Without a Summer (30 page)

By that, Jane guessed that they had a rosier picture of her environs than was the case, and that he did not want to undeceive them. Melody sent her several novels, including
St. Irvyne,
by A Gentleman of the University of Oxford;
The Sleeping Partner,
by Mrs. Robins; and a translation of the German novel
Undine,
by Friedrich de la Motte Fouqué. She also sent along newspapers with interesting articles circled, though Jane noticed that others were cut out, and that the papers had no mention of the coldmongers. She asked them to stop cutting the articles out to no avail. Instead, Jane learned about the riot in Italy over Rossini’s opera
The Barber of Seville,
that the latest colour for day dresses was mulberry, and more about the Tambora volcano explosion of the previous year in the East Indies. Next to that article, Melody had written, “Mr. Benjamin Franklin proposes in
Poor Richard’s Almanack,
which I read at Beatts’s, that volcanoes can cause unnaturally cool weather.”

Jane chuckled at that. Quietly.

The unnatural stillness of the prison weighed on her. It was broken only once, when a prisoner somewhere started screaming. The shrieks echoed off the walls and through the window. Jane pressed her hands to her ears, but nothing could keep out the raw terror.

She thought,
Thank God it was a woman
and immediately hated herself for having so little compassion. But as long as it was not a man, it was not Vincent.

Footsteps ran through the halls, keys jangling, as the gaoler and guards attended to whatever had caused the screaming. Jane rocked back and forth in her chair, waiting for it to end. The sound was first muted, as if someone had pressed a hand against the woman’s mouth, then slowly subsided into racking sobs. When the quiet returned, it was welcome.

Jane put her head on the small table, hiding her face with her arms. Why had the Prince Regent not answered? Had she mistaken his regard as well? He always seemed so amiable and approachable, so pleased with their work, and had showed them such attention that it was difficult to believe that he would let them languish like this. What had he been told about their involvement in the revolt? The keys rattled in the lock. Jane sat up, wiping her eyes and thinking,
Please, God, let it be someone from the Prince.
Her surprise could not be described when Lady Stratton entered her cell. She carried a work-basket and had a cape over one arm.

For a moment, Jane could only stare, before remembering herself, scrambling to her feet, and dropping a curtsy.

When she straightened, Lady Stratton returned the courtesy, addressing her with calm civility. Looking about the room, she said, “I am glad that your family is taking care of you. I only heard yesterday that you were here as well.” She stepped farther into the room and set the basket on the table. “I thought you might want for some necessaries.”

Jane’s eyes burned at her unexpected generosity of spirit. “Your ladyship is most kind.”

“I have volunteered in the school here and was familiar with the conditions.”

“There is a school?”

“Indeed. May I?” Jane nodded and Lady Stratton pulled out a chair and sat. She knit her hands together in front of her. “I was able to get some of the coldmongers enrolled in it, so they have at least some relief while here.”

Jane sank back into the chair across from her. “How is … how is Mr. O’Brien?”

“He is more distressed for them than for himself.” Lady Stratton sighed and rubbed her temple with one finger. “I—I must confess that I am here for not entirely disinterested reasons.”

Somehow, that confession relieved a measure of Jane’s guilt at Lady Stratton’s generous condescension in calling. It made the visit more understandable, and made Jane feel as though she might have some purpose. “Will you tell me how I can help? I will do anything I can for Mr. O’Brien.”

Lady Stratton’s gaze lifted, eyes astonishingly blue. She relaxed and reached her hand for Jane. “Thank you, my dear.” She took a shuddering breath, clearly more undone by recent events than she wished to admit. “Our attorney would like to speak with you. He is hoping that you and Sir David can testify that Alastar did not have any intention of overthrowing the government. We are trying to convince his oculist to convey the conversation we had in his shop as a disinterested witness, but he is reluctant to be associated with my son at this point.”

“Of course.” This was testimony that Jane would provide willingly.

The rest of the call they talked over what Lady Stratton knew. She shared with Jane the details that her own family had kept from her. Mr. O’Brien was being painted as the leader of a plot to overthrow the Crown in cooperation with the coldmongers. The newspapers had named it “The Coldmongers’ Revolt” and sketched all those involved in the darkest possible light.

Though Jane was dismayed at what she heard, simply knowing gave her a purpose. Lady Stratton ended her call with a promise to send Mr. Leighton, their attorney, to discuss the options for the defence. Talking to him was the least that Jane could do.

*   *   *

The sixth day she
was imprisoned, Jane turned the pages of one of Melody’s novels in a pretence of reading as she awaited her gaoler. Today was Mr. O’Brien’s trial, and his attorney had requested Jane’s presence as a witness. She would not go on trial yet—each of the accused were to be tried separately—but she still looked forward to it as an opportunity to leave the prison, even for a short time. She had awakened early and dressed with care, but did not know how much time she would have until they came to take her to the Old Bailey for the trial. So she sat with her book, trying to lose herself in Mrs. Robins’s adventures of an agent of inquiry. Jane idly wondered if her sister had chosen
The Sleeping Partner
in order to give her hope that someone would prove her innocent.

Then she heard the gaoler’s footsteps proceeding steadily toward her cell. She lifted her head from the page, counting the number of people with him. Four, she thought, just before they arrived at her door.

With a rattle, the gaoler unlocked the door and opened it. He was scowling. “Pack your things.”

“What?”

“Did I give you leave to speak?”

Jane shook her head and stood. She had thought they were taking her to the trial, but they must be moving her to another cell. But why? Did someone pay more for this one? Jane had few possessions. Her second dress was already in the bandbox. She shoved the books on top of it and the plates atop that. She hesitated at the bed linens. Her first inclination was to leave them to be burned or given to someone else, but not knowing what her new environs would be, Jane removed the bedclothes and folded everything into a neat parcel.

The soldiers stood and watched as she did so. No one offered her any help.

Jane swallowed, wanting to ask if she should wear her pelisse or if she were just being moved within the building. Finally deciding that it would be harder to carry, she put it on along with her bonnet, then picked up the bandbox and the parcel of sheets to indicate her readiness to go.

“All right, then.” The gaoler stepped back and bowed her out the door. “Off you go, your ladyship. I’ve washed my hands of you.”

Barely able to support herself, Jane walked back through the silent halls, accompanied by four soldiers in red and the quiet stares of the women in other cells. She was led all the way to the front, then through the gate into the yard.

A dark carriage sat in the yard with the livery covered.

Jane halted, struck by fear. She was outside—surely she was allowed to speak? “Is that Lord Verbury’s carriage?”

The soldier closest to her frowned. “I am not at liberty to say, madam.”

“I cannot go. No.” Jane shook her head. She would have gone back into the prison to avoid that fate, had not a soldier at the rear stopped her.

“You will not be harmed.”

“Then you do not know him.” Short of throwing herself on the ground and screaming, there was nothing she could do, and even that would not keep her from ultimately being put into the carriage. Clutching the bandbox and the sheets, Jane let the soldiers lead her.

One of them opened the door. Another took the bandbox and sheets from her. A third helped her in.

“I thought you would not join us,” a masculine voice purred with self-satisfaction.

It took a moment before Jane’s eyes fully adjusted to the darkness. Even then, she did not fully comprehend what she saw. Across from her sat Melody and the Prince Regent.

“Your Royal Highness,” she managed to gasp. “Melody?” Then she sat forward, apprehending who was missing from the carriage. “Vincent. Is he—”

“On his way. I could only have you fetched one at a time.” His Royal Highness leaned against his seat, a picture of regal elegance. “Are you well?”

Jane could not constrain a laugh. “All things considered? I suppose that my state is now improved.” As much as she wanted to demand to know why he had left them to languish in the prison, it would not be advisable. Not now. Not when she still did not understand her fate. But the question would not be put off long—only altered into something less demanding. “How are you come to be here?”

He shook his finger at her. “Not until Sir David arrives.” He smiled, not without kindness. “I only want to explain once.”

Jane looked to Melody for some explanation, but her sister would not meet her gaze, instead occupying herself with neatening the ribbon hanging from her gown. Jane could get nothing from either of them, and finally stopped trying. She had become used to silence these past few days.

It took only a little longer before the door opened. The carriage rocked as Vincent got in, and Jane’s breath caught in her throat. Like her, he was blind for a moment as he stepped into the dim interior, so she put her hand out to guide him. “Vincent?”

His movement checked, except for his head, which turned sharply toward her. “Jane!” He sat next to her, insensible of the other two in the carriage. His cheeks were grizzled with the beginning of a beard and his hair was madly dishevelled.

Jane took his hands and pressed them between hers. “Are you well?”

“Now? Yes.” Vincent leaned toward her, lips parting, and his eyes suspiciously bright.

The Prince Regent cleared his throat. “I hesitate to interrupt—I understand that you have been under some strain—but we only have the length of this carriage ride to converse. And then there is the bother of a trial.”

The astonishment on Vincent’s face was as great as Jane’s had been.

“First of all, my apologies. I had not known you were involved in this situation or I would have given instructions for you to be let alone.”

Vincent frowned. “I wrote to you. Twice.”

“And the Solicitor General said he would send a note as well,” Jane added.

“That is troubling. I was at Brighton, and knew nothing of it.” He rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. “Fortunately, your sister, Miss Ellsworth, came to plead your case most passionately.” The Prince put his hand on Melody’s knee and patted it. Her sister looked downward, but it did nothing to hide the deep blush on her cheeks. For the first time, Jane realised that Melody was not wearing her new spectacles. The implication stunned her. Melody had … had—

She was unequal to forming a response. Vincent made a low noise in his throat. “Prinny—”

“Now, now, Sir David. You are well familiar with my habits, so I will reassure you that, though Miss Ellsworth was very kind in her offers, they were not necessary nor accepted.”

Jane’s immediate relief that Melody’s virtue was unblemished gave way to astonishment that her sister would even
contemplate
making such an impudent offer, let alone actually make it. And for her sake. Jane pressed her hand to her mouth, too stunned to think.

Vincent sought Jane’s free hand and held it, running his thumb over the side of her palm. “I am relieved to hear that.”

The Prince paused and leaned forward, suddenly casting aside his appearance of polish. “Even if your service to the Crown were not reason enough, I am familiar with your history with Lord Verbury. I acted as soon as someone let me know that you were imprisoned. That you both wrote to me is very troubling. I thought it a simple error that someone did not understand you were known to me. This hints at something more.”

“The whole of this business does more than hint.” Vincent ran his free hand through his hair, making it stand out even more. Quickly, and with more presence than Jane could summon, Vincent laid out their understanding of the events that had led to their imprisonment. The Prince Regent rubbed his chin as Vincent spoke, mouth turned down in thought.

“This is worse even than Miss Ellsworth portrayed it.”

“May I hope that the charges against us are dropped?”

“Entirely. Even without your recital. I have a letter stating that you are my agents and are cleared of all charges.” The Prince produced a paper with his seal and passed it to Vincent. Then he cleared his throat. “But I can do nothing for O’Brien. In spite of Miss Ellsworth’s plea.”

Jane straightened with surprise. The Prince Regent must not have understood Vincent’s testimony. “I can assure you that he is completely innocent.”

“Completely? He did march on the Tower, did he not?” The Prince Regent sighed, rubbing his brow. “The trouble I face is that there must be a villain. The populace is too angry at the coldmongers. If Mr. O’Brien was not responsible for the revolt, then they will look to Lord Eldon, and I will have my hands full keeping him from losing his seat.”

“The anger at the coldmongers is unjustifiable.” Vincent’s hand tightened on Jane’s. “It is founded on absolute superstition. There is no possible way that they could affect the weather.”

“And you think that you can explain that?”

“Certainly. The principles of thermal transference are well understood.”

“To a layman?” In the silence that followed the Prince sighed again. “It pains me. Our soldiers fired on children. If there was no revolt, then they acted without cause, so there must be a villain, someone for the populace to blame. Without substantial proof of his innocence, that person will be Mr. O’Brien.”