Secret Night (32 page)

"What is it?"

"A note from Lord Dunster."

"I'll take it."

"If any comes, shall I say when you will be back?"

"Tomorrow, but there won't be any time for appointments as I am attempting to get everything in order before adjournment As for today, I won't get out of Sessions much before four-thirty, then I intend to visit Rand again."

"You'd best request an escort around to the back then, for I am told there is an ugly crowd there again today. I had it of his clerk that Mr. Wilcox's carriage was very nearly overturned in the mistaken belief that 'twas he who defends Mr. Rand. Someone cried out, 'There he goes,' and 'twas a near thing—a very near thing."

"Thank you for the warning." Picking up his worn leather folder, he sighed. "There's not much I can do about a mob, John."

Patrick was nearly out the door before his clerk remembered something else. "Oh—may I be amongst the first to wish you happy?" Byrnes called out "I saw the announcement in the
Gazette"

"Thank you."

So the paper had already printed it. Well, by nightfall everyone of note ought to know of his good fortune, he reflected soberly.

As he climbed into the waiting hackney, Patrick had to remind himself that Jane was the means to an ultimately desirable end. But what he truly wanted was Elise Rand. He had but to close his eyes to see her, to feel the warmth of her skin, to smell again the lavender in her hair. Even as he thought of her, he felt an intense guilt for what he was doing to her. She deserved better of him, and yet he knew he didn't want to give her up for Jane.

The mood of the milling mob was ugly, so much so that Patrick had to borrow the keeper of the Sessions House galley's cloak for the walk to Newgate. As he skirted the crowd, he could hear someone at the front shout, "We don't need no 'earing to 'ave a 'anging! Kill the old puddin' poker ere 'e flashes 'is way out with 'is gold!"

The rest caught his spirit and chanted, "Kill 'im— I ill im!" rhythmically. Then, as the prison doors were secured, the chant changed to "We want Rand! We want
Rand!"

There was no way through the mob, and to risk identification might well mean being torn apart. Patrick crossed at the corner and was retreating toward the Bailey when a contingent of Horse Guards rode past him, sabers slashing, straightway into the crowd. The taunts and jeers turned into outraged howls, then to streams of terror. The mob broke and ran, fleeing pell-mell in every possible direction, taking refuge in doorways and crannies, as the horses trampled those who could not get out of the way. A soldier came close by Patrick and would have struck at him, but he threw the cloak and called out, "Officer of the court! I am an officer of the court!"

Slopping, the horseman backed his mount to block Patrick from the surging, fleeing Londoners, while his fellow guards drove them through the streets. When the last appeared to have passed, he clicked his reins Hid moved away, leaving Patrick to survey the carnage. Several blood-spattered fellows appeared dazed as they were arrested, while two men lay ominously still. At the other end of Newgate Street, a few stared sullenly .ii soldiers who now formed a protective line around the prison.

An officer spied Patrick and rode up, demanding to know his business, then apologized when another recognized him. He called out for escort, and two soldiers dismounted to accompany Patrick to Debtor's Door. In the shadow of the scaffold, he stopped for a moment to take a deep breath of the air, then he unit inside.

"Ain't nuthin' like a Lunnon mob, eh?" a prison guard said cheerfully. "It don't do no good ter move 'em, 'cause they just come back when the soljers is gone."

"Or else they go elsewhere."

"They'll be back—they want to see old Rand swing, eh?"

"I am come to see Mr. Rand."

"Oh—aye. Jem! He's here fer the old man! The one as is in the keeper's rooms!"

A slatternly woman roused from over a half-empty gin bottle, then grinned evilly. "Worms is going ter get 'im same as anybody else," she predicted. " 'Is money ain't saving 'im!" Her voice rose in a high-pitched laugh, then she lay down again to cradle her bottle.

Another female called out piteously to him. "Eight pounds, sir—eight pounds and I'm out—eight pounds, sir!" He glanced at her, seeing her swollen belly, wondering if she'd gotten that way since she'd been there. As he walked on, he could hear her still crying, "Only eight pounds, sir!"

A vacant-faced man sat with two half-naked little girls clinging to his legs, while a thin woman of indeterminate age lay curled in fetal position upon a pile of dirty straw, a direct violation of the rules banning wives and children from living with men in prison. But so many had no place to go, and guards were lax in enforcing the prohibition. As he passed them, Patrick wished he'd chosen another door. Fishing in his coat pocket, he drew out coins left from his hackney fare. He stopped to toss them inside. The two small girls scrambled on their knees to reach them, then grasped the shiny silver pieces in grubby hands.

"How much?" he heard himself say.

The man roused. "Thirty pounds as I couldn't pay." He slumped again.

Patrick turned to the guard. "Remind me when I leave, and I'll apply to the magistrate for him."

"And what's he ter do then wi'out nuthing, I ask ye?"

It was a reasonable question, one for which Patrick had no answer. Nonetheless, he reached for his purse and took out thirty pounds in clean, new banknotes, then passed them inside. Hesitating, he added another ten.

As he moved away, Jem told him, "He'll be in gin fer a month, that's all."

“It smells better at Tattersall's than here," Patrick muttered. "At least there they muck up after the horses."

“Ye get used ter it."

"Never."

He found Rand eating, the table before him spread with a three-course meal, while a servant stood nearby. The old man looked up, then with his mouth too full for speech, he gestured to a chair. Reaching for a cup of claret, he washed the food down noisily.

“About time you was coming," he said. ''Thought you'd be here ere before now."

"I was in chambers with Justice Russell and the magistrate."

“And taking your time, you was," Rand observed irritably. "Well, don't stand there—sit down, sirrah. You got news—I can tell it." As he spoke, he got another cup and filled it. Pushing it toward Patrick, he laid impatiently, "Go on—spill the budget."

Patrick sat down, then nodded. "All right. The short of it is that the evidence is sufficient to try you, but I expected that. I was given the choice of presenting arguments in a hearing or going ahead to trial."

"I ain't understanding the difference," Rand muttered. "Six of one, and half a dozen of the other, ain't it?"

"No. If I agree to waive the hearing, you will be tried before Christmas. Otherwise, there will be a formal hearing to determine whether you will be bound over, which will be merely for show, I assure you."

“When will that be?"

“Monday, if I make that choice." Rand appeared to digest that with his meat.

"And the trial—when would that be, then?"

"During the first session of the new year, if you have the hearing. Without it, I would expect to go to trial next month."

"What? No, sirrah, I won't have it! By God, I won't! You got to get me out of here before then! Go bail—I don't care what it costs, go bail!"

"Mr. Rand, neither Peale nor the magistrate would recommend it," Patrick replied flatly. "They believe a conviction is inevitable."

"Then bribe the demned justice! No, sir, Hamilton—I ain't spending Christmas here. I ain't spending Christmas without Em and Ellie—that's all there is to it!"

"Then you wish to go ahead with the trial?"

"Of course I don't! I ain't ready to swing yet, am I? That's why I got you, ain't it? You are going to keep me out of the noose!"

"Then you prefer to go with the hearing and delay the trial?" Patrick persisted.

"What do you think?" the old man sneered.

"I think I'd rather try it now."

"You got enough to get me off?"

"No, but if you will cooperate with my solicitor, Mr. Banks, when he conducts the interview with you, I shall be prepared either way," Patrick lied.

Rand eyed him shrewdly, then shook his head. "Pulling the wool over my eyes, ain't you? It ain't my neck as concerns you—'tis the demned elections. And saying you are prepared ain't quite the same as saying you are getting me off."

"If you are to have a chance either way, you will have to cooperate with Mr. Banks," Patrick said patiently.

"I told you all I got to say."

"We are already pursuing information in Covent Garden and St. Giles, and I expect to have statements in a matter of days. It is my intent to compare those against what you tell my solicitor, and hopefully we will discover a possible perjury in one of them—or at least something that will cast doubt on John Colley's veracity. Otherwise you are as sunk as an anchor."

"They ain't going to tell no fancy fellow nothing," Rand snorted.

“Mr. Thompson can scarce be called a fancy fellow, I assure you. It is my hope that someone will be loose-lipped enough to tell him either that Colley tended to roll Annie's customers—or that he at least had a violent temper."

"Bribe 'em to say it."

“No."

"Mighty hoity-toity for a lawyer cove, ain't you?" the old man observed nastily.

“You will answer every question Mr. Banks puts to you
with candor," Patrick continued mildly, ignoring the barb.

"Didn't hire him—hired you," Rand muttered. And you got to tell the justice I want out"

"One does not in general tell Russell anything. In fart, one maintains an utterly respectful mien before him—do you understand that?"

"No."

“All right. Then perhaps I ought to restate the matter more plainly. Justice Russell believes the answer to ending crime is to execute everyone accused of any infraction whatsoever. This year alone, he has sent two children to the gallows for the theft of a bucket of paint in one case, a goose in the other."

“Ain't a man alive as cannot be bribed with some-thing, Hamilton." But the old man's manner had sobered considerably. "He's got to want something."

"I don't intend to make the offer."

"Ewen you—you got your price, ain't you?" Mr. Rand, this isn't a mill conducted with our fives. I am tired of sparring with you, of playing games where you believe you can bluster and intimidate." Patrick's eyes met Rand's and held. "I am not a five-mud lawyer, sir—I am the best barrister to be had in London. Do you understand that?"

"Aye, but—"

"But I will not go into court with half a deck when you
are hiding the other half. This is a game of distinct rules dealing with evidence, precedence, and the presumption of innocence. I don't have to convince Peale or Russell you did not commit murder, sir. But I do have to cast enough doubt in the minds of your peers to make them waver, to question what the prosecutor tells them. To accomplish that, sir, you must arm me with the truth."

"I said I didn't do it, didn't I?"

"You do not listen well at all, I'm afraid. You think you are too clever by half, that by obfuscation you may muddle through, but it won't serve."

The old man exhaled fully. "All right. What was you wanting me to tell them?"

"You cannot tell them anything—you cannot even sit in the witness box. All that stands between you and the gallows is myself and the jury I present my case to. So if you have killed Annie Adams, Peg Parker, or Fanny Shawe, I want to know it. If I find you are leaving me out to be blindsided, I shall withdraw from your defense—do I make myself clear on that head?"

"I ain't going to break my gel's heart, Hamilton."

"If you are asking if I would tell Miss Rand, I will not. Anything you tell me is between us and no one else."

"All I was wanting was to go home."

"Then you are a fool," Patrick declared bluntly. "If you left here, you would not live to get to Marylebone. Surely you are not deaf, sir."

"Aye, I heard. But I can afford the Runners."

"It took the Horse Guards to get me inside."

Rand drank from his cup, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "You are a cold man, Hamilton," he said sourly. "Cold."

"I hope not." Patrick rose without touching his wine. "I'm afraid I cannot stay, but you may tell Banks tomorrow whether you want the hearing or not. And if I have not heard by two o'clock, I shall inform Mr. Peale we are ready for trial next month."

"You already got your mind made up, ain't you? You want to try it, and the devil take me—I can tell."

"It would be better for me to try it quickly."

"But not for me." .

"Either way, I mean to do the best I can for you, sir.”

The old man waited until Patrick called for the guard, then he murmured, "Ellie was here to see me today." When Patrick said nothing, he added, "She read the announcement in the
Gazette,
She said—"He paused for effect. "She said as she ain't expecting to hear from you again, I should wish you happy for her."

Patrick felt almost sick as his stomach knotted.

“She's got a kind heart. Said I was to tell you the little dog is fine also," the old man went on slyly. "You ain't to worry over 'em—not at all. Not that you would, eh?"

As he followed Jem out, Patrick wondered how he ever could have thought of Bartholomew Rand as affable. He walked back toward the Bailey, his mind on Elise, knowing there was no way he could say anything to her that would excuse him. He couldn't expect her to understand that he still wanted her, but he was marrying Jane.

She said as she ain't expecting to hear from you again …
As his mind echoed the message her father gave him, he was certain she'd told him good-bye. And he was equally certain that Rand knew everything. In his own way, the old man had played the pimp using his own daughter.

Despite the fact that it was supposed to be a happy occasion, conversation at Dunster's dinner table was stiff and lagging, and for once Patrick was in no mood to make up for the lack. Beside him, Jane attempted to engage everyone with plans for the Brockhaven house and her wedding. And her wedding it was going to be, for she informed Patrick that she wished to be married from her father's estate before they took a wedding trip abroad to Italy "where the weather is warmer in early spring." Moreover, she intended to entertain with "an elegant reception upon our return, which must include members of parliament and officials of the government, of course."