Devil Water (36 page)

Blueskin’s small black eyes watched shrewdly. “Ye mean--” he said. “How’d ye get some cove thrown in the old Whit ‘ere? ‘Tis easy as winking.”

“Not in
here!
Not
this
side!” cried Charles, so sharply that the turnkey looked around and glared. Blueskin immediately went into a noisy fit of coughing, nose-blowing, and spitting, while Charles in pretended disgust got up and walked away. It was some time before he dared question again; then in bits and pieces he got the information he wanted.

And he got Blueskin’s hearty cooperation too. The promise of fifty guineas assured that. On the following Monday, Blueskin was duly taken to trial at the Old Bailey, and next morning Alec arrived in Charles’s cell and reported the thief’s acquittal. No witnesses had appeared against him.

“So --” said Charles on a long breath of relief. “You know what to do now, Alec. Everything depends on you.”

The valet nodded solemnly. “You may trust me, sir. Rob’s all set too. He’ll be here tomorrow in my stead, though a mighty poor valet he’ll make, I warrant!” Alec chuckled.

“Did you tell Muggles you felt ill as he let you in?”

“Aye. I said I’d the bloody flux and could scarce walk.”

“Good. And does Lady Elizabeth know our exact plans?”

“Yes, sir. I met her in Moor Fields as we’d agreed. Her ladyship was mighty agitated and nervish but she said everything was ready for you. A Thursday she knows it must be. She’s not found a ship for you yet, but that can wait, until you’re safe hid -- and outa here.”

“Out of here . . .” repeated Charles. “Oh Alec, d’you think it’ll work?”

“Have you prayed, sir?” asked the valet slowly. “I know you’re not much of a one for that, yet it might help.”

“I will pray,” said Charles swallowing. “Pray to Saint Leonard. He’s the patron saint of prisoners, Father Brown once said. Go, Alec. Get going! Now that there’s some hope, I don’t see how I can bear the wait.”

“You must have patience, sir,” said the valet gently. “To hurry our scheme would mean ruin.”

“Aye,
patience!”
Charles repeated. “When now the King will soon be back from Hanover, and that’ll be the end of my reprieves. For God’s sake, Alec, go, my friend, and God bless you!”

As Muggles unlocked the iron door to let the valet out, Charles began to pace his cell.

During the next three weeks Betty’s anxiety was as sharp as Charles’s, and all the harder to bear since she must conceal every sign of it. Her only source of information was now Rob Wilson, because Alec was in Newgate prison on the debtors’ side. The scheme had worked so far, thanks to Blueskin and the iniquitous law. All that was necessary to get Alec arrested for debt was two plaintiffs who swore to a magistrate that this foul rogue owed them each ten pounds he wouldn’t pay. A warrant was issued, a bailiff took Alec in custody, and twenty-four hours later he was in Newgate. Blueskin and his mate had been the plaintiffs, and had performed their parts perfectly.

So far so good, Betty thought, and tried to calm herself as Rob reported progress. In debtors’ prison visitors had free access at any time up to ten o’clock at night, and Rob saw Alec often. Alec had bought himself the freedom of the whole debtors’ side, and by his third day there had crept upstairs and found a dark stone passage which ended in a bolted and locked iron door -- the door he had been seeking. The passage was disused and filled with litter -- broken kegs and the cast-off clothing of long forgotten prisoners. Alec had little difficulty in loosening the bolts on the door so that they would slide easily. Securing the key was another matter. He had hoped to find it in the door, since obviously nobody remembered its existence or would wish to get through to the criminal part of the prison anyway, and if they did would find that side bolted. But he didn’t locate the key and the anxious days passed while he warily questioned and tipped the warders. Betty in her George Street home and Charles in his cell separately chafed and agonized.

Then on a Monday at dusk, Betty stole out of her house while Frank was taking his afterdinner nap. She walked rapidly a block north to the newly laid-out Hanover Square. A few houses were a-building there and Betty went towards one which had been erected as far as the first story. It was still only a hollow shell of reddish bricks, though the cellars were finished. This new mansion belonged to Betty’s brother, the young Earl of Lichfield. As soon as he inherited, he had leased the land and begun building a town house for his prospective bride, and he had given Betty permission to make such use of it as she pleased.

Betty looked cautiously about, in case there should be any lurking workmen, but the square was deserted at this hour. She shivered -- it was now December and very cold -- then stepped over a pile of rubble into the half-finished house. At once she saw Rob Wilson’s big muffled-up figure waiting for her by the stairwell. He had a dark lantern in his hand, and he turned a beam to guide her.

“ ‘Tis found,” he greeted her abruptly as he always did. Rob was not one for chatter, nor even common courtesies.

“You mean the key?” she whispered, dizzy with relief.

“Aye. It had fallen into some mucky cr-rack i’ the stones. Now Alec’s got the door unlocked on his side. All’s ready for Thursday night. If
he’ll be.”

Betty swallowed hard, knowing that the “he” was Charles. “He’s making preparations, isn’t he?” she asked tremulously.

“That he is,” said Rob. “And is cocky -- confident. Where’s he to go here?” Betty pointed to the temporary wooden stairs which led to the basement offices. “Wine cellar,” she said, and started gingerly down the steps. Rob followed with the lantern. They passed huge empty pantries, larders, the kitchen, and near the coal-bin found the door to the wine cellar. Betty had the key at her girdle, and unlocked the door. Several dozen of the Earl’s choicest ports and clarets were already lying in their cradles. He had sent them here from Ditchley Park, at Betty’s request so that the workmen might not think it strange the door was kept locked -- though in fact nobody questioned a nobleman’s eccentricities.

“ ‘Twill do,” said Rob glancing around. “Airy. We’ll get him a brazier, and blankets against the cold. Food too. And when he’s thir-r-sty, there’s plenty to drink.” He put his hand on one of the cradled bottles and gave a curt laugh.

Betty looked at him curiously, forgetting her worries for a moment. Rob was only a big rough Northern lad, of the age Charles had been when she first met him. He had a dark, rather ugly face, square-jawed beneath a truculent mouth. Under the black eyebrows his hazel eyes were intent. There was an air of strength and purpose about him, which disquieted her.

“Rob,” she said suddenly alarmed. “Why are you doing this thing?” Why
were
they trusting this great hulking boy? How had it come about? He now had Charles’s life in his power, and she knew enough of Rob Wilson to be sure that he was neither Jacobite nor had ever felt loyalty towards Radcliffes. Quite the contrary. Dear heaven, she thought. Have we made a terrible mistake? “Why are you doing this thing for Mr. Radcliffe?” she repeated on a shrill note.

Rob looked steadily at her frightened face, and shrugged. “Because,” he said, “I did him a bad tur-rn once, I wish to even the scor-re. And that’s the way o’ it. I pay m’debts.”

Betty was only slightly reassured, though instinct told her this lad was not deceitful. “You’ll be rewarded, you know,” she said quickly. “How much do you want?”

He made an impatient, almost a rude sound. “Naught for
this,”
he said. “I’d not take br-ribes for a man’s life. Later on, ye can speak a wor-rd for me amangst the rich lords and ladies o’ your ken. It seems the only way to get on in Lunnon is in good sar-r-vice.”

“Service?” she repeated blankly. “You’d be a servant, Rob?”

“Aye,” he answered. “I’d be anything where I can ear-rn honest money, quick, enough to buy m
’own
land. Ye may be sur-re I’ll brook no master o’er me langer-r than I’ve got to.”

“You mean to turn farmer, then, Rob?” she asked still puzzled. This youth seemed lacking in any traits which would make him either a good servant or farmer.

“Higher
than far-rmer,” Rob snapped, frowning. “In time. I’ve scor-res yet left to pay off i’ the North.” He clenched his big coal-blackened hands and picked up the lantern. “We’d best gan now.”

“If --” said Betty with an uneasy smile, “you wish me to recommend you as a servant, what sort of servant, by the way?”

“Running footman,” said Rob promptly. “I can outrun anyone Tyneside or i’ Coquetdale, and I can make high wages i’ the job.”

“Well,” said Betty, “then you’ll have to mend your manners. You speak to me as though
I
were a serving wench, you know.”

Rob stared at her, his heavy brows drawn together, then suddenly he grinned -- a surprisingly pleasant flash of square white teeth. “ ‘Tis true, m’lady,” he said. “I’m in sad want o’ polishing.”

She nodded, and mounted the stairs while he followed. Her mind at once dismissed Rob, and returned to thoughts of the coming Thursday night. They left the unfinished house together after a murmur of agreement that he would meet her here on Wednesday with further news. They were about to part, when they both heard a strange little noise in the shadows by the areaway. Then a child came running forward, stumbling and crying “Robbie! Robbie!”

Betty stood rooted with astonishment, as the child flung herself on Rob, clutching his neck and giving a whimper of joy. The lad lifted and held Jenny tight against his chest for a moment. “There, there, bair-r-nie,” he murmured. “There -- there--” He put her down and patted her shoulder awkwardly.

“Jenny! What are you
doing
here!” Betty cried.

The child looked up at her, though she clung to Rob’s hand. “Whilst and agyen I come out her-re, m’lady,” she said. “There’s tr-rees and fields up yonder, an’ ‘tis so hot i’ the house, I canna br-reathe.”

“This is very wrong,” said Betty. “Dangerous. Did you follow me?”

Jenny shook her head. “But I saw ye enter this house, m’lady. I cr-rept near and thought I hear-rd Robbie’s voice. I waited--” She paused, and perceiving even through the starlit dusk that the ladyship was angry, she added sadly, “Ye
tould
me I could see Robbie agyen, yet I havena till now.”

“She means no har-rm,” said Rob. Then he turned to the child. “Now mind this, Jenny! Ye’ll say naught iver o’ seeing me or her ladyship this night. And fra now on, ye’ll bide at hame wher-re ye belang, d’ye under-r-stand?”

The child gave a great gulp, and said, “Aye, Robbie. But wher-refore canna I see ye?”

“Hist!” he commanded, speaking to her in the full Northumbrian brogue which both he and the child were losing. “Cease thy clack! Ye’d no’ be a blabbermouth! Ye mun do as ye’re tould, some day ye’ll knaw the r-reason.”

“Aye, Robbie,” she said sighing, and squeezed his hand hard. He patted her again on the shoulder, and was off, running towards the fields. Betty and Jenny continued down the square to George Street. The child was crying quietly. And though Betty was further worried by this unfortunate meeting, it actually worked to her advantage, because Frank was up and waiting in the hall when she returned. “Where in the world,” he began, scowling, but Betty checked him with a glance at Jenny, whose delicate face was tear-stained and scarlet with cold. “Go up to the nursery, dear,” said Betty. “And don’t let this happen again!”

The child curtsied, cast a frightened look at Colonel Lee, and ran towards the back stairs.

“Poor mite,” said Betty. “She’s taken to slipping outdoors, so ‘she can breathe’ -- I found her, and she has been well scolded, I assure you.”

“She should be whipped,” said Frank. “You’re spoiling the child.” He spoke without conviction and Betty smiled, knowing that Frank had grown fond of the little thing and was inclined to spoil her himself, when he remembered her existence.

“She’s a wild bird yet,” said Betty, “though she’s learning fast.”

“Uhm-m,” said Frank, walking towards his study. “Curious there’s never been an advertisement for her, and that we know no more about her than when she appeared out of nowhere. Especially as I’m more convinced than ever that she has gentle blood -- And I am,” Frank continued, opening his study door, “considered, I believe, quite a judge of breeding in man or beast.”

“Oh, indeed you
are,
my dear,” said Betty warmly. “By the bye, what are your engagements this week? There’s a masquerade at the Haymarket Thursday. I’d rather like to go. My sister wishes us to sup with her first,” continued Betty in a rush. “She has asked some rather amusing people ... I believe the Walpoles have accepted, and George-Henry is going.”

Frank, who had opened his mouth for outraged protest, closed it again. A Swiss count called Heidegger had recently introduced public masquerades at the Haymarket Opera House. The King sanctioned them and they had become a fashionable craze. Frank thought them a foolish waste of time. Nor did he much approve of Betty’s sister, Charlotte, Lady Baltimore, a frivolous widow of thirty-eight, who had been separated from her husband for some years before his death. Still, on the other hand, if the Walpoles were going, and Lord Lichfield! And it might be that Charlotte needed family backing because she had some advantageous new marriage in mind.

“How odd,” Frank said temperately, “that you should wish to go masquerading in your condition.”

“Not at all,” said Betty. “I shall be a Roman matron. Most decorous with all that drapery. We’ve had no gaiety for a long time. And it would be so pleasant to be out of mourning just one evening. Do say yes, Frank.”

She put a pleading hand on his arm, and he succumbed. “Well, well, my dear, if you really wish to go. But remember, I shan’t make a fool of myself in a ridiculous costume. A simple mask later -- no more!”

“Of course,” she said kissing him lightly on the cheek, and left him to the stack of papers he was obviously aching to peruse.

So that problem at least was surmounted. Now there would be no danger that Frank would wish to stroll out Thursday night to Hanover Square, to see how his brother-in-law’s great new mansion was progressing, a little jaunt he was very fond of. And if anything went wrong with the escape, and the hue and cry should come in this direction, he would not be here to listen to it.