Arabella (28 page)

             
The menacing note in his voice and the strange look in his eyes combined to fill Arabella with terror.  She knew that he was going to attack her and she looked about her for a weapon, picking up a fire iron to hold it aloft.

             
'I'm warning you!  Stay away from me…'

             
'You send me wild when you look at me like that,' Jack said.  'I would have been good to you if you had pleased me, Bella – but now I want to punish you.'

             
Arabella gave a little shriek of dismay as he lunged at her.  He grasped the front of her gown and tore it, revealing the plump swell of her breasts as they rose and fell in fear.  She was breathing hard, terrified of this man she hardly recognised as Jack Meadows.  He had hidden his true nature beneath a veneer of charm, but now his jealousy and his bitterness was showing through.  He wanted to despoil her because she loved Gervase.

             
She took her arm back to strike him with the fire iron, catching him a glancing blow on his temple.  It was enough to draw blood but not enough to fell him.  He gripped her wrist, twisting it until the iron fell with a clatter against the grate and onto the floor, and then he bent his head, his teeth biting at the tender flesh he had exposed.  She gave a scream of pain and pushed at him, struggling to free herself from his frenzied attack.  He was not mad with love but hatred, she realised, renewing her struggle. Her back had been to the fireplace, but somehow she had managed to struggle round so that his was now against the heavy stone mantle.  Placing her hands against his chest, she pushed with all her strength and sent him stumbling back.  And then, somehow, he tripped on the iron fender and fell over sideways, striking his head against the metal.

             
Arabella backed away from him.  She was panting, fearful that he would jump up and come after her.  Even as she reached the door, it opened and her maid entered.

             
'He attacked me…' Arabella gasped.  'I pushed him and he fell…'

             
The maid bent over him, reaching out to touch him, and then she saw his staring eyes and the blood oozing from the gash to the back of his head.  On the floor not far away lay the fire iron with which Arabella had hit Harry, a trace of blood on its point.

             
'You've killed him,' the startled girl said.  'You've murdered him!'

             
'No…' Arabella shook her head.  'You don't understand.  He attacked me.  I pushed him away and he fell.  It was an accident…you must believe me.'

             
'Murder!' the girl cried and started screaming.  'Murder!  Murder!'

             
Arabella stood as if turned to stone as the girl ran from the room, still screaming.  She walked over to Harry, gazing down at him.  Surely he wasn't dead?  He couldn't be dead?  She had simply pushed him and he'd fallen and hit his head.  People didn't die from a little accident like that.  Yet as she looked down at his face she knew that it was true.

             
She gasped and drew back, her hand going to her throat.  Even her maid thought she had killed Jack.  No one would believe her.  She would surely hang…

             
She must get out of here – run away!  She rushed to the door and saw that her servants had gathered in the street, a crowd around them.  They all turned and looked at her and she read her fate in their faces.  They thought she was a murderess and they would take her to the prison themselves rather than see her escape.

*

'You are sure it is the right child this time?' Gervase questioned his agent thoroughly.  He felt a surge of elation.  At last it seemed that his search was over! 'The child born in Mistress Elizabeth George's house just over a year ago and sold to a childless couple?'

              'Yes, my lord, quite sure,' the man told him triumphantly.  'As you know, the child was sold several times but the present parents are in Portsmouth and waiting for a ship to take them to the Americas.  Another few days and the child would have disappeared for good.'

             
'God be praised,' Gervase said.  'You did as I asked you?'

             
'Yes, my lord.'

             
'And their answer?'

             
'They said at first that they would not give the child up – but when I told them what you had offered they changed their minds.  They want to see you in person, my lord, and then they may give him up to you.'

             
'Or sell him for the right price,' Gervase said grimly.  'Have you brought them here?'

             
'They would not come, my lord.  They expect their ship to be ready within days – but I did set a man to watch them, and a few more to stop them if they try to take the child on board that ship.'

             
'You have done well, Salmons,' Gervase said.  'We shall leave this day for Portsmouth, and you shall be well rewarded once I have the child.'

             
'Yes, my lord.  I am well aware of the terms of our agreement.'

             
'My carriage will be ready within minutes,' Gervase said.  'I shall not forget this service, which is greater than you may imagine.'

             
Gervase was smiling grimly as he summoned his servants.  It looked as if the search was at last coming to an end, but he had been disappointed before.  He hoped that this time it would not turn out to be a false trail in the end.

'Come, mistress,' the turnkey ordered.  'It is time for your trial.'

             
'So soon?' Arabella looked at him in surprise.  'How long have I been here in this place?'

             
'A week – long enough for a wicked wretch like you to repent of your sins,' he grunted.  'Judge Harding is dealing with your case and many others this morning.  He has other more important things to do and so he has had you all brought up at the same time to save himself the trouble of coming back next week.'

             
Arabella stood up, closing her eyes for a moment.  She felt the trembling begin inside her as she recalled the horror of being dragged here by a howling mob.  No one had listened to her.  They had condemned her as guilty without a hearing. Some of the woman had wanted to stone her to death, but the men had insisted that she be brought to the magistrates and then to the prison.  That first night and day was a blur in her mind, for she had been dazed, too horrified by what she had done and what was happening to her to realise the awfulness of her fate.

             
Once she was cast into this filthy cell, which was no bigger than a cupboard, its stone floors covered in damp straw that had rats and mice crawling amongst the scraps of rotten food and human excrement, she had closed her mind to her surroundings.  She was either already dead and in hell or this was all a nightmare and she would wake to find that it was all in her mind, the result of drinking too much wine.  But she hadn't woken from her nightmare and now she knew it was all too real.

             
If only she had not drunk so much wine that fateful day – indeed, for several days before it.  She might then have been able to give a proper account to the magistrate.  But he had been too annoyed at having his supper interrupted and had given the order to have her incarcerated without listening to her story.  After she'd been brought here and flung into this tiny cell, she had huddled into her corner, hearing the sounds of people nearby – people coughing, weeping, screaming and vomiting - but seeing no one.  It seemed she was too dangerous a criminal and had been placed in this small cell alone.

             
It might have been better if she could have talked to someone, but the guard who brought her water and a hard crust of bread once a day never spoke to her.  The first words she'd heard in so many days were from this turnkey, who was ordering her from the cell, pushing her roughly in front of him.

             
'I am innocent,' she said.  'Stop pushing me or I shall have my friends call you to account for your ill treatment of me.'

             
'Fine friends you've got, mistress,' the man said with a harsh laugh.  'There's none been to see you nor put in a word for you.  Even the common thieves have someone to pay easement for them.'

             
'Lord Roxbourne is away on business,' Arabella replied her head up.  'When he returns and discovers what has happened to me he will come and find me.  He will tell the judge that this charge is ridiculous.'

             
The turnkey grinned unpleasantly.  'He'd best come soon then for you'll not last long in Judge Harding's court.'  He drew a hand across his throat to indicate that the outcome would be death for her.  'His 'onour ain't got no love for women – especially them what murder a good man.'

             
'But I didn't murder him…'

             
Arabella felt the touch of a hand against hers and looked round to see another woman being brought along the dark passage behind her.

             
'Ain't no use tellin' 'im, luv,' she said.  'Save it fer the judge – not that it 'ull do yer any good.  Judge Harding is the worst o' the lot.'

             
Arabella swallowed hard.  'Are you saying he'll hang me anyway?'

             
'Plead yer belly,' the woman told her in hushed tones.  'You might get transportation then.  Otherwise they'll 'ang yer fer sure.'

             
Arabella knew what she meant.  She had heard that women often did it to escape the gallows, opting for the sentence of seven years hard labour in the American colonies instead.  But surely the judge would listen to the truth?  She had killed Harry but she had not meant to; it had been an accident.  Why would no one believe her?

             
She was hustled into a large room, which was in a different part of the prison.  The judge in his robes of office sat at a table at one end and a few chairs had been set out for various officials; the spectators, who had managed to get into the makeshift court, had been herded into one corner and were chattering excitedly to one another.

             
About thirty prisoners had been brought up from the cells and were being held in a group at some distance from the judge.  It wasn't even a proper court, Arabella realised and tried to protest to the turnkey.

             
'Quiet woman, if you know what's good for you,' he told her.  'The judge ain't got much time.  We're overflowin' with prisoners, can't take no more of them and this is his 'onour's way of getting' through the work.'

             
'But it's not fair – nor is it legal…' she began and received a pinch on her arm for her pains.

             
'Quiet or he'll have you flogged and me with yer.'

             
Arabella subsided.  Surely her turn to speak out would come. This was a travesty of justice.  She felt as if she were in a waking nightmare, watching as one by one the prisoners were marched out in front of the judge.

             
'Crime?'

             
'Petty thieving', your honour.'

             
'Transportation for five years.  Next.'

             
'House breaking.  Took five 'undred pounds of goods from Lord Thrust's London 'ouse he did.'

             
'Hang him.  Next – come on, man!  I haven't all day.'

             
Arabella listened in disbelief as the judge went through the list of accused.  One or two tried to protest their innocence, but were silenced by threats of a flogging.  It was so unfair.  How could this judge be acting within the law?

             
She had known vaguely of the problems with the prisons, that they were too crowded and that Parliament had debated the issue in the House – but surely this could not be legal?

             
The turnkey had hold of her arm, was pushing her forward to face the judge.  She raised her head, looking straight at him, refusing to hang her head in submission or shame.

             
'I am innocent,' she declared in loud tones before he could ask her crime.  'I did not murder Mr Meadows; he fell and hit his head.  I was defending myself from…'

             
'Silence!' Judge Harding roared at her, his eyes glittering with fury.  'Turnkey, if you cannot keep this woman in order you do not deserve your job here.'

             
'Be quiet woman!' the turnkey said and threatened Arabella with his fist.  'I'll make yer sorry if yer say another word.'

             
'I will have my say.  It is my right…'

             
'That's it, luv,' a woman cried out in the crowd.  'Give 'er 'er say, 'tis only fair.'