Chapter 16
Jeffrey made his way to the marquess’s room and quietly slipped inside. “Excuse me, my lord.” He cleared his throat. “There is no good way to tell you,” Jeffrey said, then hesitated. “But they have arrested Lord Jonathan for treason,” he blurted out.
“They did what?” The marquess sat straight up in bed, something he hadn’t done in a month. “Get me a wheelchair, and order the carriage. We’re going to see my barrister and then we are going to find my son!”
Jeffrey stepped closer to the bed and peered at the marquess. “But your health, my lord.”
“Blast and damnation, my health!” The marquess slapped the bed. “Now, do as I say!”
“Lord Jonathan did ask that I send someone to Trent House to inform Lady Elizabeth to send for His Grace, but when I went across the street I was informed that she had returned to Briercliff.”
“Then dispatch someone to Briercliff with a note immediately.” Lord Middlesex placed several pillows behind him. “Get me some paper.”
Jeffrey shuffled over to the desk and brought back a tablet, pen and quill, and a lapboard.
The marquess dipped the quill into the ink and started to scribble a note. “Send someone reliable.” He folded the letter and handed it to Jeffrey. “Send him on horse, so he can travel faster. Now, where is my carriage?”
Jeffrey’s head was spinning, and he felt as if he’d been turning in circles ever since he’d entered the bedroom. However, it felt good to have activity in the house again. Things had been much too quiet. It had been a very long while since the marquess had shown any life.
“I’ll have the carriage brought around front, sir,” Jeffrey said. He hurried as fast as his old bones would allow.
Before long, he had the staff assembled to help bring the marquess downstairs and load him and his chair into the carriage. Jeffrey watched as they brought the marquess down the stairs and assisted him into the brougham.
Watching the carriage roll away, Jeffrey thought it had been a while since he’d seen such fire in the old man’s eyes. Perhaps it was a jolly good sign.
The carriage stopped outside a red brick building. The Marquess of Middlesex waited patiently while they unloaded his chair and rolled it over to the vehicle’s door. One of the footmen helped him into the chair, then rolled him into the office.
Once inside, the marquess wasn’t to be kept waiting.
“Can I help you?” a young man asked.
“Of course you can. Go and get Edward now,” Lord Middlesex commanded.
“He might be busy, sir. Who may I say is calling?’’
“The Marquess of Middlesex.” He glared at the young man, daring him to ask another question. “I have no time for questions. Now, do as I say!”
The young man, whose face, by now, had turned very red, left. In just a few moments, the marquess was shown to the back room.
Edward Turner rose and walked around his desk.
“Lord Middlesex, it is wonderful to see you up and about.” Turner clasped the marquess on the shoulder.
“I’d heard you had taken to your bed. Nice to see that isn’t true,” Turner said, then reached for a brown box on his desk.
He opened the lid and held the box down. “Cigar?”
Lord Middlesex took one of the long brown cigars and smelled it. Then he tucked it into his top pocket. “With the news I’ve just had, I’d have crawled out of my grave if I’d been dead.”
“Sounds serious,” Turner commented as he returned to his chair behind his desk. “Tell me, what has happened to make you so angry?”
“Jonathan was arrested this morning and taken to Newgate prison. Or so I’ve been told.”
Turner frowned as he leaned back in his chair. “What was the charge?”
“Treason!”
“Ridiculous! How could he be brought up on such charges?” Turner stood up. “Do you want to accompany me to Newgate to see him? Perhaps we can get the matter straightened out before nightfall.”
Lord Middlesex chuckled. “You’d have a hard time keeping me away, by Jove.”
The journey to the prison was short, and the marquess had to admit he enjoyed being out in the fresh air. So far his energy was holding up, and he hadn’t had any fits of coughing. Perhaps that old sawbones hadn’t been correct about his health.
He gazed out the window and, soon enough, Newgate Prison came into view.
He groaned as he looked at the ominous building.
The walls were a drab-colored stone, and two towers stood on each side of the main gate.
In the middle, a door that didn’t appear much over four feet high appeared to be the only entrance.
The marquess chuckled wryly. “Look, Edward. The door is so small it appears that they don’t want anyone coming into the prison. ”
“They don’t! And getting out in one piece is even harder, I’m afraid,” Turner said.
The carriage door opened, and Harry, one of the bigger men employed by the marquess, reached in to help Lord Middlesex down and situate him in his wheelchair.
“I hope you can think of a way to get Jonathan out,” Middlesex said as they moved closer to the entrance.
“I shall surely try,” Turner said. “They have made mistakes before.” He ducked through the low entrance.
Once inside, they waited until the Warden came into the small, damp room. “Gentleman,” the Warden said, “I’m Robert Williams, at your service.” He was a short man, heavyset with bushy eyebrows, and he wheezed when he spoke.
“I’m the Marquess of Middlesex, and this is my barrister, Edward Turner.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with Mr. Turner,” the Warden said with a nod.
“I understand you are holding my son, the Earl of Longdale,” the marquess stated.
“So I’ve been told,” Williams said.
“Can you explain this outrage?”
Williams opened a book on his desk. “I believe the charge is treason.”
“Well, it is ridiculous!” Lord Middlesex slammed his hands against the arms of his chair. “I want him released immediately.”
Williams stood. “I understand your concern, My Lord. However, the law is binding.”
“What evidence do you have?” Turner asked quietly.
“A witness has come forth to lay information against the earl,” Williams said as he went to the door leading into the jail. “I cannot release him, but I’ll have Lord Longdale brought to you if you’ll wait right here.”
It seemed like forever before Jonathan appeared in the doorway. His hands were shackled. His hair was ill-kept and there were dark shadows under his eyes.
“Father! You’re out of bed,” Jonathan said, shocked by the sight.
“Damn right I am! What are you doing in here?”
Jonathan turned to the other man. “Edward, it is good to see you, as always ... perhaps not under these circumstances,” Jonathan admitted, arching a brow as he sat down on one of the benches beside a long wooden table. Then he looked at his father. “They have charged me with treason.”
“How did they get such a ridiculous idea?”
“As you know, I was in America visiting Adam when the British invaded New Orleans. It seems someone has come forth to ‘lay information.’ ”
“That is what Turner just told us. Doesn’t sound good,” Edward spoke up. “They just hung Brandeth and others for High Treason.” He rubbed his jaw in thought. “I hate to ask this, but did you fight against the British?”
Jonathan thought carefully before he answered because he knew his father would never understand. He didn’t want to lie, but the truth would kill his father. “I never fired a shot. I ended up on the battlefield by mistake and was shot by the British.”
“Are you bloody stupid?” his father said, his brows drawn together. “How did you end up on the battlefield without a rifle?”
“It was foggy. I couldn’t see and took a wrong turn,” Jonathan said weakly. “It was a British bullet that took me down.”
Edward cleared his throat to gain their attention. “We will not know until we go to court who the informant is, but let me point out that the law presumes that a crime has been committed. It’s my job to ferret out the evidence that would prove the opposite is true.” He rubbed his jaw again.
A nervous habit, Jonathan supposed. It wasn’t a good sign that his barrister was nervous and the trial hadn’t yet begun.
“Is there anyone who could testify that you didn’t fight?” Edward asked.
“There are many. Unfortunately, they are all in America.”
Edward shook his head. “I will have to be truthful with you. This does not look good, especially if the witness is reputable.”
Jonathan frowned. “I was afraid you were going to say that, and I don’t know who would testify against me. I suppose I won’t find out until the trial. Do you know when it will be?”
“We are in luck there. The Assize judge usually makes one appearance a year, and that will be in two weeks. You’ll not have to wait a year.”
“A year!” Jonathan shouted.
“Some have to wait that long.”
“Father, I’ve heard that for a price there are better accommodations than this filthy rat hole.”
“We’ll take care of that right now. Get the Warden.”
Edward jumped to do his bidding, and brought the Warden back with him.
“I want my son in a private cell with a bed, clean bedding, everything he needs, plus easement of irons. How much will it cost me?”
“It can get costly,” the Warden replied blandly, folding his hands together.
“I’m sure it can,” Lord Middlesex said impatiently. “Do it. And if I find that you’ve cheated me, I’ll have you in irons! Then you will enjoy the hospitality of your own prison.”
“Everything will be arranged,” the Warden said simply, then left.
Lord Middlesex reached over and touched Jonathan’s hand. “Maybe that will make things a little better until we can get you out of here.” He sighed. “I’m getting a bit tired, Son, but I will be back to visit soon.”
“Thank you, Father.” Jonathan crossed over and bent to embrace him. Turning to the barrister, he said, “I hope you can do something for me, Edward.”
“I shall try, but I will not lie to you. This will be an uphill battle,” Edward admitted, walking over to push the marquess’s chair from the room.
“Father, have you spoken to Elizabeth?” Jonathan asked before he was taken back.