Interesting though it might be to learn the Pierces’ motives, what mattered was now. Bracing herself, she asked, “Is Seabourne dead?”
“Not yet. Barton intended another attack, this time with guns, but then I learned from Daisy about your passion for fighting slavery. She’s fairly quick, for a slave. She realized you could be manipulated with your naïve idealism.”
The young woman Alex had freed from slavery had betrayed her benefactors? “So Daisy was a spy.”
Frederica nodded. “After you made that nasty scene at Hatchard’s, I realized it was a perfect opportunity to place her near you. You’d be so proud of yourself for ‘saving’ that stupid slave that she would have the run of your household.”
Alex remembered how Daisy had begged to be allowed to serve her, even if as a scullery maid. So much for gratitude. “Why did Daisy do it? Did you offer her a bonus for betrayal? I have trouble believing she’s that devoted to you.”
Frederica shrugged. “The slut was increasing when she left America. It was a great nuisance to have a pregnant maid, but Daisy is very good with hair and cosmetics, so I tolerated it. I even let her keep the baby as long as he caused no trouble. Since Daisy was reluctant to pretend she was an escaping slave, I had her child sent to Barton’s country place. Daisy was obedient enough after that.”
Alex gasped at the cold-blooded cruelty of it. What an impossible dilemma for a mother! No wonder Daisy had done what her first mistress had demanded—and no wonder she always looked distressed and couldn’t meet Alex’s gaze. “Having obeyed you so well, has Daisy been reunited with her child?”
“Yes, I sent her to the country as well. It seemed best she leave London after the role she played in trapping you and your husband. It wouldn’t do to have the police question her—she might panic and let the truth slip.” Frederica frowned. “I really can’t have her back as a maid, but she cost Barton a huge amount. Perhaps it’s best to sell her back in America. The child might bring a bit extra. He’s quite a robust little beast.”
Alex’s empty stomach turned. She couldn’t blame Daisy for following Frederica’s orders, but if only the girl had revealed the truth to her new employers! Alex and Gavin could surely have found a way to retrieve the little boy so they’d both be free. But Daisy had no reason to trust in the goodwill of people she’d been sent to spy on, and now they were all in trouble.
Remembering that Gavin had also been “trapped,” Alex asked, “Is Seabourne imprisoned in this place?”
“Much better than that.” Frederica smiled with malicious satisfaction. “He’s in the Tower of London awaiting trial for your murder.”
Alex gasped. “How can that be when I’m not dead?”
“Divine intervention, I think.” Frederica paused reflectively. “My husband and I make a wonderful team. Together we’re stronger, cleverer, and luckier than either of us alone. Though Barton is shrewd and masculine and forceful, he lacks subtlety. I was the one who realized that kidnapping you would be a far better punishment for both of you. Since your husband couldn’t remarry for at least seven years, he wouldn’t be able to get himself an heir. Even better, your grand relatives would surely blame him for your disappearance and make him a pariah in London society. That is infinitely more satisfying than merely killing him.”
To socially ambitious people like the Pierces, being ostracized probably did sound like a fate worse than death. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to them that Gavin might have different values. “I fail to see where divine intervention comes in.”
“That happened when you killed Barton’s man, Webb.”
Alex stared. “I killed someone?”
“You don’t remember? You shot him in the chest. Because the fire they set was spreading so quickly, Barton and his men abandoned Webb, who was dying anyhow, and took you out instead. The fire burned so fiercely that afterward it was impossible to identify the remains.” Frederica shrugged again. “Webb was about your height, and he was found with your pistol. Since they expected to find your body, that’s what they saw. Honestly, I couldn’t have planned this better myself. Such a lucky set of accidents.”
Folie à deux, the madness of two. As Alex stared at Frederica’s bright, demented eyes, she finally understood the meaning of the French phrase. Separately, Barton was vindictive but sane, while Frederica was spiteful and unbalanced but not murderous. Together, they urged each other into actions that neither would have considered alone.
She could easily imagine the two of them discussing their “enemies,” magnifying their grievances until they convinced themselves murder was justified. With Frederica as his Lady Macbeth, Pierce had efficiently arranged this convoluted “punishment.”
“Am I to spend the rest of my life here?” Alex surveyed the cold, gray stone. Something scuttled in the shadows.
“I was tempted, but it would be a great nuisance to have to bring food here forever. I have better uses for my servants’ time. You’ll stay through your husband’s trial, and I shall come regularly to describe how badly he is faring. There’s a very good case against him, and it’s likely he’ll hang.”
Alex’s heart sank. “There can’t be any real evidence against Seabourne.”
“There is plenty, but if he does manage to escape the hangman, Barton will have him shot. It will be assumed that one of your grief-stricken relatives decided to take revenge for the loss of your innocent life. Your stepfather, for example—there is already betting in the clubs that he might kill Seabourne.” Frederica cocked her head to one side. “It’s being whispered that there’s something not quite fatherly in Lord Michael’s affection for you. Did you marry a man who took you all the way to Australia to escape your stepfather’s advances?”
Only the knowledge that fury would gratify the other woman saved Alex from trying to strike through the bars. “Pure nonsense—no man married to my mother would ever look elsewhere. My stepfather is naturally protective of his family, but he’s also fair-minded and he likes Gavin. There will be no murder done.”
“Probably you’re right,” Frederica said with regret. “But one can hope.”
“What happens to me after the trial? A knife in the ribs and a drop in the river?”
Frederica smiled with bone-chilling malevolence. “Because you’re so interested in the subject, one of Barton’s ships will take you to the Barbary Coast, and you can spend the rest of your life studying slavery firsthand.”
Horror paralyzed Alex. As she stared at Frederica’s pale green eyes, she realized that the other woman had unerringly recognized Alex’s greatest fear. Struggling to contain her panic at the thought of being returned to slavery, she said, “At least it will be warmer in North Africa than here.”
Frederica’s lips thinned. “Alexandra, you really are amazing. Such a pity you weren’t born a man. If you had been, I’d have liked to bed you. You’re nowhere near as appealing as a woman.” Her gaze went to the candle burning in the corner of Alex’s cell. “Shall I take that and see how you enjoy the darkness?”
Alex tried not to think of the creature she’d glimpsed in the shadows. “Naturally I’d prefer the light, but I can manage without.” Wanting to turn Frederica’s thoughts from the candle, she continued, “Where am I? I’ve never seen a place like this.”
“You’ve never been in the London Docks’ wine cellars?” Frederica asked with surprise. “There are four official Customs vaults, the largest covering a full twelve acres. They extend under the docks and nearby streets.” She gestured toward the cotton wool-like substance hanging from the ceiling. “They say this fungus grows only here, where the temperature and damp are perfect for storing wine.”
Wine vaults? She became aware that the oppressive atmosphere had a cloying, winey sweetness. “If I’m in a Customs’ wine cellar, surely it’s only a matter of time until someone comes by.”
“No such luck, darling. This vault was built at the same time and is directly adjacent, but it’s smaller and has always been in private hands. A few
months ago Barton decided to expand into the wine trade, so he bought the vault and its contents. No one comes here but us. Barton didn’t realize it would make such a splendid dungeon, but I saw the possibilities immediately.”
Frederica rose and fastidiously shook the dust from the hem of her cloak. “I’ll let you keep the candle and have one brought every day with your food. It would be quite unkind to leave you here in the dark. Au revoir, Alexandra. Look out for the rats.”
Frederica and her man left, leaving Alex alone with the feeble light of the candle, which would never last until the next day. No longer needing to conceal her despair, Alex buried her aching head in her hands, shaking all over. Dear God, what had she done to be condemned over and over again to captivity?
As a child she’d been briefly kidnapped by her mother’s ghastly cousin, and as an adult she’d been taken into slavery. Now it appeared that she was doomed to die in slavery in still another alien land, since there would be no Gavin to rescue her. One didn’t have that much luck twice.
She’d kill herself before living in slavery again. It wouldn’t be hard….
No. Someday she might become that desperate, but for now she was alive and in England. If Frederica had been telling the truth—and there had been a ghastly plausibility to her words—Gavin would be on trial for his life. A case this scandalous would come to trial relatively soon, but it would still take several weeks. Time enough for Alex to find a way out of this damnable prison.
Which meant she had no time to waste on self-pity. Trying not to imagine her family’s grief at her supposed death, she got to her feet. After a frightening spell of dizziness, she crossed the cell and picked up the tray of food. She’d need all her strength, and that meant eating.
After sitting down on her cot again, she found a lidded bowl full of thick vegetable soup. Though tepid, the flavor wasn’t bad. With half a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese, she had a substantial meal. There was also a pot of cooling tea. She drank it greedily, craving the stimulation.
She guessed the food might be from a laborers’ tavern. If future meals were as good, she needn’t worry about starvation.
Since her stomach was still queasy, she put the tray aside for later, hoping the food didn’t attract rats.
“Mrrowr?”
Startled, Alex looked up as a tomcat squeezed between the bars of her cell. The large, tough-looking tabby fixed his gaze on the remaining food and meowed again.
“Come here, sweetheart.” Smiling, Alex broke off a chunk of the cheese and set it on the floor. She should have realized that where there were rats, there would be cats.
The tabby wolfed down the treat and meowed for more. After a second piece, he allowed Alex to scratch his head. His fur was wonderfully soft, his lean body warm. “How about if I call you Captain Cat?”
He purred permission. “Very well, Captain, I’ll be most pleased if you come by regularly and keep the rats away. In return, I’ll share my food with you. Agreed?”
Captain Cat jumped on the cot, turned several times, and settled down to doze with his front paws tucked under him. Feeling better, Alex started a detailed survey of her surroundings. Wine-scented sawdust was scattered over the floor; the cell had contained casks until recently.
The sanitary arrangements consisted of a hole in one corner. She knelt and examined it cautiously. A stone had been chipped away, and there was enough empty space below to serve as a chamber pot indefinitely, though there would be a smell.
Next she studied the bars that kept her in the cell. They were new, solidly bolted together, and deeply seated in the stone. Impossible to breach.
She reached through the bars and examined the padlock. It was also new, and looked depressingly efficient. Perhaps a professional housebreaker might figure a way to pick the lock, but Alex doubted she could manage, especially since she lacked any pieces of metal small enough to fit into the keyhole. Probably only the Pierces had keys, so she wouldn’t be able to charm a jailer into letting her out.
If only her guard had to open the door to hand over her meals! With wing chun, she’d have an excellent chance of bringing a man down since he wouldn’t expect a woman to attack. But the cell had been arranged so the door needn’t open until Alex was taken out and put on a ship for North Africa. She suppressed a shudder at the thought.
If the bars and lock were impregnable, that left the stone walls. She peered across the passageway and studied the construction of the wine storage rooms on the opposite side. She was on the end of the passage with storage areas stretching to the right as far as she could see. Each area was separated from the next by a solid masonry wall. Her side of the passage appeared identical.
She turned to the wall on her right and examined the damp, filthy wall by touch. The docks had been built at least thirty years earlier, and in a few places the mortar showed signs of crumbling.
What did she have that could be used as a tool? The crude, heavy soup spoon was her only choice. With the handle she scraped at a rough patch of mortar. A tiny fragment fell away. She felt a stir of excitement. It would take weeks to chip away the mortar around enough stones to make a hole large enough for her, but it could be done. Once she crawled into the next storage area, she’d be free to go to the main entrance and escape the next time someone entered.
Where to start? She decided on a spot near the front of the cell and at ground level. Anyone glancing in her cell would be unlikely to see her handiwork as long as she left the stones in place after the mortar was gone.
Face set, she began the long, slow business of escape.
Chapter 34
GAVIN’S ROOM in the Bloody Tower was more comfortable than the name implied. Though mostly cold stone and drafty enough to douse candles, there was a broad fireplace and carved Jacobean furniture, including a bed that was too short. He was standing at the window gazing blindly at the Tower yard when the door creaked open.
“It’s always been your job to keep me out of trouble, not vice versa.”
Gavin swung around. “Kyle! How did you hear about this so quickly?”
“Suryo. He had the sense to send a message as soon as you were arrested. Troth came to London with me, but won’t call on you until tomorrow.” Kyle gripped Gavin’s hand in both of his. “She’s badly upset about Alexandra’s death,” he said quietly. “How are you managing?”
Gavin closed his eyes for a moment. “Not well. I…I still can’t quite believe that Alex is gone, much less that I’m supposed to have murdered her.”
“Absurd, of course. What happened?”
“Don’t you have any doubts about my innocence?”
“None at all.” Kyle’s gaze didn’t waver. “I can’t imagine you hurting a woman. Remember the female pirate when we were attacked in the Straits of Malacca? I would have shot her if it had been my head she was trying to slice off, but even in the middle of a battle you had the restraint to disarm her instead. A man who did that is not going to murder the woman he loves.”
Gavin was painfully grateful for his friend’s faith. His reaction to Kyle’s assumption that he loved Alex was even more painful because of the bleak knowledge that he’d never told Alex he loved her. He’d barely realized it himself before she was gone. Words forever unsaid. “I suppose I should start thinking about why the prosecution is so convinced I committed murder.”
“You need to do more than think about it—this case will come to trial with alarming speed. I’ve brought Sir Geoffrey Howard, the best counsel in London. He’s waiting outside because I wanted to see you alone first. Shall I bring him in?”
Gavin realized he wasn’t going to be allowed to wallow in despair any longer. “Please do.”
What kind of hospitality should an accused murderer offer? He opened a bottle of sherry. His servants, universally aghast at his arrest, had stocked his prison well.
Sir Geoffrey Howard was a thin man with a deeply lined face and piercing eyes. “My lord Seabourne,” he said formally when Kyle introduced him.
“I’m glad to have the opportunity to consult with you on this matter.”
Gavin guessed that the man’s sedate exterior concealed an active, curious mind. “Credit goes to Lord Wrexham, who kept his wits, which I haven’t. Thank you for coming.”
Sir Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have a history of disordered wits?”
“Not at all,” Gavin said, startled. “It was merely an expression.” He realized that the lawyer was already spinning a defense based on a disturbed mind. “Shall we sit down and discuss what case the Crown will try to make?”
“Please begin by telling me in your own words what happened on the fatal day.”
Sherry in hand, the three men settled around the fire, which barely managed to take the chill off a damp, gray day. Gavin tersely described the events that led up to the fire and Alex’s death while Sir Geoffrey donned a pair of half spectacles and took precise notes. He spoke little except for occasionally asking a question for clarification.
Gavin ended, “Is there anything there that would lead a jury to find me guilty?”
“A jury?” The lawyer frowned. “May I speak freely, my lord? There is much that needs to be discussed.”
“Fire when ready.”
“To begin with, you will be tried in the House of Lords, since they are your peers.”
Gavin frowned at the idea of being tried by a group of mossbacked aristocrats. “I haven’t yet been officially seated there. Can’t I request a trial by jury in a regular court?”
Howard shook his head. “You have no choice in the matter. The case law on this subject is unequivocal.”
Gavin swore under his breath. “Still another drawback to this damnable undemocratic system. What does it mean to be tried in the Lords?”
“On the plus side, you can speak in your own defense.” Howard hesitated. “Also, the peers generally look after their own, especially if the evidence is not clear cut. The last time a peer was tried for murder was Lord Ferrers in 1760, and there was no question but that he shot his poor steward. However, if he’d been accused of killing a man in a duel, he would undoubtedly have been acquitted because many peers believe that an affair of honor is a gentleman’s right.”