Elyse Mady (5 page)

“Don’t say that word to me! I would expect better of you than to tar me with such a revolting brush.”

“I did not…” She tried to placate him but he would not suffer her touch.

“I am not such a monster as that, sister. I am not.” He stalked away, his shoulders stiff, and Hester had to fight against the hurt his brusque rebuke inflicted. She could understand his disgust at being so labelled, but his uncharacteristic outburst still stung. “If I had known last night the outcome of my visit to Mr. Cook’s wretched pub, I assure you I should never have been persuaded to visit it. This is all a terrible mistake.”

“What on earth were you doing in that dreadful place, Robbie?” The questions that had beat against her brain since learning of his arrest seemed to flood out in an incoherent gush. “How did you discover it? When? Had you been there before? Did you not know of its nature when you went there last night? And who were the friends that would expose you to such things? Surely they cannot be acquaintances of long duration.”

“No,” Robert said, whirling about to face her. “Can you believe me capable of such a thing? A creature such as that, for instance?”

He turned his head in a swift gesture, his gaze intent. Hester followed, uncertain what he wanted her to see. There was a young man, his clothes and his face as equally damaged as Robert’s. One arm hung limply, though whether it was a recent hurt or not, she could not tell. It was not bandaged as Robert’s was. But even so degraded and dirty, she could not miss either the beauty of his face and body or the insouciance grace with which he lolled against a nearby bench, his full lips pursed and his eyes coyly downturned. With his other arm, he waved, his fingertips fluttering in greeting at a nearby man before he crossed his ankles with a ladylike motion.

Hester was stymied. She had never seen such a man before, masculine in appearance but so feminine in his nature. Was that a sodomite?

She did not know exactly what could pass between two men, but that her brother should be considered amongst such as those seemed utterly improbable. Somehow, a terrible miscarriage must have occurred.

“It is a mistake, Hessie,” Robert said when she at last looked away from the flirting young man in the pale lilac suit. “I am innocent. I had no idea, when my friends persuaded me to attend them last night, that we would encounter such things as Amos there. You must believe me.”

“Of course, Robert,” she said, “I am sure of it.”

“You swear?” he said. “You swear you believe me?”

He was so insistent on the point that Hester had to take a step back.

“I have said so. Do you doubt me, because others doubt you?”

Her brother had the grace to look ashamed. “No. I cannot doubt you. But you must understand, your faith will be sorely tested in the days to come. There will be many who will shun me, and you, merely by virtue of our family relations.”

“Not everyone, surely. Mr. Ramsay, for instance…”

Robert frowned as though he had not taken in her early accounts fully. Now, he looked around skittishly. “He is here? Now? Attending you?”

“No. No, I would not let him accompany me here. I did not think you would want to be subjected to such a thing. But he has been very good to me, providing me with a great deal of aid. He did not retract his assistance either, even after we discovered your fate.” She thought of his staunch defence of her to the disapproving manager. If he had been truly disgusted, he would not have defended her so strongly, would he?

Yet the memory of his defence sat uneasily with the final view she’d had of him, driving his carriage away at a furious clip. How could she reconcile such different reactions? Before she could ponder the problem further, her brother’s voice interrupted.

“He knows the nature of the crime I have been charged with?”

Hester remembered Thomas’s face as he’d broken the news of her brother’s arrest to her. Of his careful explanation. Of the way his strong arms had felt when they had held her. She quickly shoved such thoughts aside though. “Yes.”

Robert swore. “I wonder how many he has told of my downfall already. Told and made sport of, I am sure. He will not have me as a tenant for long, I’ve no doubt of it. Damn it all. Damn it all to hell and back again!” Hester flinched, unused to hearing her brother use such shocking language. He caught sight of her reaction and apologized. “I’m sorry. I forget myself. It is this place, these people. I must be free of here as soon as possible.”

“The guards say your trial will not be held until the next quarter session.”

“I will make bail. There’s to be a hearing on Saturday.”

Hester’s heart lifted.
Bail.
The word sent such a rush of hope through her heart. Of course, Robert would not be incarcerated in such a place. He was an upstanding, churchgoing individual. The magistrates would recognize these qualities and he would be set free until his trial.

“How much do we need to secure?” She hoped it was not above fifteen pounds, for that was all the ready money they had saved. But if it were more—twenty, even twenty-five—she felt certain they could sell some of their stock or belongings to make up the difference.

“One hundred pounds.”

The number sat between them, Hester gasping in disbelief. One hundred pounds was more than a year’s wages for a successful tradesman like her brother. His business had prospered and he had much to look forward to in the coming years but even if they were to apply all their savings to the matter, it would still fall far short. And yet, Robert must have the money. There was nothing else for it.

“Heavens, how are we to collect half such a sum?” She remembered the shock she’d felt when the guard had enumerated the cost of enjoying improved conditions within the prison walls. Now her worry over such a paltry amount seemed laughable.

“It is not merely the pound, shillings and pence that are the problem,” Robert said unhappily. “I have learned from the other men that it is not enough to merely provide this money. I must also have a guarantor, someone who will pledge for my appearance at the assize and prevent my disappearance.”

This seemed as nothing to Hester compared to the money. “I can think of twenty such who would be only too glad to lend you whatever assistance they could provide. You are well thought of in our church and amongst our fellow shopowners.”

An expression she could not read flitted across Robert’s bruised face. “I can only hope it would be as many as that. Their names will be published.”

She couldn’t understand Robert’s concern. He read her incomprehension and explained. “Their names will be published next to mine and the crime I have been accused of will be listed there too. How many do you suppose will want to claim me their friend then?”

Robert swayed a little as he said this, and Hester was alarmed by the paleness of his complexion beneath the disguising dirt. “Pray forgive me,” he said, putting his hand out to steady himself against the gritty wall. “I have not eaten or drunk anything since yesterday and I find myself a little light-headed.”

Her concern over Robert’s cynical outlook dissipated, subsumed by the more immediate problem before her. “They do not feed you?”

“I understand that every other day they gift the inmates with a quantity of hard, stale bread not fit to keep a mouse alive. Unfortunately, by the time the conveyances had brought us from the magistrate’s court, the food, such as it was, had already been distributed. We will not see more until Wednesday.”

Now, Hester wished she had had the forethought to bring the basket of bread and cheese that she had carried to the shop with her to the prison. It would have bolstered her brother until she could return on the morrow with fresh things. But she had left it for Jeremy and Samuel, reluctant to carry it through the hot streets and risk it spoiling. She had nothing but sympathy to offer Robert now, and that was not something that would ease the ache in his belly.

“I will come tomorrow. As early as I can,” she promised in a low, rapid voice. “I will bring food. And fresh clothes. And I will bring the money you need to secure your freedom. Charlotte will not forsake you, I am sure of it, and her father is rich enough to pledge twice such a sum. You will be free of this dark hole, Robert. I swear it.” She pressed his uninjured hand between hers.

He nodded and, lifting his manacles over her head, hugged her to his chest with his uninjured arm. She paid no attention to the state of his clothes, wrapping her arms around him as carefully as she could and hugged him back. When he released her, both their eyes were wet.

“God bless you,” her brother said, walking with her to the gate. He rapped sharply and a guard came to open it. “I will never forget your loyalty. I love you very much.”

“I know, brother,” she said, this time unable to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks. “But you will not be here long and soon this will all be naught but an unpleasant memory.” The guard lifted his ring of keys and the gate’s heavy mechanism was released. She stepped through, into the portico, and wiped away her tears as best she could.

“Goodbye, Robert. I will return as soon as I possibly can.”

Chapter Five

The Strouds lived in Cheapside. But unlike the Aspinalls, who lodged, the Strouds could claim a handsome townhome as their abode. It was to this commodious house that Hester now hurried her step, dashing up the wide limestone steps to the rap loudly on the door.

She’d expected the housekeeper, but Charlotte Stroud answered. The eldest of four daughters, she had attended a fashionable school for young ladies for several years outside of Bath, until her return to London last autumn. As always, she was arrayed in a most becoming gown, small floral motifs embroidered across the apple-green muslin, delicate lace at her wrists and throat. But while her face was composed and her pale blond hair stylishly pinned, her eyes were suspiciously red and swollen.

“Oh, Charlotte,” Hester cried, forgetting in her distress to moderate her voice. “I must speak to your father at once. There is not a moment to lose. Is he at home?”

“Miss Aspinall,” Charlotte replied, her cool greeting stopping Hester short.

When Charlotte had accepted Robert’s suit, she had told Hester that she would only be satisfied if they used their Christian names with each other, for she intended them to be sisters in spirit as well as name. What had precipitated this volte-face was only too easy to imagine, and Hester’s lips thinned with anger. “I’m afraid my father is away from home at the moment. May I…may I convey him a message?”

Trying for calm, Hester attempted a rational tone. “It is a matter of very great import and haste, Charlotte. I must speak with him. Do you know where I might find him?”

Still blocking the half-opened door in such way as to prevent Hester from stepping over the threshold, Charlotte glanced over her shoulder towards the library door. With the advantage of her height, Hester could see the mahogany portal was closed but noting the guilt on the younger girl’s face, she had no doubt of the room’s occupant. Her hands clenched and Charlotte had the grace to blush although she did not change her account. “He is away at present.”

“Away?”

“Yes,” said the young woman, peering nervously towards the street. Curtains twitched and Hester knew them to be under close surveillance by the neighbours, all undoubtedly eager to learn more of the very great scandal engulfing the nearby household.

“Charlotte,” she said firmly. “Robert is in trouble. He needs your help. If you have read the papers today, you must know he has been taken up and is even now incarcerated in the most loathsome of situations. If he is to have any chance of securing his bail, I must have one hundred pounds. You must realize that Robert cannot lay claim to such an amount without assistance.”

Charlotte paled but after a moment, she stiffened, as though resolved to see through an unpleasant task. She reached into the pocket of her day dress to withdraw a small packet neatly tied with string and held it out. Hester did not take it immediately, but Charlotte pressed it forward so insistently that finally she had no choice but to take it from her outstretched hand.

“I am sorry to hear of his present distress, of course, but I do not see how we can help him,” Charlotte said with distant formality. “Perhaps you might apply to one of your brother’s other acquaintances who are better situated to offer assistance at the present time.”

“Acquaintances? You dare to claim that you are merely acquaintances?” Hester cried, crushing the packet between her fingers, in her anger forgetting to soften her voice. “You are to be married. The banns have been read.”

“I have decided that your brother and I do not suit, Miss Aspinall. I have written to him, releasing him from his promises, returning his ring and wishing him well in the future. That is the letter you carry there. You must understand,” Charlotte said, her voice breaking at last, her eyes filling with tears. “We have our respectability as a family to consider.”

Hester nodded, resigned. She had thought their ties to this family strong enough to overcome such shame. But she’d been mistaken.

“I understand,” she said slowly. “You will not stand by him. You would deny him when he needs you the most.” She turned and made her way slowly into the street. There was nothing else to be said and nothing she could do to change their minds. She would have to find another avenue, although what alternative she could possibly take she could not fathom.

“Hester?” Charlotte called out unexpectedly, and Hester turned to see that she had followed her into the street, tears running down her face unchecked. “Please. Please tell your brother I
am
sorry. If it had been different, I should have been proud to be his wife.”

Without bothering to reply, Hester walked away. Such a statement did not merit a response and she would not satisfy Charlotte by letting her see her tears fall.

* * *

The milk had soured in the heat, pale bits of curd floating in the greyish whey. Hester tilted the stoneware pitcher and recoiled in disgust at the sight of a fly’s lifeless body, bobbing amongst the spoiled flecks. She set it down, the earthenware striking against the table. In her haste to leave this morning, she’d neglected to cover it and it was far too late to buy any more. She would have to drink her tea black tonight.

It seemed such a trivial matter, but sitting in the lonely rooms, she began to weep uncontrollably. How had it come to this? How was it possible that her life had careened off course in such a spectacular fashion? And what was she to do now? How could she help her brother, when she could not even remember to cover the milk?

She lifted her head at the sound of a tentative knock. Going to the door, Hester opened it. It was Mrs. Hannaford, her landlady, her hair tucked beneath her black widow’s cap.

“You’ve been crying, my dear,” she said as Hester tried to wipe away the tears with the back of her hands. Mrs. Hannaford gathered her in her arms and embraced her tightly. The comfort her narrow arms afforded was almost too much to bear, reminding Hester of her own mother’s solicitous comfort. Now, overwhelmed by her feelings of friendlessness and fear, her grief at her parents’ loss, returned as fresh and as vivid as though their deaths had occurred yesterday.

She wept uncontrollably against Mrs. Hannaford’s shoulder, while the elderly lady stroked her hair. When the worst of the tumult had passed, Mrs. Hannaford handed her a fresh linen square and Hester patted her swollen eyes.

“Come downstairs. You’ll feel more yourself once you have a little supper inside you. Everything is easier to face when your belly is full, eh?”

“You’ve heard about Robert’s difficulties?” Hester asked, forcing the words out despite a throat made raw and tender from tears, keeping her eyes fixed on the borrowed handkerchief in her hands. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded rough and she busied herself, folding the linen into even quarters, unwilling to meet her neighbour’s eyes.

Mrs. Hannaford paused on the landing outside her door. “Yes. A most unfortunate business. But let us wait until you have eaten before we discuss the unhappy circumstances any further.” Lifting the latch to her rooms, she led Hester into her parlour. The table was laid for one, but there were two chairs drawn up beside it. “Cold tongue, a little salad and a glass of small ale, to revive you.” She gestured at the plate and waited expectantly until Hester seated herself.

“It is…it’s kind of you,” Hester murmured, taking a tentative bite. The tongue
was
delicious. Her stomach growled. She’d been too worried to eat much of anything during the course of the day and now, her appetite had returned with a vengeance.

Behind her gold-rimmed spectacles, Mrs. Hannaford’s eyes were knowing. “You will meet with some great unkindness in this business, I am sure, but you must know that you will always find a friend in me, Miss Aspinall, whatever others may say or do.”

“Thank you.” This straightforward avowal warmed her. It was doubtful the woman could offer anything by way of material aid but her staunch friendship was a balm on her bruised spirit.

She cut another morsel of the jellied tongue and swallowed it silently, grateful for the charity the simple meal represented. The room darkened as the summer night descended, and by the time she had consumed the fresh fruit set out for the meal’s conclusion, her hostess had risen to light the wax tapers with a rush.

“Will you sit with me? There are some matters I would discuss with you.” Mrs. Hannaford carried the candles from the table and set them on an occasional table between two worn armchairs facing the cold fireplace.

“Of course.” Hester rose and followed. With a gesture of long-standing familiarity, she stooped down to collect the sewing box she knew to be stored there, before seating herself in one of the soft chairs. Her hostess’s eyes were not what they once were and while she still took great pride in cutting out her son’s shirts, even plain sewing troubled her greatly. Hester did not mind doing this small thing for her friend, for despite the years between them, there existed a steady regard that saw them both enriched by the acquaintance. In this room at least, it was possible to believe that the events of the day were nothing but unpleasant imaginings, and that when she arose to return to her own rooms, everything would be as it was.

While Hester ran her thread through a cake of beeswax, Mrs. Hannaford collected a skein of fine linen thread and began to wind it round a tiny mother-of-pearl thread winder. At last, she spoke, her voice gentle.

“You have been a great comfort to me these three years, Hester. Your friendship has been very important and I care for you as I would one of my own daughters.”

“And I you,” Hester said sincerely.

“Your brother’s arrest must have caused you great distress.”

“It did,” she confessed. “I am still unable to fathom it. I feel as though I have been plucked up and set in some convoluted farce, an actress who knows not what role she is to play and who wants nothing more than to flee the stage at intermission. Yet I must remain, treading the boards, to declaim my brother’s innocence to anyone who will listen.”

Mrs. Hannaford nodded. “You believe him so?”

The needle jammed itself into the fleshy pad of her thumb and Hester sucked it hard, the tang of blood sharp in her mouth. “Mrs. Hannaford! What can you mean by this? Surely you believe in my brother’s innocence?”

Setting the completed thread winder between them, Mrs. Hannaford patted Hester’s hand comfortingly. “I believe what has happened is a great tragedy, to be sure, and one whose effects will be long felt by your family. But as to Robert’s innocence—that is not for me to decide or judge.”

“You must believe me. If you do not, I fear no one will.”

“I believe you believe it and that is enough for me.”

Hester stabbed at the seam. It was to be hoped that the evenness of her stitches on this particular shirt would never be examined in great proximity. She doubted they would bring credit to her abilities. But she persevered, more to have something to occupy her hands than from a desire to continue her task.

A phrase from Robert’s readings came into her mind as she moved the needle through the fine fabric.

Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows.

Her brother’s arrest was a tragedy that did indeed cast long rays of gloom over their future. She knew she must keep her spirits up and not give in to hopelessness, but the enormity of the challenge seemed all encompassing.

“I appreciate your honesty, but we both know he is ruined.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” Hester cried. “Oh, Mrs. Hannaford, of all people I would want the truth from you. How will he ever be able to earn a respectable living ever again? Even if he is released on the morrow without prejudice, he will be known to all and sundry and condemned out of hand. His own affianced has denounced him.” She pulled out Charlotte’s packet, flinging it angrily onto the table between them. “I have the pleasure of bearing him this note. Miss Stroud, you see, did not believe it became her to end their understanding in person.”

A surge of bitterness rose up in Hester’s throat, as she remembered the countless expressions of intimacy and friendship that Charlotte had offered her. She had learned today how little they were worth and for all that she lamented for her brother’s sake, she was pained on her own account.

She had counted Charlotte as her best and closest friend. An ally and a confidant. Now, that friendship was lost to her. It would be different for her brother, of course. He had loved Miss Stroud as his future wife. They would both share the loss in different, yet equally hurtful, ways.

“It is true that many avenues may be closed to him, but you must not paint too bleak a picture. It does no good to borrow trouble. And while many things may now be out of his reach, not all are, surely,” Mrs. Hannaford said comfortingly. “He could enter the king’s army. Or the navy. I understand there are many who take up careers of that sort, when they are unable to overcome their…afflictions. Certainly, he could indulge his interests with far less risk of discovery than he could in a dissolute publican’s back room.”

The shock of hearing her landlady calmly discuss the practices of a catamite was nearly too much for Hester. She blinked and blinked. Surely she had misheard?

“I do not understand. Of—of what do you speak?”

“When you are as old as I am, you come to make allowances for the foibles of your fellow man. It is unfortunate that your brother’s secret has been exposed in this public way, but he is not the first and I suspect—though the church will deplore me for saying it—will not be the last.”

“You have known others? Others who…have been persuaded to act thus?”

Mrs. Hannaford rose and went to the mantel. On its wide ledge stood a matched pair of silhouettes in the dress of the last century: Mrs. Hannaford and her late husband. She touched her spouse’s likeness with a gentle finger.

“When I was living in Exeter with Mr. Hannaford as a young bride,” she reminisced, turning away from the fireplace and reclaiming her seat beside Hester, “I came to know a young man who lived in the vicinity of my husband’s brewery. William. William Cole. I remember him as a very pretty lad, with wide green eyes and long hair, as was the fashion then. He did not powder it, as most men did, but wore it plain. A deep brown with lovely russet tones.”