LITMIR.BIZ

      He had been right. His display of anger in throwing his plate at the visitors had not been forgiven. The dark man raised his head as the familiar early evening sound of shuffling feet penetrated the heavy door. There was the thump as the stew pot was set down, a rattle as grills were opened to ladle out the disgusting slop in one cell after another, the duller sound of the water bucket grounding on the flags.

      But the sounds reached his door and passed by. Resigned, he reached for the beaker and tipped it to his lips. A small trickle of water touched them. He was used to the taste now, grateful he could not see clearly the colour of it. Thoughtfully he ran his tongue round as much of the damp interior as he could reach and set it down again.

      He had spent six years of living the life of a rake and an adventurer, the course he had chosen for himself in defiance of everything he had been brought up to respect. It had given him freedom, amusement, some moments of intense pleasure, some fear, much insecurity. He could have been said to have lived to the full those past years. Was it worth the price of his life? It seemed someone was calling in the debt and he had no choice. He had never been one to rail against fate: you changed what you could and put up with what you could not. Pride was all he had brought with him out of that old life, it was just going to have to be enough to see him out of this one. The rats, who knew the prison’s routines even better than he, skirmished in the straw, waiting for their dinner, which unaccountably had not appeared.

      In the study of the house in Clifford Street Katherine stared at the two young men as though they had sprouted feathers and began to cluck. ‘You went to Newgate prison to find me a husband?’

      ‘Let me explain,’ Arthur said hurriedly. ‘I know the son of the Governor and he plays cards regularly with the Assistant Governor and some of the wealthier prisoners who can afford to pay garnish—that’s the money for better food and accommodation and so on. So that’s how I can get in and out of the prison.’

      ‘I don’t wish to get in and out,’ Katherine said tartly. ‘I want to stay out in the first place.’

      ‘Yes, I know that. But me knowing the Assistant Governor and Christopher Hadden—that’s the Governor’s son—means that I can see how we can put my plan into operation. They are both in debt to me, you see. Not much, but Hadden’s on a short string from his father and the Assistant Governor knows there’ll be hell to pay if the old man finds out he’s been involving him in deep play.’

      Katherine sank back in the chair. This was like some insane dream. Any moment now she was going to lose all touch with reality and that was dangerous; she could not let herself sleepwalk into whatever desperate scheme the two young men were hatching.

      ‘And your plan is what, exactly?’

      ‘Well.’ Arthur steepled his fingers and suddenly became an almost perfect copy of his uncle, a very senior and pompous family lawyer. Katherine stifled a hysterical giggle. ‘You are aware of the situation as regards women’s property?’

      ‘I think so,’ Katherine said dubiously. Not having any property meant she had given the matter little thought.

      ‘Well, let me explain in detail,’ Arthur continued. ‘An unmarried woman is effectively the property of her father until she comes of age and marries, at which point she becomes the property of her husband and all her assets come under his control. With an unmarried lady who is of age, or a widow, then you do—subject to any trusts and so forth—have control of your own property.’

      ‘Arthur,’ Katherine said patiently, ‘the entire problem arises because I do not have any property.’

      ‘Yes, indeed. But the reverse also holds true. If you are under age, any debts you incur are your father’s responsibility. If you are married, they are your husband’s.’ He paused significantly. ‘Even debts incurred before the marriage.’

      ‘So you think that by marrying someone in Newgate prison I will be able to pass my debts to my new husband?’ He was obviously mad—she must just humour him. ‘Why should anyone saddle himself with more debt? I assume you are talking about one of these card-playing debtors. It would only make their position worse.’

      ‘I am not talking about them, Katherine.’ Arthur’s pose of legal dignity dropped away and he looked down at his hands, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. ‘When a man dies without any assets his debts die with him. They do not revert to his wife.’

      ‘But how do you know who is going to die?’ she began, still trying to humour him in this insane game. Then what she had just said penetrated her consciousness. ‘You want me to marry a condemned man?’

      ‘It is the only way, Katy,’ Philip suddenly burst out. ‘Don’t you see? The five thousand pounds would be wiped out at a stroke, as the gallows trap dropped.’

      ‘Stop it! That is an obscene thing to say—how can you even suggest it?’

      ‘Because it is the only way out,’ Philip retorted. ‘Can you think of another?’

      ‘There must be.’ But she heard the despair in her own voice as she said it. What choices were there to meet such a debt in so short a space of time? They had no assets, nothing to sell.

      ‘But what could possibly induce a condemned man to such a course? What benefit to him would there be?’ Even as she asked the question, she knew she was on the verge of agreeing; it did not take the exchange of looks between the two men to see they thought she was won round.

      ‘Hard to say,’ Arthur shrugged. ‘I’ve heard of half a dozen cases from Hadden. I suppose in some of them the wife promises to take care of the man’s dependents, but you can’t afford to take on any more costs, which is why I have gone for the other option. It seems that for some of the most hardened cases—the ones with nothing to lose or the ones who like to make a show, like the highwaymen—it is a diversion.’

      ‘In what way?’

      ‘Someone new to meet, the wedding, getting out of their cell for a bit, being the centre of attention—all those liven things up when you are sitting, waiting to hang, with nothing to entertain you but counting rats and wondering what the ballad mongers are going to write about you.’

      ‘And you have a convenient highwayman, have you?’ This was not happening to her. This morning she had got up with nothing more on her mind than the fishmonger, who was becoming pressing over his account, and whether she could turn the cuffs on Philip’s shirts yet again. Now she was discussing marrying a highwayman in order to avoid being sent to prison.

      ‘Yes, Black Jack Standon. Notorious, but not a lout. No gentleman, mind you, but by all accounts he behaves well enough when he holds up stages. Good looking, the ladies say. He’ll be expecting a lot of attention when he’s turned off and, like all of them, he’ll be a bit of a showman. I think he is our best bet.’

      The hysteria which she was aware of just under the surface was threatening to break through again. My late husband, Black Jack Standon the highwayman …

      Katherine fought it down. ‘And just how is this all to be arranged, assuming, that is, that Mr Standon is willing?’

      ‘You’ll need a licence and then there’s the Ordinary—that’s the chaplain—to fix and his fees to pay. There’s garnish to the turnkeys as well, but I’ve put it to Hadden and the Assistant Governor that, if they make all the arrangements, I’ll forget what Hadden owes me and nothing about the gaming will get to the Governor’s ears.’

      ‘Damn good of you, Arthur,’ Philip said with feeling. ‘We’ll go tomorrow, get it fixed up, put it to Standon. If he agrees, we can get the licence and the wedding can be the day after tomorrow.’

      ‘I

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