them hear thy command. Set my daughter free.”

  “Amen,” their carriage driver intoned, and Jack as well. “Yes, Lord, and amen.”

  “Give me the coin purse,” Lillian said, her voice sounding distant to her own ears. She knotted the purse’s leather strap around a button on her left cuff, then slipped it up her sleeve. Those accustomed to danger carried money in this manner. Normally a small knife with a razor’s edge would be strapped alongside the purse, so a weapon might be drawn when supposedly reaching for money. She saw Jack’s eyes widen at the practiced motions. Lillian did not care what Jack thought. She was so stunned by being prayed over that her mind could scarcely capture any thought at all.

  Lillian drew the housemaid’s cloak about her and fastened it at the collar and waist. She pulled the hood far over her face, careful to tuck in every strand of hair. “Jack, you will come with me.”

  “Aye, your ladyship.”

  “From this point on, you are to address me simply as ‘mum.’ ” She looked back at Ben. “You will guard your lady.”

  “With my life, my lady—”

  “And I shall pray for you as hard as I know how,” Lavinia said, gripping Lillian’s hand once more. “Thank you, sister. Thank you.”

  Save your words for when I return, Lillian wished to say. But she found herself unable to speak at all.

  Lillian slipped her hand free and strode into the night.

  Newgate Prison fronted the street with a façade as grim as a medieval fortress. The octagonal stone turrets were flat at the top, from which the peelers could stare down into the central press yard. This time of night, the main gates were shut. Even so, the stench hit Lillian long before she reached the keeper’s lodge.

  The head turnkey was always referred to as the keeper. This man was busy with his dinner when Lillian peered through the cracked window. The keeper was obviously accustomed to being disturbed by late-night visitors. He paid no attention to either the faces by his window or the loud knocking upon his door.

  “I’ll go in and suss out the man,” Jack said.

  “No, let him play his little game,” Lillian responded, and waited.

  Memories swirled about her like the tendrils of night mist. When she had been nine years old, her aunt had dressed Lillian in her darkest clothes. Together they had left the house an hour after her uncle had departed for some church meeting. Her aunt had spoken little—she had always been sparse with her speech. They had taken a transom to a portion of town the young Lillian had never seen before, a place of hovels and silence and gloom. They had halted before the porter’s lodge of a prison very much like this one, though that distant night had been far colder. The air had tasted metallic, a dangerous flavor spiced by the same fetid smell that filled her nostrils now. That night, the keeper had not wanted to let them in either. But Lillian’s aunt had insisted. The man had relented only when Lillian’s aunt had slipped coins into his palm. Which was another astonishment. Her aunt had always been tight with her silver.

  Lillian was brought rudely back to the present by a deep voice braying, “Well, what is it that can’t wait for the proper hour?”

  Lillian shuddered with the force it required to push the memories aside. “I come with an urgent request.”

  “Why should yours be any different?” The keeper laughed at his own joke. The room behind him was empty save for a battered pewter plate and mug, and a flickering tallow candle upon a rickety table. He wore unlaced boots and a stained leather apron over filthy trousers. His belly was enormous and shook as he laughed. He did not care that Lillian remained silent through his humor. He no doubt had grown used to laughing alone.

  The keeper turned away long enough to drain his mug. “Aye, it’s always the urgent ones what can’t wait for morning.” His eyes squinted in their attempt to pierce the shadows cast by Lillian’s hood. Then he turned his attention to Jack. “Have I seen you round these parts before?”

  Lillian halted Jack’s response with an upraised hand. “I have a magistrate’s order for you to discharge a prisoner brought here falsely.”

  “False arrest, is it?” The keeper was not impressed. “Walk these lanes, you’ll find not a one of these vermin deserve to be here. They’re all innocent. Every one.”

  “I am concerned with a young lady. Brought here earlier this very same evening.”

  “Ah.” His eyes gleamed. “A proper looker, highborn and haughty. That the one?”

  Lillian handed over the parchment. From the way the keeper frowned over the paper, it was evident the man could not read.

  “Abigail Aldridge is the young woman’s name,” she said.

  “That’s as may be. But like I said, the prison’s shut until—”

  “I can pay.”

  The keeper examined the coarse dark robe covering Lillian’s form. “Going against orders, that carries too dear a charge for the likes—”

  Lillian slipped her fingers into the sleeve and drew out a single coin. “In gold.”

  The keeper licked his lips. “Let’s be having it, then.”

  Lillian let the candlelight flicker over its gleaming surface. “Tell me the girl is all right.”

  “I let her stay in the association room, didn’t I.” He kept his eyes on the coin. “Didn’t send her off to the cells, where anybody might trap her in the night.”

  “You thought there was a chance someone wo
uld come and offer good coin for such as her,” Lillian interpreted. She pressed the coin into his hand. “Take me to her.”

  “A gold guinea won’t take you far in these parts.”

  “Five more when we pass back through these gates.”

  “Aye, well . . .” He glared at Jack. “Your man stays back here. Can’t be letting just anyone walk these halls.”

  Jack started to protest. Lillian cut him off. “Very well. Let us go.”

  The keeper hefted his lantern, grabbed the billy club from its place above the door, and set off across the press yard. He tapped the cobblestones as he walked, a hammering tone that marked his speech. Lillian knew the man was talking to her, but she could not make out the words. She pressed a handkerchief to her mouth to keep out the worst of the stench. If only she could hold off the memories as well.

  They passed down a long stone hall lit only by the keeper’s lantern. He used one of his jangling keys to open a stout oak door, which he slammed back on its hinges. “Here we are, then,” he declared. “Right as rain, she is too. Get up there, lass. There’s someone come to take you back to the land of the living.” The keeper laughed anew at his own joke.

  “Y-you’re here for me?”

  Lillian forced herself back to the present moment. A young woman was rising from her crouched position in the far corner, between the side wall and the unlit fireplace. But the shadows were so deep it was impossible to see more than a vague form. “Are you Abigail Aldridge?” she asked.

  “Thank God,” the young woman moaned as she rushed forward. “Thank the good Lord above.”

  In her haste to flee the chamber, Abigail struck the central table hard and almost went down. But she managed to stay aloft and rushed over. Her eyes apparently were adjusted to the gloom, and she came in close enough to peer under the hood. Her gaze widened in surprise. “Why, you are Coun—”

  Lillian placed a hand upon the young woman’s lips. “Your mother has sent me.”

  “Aye, it’s a good thing the woman’s come for you. There’s every manner of disease and danger awaiting those who step on the wrong side of the law.”

  Abigail clenched Lillian fiercely as she cried, “I did nothing wrong!”