The Counterfeit Gentleman (35 page)

With mild surprise she realized she was cast from the
same mold as her grandfather, and anyone who thought she
had inherited nothing from him except a vast fortune was in for a rude awakening. Admittedly, he had on more than one
occasion suffered minor setbacks, but he had always managed to convert apparent defeat into solid triumph.

At this moment she was not sure precisely what she
could do to retrieve her husband from jail, but there was
bound to be a solution if she put her mind to it. And Digory
himself should be able, with the proper encouragement, to think of some way out of this coil. After all, according to Little Davey her husband was a dab hand at getting out of
tight spots.

She realized that Digory would doubtless forbid her to
visit him in jail, but he would also soon discover that she
was not one to follow orders blindly. Although now that
she thought about it, he had already noticed that character
flaw when they were at Carwithian Cove. Even so, he did
not yet know how stubborn she could be when the situation warranted it.

Leaving the rest of her hot chocolate untouched, she
climbed out of bed and rang for Mrs. Drake.

* * * *

Having ample funds, Digory had no problem paying four
times the usual cost for a cot in Newgate Prison, and he
thus secured for himself a private cell. The accommoda
tions still left a lot to be desired.

It was not, however, the hardness of his bed nor the noise
of the other prisoners that kept him awake, rather it was
concern for his wife, coupled with no small degree of anxi
ety about his own fate that kept him tossing and turning
until the wee hours of the morning.

When he finally did sink into a deep sleep, he was all too
soon awakened by Youngblood, who arrived with a change
of clothing and assurances that there were no major prob
lems back home. “Cook quit without giving notice.
Claimed her heart was too weak for her to live in the same
house with a murderer. Two of the kitchen maids went with
her, and they was all three roundly booed by the rest of the servants. Mr. Uppleby has already taken steps to secure re
placements.”

No sooner was Youngblood finished shaving and dress
ing Digory, than Lord Cavenaugh appeared, delicately
waving his scented handkerchief under his nose until the
turnkey departed, at which time Cavenaugh abandoned his
role of dandy and began explaining the rudiments of the plan he and Lord Edington were already devising to free
him from jail.

Before Digory could point out the shortcomings in their scheme, Lady Letitia arrived with her butler, who was carrying a basket filled with enough provisions to feed half the
prisoners in the jail. “Dear boy, you look worse than you
did our last morning in Marseilles,” she said with a laugh, “and you cannot possibly be that hung over this morning.”

To his surprise, she appeared to be in remarkable spirits—all the more astounding since she had looked every
year of her age the previous day at the inquest.

Townsley came in next. He said nothing beyond a terse
greeting. Remembering the months that the younger man
had spent in a French prison, it did not surprise Digory that
the younger man’s restlessness was even more pronounced
than usual.

Then Fitzhugh wandered in as casually as if he made a daily habit of strolling through jails. “Nyesmith is down at
the docks, checking out the possibilities for ships,” he ex
plained. “What is your pleasure, Rendel? I suppose the colonies would be the safest, although a bit dull. On the
other hand, from what I’ve heard, if one goes far enough
west—into Kentucky or Ohio—there is still plenty of ex
citement to be found.”

“There is quicker profit to be made in the Far East,”
Townsley said, “and I’m not talking about India. China
cannot forever keep her doors all but shut to western
traders, and there’s a fortune waiting to be made in the silk and tea trade.”

“Rendel already has a large enough fortune,” Cavenaugh pointed out.

“And I am too old to deliberately wish for any more adventures,” Digory added.

Lady Letitia took umbrage at that remark, but before she
could finish scolding him for his lack of gumption, an elegantly dressed stranger was admitted by the turnkey.

The newcomer’s reception bordered on the hostile until Lady Letitia introduced him. “This is Sir William Lyttcott, K.C. I have arranged for him to defend you in court.”

“If it comes to that,” someone muttered, but Digory
could not tell who had spoken so indiscreetly.

The barrister was slender and scarcely taller than Lady
Letitia, but he spoke with all the assurance of a much larger
man. “I have already met with Mr. Kidby this morning. He
has briefed me quite thoroughly about your case. Still and
all, if you have a few moments free in the next day or so, it
might not be a bad idea to go over some of the points of our
defense with you before the actual trial.”

“And when is the trial?” Lord Cavenaugh asked with a
hard edge on his voice.

Sir William ignored Cavenaugh even while he answered the question. “Despite my every effort to have it postponed, Mr. Rendel, your trial has been scheduled for a week from
today at ten o’clock.”

“In truth, I would as soon have it over and done with,” Digory said, not looking directly at any of his friends.

“Tut, tut,” the barrister said. “Let us not welcome defeat
before it actually stares us in the face. While I am well
aware that I do not cut an imposing figure, my record be
fore the bar is quite impressive. I have secured freedom for
the majority of my clients, a vast number of whom were
more than likely guilty.”

“But I am innocent,” Digory replied, “which will doubtless make your task more difficult.”

“Well spoken,” Mr. Lyttcott said, clapping him on the
back. “I like a client with a bit of wit. Remember, you must
look confident when you are in the defendant’s box. Under
no circumstances give any sign that you are unsure what
the outcome of the trial will be.”

“Oh, I shall have no trouble with that. I have every confi
dence that I shall be found guilty and sentenced to hang.”

“Balderdash!” Sir William said, his cheerful demeanor
not wavering in the slightest. “I have had years of experience at the Old Bailey, and even I would not wager a far
thing on the outcome of any trial, no matter how obvious
the case might appear to be. Too much hinges on the judge,
don’t you see, and even they are unpredictable. The most
lenient can be harsh because his morning tea happened to
be brewed not to his liking, and the strictest stickler for
proper procedure can ignore every objection from the prosecutor because the day is fine and he wishes to shed his wig and robe and escape for a drive in the country with his mis
tress. No, no, my dear fellow, the law is indeed capricious, and Lady Luck can easily smile on us.”

“Or just as easily turn her face away,” Digory pointed
out.

“Too true,” the barrister said, “but you will find that in
judicial matters I am luckier than most.”

His words provided little comfort, and once the barrister
departed, Digory exerted every effort to send his other visi
tors on their way also.

Unfortunately, he had not had five minutes alone before
he heard the sound of the key again turning in the lock.
Feeling quite put upon, he shouted angrily, “No more visi
tors!”

But the door opened anyway, and his half-sister, Lady
Cassie, entered. “Really, Digory, it is too bad what you
have done.”

At least she was accompanied by her husband, which did
little to improve Digory’s mood. “It needed only this,” he
said, feeling a strong urge to pound his fists against the
stone walls surrounding him.

“You did not even let us know that you were coming to
London,” Cassie said indignantly, “and then, as if that were
not bad enough, we were obliged to read in the paper that
you were in jail, awaiting trial on a charge of murder! Why in heaven’s name did you not send for us at once?”

“I did not send for you because I did not wish to have your reputation ruined by association with a condemned murderer,” he said, “as you could have easily figured out
for yourself before you came on this fool’s errand.”

But Cassie was not willing to listen to reason. “It is all
quite ridiculous—” her voice broke, and before he could stop her, she threw herself weeping into his arms. “You
could never shoot a man down in cold blood—never! They
are fools to listen to Geoffrey. He is out-and-out evil.”

“Really, Cassie, if you must soak someone’s shirt, let it
be your husband’s.” Digory tried to detach her, but she
clung like a limpet. “You should have kept her at home,”
he told his brother-in-law. “She does not belong here.”

Richard Hawke smiled and shrugged. “She would have
come with or without me. And in any event, I had a mind to
find out how you managed to get yourself into such a
mess.”

“I was fool enough to ape my ‘betters,’
”
Digory said.
“The rest followed as night follows day.”

Again he heard the jangle of keys in the corridor, and a moment later his wife stepped into the cell.

For what seemed like an eternity she just stared at him. Then she said in a voice that betrayed no emotion, “I had
not realized what comforts were provided for prisoners.”

With a strange noise that was halfway between a laugh
and a sob, Cassie pulled free of his arms and wiped her
eyes with the handkerchief her husband held out to her. “You must be my sister-in-law,” she said. “I shall never
forgive Digory for not inviting us to the wedding. You
would think he was ashamed of me.”

Digory did not bother trying to deny the accusation, but
Cassie and Bethia now ignored him, chattering away as if
they were bosom bows.

He was, in fact, more than a little astonished. Not that the
two women were getting along so well—he had thought
they would like each other. No, what was puzzling him was
that his wife looked as if she had not a care in the world.

“I returned a pair of books to Hookham’s on my way
over here,” he heard her say, “and it was vastly amusing. You would have thought I was that monster Napoleon, so
fast did everyone flee the premises.”

Her words touched off his temper, which he had thought was well under control. “What the deuce do you mean, you
went to Hookham’s? Are you entirely witless? You could
have sent Little Davey—you could have sent a maid—you
should have known what kind of a reception you would
get—”

“Indeed I did know,” she said, staring at him with a
rather cool expression on her face, “for you have certainly
warned me often enough. If they discover you are not a
gentleman, they will ostracize me, you said, and they have
certainly done just that. If they know you are a bastard,
they will taunt me and call me names, you said, and indeed, I have heard any number of epithets this morning, half of
which I have not even understood. But you neglected to
mention the caricatures. I received this in the morning post,
and there are more in all the shop windows.”

Reaching into her reticule, Bethia pulled out a folded
piece of foolscap and handed it to him.

He unfolded it and stared down at the drawing, angry at himself that he had failed to protect her from such things.

Removing it from his grasp, she held it out to Cassie.
“Rather droll, do you not agree?”

“I find nothing amusing about it,” Digory said.

“But you see,” Bethia said, a rather smug smile on her
face, “they forgot one thing, namely that the barbarians
succeeded in storming the gates.” Coming over to him, she slid her arms around his waist and looked up into his eyes.
“Do you seriously believe that we shall let them hang
you?”

“We?” he said, fear roughening his voice. Surely Cave
naugh and the others had enough sense not to involve her in
their plotting.

“We,” Bethia said. “Those of us who love you and those
of us who call you friend. Am I not right?” she said, turning
to Richard Hawke. “Will you allow them to hang him?”

“No,” Richard said, “you need have no worries on that score. If Digory is found guilty, we will contrive to smug
gle him out of jail and then out of England. I have two
ships in port at the moment, so it will not be hard to
arrange.”