Page 53 of Speculations in Sin

The cold of the January morning was hardly cut by the walls of the courtyard, or even by the interior of the prison itself. More guards wandered the open spaces, and one led us down a dark corridor to a door about halfway along.

I breathed a sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have to enter the common room, which was on the floor below this, then chastised myself. Sam was enduring it while I slept safely in my bed.

The guard ushered us into a small room, with stone walls whose whitewash had long since worn away. A rickety table sat in the middle of this chamber with two chairs on opposite sides of it. One chair was empty, and the other held Sam, with shackles on his wrists and ankles.

When we entered, Sam half rose with a clank of chains.“Kat?” He gaped at me, then skewered Daniel with a glare. “This is no place for her, McAdam. Why did you bring her?”

“She insisted.” Daniel held out the empty chair for me. The jailers must have assumed Sam would have only one visitor and hadn’t bothered with a second. “I’ve learned not to disregard her insights.”

Sam sank back as I took the seat and set my handbag on my lap.

Exhaustion lined Sam’s face, which was dark with grime. His mustache, which Joanna always said made him look dashing, was gone, a faint scar where a razor had nicked his upper lip. His very dark hair was dusty, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. The kind, funny man who was Joanna’s loving husband lurked in the back of his eyes, but I faced a resigned, unhappy prisoner certain his past had caught up to him.

“Dear Sam.” I reached across the table to him, but Sam curled his fingers and pulled away from me.

Daniel closed the door, telling the guard who’d brought us that Sam was in no condition to run away. The guard only shrugged, leaning against the rickety doorframe as Daniel shut him out. He would listen, of course, but since Sam was innocent, there would be nothing untoward for him to hear and report.

“You didn’t bring Joanna, did you?” Sam asked me abruptly.

“She is safe at home,” Daniel assured him before I could speak. “I agree with you, your wife does not need to be here. Soon, I hope, she’ll have no reason to come anyway.”

“Because I’ll be swinging from the scaffold,” Sam said darkly.

“Now, it’s no good talking like that,” I said. For some reason, his despair rekindled my resolve. “I know you committed no crime, and we will prove it.”

“Mr. Crowe, the solicitor, has been to see me.” Sam’s gloom did not lift. “I want to be proud and refuse the charity your friends are handing me, Kat, but I’m not such a fool as to turn away a competent solicitor and a silk barrister. But Crowe said there’s not much chance. The most we can hope for is a softer sentence if we gain the sympathy of the jury for my wife and many children.”

“Then Mr. Crowe is talking nonsense,” I said. “We will find evidence to free you, and all will be well.”

The glance Sam exchanged with Daniel told me Sam had no faith in my declarations.

“Who is the barrister?” Daniel asked.

“Sir Rupert Shepherd,” Sam answered without inflection. “Haven’t seen him yet.”

Daniel whistled. “Heavy artillery. Don’t worry, Millburn. With Shepherd on your side, the gentlemen of the jury will be weeping at your tale of woe, bidding their wives knit you socks, and recommending you serve out your sentence in a seaside cottage.”

A ghost of a smile passed over Sam’s face. “What you mean is, the judge might send me to a place where I walk on a treadmill all day instead of breaking slag in Devonshire.”

“Kat is right—you must not give up hope.” Daniel feigned hurt feelings. “We’d think you didn’t believe in us.”

“I mean no offense.” Even in his dejection, Sam strove to be polite. “I know you and Kat have handed the police the correct culprits in the past, but this time, we’re up against an institution of sterling reputation and long history.”

“I’ve heard that Daalman’s is on shaky ground,” I said. I did not bother to add that a butler was among those who’d told me this, but Mr. Davis was shrewd and accumulated much useful information. “The institution might be old, but Daalman’s ismerely a building full of people who are human and make mistakes. I’ve met some of those people—one of them must be stewing in guilt right now because you’re taking the blame for his crimes.”

Sam snorted a laugh. “I doubt it. I like my work, and my pay packet is enough for us, but I keep my head bent over my desk. Most of the bankers and clerks are snobbish automatons who can barely bring themselves to speak to me. I’m not one of them, as you know.”

“What about Mr. Kearny?” I asked. “He said he recommended you for the post.”

Sam’s expression softened. “Kearny’s all right. I met him years ago, when I was working for a tailor near Smithfield—Kearny has his suits made there. I was taking care of the tailor’s accounts. Kearny would chat to me while he was waiting to be fitted, and we became friends. Over a pint at a pub, he wondered if I wouldn’t do better in an office instead of a shop, and then he told me of an open post at Daalman’s.”

“Generous of him,” Daniel said. “You didn’t find anything suspicious in that?”

“Of course I did,” Sam scoffed. “I’m nobody, and didn’t have two coins to rub together. I fell in with bad people in South London—no secret now, is it? But I was working to better myself. Kearny understood that. He’d had a leg up himself, and he was passing on the favor, he said. I thought, no harm in going along with him. I had a wife and a child on the way, and the rise in pay attracted me. The head clerk didn’t like me on first glance, but Kearny persuaded him to take me on in trial. This was years ago now. If there was something suspicious in Kearny wanting me at Daalman’s, he’s playing a devil of a long game.”

I agreed it was doubtful that Mr. Kearny would wait somany years if he was setting up Sam for embezzlement and murder.

“Who gave Mr. Kearny the leg up?” I asked. “Out of curiosity.”

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