Secret Night (18 page)

"Nothing." She was silent for a moment, then repeated the word. "Nothing, Papa—she was dead. She died from consumption despite my poor efforts."

"Well, I could say 'twas good riddance, but I won't. Oh, I know as you was wanting to do good, Ellie, but—"

"She had no chance, Papa! She was but fifteen, and since the age of twelve, that woman—" She choked briefly, then managed to go on, finished with "that woman sold her to every man with ten shillings to spare!"

"Aye, 'twas a shame," he agreed.

"Well, it surprises me to hear you say that, for you have just told me how you have paid for such services."

"Well, I ain't favored 'em as was that young," he insisted defensively. "So he thought the Coates woman was poisoned," he mused. "Queer notion."

"I collect it was because the man called Big Tom died with her."

"Oh—aye. Well, it don't signify anyways now, does it? More to the point is your papa here. Now if you was to smile and flirt a bit with Hamilton, I daresay you could get him to come back, you know."

"I would doubt that. He is about to offer for Jane Barclay."

"Jane Barclay? Who the devil is that?" he demanded.

"The Earl of Dunster's daughter."

"Eh?"

"Yes, and he means to stand for Parliament as a Tory, if you would have the whole," she recalled with disgust.

"Hey now, missy—none of that! The Tories has got the right of things, and don't you be forgetting it."

"Personally, I think they are without any feeling," she muttered. "And Hamilton is one of them."

He recovered. "Aye, well, that don't say as you couldn't ask him to come see me again, does it?"

She wanted to tell him that she had no wish to see Patrick Hamilton at all, but she knew that would be a lie. The truth was that she was both irritated and fascinated by the handsome barrister. "All right," she said reluctantly. "But if he refuses, we will just have to engage someone else, don't you think? I cannot very well be expected to get down on my hands and knees to beg him, can I?"

He didn't answer.

"Well, there
are
other criminal barristers, you know."

"I don't want 'em. I got to have Hamilton." "Time's up!" the jailer called out, turning the key in the lock.

"Wait—I am willing to pay," Elise said quickly.

"Not terday, ye ain't." Once again, he eyed her insolently, his grin knowing. "Now, tomorrit, Oy might—fer the right price ... but terday Oy got me orders." He winked at her. "Already done bent 'em a bit, if ye was ter know hit." He came inside and moved so close to her that she could smell his rotten teeth in his breath. "Ye didn't bring 'im anything, eh? Mebbe a wee bit o' a feel, wot?"

"He is my father," she answered coldly.

"Get away from her," Rand growled. "Just because I am here don't mean as she ain't Quality."

The guard looked her father up and down, then grinned again. "Them as has got gold does the gallows kicks 'bout th' same as them as don't, ye know. Aye, they do." He reached for Elise's arm. "Oy wouldn't want ye ter fall, dearie."

She shook loose and turned to her papa. Bending over where he still sat, she kissed his cheek. His hand came up to smooth her hair, then fell again to his lap. "I shall be back tomorrow," she promised. "And hopefully Mama can be persuaded to come with me."

He nodded. "Aye, Em ain't happy with me just now, is she?"

"No, she is disappointed." Pulling her round cloak close about her, she carefully stepped past the jailer.

"But you will see Hamilton?" Rand called after her.

"Yes," she answered, "though I don't know what good I can do in that quarter."

"He ain't going to turn a taking female away, Til be bound—he ain't," he said bracingly.

Hurrying up the steps toward more light and air, she was not nearly so sure as he was. After the way she'd ripped up at Hamilton over his politics, she doubted the barrister would even receive her. He'd been angry enough he'd preferred walking to staying in her carriage. No, if he'd refused Bat Rand, he'd certainly refuse her.  <

Neither the barrister nor his associate was in the office when she arrived, but the clerk assured her that Patrick Hamilton was expected ere the day was out. So she sat there, her thoughts alternating between hope, despair, and impotent anger.

As shocked and disappointed as she was by her father's behavior, she could not and would not believe him capable of actually harming anyone. He was bluff, sometimes to the point of crudity, but he'd never offered the least violence to his family or to anyone in his household. The worst thing he ever did was to attempt intimidation through bellowing, and not even Lizzie, the lowest tweeny in his house, was afraid of him. To a person, every servant was as astonished by his arrest as his daughter.

Time seemed to stand still, or at best creep so slowly that she was having second thoughts about seeing Hamilton. The longer she waited, the weaker her resolve to plead with him. Flirt with him, her papa had said. Well, she could not bring herself to try it, not knowing that he was interested in Lady Jane. No, that was not the real reason, she had to concede to herself. It was that it would be disloyal to Ben. That and the fact she was actually drawn to the barrister's rather unorthodox charm. She had no wish to lay herself open to the awful, almost bewildering pain she'd felt when she'd lost Ben.

Besides, she was not the sort of female who could simply flirt and flee. She prized truth and honesty too much for that. She could not mislead Patrick Hamilton.

"Could I get you something, Miss Rand?" the clerk asked her.

"What? Oh. I am sorry, sir—I was not attending," she admitted ruefully. "I'm afraid I was woolgathering."

"I should think so, miss. Indeed, I was shocked and saddened to hear of Mr. Rand's arrest." He coughed apologetically. "That is—well, I am sure there must be some mistake."

"There is—there has to be. Indeed, but I would that I could wake up and discover this is but a nightmare. That Papa was at home where he belongs."

"A dreadful business—terrible."

"Yes—yes, it is."

He'd watched her and he'd wanted to speak to her ever since he'd directed her to the chair, and now it was going badly. "I could get you a bit of port," he offered, then reddened when he realized what he'd done. "That is, we do not have any ratafia, but—"

"I don't need anything, thank you."

Despite the fact that he had been pursuing a Miss Hedley for nigh to a year, he could not help staring at the stunning Miss Rand. She was more than a mere beauty, he decided—with that face, figure, and unusual hair, she was an Incomparable. And none of that took into account the enticingly low timbre of her voice. He could scarce believe she was in his employer's office, actually sitting there with him, that he was indeed talking with her.

"I could run down the street perhaps, and get you something more suitable," he offered. "There is a small place frequented by solicitors and barristers that provides refreshment—meat pasties, bread, wines, and ale—that sort of thing. Usually they have a decent wine punch." He was running on, sounding like the veriest fool, but he could not stop himself. "Truly I should not mind doing it, Miss Rand."

He was hovering about her, making her more uncomfortable than she already was. She started to decline again, then decided against it. "Yes, that would be fine—I should like some punch, I think."

"You would? Oh, yes, of course. Well, what would you favor?"

"A cup of punch would be fine," she repeated. "Oh, yes—of course. And if they do not have it?" "Then I will take water. You do have water, don't you?"

"Of course we do. But I cannot think you would like it—I mean, water is rather bland, isn't it?"

"Or I could take the port, I suppose—though I've not had any since Papa gave me a taste when I was a child. At the time, I did not think I liked it, Mr. Byrnes."

"No, no—I shall go to Grover's for the punch. I do not mind, miss—not at all."

He started to leave, then turned back to her. "Ah, how did you know my name?"

"It is on your desk."

"Oh—yes it is, isn't it? Well, I shan't be gone very long, but if you were to wish it, I could leave you Mr. Hamilton's copy of the
Gazette"

"Thank you." She waited nearly until he reached the door. "Don't you think you ought to take a wrap of some sort, sir?"

"Eh?" Flushing, he shook his head. "Oh, it's not far," he assured her. He hesitated a moment, then blurted out, "If anyone else were to come while I am out, would you mind saying I have just stepped out? Just tell him to take a chair."

"I shall be happy to, sir. But where is the paper?"

"I put it on Mr. Hamilton's desk, miss."

"Thank you."

She sat there for several minutes after he'd gone, then she rose and went to find the
Gazette.
Once inside Patrick Hamilton's office, she could not help looking around, wondering why a barrister of such note would wish such plain surroundings. Moving to his desk, she looked for the newspaper, but it did not appear to be there. She lifted up a neat, orderly pile of notes and assorted papers, peering beneath them.

"Ransacking my office, Miss Rand?"

She spun around guiltily. "It was no such thing, I assure you. Your clerk said I might read your copy of the
Gazette
while I waited for you to come in."

"Speaking of that, I don't suppose you would care to tell me what you've done with my poor, probably bedazzled clerk? He doesn't usually leave the place unattended."

"I collect you mean Mr. Byrnes, and I wouldn't precisely say your office is unattended. He left it in my hands."

"Alas, but he is the clerk—the only clerk in the office, Miss Rand."

"Yes, that did surprise me." Seeing that one corner of his mouth twitched as though he were about to smile, she confessed, "I'm afraid that he is gone to fetch a glass of punch for me, sir. He seemed to feel it incumbent to offer me something since I have been sitting here much of the afternoon."

"He would. If you would pardon me for a moment

While she watched, he reached up to rid himself of his old-fashioned barrister's peruke and tossed it onto a peg near the door. His hands worked at the hooks at the neck of his black robe, then he pulled it off over his head, revealing a dark blue coat and buff trousers. The robe joined the wig, then he combed his hair with his fingers, tousling the soft brown waves into a semblance of a Brutus. Shrugging his shoulders, he adjusted his shirtsleeve cuffs at his wrists before returning his attention to her.

"A trifle improper, I suppose, but I prefer my comfort." His hazel eyes met hers quizzically. "I don't recall an appointment—was I expecting you, Miss Rand? In fact, when last we were met, I had the distinct impression that you held me in contempt."

"No. No, you are mistaken, sir."

"In any event, if I had been expecting you, it wouldn't have made much difference. I have spent the last hour and a half in Mr. Justice Russell's chambers, attempting to dissuade him from hanging my client."

"I hope you were successful."

"I wasn't."

"I thought you always won, sir."

His faint smile twisted. "Most of the time, I do, but in this particular instance, there is no question of innocence. And so we must either hope for an exceedingly stupid jury or chance the mercy of the presiding justice. Either way he is going to be convicted."

"Doesn't there have to be a trial?"

"Not if the facts are indisputable, and as the poor fool admitted his guilt to all who would listen, there's not much I can do except beg Russell to consider his wife and children. Not a very auspicious circumstance, given the judge."

"Russell has no mercy?"

"Precisely. Now if my client had kept his mouth buttoned, I might well have confused a jury enough to gain an acquittal," he added. "But unfortunately by confessing he has played all my cards for me."

"You make it sound like a game."

"With higher stakes," he acknowledged. Moving to his desk, he opened a drawer and drew out the newspaper. His eyes scanned the front page for a moment, then he held it out to her. "Are you quite certain you wish to read this?"

Instead of taking it, she looked down, seeing the boxed story that began with the words "Murderous Fiend Apprehended, implicated in heinous crime." She shook her head. "It is a lie, you know," she managed.

"Is it?"

Her chin came up. "I have known my father for twenty-two years, Mr. Hamilton, and in that time I have discovered him to be sometimes contentious, usually kind, and almost always fair. He is utterly incapable of such a terrible, terrible thing. Besides," she stated flatly, "he says he did not do it, and that is quite sufficient for me."

"Peale will render him a fool, and a jury will hang him, Miss Rand." As he watched her wince, his expression softened visibly. "I'm sorry, but that is the way I see it."

"Well, you are seeing it wrong, sir!" As his eyebrow rose, she sought to rein in her rising temper. Taking a breath, she tried to calm herself. "He believes you can save him, Mr. Hamilton." When he said nothing, she blurted out, "Surely you cannot think him guilty! You cannot!"

"I don't know whether he is or not. But I do know he is lying.''

"But he isn't! Indeed, but he has told me the whole, and I believe him. If you would but listen—"

"If he told you the whole, you are more informed than I am," he murmured dryly. "I had to pry for every answer, and he was not forthcoming about anything."

"He is not proud of having been there at all, Mr. Hamilton."

"No, I suppose not. With his money, he could have afforded a great deal more than a tumble on a dirty mattress," he responded noncommittally.

"I am aware that he has not behaved as he ought, sir," she said stiffly, "but visiting that sort of female does not make a man a murderer. If it does, half the men in London deserve to hang."

"Spare me the hypocrisy, Miss Rand. Annie Adams was no worse than Pearl, only much poorer." As her eyes widened at the harshness in his voice, he nodded. "She did not deserve to be throttled and butchered like that"