Wilde, Jennifer (6 page)

"Ah,"
Clancy exclaimed. " 'Ere's th' white leather box, just like milady
described it, and—why, look 'ere, 'iggins, 'ave you ever seen such pretty
baubles?"

He
held the emeralds up for his colleague to admire. They sparkled and flashed
with shimmering green and blue fires, just as they had when I had seen them
resting against Lady Mallory's bosom. Clancy dangled them between his fingers,
shaking his head as though unable to believe he was beholding such splendor.
Higgins looked thoroughly disgruntled.

"Reckon
we 'ave our thief," Clancy said.

"Reckon
we do," Higgins grumbled. "I was hopin' to get that maid up to her
room and teach her to show a little respect for the law. I was lookin' forward
to a spot of fun."

Clancy
glanced at me, his gaunt face expressionless. "I 'magine we'll both 'ave a
spot uv that 'fore this is all over with."

Higgins's
wide lips curled into a grin, and his brown eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"Yeah," he said. "We'd better go down now 'n' turn the jewels
over. Later, in the coach—"

He
left the sentence dangling and took hold of my wrist, clamping his fingers
tightly around it. I made no effort to pull free as he led me out of the room
and down the stairs. Clancy moved ahead of us, slinging the necklace around and
around as though it were a watch chain. Lord Mallory was standing in front of
the door to the parlor, waiting for us.

"I
see you found the necklace," he remarked.

Clancy
handed him the string of glittering emeralds. "We found it, all right.
Wench 'ad it 'idden in 'er bag. If we 'adn't got here when we did, she'd 'ave
made a clean getaway."

"I
suppose you'll be taking her down to Bow Street now."

"Aye,
them's our orders," Clancy replied, nodding gravely. "She'll spend
th' night in th' cell there. I 'magine 'is lordship will pass sentence
tomorrow. 'E don't waste no time."

"I
want to thank you gentlemen," Lord Mallory said, his voice ever so smooth.
He reached into his pocket and took out two gold coins, handing one to each
man. They were amazed—and delighted. "And... uh... you'll be gentle with
her, won't you?"

Higgins
caught his meaning immediately. He grinned again, nodding slowly. "Gentle
as can be," he said. His hand tightened on my wrist.

"I
thought I could count on you," Lord Mallory replied. "She's a bit
uppity, gives herself airs. I imagine a couple of chaps like you might be able
to teach her some humility."

"We'll
do that very thing," Higgins promised.

Lord
Mallory stepped over to the front door and held it open for us. My numbness had
worn off now, and fear possessed me, fear such as I had never felt before, but
I refused to show it and give him that satisfaction. Lord Mallory smiled, savoring
his triumph, and as Higgins led me past he made a courtly bow, mocking me. I
pretended not to see. The sunshine was dazzling as we stepped outside. Higgins
jerked my arm viciously, causing me to stumble down the steps.

A
large black closed carriage stood in front of the house. Two powerful horses
stood in the shafts, stamping impatiently. The driver perched high on his seat
in front, smoking a cheroot. Clancy opened the carriage door, and Higgins
thrust me inside. There were two seats facing each other, upholstered in split
brown leather. The interior reeked of tobacco and sweat and gin. The curtains
at the windows were brown velvet, ragged, the nap worn. Higgins squeezed in
beside me and wrapped a muscular arm around my shoulder, pulling me against him.
When I tried to pull away he tightened his grip, crushing me to him.

"You
wanna be friendly, wench. Me 'n' Clancy, we don't like to be snubbed."

Still
standing on the pavement and holding the carriage door open, Clancy yelled at
the driver, telling him to take his time getting back to the station, and then
he climbed inside. Sitting down on the seat opposite us, he slammed the door
shut. As the carriage began to move down the street, he pulled the shabby
curtains over the windows, shutting out the sunlight. It was dim and dusty
inside, but I could see Clancy's bony face and that mop of blazing red hair.
His black eyes were burning with anticipation, and a wide grin split his mouth.

"Well-well-well,"
he said, " 'ere we are, all snug 'n' cozy."

"Lass
don't wanna be friendly, Clancy," Higgins told him. "I believe she
thinks she's too good for us."

Clancy
stared at his colleague in mock dismay. "You don't mean it? 'N' 'er a
common thief. Stealin's a 'angin' offense."

"Like
as not she'll swing," Higgins agreed.

"Seems
a waste, don't it?"

"Terrible
waste, but we got plenty a time. It's gonna take Jenkins 'alf an hour to reach
th' station. You ever done it in a carriage?"

"Can't
say as I 'ave," Clancy replied.

"Reckon
I'd better go first then, show you how it's done."

I
struggled
violently, trying to pull away from him. Higgins shoved me against the side of
the carriage and slapped me across the face, again, again, until my cheeks
seemed to be on fire. He jerked me toward him, then planted his mouth over
mine. He wrapped his arms around me, crushing me to him. I thought my bones
were going to snap. He finally pulled his head back, savoring my panic.

"She
don't
like
us," Clancy exclaimed.

"Reckon
we're gonna have to show her what a couple uv dandy sparks we are," Higgins
said. "Fight all you want to, wench. Truth to tell, I like it that
way—makes it more excitin'."

The
carriage bounced and jostled, swaying from side to side as it passed over the
rough cobblestones. Higgins pushed me down flat on the seat, pulling up my skirts.
I fought, scratching at his face. He clutched my throat and squeezed viciously
until I could fight no more, and then he fell on me, the weight of his body
knocking the breath out of me. He began his assault, and Clancy applauded,
urging him on. During the night that Lord Mallory had used me repeatedly, I had
thought I knew what it was to be degraded. I hadn't. Until now I hadn't even
known the meaning of the word.

There
were three cells in back of the building on Bow Street. Although I knew the
other two were occupied, as well, I could neither see nor communicate with the
other prisoners, as thick stone walls separated us. Not more than ten feet
square, my cell was like a small stone box with a heavy iron door. The rough
stone floor was littered with damp straw, and there was one narrow cot with no
mattress cover and, in the corner, a cracked chamber pot. The air was fetid,
reeking with the odors of sweat and excrement and fear. The one tiny window in
the back wall, barred, let in very little fresh air. It looked out over a
filthy alley lined with squalid hovels.

As
soon as I had arrived, the gruff, strapping locksmith had put two tight iron
bracelets on my wrists, a heavy chain suspended between them. My ankles had
been shackled, too, the chain just long enough to allow me to pace the floor in
short, cautious steps. Twice each day the bailiff unlocked the door and set
down a tray holding a bowl of thin gruel, a hunk of stale bread, and a small
earthen jug of water. I had been here for two days now, and he had not seen fit
to empty the chamber pot, but then prisoners were not to be pampered.

At
least it wasn't Newgate. I could be thankful for that. Squalid and
uncomfortable as it was, the cell was luxurious compared to that dreaded prison
whose inhabitants lived no better than the rats that infested it. I had read
about the horrors of Newgate, reports that chilled the blood, and I knew that
death was preferable to internment in that monstrous hell hole. Would I
eventually be sent there? The mere thought of it caused me to grow weak with
terror.

I
had already given up any idea of a fair trial. Lady Mallory's uncle, the
magistrate, was undoubtedly in league with his niece and her husband. He had
the power to sentence me, and I was at his mercy. By rights I should be taken
to Justice Hall Court in the Old Bailey and there tried before the six judges
in scarlet robes and long, woolly white wigs who sat in their tall wooden
chairs. By rights I should be given an opportunity to defend myself, but I knew
it wasn't going to be that way. Roderick Mann could do with me as he wished,
the finer points of the law be damned. Justice, real justice, was for the rich
and powerful.

Still,
I wouldn't give way to fear. It would be all too easy to succumb to the panic
inside, to scream and cry and become a helpless wreck, but that would
accomplish nothing. If I gave way now, I would be utterly defeated. I had to
summon all the strength inside and cling to it. I had to endure the filth, the
cruelty, the hunger, the humiliation with a stoic calm. The nightmare would
soon be over. I had to keep telling myself that, over and over again. If I
could endure that horrible carriage ride, I could endure anything else.

I
had actually wished for death. Higgins had taken me, using me with brutal
force, deliberately hurting me, while Clancy watched—a pitiful voyeur. When the
coach finally stopped in front of this large, formidable brown building on Bow
Street, they had had to drag me down the dark, narrow corridors, for I had been
unable to walk. Now, forty-eight hours later, my body was still bruised and
sore. My bronze taffeta dress was torn and soiled, my petticoats filthy. Auburn
hair was damp and tangled, and there was a cut on my cheek. I knew I must look like
some battered harlot from the foulest back street, but that hardly mattered.

There
was a distant rumble of thunder. Cautiously, my chains clanking as I moved, I
stepped over to the window and, holding onto the cold iron bars, peered out.
The sky was a dark slate gray filled with ponderous black clouds that seemed to
drip a sinister purple light. The alley below was littered with fruit rinds and
paper and rotting debris, and the row of flimsy brown wooden hovels seemed to
be clinging together to keep from collapsing. Something long and furry scurried
among the debris. A cat perched on one of the narrow window sills let out a
long howl and pounced, catching the rat between its jaws and dashing down the
alley with it. I shuddered.

As
I clung to the bars, an aged, grotesque obese old woman in a filthy blue dress
and tattered black shawl staggered into view, clutching an almost empty bottle
of gin. Glancing up as she passed, she grinned a toothless grin and waved at
me. I could hear her cackling with delight that someone else was behind bars
and she was still free to shuffle through the squalid alleys with a few drops
of gin left in the begrimed bottle.

Turning
away from the window, I moved across the cell and sat down on the cot with its
filth-crusted paper-thin mattress. The faint sunlight slanting through the bars
had awakened me hours ago. It must be almost noon by this time. Would the
mighty Roderick Mann send for me today? Probably not, I told myself. They
would... they would keep me here for a week, perhaps a little longer, and then
I would be released. Of course I would be released. He wanted to punish me, to
crush my pride, to put me in my place, that's all. He wouldn't let me be sent
to Newgate. He wouldn't let me hang...

Half
an hour passed, and then I heard a key turning in the lock. It must be time for
lunch, I thought, nauseated at the prospect of more of the thin, oily gruel and
mouldy bread. The heavy door swung open, and the bailiff entered, but he
brought no tray. He was a short, stocky, affable fellow in scuffed boots,
soiled tan breeches, clingy white shirt, and leather jerkin. His chatty,
pleasant manner didn't deceive me at all. I knew that he could become brutal at
a moment's notice. One of the other prisoners had displeased him yesterday.
Even though the stone walls were thick, I had heard him using his fists, heard
the prisoner's screams. He stepped into the cell now with an amiable grin. The
locksmith was right behind him, a ring of heavy keys hanging from his belt.

"Afternoon,
luv," the bailiff said. "Time to visit 'is lordship. 'E's waitin' for
you in th' courtroom. Burt 'ere's gonna take th' shackles off your ankles,
though we'll just leave th' others in place for th' time bein'."

I
was still sitting on the cot. The locksmith squatted down in front of me and flipped
my skirts up over my legs. He gripped one of my calves and began to rattle the
keys. The bailiff stood there watching, the grin still in place as he eyed my
legs. When the shackles were finally off, the locksmith ran his hands over my
legs. I knew better than to protest. He gave my knee a tight squeeze and then
stood up, his face expressionless. The bailiff pulled me to my feet.

"We're
goin' for a little walk now, luv. You be'ave, 'ear? If you was to try anything
foolish, I'd 'ave to 'urt you. Wouldn't wanna do that, you bein' such a lady
'n' all."

Gripping
one of my elbows, he led me out of the cell and down a long, dim corridor. The
chain suspended between my wrists clanked loudly. We turned a corner and moved
down a much wider corridor with candles burning in brass wall sconces. Finally,
we entered an extremely narrow hallway and stopped in front of the door at its
end.

"You
go on in, luv," the bailiff said. " 'E'll be waitin. I'll stay out
'ere standin' guard, so don't try nothin' clever now—"