03 - The Wicked Lady (32 page)

"Let's go," Henry ordered as she stood by the cart.

Kristen looked down to the street and realized it was a good distance to the ground. To make matters worse, her swollen eye obscured part of her vision. She didn't know if she could climb down without falling.

Henry must have seen her dil
emma, for he offered his hand. Not wanting to fall flat on her face and add to the bruises she already had, she took the assistance Henry offered. To her surprise, he was a gentleman, setting her down gently and backing away.

She followed him into the dark hole reminiscent of hell. The door had to be at least four feet thick and it groaned as if in pain as it slowly opened.

Once inside, Kristen noticed a room with windows over the doorway. She didn't have time to figure out what that room was, because Henry didn't stop there. They moved forward until they came to a second oak door braced with iron, which led to the interior of the prison.

Why did she have the sinking feeling that she'd never get out of here alive?

She didn't get time to come to an answer before she was shoved through a second door. Once inside, she hesitated and Henry grabbed her elbow. "Come on. We need to go to the lodge room where they receive incoming prisoners," Henry said as he pulled her into a small room on the left.

"Watcha got tonight, Henry?" A heavy-set man with faded-red hair asked him.

"How the hell are you, Grady?" Henry smiled his question.

The man placed his hands on the small of his back and stretched. "Back's been hurting a mite."

Henry must have remembered why he was here, because he pulled Kristen in front of him. "This here's a special guest. She needs a special room."

Grady took Kristen's face in his pudgy hand and turned it back and forth. "Looks like she's been in a bit of a scrap."

"This here's a duchess," Henry said proudly.

Grady
’s eyebrows arched almost to his hairline. "And why, pray tell, is she here?"

"Murder."

Grady shook his head. "I hope you got the fellow that gave you that fat eye," he told Kristen. He chuckled and reached for her again. "Well, your Highness, let's get this over with."

Kristen tried to move back, but couldn't because Henry stood behind her. "I dinna understand."

"I have to search you, sweetie. Don't want you slitting someone's throat." The man jerked Kristen to him and started running his meaty hands over Kristen's body, stopping every now and then on certain parts of her body.

Kristen wasn't sure she could be any more humiliated.
However, a blessed cold settled over her body and she withdrew into her own shell--a shell where she felt nothing. Nothing at all.

"I'll take her on in, she's clean," Grady grunted as he slowly maneuvered across the room.

Once again they headed deeper into the dark hallways. Grady picked up a lantern and turned up the wick until it cast a brittle glow over the pewter-colored walls. When they came to the cells, men pressed their faces against the iron bars to see the new prisoner.

"Put her in with us, Grady. We'll take care of her real nice like," they called out, followed by other rude remarks.

"This ain't your lucky day," Grady told them and kept on moving.

Water trickled down the walls and the foul stench of human waste almost made her retch. A little further along, another smell--a mixture of damp and musty--let her know real fast that things would only get worse. Then she heard an eerie noise. Was it human or animal? She wasn't certain she wanted the answer to her question.

Finally, they came to a cell and stopped. Grady set the lantern down and opened the heavy wooden door, then shoved Kristen inside. Weak light filtered in through a barred window high on the wall.

Kristen sighed with relief when she didn't spot another occupant in the room. She didn't want another fight or argument tonight. She was tired, and if she couldn't go home, at least she could sleep.

Taking in her surroundings, she found a low table on a mat on the floor against the wall. She wondered what kind of vermin lived in this cell as she glanced at the other corner and saw a beat-up chamber pot.

All the other times Kristen had been arrested, they had set her free. This was the first time she'd actually been locked up. There was no way she could get the key to slip out, because it was on a metal ring with the other keys.

"There's a blanket in the corner, and someone will bring you water shortly," Grady announced. "Probably not what you're used to, sweetie, but it's better than most of these pens. His Grace did leave enough money to get you a cell by yourself."

Kristen wanted to laugh. The cell was no worse than where she used to live. She'd gotten too soft and used to nice things, and that had been her mistake. What a fool she'd been. Hadn't she known her time at Chatsworth would never last?

The thick door swung shut with a heavy, final thud that echoed around the cell. There was silence. Standing in the middle of the dark cell, Kristen stared at the door, not knowing what to do.

She heard a cough from down the hall, and faint sounds of men swearing and fighting among themselves. At least, the noise reminded her that she wasn't alone. But they offered her very little comfort indeed.

Kristen began to pace. She'd never been caged in her life, and she didn't like it at all. She had to get out of here. There had to be a way. She would keep her eyes open and wait for her opportunity, and when the time came she'd escape.

As the night progressed, Kristen had too much time to think. Why hadn't she stayed behind like Trevor had advised? She wouldn't be in this mess if she had only listened. But, no, she had to be headstrong and try to do something herself.

Could she ever be an obedient wife to Trevor? Probably not. That word didn't seem to go with her nature. She laughed ruefully. Of course, she would have to live long enough to get out of this place to be a wife. She could end up dangling from the end of a rope.

Unconsciously, her hands came up and touched her throat. She shut her eyes and pictured herself dangling in mid-air. Her eyes flew open, and she paced some more. She didn't want to shut her eyes again and see the same vision.

She had killed a man.

That was hard enough to think about.

She should feel bad about Ned, but she felt nothing. Ned had never been any good, and she couldn't stand by and let him mistreat Hagan. It bothered her that she had been responsible for a death, but she couldn't feel sorry for removing Ned from the world.

How was she going to get out of this mess?  She reached up and touched her puffy eye.  At the moment she was very thankful not to have a mirror.  She probably looked like she
belonged
in jail.

Finally, Kristen could no longer put one foot in front of another, and she sank down to the hard mat. Reaching for the blanket, she found it surprisingly clean. Trevor's money had probably got her that small favor. She wrapped herself up and stretched out, trying to forget where she was.

At least in her dreams, she was free.

Trevor could not sleep. The thoughts of Kristen in jail ate at him.

He had to get her out. Even though Kristen had broken the law, he knew trials could sometimes take a year or more to come around. He would have to pull a few favors to make sure Kristen would get on the next quarter session.

He wasted little time dressing, and he didn't even bother to eat his breakfast in his haste to be on his way.

The carriage had been brought about, and Trevor gave the address of the Justice of the Peace to his driver and settled in the plush interior of his coach.

While Trevor rode, he thought of Kristen. He could think of nothing else. Her pale face and black eye had haunted him all night She'd been a pitiful sight. If Ned were not already dead, Trevor would have shot him himself.

There had been no weeping. No tears. Kristen had stood proudly without begging. He couldn't have been more proud of her or her courage. His grandmother would have been proud--on second thought--she'd probably faint dead away at the news that Kristen had shot someone.

Kristen was a problem . . . .

And had been since he'd met her. He looked out the carriage window, picturing her petite face. That glorious red hair that framed these emerald eyes could bring any man to his knees. But there was something else about her that kept him intrigued. Her spirit. True, it usually kept her in trouble, but he wouldn't have her any other way.

He sighed at all his mixed emotions. He could walk away.  He could go back to his quiet life with its endless balls and faces that couldn't wait for hi
m to glance their way. Or he could fight to free Kristen, knowing that the trial would cause a scandal. He didn't know whether Kristen would stay with him or return to the Johnstones.

He could chose dull and boring.

Or constant chaos.

Trevor laughed for the first time in two days. There was no contest. The fiery, saucy wench had twisted him around her finger, and he loved every minute of it. And every inch of her. Of course, that was something he'd never tell her.

The carriage slowed to a stop, bringing Trevor back to his problem. He got out and hurried to the front door of an old family friend, then knocked.

A butler appeared in minutes, one Trevor didn't recognize.  "I would like to see John."

The butler looked down his nose. "Whom may I say is calling?"

"The Duke of Chatsworth," Trevor articulated each word, and raised a brow a fraction.

The man in front of him blinked several times and became flustered. "Begging your pardon, Your Grace. Please enter. I will go and get Mr. Briggs immediately." The butler bowed twice, backing away from the door.  This way, if you please." The butler lead the way to a sitting area.

Trevor didn't laugh until the man was out of the room and then he chuckled at the man's bowing. It had been much too long since he'd seen John. But the Justice of the Peace had been a friend of his grandmother's for years.

Someone cleared his throat, and Trevor turned around and smiled. "John, it has been a long time." Trevor extended his hand.

"Much too long, Trevor," John said when he took Trevor's hand.

"I quite agree. I wish I could say this was just a visit, but I am in need of your help."

"You sound serious. Please have a seat and tell me what's bothering you." John held his hand out and motioned in the direction of a chair. "But, first, how is Constance?"

"I take it you've not heard," Trevor said quietly. "I'm sorry to tell you this way, but Grandmere passed away a month ago."

John frowned.  His shock showed and he remained silent for a few minutes. "I'm so sorry. I knew she'd been sick, but I expected she would have many years ahead of her."

"I did, too."

"Tell me, how I can help you?"

"I don't know how to state this, except to be very blunt. My wife is being held in Newgate, and I want her out! Also, I need her trial placed on the docket for the up-coming Quarter Sessions."

"A duchess in prison? I have never heard of such a thing. I will have her released immediately. How did this happen?"

"She killed her stepfather."

John frowned. "That puts a different light on t
hings, I'm afraid. Even I can't grant bail for a murder case. Can you tell me what happened?"

Trevor explained Kristen's background, leaving nothing out.

John rubbed his chin. "I can see that this is not a normal case. I will do what I can to make sure she makes the Quarter Sessions. A friend of mine by the name of Dickens Fagin is the Assize judge. I will speak with him. But I do think you have a problem."

"And that is?"

"Your wife had a very unsavory background before she married you. I think you will add a lot of credit to her, but you also need her grandfather in court with you."

"You really think that I need Ian Johnstone?"

"I do. And you need a solicitor. The word 'murder' will be heard again and again in court. Your lady is going to need as much help as she can get."

"You do realize that my family and the Johnstones have never gotten along?"

"Perhaps it is time to reevaluate your relationship. The feud was between your grandmother and the Johnstones, not you and them. Besides, you married a Johnstone," John pointed out. "Think long and hard about it, Trevor."

Trevor stood. "I appreciate your time, John."

"Sorry I couldn't help more. But think about what I said."

Trevor could think of nothing else as he rode to Newgate. He didn't like having Kristen in this place. He also didn't like the fact that he was going to ha
ve to beg her family for help. But what else could he do?

Stepping out of his carriage, Trevor stared at the cold looking building. Prior to yesterday, he'd never given a second thought to who could be behind the bars. Now as he entered the prison, he had never felt so helpless in his life. He would have to concentrate on Kristen's defense or she'd never get out of prison.