The Shadow of Sin (Bantam Series No. 19) Page 7

  The silver shone almost blindingly as the tray was set down beside Lady Imogen and an assortment of sandwiches, cakes, and biscuits was offered to her.

  The Earl preferred a glass of claret. When the servants had withdrawn and Lady Imogen was pouring the tea he said:

  “You should not come here alone, Imogen, as you well know.”

  “You used to ask me to do so when we first met,” she replied.

  This was true and the Earl could not deny it.

  In the first fire of their relationship they had both forgotten any notions of propriety and had laid aside all restraint.

  Of all the women to whom the Earl had made love, Lady Imogen was perhaps the most passionate and the most insatiable.

  She behaved at times almost like a tigress, and he reflected to himself now: ‘The fire that burns too brightly is often the quickest to be extinguished.’

  But he had the uncomfortable feeling that it would not be easy to rid himself of Imogen’s fire.

  “I want to talk to you,” Lady Imogen said again, after she had sipped a cup of China tea, “because, Vidal, people are gossiping about us.”

  “Is that anything unusual?” the Earl asked. “You have set the town alight, Imogen, ever since you left the School-Room, and if people talk about me it is because they have nothing better to do!”

  “They are talking about us—together,” Lady Imogen said softly, “and I think, dearest Vidal, we should do—something about it.”

  There was no mistaking the invitation in the glance she gave him.

  The Earl sighed.

  He had hoped that Imogen would realise since he had been less attentive to her for the last few weeks that it was time to bring to a close what had undoubtedly been a very pleasant episode in both their lives.

  But it had been only an episode as far as he was concerned, and he was quite determined that it should be nothing more.

  At the same time, like all men, he disliked scenes, and he had no wish to actually put into words what to a more perceptive and sensitive woman would have been very obvious.

  “Now listen, Imogen...” he began.

  As he spoke the door opened.

  “Miss Celesta Wroxley, My Lord!” the Butler announced and the Earl turned in amazement.

  Standing in the doorway was Celesta looking very young and frightened.

  The Earl rose to his feet and as she came slowly towards him he saw that her hands were trembling and she was unnaturally pale.

  “This is a surprise, Miss Wroxley!” the Earl said politely. “May I welcome you to Meltham House?”

  Celesta curtsied. Then as she rose with an obvious effort she said:

  “Could I ... see Your Lordship ... alone? There is ... something I must ask of ... you.”

  “Of course,” the Earl agreed. “But will you not first sit down and have some tea? Imogen, may I introduce Miss Celesta Wroxley—Lady Imogen Berrington!”

  Lady Imogen inclined her head so slightly as to be insulting while Celesta dropped a nervous curtsy.

  She sat down as if compelled to do so on the very edge of a chair.

  A footman had already brought another cup and Lady Imogen poured out the tea.

  “Do you take milk and sugar, Miss Wroxley?” she asked in a voice of someone offering arsenic.

  “No, thank you,” Celesta replied.

  Her voice was hardly audible.

  The footman handed to Celesta the tea which Lady Imogen had poured out. She held the cup and saucer in her hands as if uncertain what to do with them.

  She was offered sandwiches and cake and declined them both.

  “I did not expect to see you in London,” the Earl said conversationally.

  “N-no.”

  “I can see that Miss Wroxley comes from the country,” Lady Imogen said meaningfully.

  Her glance at Celesta took in scornfully the unfashionable gown which had been made by Nana, the plain bonnet trimmed only with blue ribbons.

  “I expect you have heard,” the Earl said to Lady Imogen, “that I have lately acquired Wroxley Priory. It is a very fine and beautiful house which was once a Monastery. As it is less than two hours from London and on the road to Dover I thought it might be useful.”

  “But of course!” Lady Imogen exclaimed. “It is a perfect distance away! We could have parties from Saturday to Monday, or indeed, Vidal, we might give a Ball. Think how amusing that would be! And in a Priory what could be more appropriate than if everyone wore fancy dress?”

  She gave an affected little laugh.

  “I might come as the family ghost—I am sure there is one—all in flowing white with a cross of blood-red rubies, if you are prepared to give me one!”

  She smiled in a seductive manner at the Earl. Then turning to Celesta she said:

  “The Earl and I have such amusing ideas as to how we can entertain and amuse our guests. Conventional parties are so boring! Do you not find them so?”

  “I do not go to ... parties,” Celesta replied.

  “No?” Lady Imogen raised her eye-brows.

  Then as if it was of the utmost indifference to her she turned again towards the Earl and said:

  “I must see this new acquisition of yours, Vidal, at once. When will you take me to the Priory?”

  “I have no immediate plans to go there again,” the Earl said coldly. “If you have finished your tea, Miss Wroxley, perhaps you would come with me into the Library.”

  Celesta rose quickly and put down her cup and saucer.

  “I will wait for you,” Lady Imogen said softly to the Earl.

  “It is unnecessary,” he replied. “I have some letters to write before I change for dinner. Good-bye, Imogen.”

  “I shall see you tomorrow night at your party,” Lady Imogen said. “We are all looking forward to it and I am sure, Vidal, you will want me to help with the arrangements earlier in the day.”

  “That will not be necessary,” he answered. “Everything has been already arranged and as you know, I shall be at the Coronation.”

  “Of course. How stupid of me! We will all be in the Abbey!” Lady Imogen exclaimed. “Smile at me, Vidal, or I shall find the ceremony a dead bore!”

  The Earl did not answer. He turned away to follow Celesta across the room.

  He opened the door and she passed through it. Then as he would have gone after her, he found Imogen’s hands on his arm pulling him back into the Salon.

  He paused because without using force it was impossible not to do so.

  Then in a low voice but which was perfectly audible to Celesta outside in the Hall, Lady Imogen said: “Who is the milk-maid, Vidal? Did you ever see such an antiquated gown made of cheese-cloth, and a bonnet that one of my house-maids might wear? Oh, darling, you are losing your touch, if that is what you find attractive in the country amongst the turnips!”

  The Earl shook himself free of Lady Imogen’s clinging hands.

  He did not answer her but she knew by the expression on his face that he was angry.

  Then he walked from the Salon, pulling the door sharply to behind him.

  Celesta was waiting for him and he put his hand under her arm to draw her down the long passage to the Library where he habitually sat. It was very different from the Library at the Priory, and yet to Celesta it had a warmer and more friendly atmosphere about it than the Salon.

  She was still trembling as she entered the room and a flunkey shut the door behind them.

  She thought to herself that she should feel humiliated by Lady Imogen’s description of her appearance, but somehow it did not matter.

  She was far too worried and distraught by what she had come to ask the Earl to be perturbed by anything a stranger could say about her.

  At the same time she could not help thinking that the Earl’s suggestion he had made to her the night before was no more than some obscure jest on his part.

  The beautiful, sophisticated lady who talked to him so familiarly was obviously the type of woman he admired.


  Never in her wildest dreams, she thought humbly, had she imagined that anyone could be so lovely, so smart, or so elegant.

  The thoughts rushed through her mind, and it was a pale and very frightened little face that she turned towards the Earl as he came across the room towards her.

  Her eyes seemed unnaturally large in her face and there was an expression of pleading in them which made the Earl ask:

  “What has happened? Tell me what has upset you.”

  “I have come to ... ask for your ... help,” Celesta answered. “It is ... wrong of me, I know, but there is ... no-where else I can go and ... no-one else I can ... ask.”

  There was a throb in her voice which told the Earl she was not far from tears.

  “What has happened?” he asked again.

  “Giles ... my brother, is in ... prison,” Celesta answered.

  Chapter Four

  Celesta had been awakened early in the morning by Nana coming into her room with a letter in her hands

  She pulled back the curtains, saying:

  “Wake up, Miss Celesta! There’s a man who’s brought a letter from Sir Giles and he says as it’s urgent!”

  “Giles?” Celesta exclaimed, sitting up in bed.

  She held out her hands for it and saw that it was rather dirty, as if it had been crumpled in a pocket.

  “Would you believe it?” Nana asked. “The man has demanded a sovereign for delivering it to us!”

  “There must be some mistake!” Celesta exclaimed.

  “No! He says he ’as put himself to considerable inconvenience to bring it and Sir Giles promised we’d pay him a sovereign on delivery.”

  “Giles must be demented if he thinks we have that sort of money!” Celesta exclaimed. “Surely, Nana, you told the man that a sovereign would be an exorbitant amount to ask?”

  Nana did not speak and Celesta said accusingly: “You paid him, Nana?”

  “Well, it was from Master Giles,” Nana said almost shame-facedly, “and the man seemed to think ’twas very urgent. He must be in some sort of trouble and it worries me to think of it.”

  Celesta opened the letter and found that Nana was right. Giles was in trouble.

  He had written in his untidy hand:

  I am in the Fleet Prison for debt. Come to me immediately and bring all the money you can lay your hands on, and hurry, Celesta, hurry for God’s sake!

  Giles

  Celesta read the letter through as if she could hardly believe her eyes and then as Nana watched apprehensively at the end of the bed, she handed the letter to her..

  “Oh, my baby! My poor baby!” Nana murmured after she had read the letter. “We must go to him, Miss Celesta. We must go to him at once!”

  “Yes, of course, Nana,” Celesta agreed, getting out of bed. “At the same time, we have little money to take him.”

  That was certainly true because when Celesta had dressed and they had counted every penny they had, it amounted to only a few shillings over three pounds.

  Celesta knew that Nana had been dipping into her small savings for some time.

  She had begged her not to do so, but when luxuries such as spring-chicken or leg of lamb appeared on the menu, she knew that Nana would have paid for it and that the one pound a week of her money, which was all they had to spend, could not include such expensive items of food.

  She also had the suspicion that Nana deceived her about the price of the materials she paid for her gowns.

  “This cannot have cost only six pence a yard!” she would exclaim.

  And although Nana persisted that it was the truth, Celesta was sure that while the cost to her was six pence a yard, Nana had paid the extra out of her own pocket.

  However they had little time at the moment to consider anything but the urgency of getting to London.

  The first Dover Stage-coach passed through the village at half after ten and they were waiting anxiously at The Blue Boar, which was the stopping place, for only five minutes before it hove into sight.

  It was very crowded and although they managed to squeeze themselves in, the journey to London was by no means a comfortable one.

  When the coach reached The White Bear in Piccadilly, it went no further and Nana and Celesta consulted together as to the best way to reach the Fleet Prison, which was situated between Ludgate Hill and Fleet Lane.

  Finally, feeling that whilst it was extravagant there was nothing else they could do, Celesta took a hackney carriage.

  The driver showed his surprise on being given their destination.

  “Ye don’t look th’ sort of ladies what ought t’ be callin’ at a prison!” he remarked.

  “But that is where we wish to go,” Celesta said firmly.

  She had intended to dismiss the carriage on arrival, but when she saw that the prison was situated in a Market she changed her mind.

  The noise of the porters, the smell of rotting vegetables, the paper lying about the streets, and the rough neighbourhood made her feel that it might be impossible to find another hackney carriage after they had visited Giles.

  The entrance to the prison, although it had been rebuilt, dated back to William the Conqueror.

  The high walls, the barred windows, and the general air of gloom made Celesta, already apprehensive, feel even more afraid of the conditions in which they would find Giles.

  The surly Turnkey asked them their business and when they explained that they wished to see Sir Giles Wroxley he said:

  “ ’E’ll be in th’ Masters side.”

  He opened the door for Celesta and Nana and instantly they were aware of the stench, unlike anything they had ever smelt before, coming from a long stone passage with rooms on either side.

  The gaol seemed to be crowded, and as Celesta and Nana followed the Turnkey the place suddenly echoed with the defiant shouts of prisoners who ran to the bars of their cells.

  When they saw how young and pretty Celesta was they shouted obscenities and made lewd suggestions.

  Some of the men were three parts naked and Celesta could not help noticing that lying on straw or in dirty beds there were women, sometimes flashily dressed and sometimes wearing no clothes at all.

  There were also dozens of children, while a number of other people moving about who appeared to be visitors seemed unperturbed by the hideous noise.

  After they had passed what Celesta realised were the cells of the poor debtors who could not pay for their lodgings, they came to the Masters side, which had rooms occupied by only one or two prisoners in each.

  Finally the Turnkey opened the door of a room which appeared smaller than the others but where Giles was sitting alone.

  He raised his head apathetically as the door opened, and when he saw Celesta he rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet.

  “You have taken long enough to get here!” he said disagreeably in a thick voice.

  Celesta stared at her brother in horror.

  He was unshaven, his cravat was a soiled, crumpled rag round his neck, his coat although smartly cut was stained and dirty as were his trousers which had been originally pale yellow.

  The air in the room was stale and there was an unmade bed in one corner.

  On the floor there were nearly a dozen bottles now empty which had once contained gin or brandy.

  “Oh ... Master Giles ... it can’t be true!” Nana exclaimed and burst into tears.

  “Why in God’s name have you brought her?” Giles asked Celesta.

  “I could hardly come alone,” she answered, “and as for taking a long time, we only received your letter this morning.”

  “Damnit! The lying swine!” Giles swore. “He is a runner who does errands for the prisoners and he promised to deliver it last week!”

  “Have you been here that long?” Celesta asked, looking round the small room in horror.

  “Ten days,” Giles replied, “and it is the nearest thing to Hell that any man could endure on earth!”

  “I can see that!” Celesta answer
ed.

  “Have you brought any money?” The question was rough and urgent.

  “Only a little, I am afraid.”

  Celesta opened her purse as she spoke.

  To her astonishment Giles snatched it from her and stumbling across the room rattled on the door to attract the attention of the Turnkey.

  “Let me out!” he ordered. “I want to go to the Whistling Shop.”

  “Oi thought that’s where you’d want to go, me fine gentleman, as soon as ye could afford it!”

  The Turnkey unlocked the door and Giles hurriedly disappeared.

  Nana had a handkerchief to her eyes.

  “How can this have happened?” she said. “Your poor father would turn in his grave if he knew of it!”

  “Well, at any rate let us try to tidy up the place,” Celesta suggested.

  She was as horrified as Nana, but she felt no good could come of behaving emotionally, which she knew was one thing Giles disliked most.

  Nana wiped her eyes and went towards the bed.

  As was usual in a debtors’ prison, furniture and bed-linen were all supplied by the prisoners.

  Giles’s sheets were creased and dirty and Nana looked round as if expecting to find another pair in the sparsity of the dark cell.

  Celesta began to collect the bottles from the floor and stand them in a corner.

  Giles had obviously been drinking before they arrived but all the bottles were now empty and she had the idea that the “Whistling Shop” meant somewhere where he could buy spirits.

  Later she was to learn that spirits were not allowed in prison under any circumstances except by a Doctor’s orders, but needless to say the regulation was a dead letter.

  It was not sold openly, but there were rooms known to all the prisoners where it could be procured.

  It was never asked for by name and if it had been, an applicant would not have received it. But if he whistled, it was immediately forthcoming.

  There was a Coffee-Shop where those who could afford it could eat surprisingly good food, but the majority had to subsist on a starvation diet which was doled out to them by the Turnkeys who bullied those who could not pay.