Chapter 47
Elizabeth had never been afraid to tell Fitzwilliam precisely what she thought, and it was with boundless ease she did the same with his twin brother. Hands clenched, arms crossed, and chin up, she repeated, “You are not going to Newgate without me.”
She understood his arguments, the inappropriateness of her going near the prison—much less inside—but she simply could not accept that she must stay secreted away when Fitzwilliam and Alexandra were in grave danger.
She must be allowed to help, and she could not do that from the confines of her uncle’s house on Gracechurch Street.
Aunt Gardiner clutched her fichu. “My dear, I hardly think Edward would have left you here if he understood your intentions.”
Elizabeth shot her aunt a look she hoped appeared more shocked than piqued.
Aunt could be counted on to voice reason, but on this occasion, Elizabeth would not budge.
She must go to Fitzwilliam. She must make certain Alexandra did not suffer the fate they all feared.
Nick would be crushed, and Fitzwilliam would blame himself for being unable to prevent it.
Tears burned and pricked her eyes, and it was through a tight throat she uttered another plea, “I cannot stay.” Her voice warbled. “It’s Fitzwilliam, Nick. And Alexandra. If anything happened to either of them, and I did not try to do anything to prevent it, I would never forgive myself.”
Nick sighed deeply, and Elizabeth knew she had advanced her cause.
“Ye’re aware of the risks.”
“I am responsible for my own choices, not you,” she reassured him.
He rolled his eyes. “Darcy’ll skin me alive when he finds out. And he will find out.”
“Let me tell him. He knows how determined I can be once my mind is decided.”
Another sigh.
“Would you be able to keep Alexandra from accompanying you if she were standing here instead of me?”
A scowl. They both knew nobody could prevent Alexandra from doing whatever she pleased.
Elizabeth had gained precious ground, but it was still shaky.
What else could she say to convince him?
She grasped at one last straw. “You must consider how dangerous the streets are for an experienced sailor in this time of war. The press gangs are on the prowl, and you are walking into their territory without the protection of a letter of apprenticeship. Who shall speak for you? Your only hope of escaping their notice is to have me on your arm. They shall think twice before depriving a young lady of her escort in that part of town.”
He grimaced. She had won.
Aunt tapped her finger against her chin. “I do not like it one bit, but you are right, Lizzy. Only take care. There is a current of discontent stirring the population, and you are heading into the heart of it.”
Taking a deep breath, Nick nodded and looked squarely at Aunt. “I’ll protect Elizabeth with me life.”
“I do not doubt you, young man. And I know my niece will not reconsider. Therefore, I shall remain behind to stew and fret until you return, God willing, unscathed.”
Elizabeth embraced her aunt, kissing her cheek. Then, before either she or Nick could reconsider, she wrapped a shawl over her shoulders and grabbed her bonnet from the hatstand by the door, tying the bow as she descended the stairs out to the street.
They hailed a hackney, their first hint of impending trouble being when the driver refused to take them in that direction. “There be trouble brewin’ near Newgate. Saw the press gang tryin’ to impress a young lad, and I got out when I saw a mob formin’.”
Nick offered him double the sum to take them, and to do it quickly.
The driver hesitated, but he snapped his whip over his horses’ backs, and they set off down the cobbled road.
People milled about, eyes alert, darting. Mothers held their children close, pushing them down the street with frequent glances over their shoulders. Several groups of men clustered on corners, noses red from drink, shouting and blustering every time someone hastened past them.
It did not escape Elizabeth’s notice that the direction everyone hastened away from was the very place they were rushing to.
Her aunt had been wise to warn them, but what other choice did they have?
Fitzwilliam risked his life for her, for Nick, for Alexandra…
. For Elizabeth to do anything less was unacceptable.
She loved him too much to place her life above his.
Crowds thickened and their carriage slowed.
“We’re gettin’ close,” Nick murmured.
Progressing at an agonizing crawl, Elizabeth heard the sounds of smashing glass and rebellious shouts over the clamber of the wheels. She smelled smoke.
The carriage stopped, and the coachman turned. “This is as far as I go.”
Nick handed the driver his fare and held his arm out to Elizabeth. A man walking too closely jostled against them.
Elizabeth clutched Nick’s arm, and when the crowd merged into one, sweeping mass, he moved in front of her, pushing his way through. “Hold on, Elizabeth.”
She grabbed onto his coat and held fast.
Like a powerful wave carrying them to the prison gate, Elizabeth rode the current until they passed Newgate’s formidable walls.
Darcy paced the cell. He was grateful Connell had arranged for him and Alex to share a condemned cell rather than separate them into their corresponding sections. But the sounds on the other side of the prison walls were loud enough to reach them in the belly of Newgate.
Through the small squares of the metal door, he saw guards running by, keys clanging, swords and pistols drawn.
Alex stood in the far corner, rubbing her hands together and stretching her limbs. “Save yer strength, Darcy. Ye’ll need it if their fight reaches us.”
He was too anxious to still. Rioters had burned the prison once before. Would they do it again? How could they escape?
He examined the doors again, checking for weakness.
“Set in stone.” She pulled a hair pin out of her coiffure and scowled at the implement.
“And this’ll do me no good when the lock’s on the other side and the holes are too small to fit me hand through.
” Alex threw the pin to the ground. “We’ll not get out unless someone lets us out.
” Darcy ought to have known she was already a few steps ahead of him.
She was an artist of capture and escape.
Anticipating his question, she answered, “We wait. Nick’ll come. He’ll find a way, ye’ll see.”
Darcy did not doubt it, but the whole reason he had taken Nick’s place was to keep his brother far away from this dreadful place.
Standing by the door, he watched and listened.
A voice he recognized reached him from down the dark halls. “Until I receive my payment in full, I shall be your constant companion, Connell. That you may trust.”
Wickham. The lout. The Judas Iscariot, selling Darcy to the enemy for thirty pieces of silver.
Disgust burned Darcy’s chest but did not deepen to hatred.
Pity, perhaps. Wickham was destined to be miserable the remainder of his days, while Darcy would get out of this predicament and spend the rest of his life happy with Elizabeth.
“You fool! Half of the prisoners here know me—have relatives and friends I have helped imprison. They will kill me given the chance. We must leave now. While we can. If we can.”
Darcy called out, “Connell! Wickham,” but they passed in a blur.
He pounded his fist against the iron door, the boom echoing in the cell and through the halls.
Connell feared the prisoners. The sounds Darcy had heard were from an attack on the prison. They had to get out.
He pounded again. Pounded until his hand ached and the irons around his hands rubbed his skin raw.
A deafening rumble, then the shouts grew louder, more violent. Acrid smoke pierced his senses. Feet scuffled by, weapons clanging.
Darcy pounded and shouted, kindled by desperation and the smell of smoke and the crack of shots and the screams.
Clunk-clunk-clunk shove. Darcy jumped back as a dark figure wielding a scimitar in one hand and keys in the other pushed the door open.
“Jaffa!” Alex squealed, leaping into his arms. “Why’re ye here?”
“Some men at the docks spoke of Connell’s latest prize. I had to make certain you were safe.”
She squeezed tighter then released her hold. “I’m glad ye did!”
Jaffa grinned. “Where there is trouble, I find my cap’n.”
“How’d ye get in here?”
“The gates were open.”
Darcy’s gut plummeted to the floor. It was the Gordon Riots all over again. Murderers and thieves running rampant, plaguing the innocent. So many lives lost senselessly.
Grabbing Alex’s hand, Jaffa led them down the dark corridors, down the grimy stairs, jumping over dead guards stripped of their weapons. Alex paused at each one, collecting what she could.
Darcy urged her on, more concerned that they depart from that evil place.
“Ye should arm yerself, Darcy. We don’t know what’s on the other side of these walls.”
He grabbed a sword, praying he would not have to put it to use.
Finally, they reached the courtyard, and Darcy went numb.
It was a gauntlet of starved, diseased prisoners made desperate from the whiff of freedom the open gate advertised.
Impassioned protesters fueled the chaos with their clamors of injustice as rioters fed the flames surrounding the gates.
Soldiers and officers gathered, protecting the entrance, but there were too few of them presently to control the riled mob.
Clinging to the wall, Darcy pulled Alex close and surged forward.
He sensed Elizabeth the second before she nearly tumbled him over. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his middle, and Darcy had never known such horror and pleasure.
“You are alive!” She kissed his chin. “We got pushed in by the rioters. Please do not be cross with Nick. I made him agree to let me come. I could not stay behind. Surely, you had to know I must come. I had to see you.”
Between her kisses and her plea, Darcy had difficulty remaining cross. Now was not the time for explanations. Pulling Elizabeth closer, he placed her between the thick, stone wall and himself.
Alex exclaimed behind him.
Over Elizabeth’s head, Darcy saw Nick, sword drawn, standing off the rabid prisoners alongside the soldiers.
“Outta me way, ye scurvy knaves!” Alex cried, pushing against them as a skirmish broke out behind them.
Darcy turned to see Wickham scramble away from a prisoner in fetters. Even with chains on his wrists and ankles, the criminal fared better than Wickham. The man raised his hands to tighten the chain and ran toward Wickham, who tripped over his own feet in his haste to escape.
“Go, Mr. Darcy! I will protect Miss Elizabeth,” Jaffa said, spinning his scimitar and whipping it through the air, effectively discouraging their nearest attackers. Elizabeth deftly tossed a dagger between her hands, proving herself far better at defending herself than Wickham was.
With a groan, Darcy let go of Elizabeth to stop the chained man before he strangled his brother-in-law with his shackles.
With a mighty shove, Darcy pushed the man aside. “Get up,” he growled to Wickham. “If you cannot help your brothers in arms, then get out.”
Over Wickham’s shoulder Connell stood, defending himself against two men intent on vengeance. Out of the corner of his eye, a third rushed toward Connell, a knife in his hand and murder in his bloodshot eyes.
Nick roared, “Darcy, duck!”
Grabbing Wickham, Darcy dropped.