Page 52 of Speculations in Sin

Even if the man had died years ago? I wondered. I wanted to ply Mr. Fielding with many more questions, though I conceded that he had much more experience of the criminal underworld than I did.

“I asked you only because of your relationship with Daniel,” I said. “I will keep silent.”

“Good. Compton can reach out of hell, where he surely is roasting merrily, to torment us living beings.” Mr. Fielding let out a breath. “Please thank your butler for the port. It was the best I’ve ever tasted.”

He pressed my hand again, then he opened the door, his own thanks springing from his lips as he spied Mr. Davis across the hall. In the space of a second, Mr. Fielding once more became the vacuous and toadying gentleman that I well knew he was not.

* * *

Mr. Fielding had given me much to ponder. Tess and I finished the supper preparations as Mrs. Bywater’s guests arrived—I saw hurrying feet in fine though not frivolous shoes descend from carriages and flow into the house. Mr. Bywater had taken himself to his club for the evening, leaving the way clear for Mrs. Bywater and her female friends.

Cynthia had absented herself as well. I wondered if she were with Miss Townsend and Bobby or looking in on Joanna. I longed for the day to be over and Thursday to dawn so I could fly to Joanna myself.

The sorbet cups went up on a tray by themselves, accompanied with small bowls of walnuts and dried fruit. I came out of my distraction to be pleased that the orange rinds came back down scraped clean. Mr. Davis also stuck his head in the kitchen doorway to tell me the entire meal had been a success.

Tess waltzed about the kitchen by herself in celebration before she whirled beside me to help me clean and prepare for tomorrow.

I hoped Daniel would return once everyone had gone to bed, but he did not. I didn’t linger to wait for him, wanting to be up early and gone tomorrow before anyone could invent a reason for me to stay.

Daniel appeared as I was leaving the house at first light, Tess already up and yawning to prepare the household’s breakfast.

“Can you spare some time before you visit Grace and Joanna?” he asked as he fell into step beside me along Mount Street. I almost snapped at him that no, I could not, but Daniel quickly continued. “I’ve managed to convince the governor of Newgate to let us in to speak to Millburn.”

15

Daniel led me, once I’d eagerly agreed, to the corner of Mount and Davies Streets where Lewis and his placid bay horse waited with his hansom. Lewis bade me a cheerful good morning, which I answered hurriedly as Daniel handed me into the cab.

It was bitterly cold, but sitting against Daniel under the lap robe he pulled over us soon warmed me. Either that or I no longer noticed the chill.

My feelings for Daniel were beginning to worry me. I’d vowed never to allow a man to come between me and my common sense again, but now I snuggled into him, happy to let his nearness and warmth ease my troubles. If I came to depend on him for that ease every day, where would I be?

Happy, something whispered inside me.

I pushed the voice aside, letting the noise of carts and horses, and the stink of them too, focus me on the reality of the day.

Lewis took us east by way of Oxford Street. Newgate Jail layat the end of the Holborn Viaduct, which passed over Farringdon Street and railroad tracks before it slid back down to the corner of Newgate Street and Old Bailey.

The road called Old Bailey had, in colloquial speech, given its name to the Central Criminal Court building, which stood just beyond Newgate. A tunnel connected the prison with the courthouse, so that the prisoners could be guided through to their trials without worry that they’d leg it off into the streets of London.

Newgate was notorious for a reason. It was full of prisoners waiting in appalling conditions to learn their fate in the Old Bailey dock. Once their sentence was handed down by the long-wigged judge, the prisoner was taken in chains either to their new home in Dartmoor or another hard-labor prison, or back to Newgate to wait for their hanging at the beginning of the week. The judge would then retire home to his brandy and warm supper, feeling he’d done a good day’s work.

Jailers treated prisoners according to their rank and wealth. A rich man—if he somehow couldn’t avoid arrest entirely—would have a private room with as many comforts as his family could bring to him. Some had their valets with them to make certain they were dressed, shaved, and well-fed in the mornings.

The working-class men and women and ladies and gentlemen of the streets were stuck into a common room, where quarrels and fighting were common, with one bucket for the relief of several dozen people. If one’s family couldn’t afford to feed one, one went hungry.

I’d been in this prison once before, when I’d been accused of murdering my employer. As I approached the building, all the fear and despair of that day rushed back at me, and my knees began to fold under me.

Daniel’s strength kept me on my feet. “Steady, lass,” he whispered into my ear. “If you’d prefer, I’ll have Lewis run you to the Millburns’, and I’ll speak to Sam on my own.”

“No.” I clung to Daniel’s arm, but steeled myself. Behind the grim and solid gates before me lay desperation and fear, but also a man who needed his friends. “I owe it to Sam and Joanna. I’ll be fine.”

I would not be, and Daniel knew I would not, but he tightened his grip and guided me forward to speak to the guard.

One would expect a prison guard to be a hard man without humor, but this one grinned and greeted us jovially. Hewasa hard man, I could see, who would not hesitate to beat us down if we attempted to overpower him, or to shoot us with the sidearm he wore.

“Most are anxious to getout,” the guard joked as he turned the keys. “But if you insist on goingin, then I will admit you. Give my best to Millburn. He’s friendly to us.”

That was Sam all over, making friends with the men who’d confine him until he was condemned to death.

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