Forever My Love (Berkeley-Faulkner #2)(109)

“Yes,” Rand said in response to the carefully worded query, his hazel eyes alight with curiosity, his mouth broadening in a comfortable smile. “My great-uncle Horace is a magistrate, as well as being involved in all manner of reformation societies. He would most likely have access to the right records… and would be willing to do a little work for us, with the proper inducement. Berkeleys are always open to the right kinds of persuasion, you know.”

Alec laughed. “Memmery,” he said, handing Rand a slip of paper with the name written on it. “A fence,and one that I would like to talk to. One that I might possibly decide to… bargain with. Would your uncle turn a blind eye to that?”

“I know he would. He has before. I’ll warn you, though, he’ll probably expect a favor in return.”

“I would hardly expect otherwise.”

Rand smiled again, glancing at the closed door before speaking a bit more softly. “I can’t imagine that Mireille has taken the news of your imminent departure well.”

“She hasn’t,” Alec replied flatly, “even though I wouldn’t be of much practical use here anyway—the women take over the planning of the wedding, discussing ribbons and matrimonial fripperies to their hearts’ content, whereas there’s not too damned much a man has to do except appear at the altar.”

Rand laughed heartily. “I agree. However, I can tell you from my own experience that women like the prospective bridegroom to maintain at least a semblance of interest in whether the trimmings are pink or yellow. God help me, I don’t know why. Perhaps I can offer you a scrap of advice… ?”

“Only if I’m not obligated to heed it.”

“In the weeks just before we were married, my wife was very… emotional. Tears, outbursts, that sort of thing. She felt certain pressures very keenly and needed a great deal of support. I am told that every bride does. Perhaps you should…”

“Should what?”

As pale gray eyes met hazel, Rand checked himself and backed away from the subject. Alec Falkner, Rand decided thoughtfully, was not the kind of man to whom he would offer advice unless it had been asked for. “You’re an obstinate young strapper, Falkner,” Rand murmured, tapping his fingertips together. It was clear that Alec would be resentful of any interference in his relationship with Mira, no matter how well-meant. If a solid friendship was to develop between the Berkeleysand Falkners, as Rand hoped, better now to kt silent and let Alec work out his problems alone. “Pa haps you should be leaving for London now. You’ve got distasteful work ahead of you; God knows I don’t envy you.”

If a place called hell existed, then Newgate was if> earthly counterpart. It stank of human misery am! wretchedness. Crowded in its maze of wards and pa-sages were the immoral dregs of society… filthy criminals who had been born in streets and gutters and would die in a place far more obscene. Perhaps amon*. them there were some men who still possessed a few remnants of humanity, but it was doubtful. After a month or two in Newgate, or “the stone jug,” as they called it, the most honorable man would have come out either a rabid maniac or a cold-blooded killer. All the prisoners were thrown together: the first offenders with seasoned murderers; those who awaited trial with those who had already been sentenced, the strong with the weak, the old with the young. They were ail crammed into buildings that were dark and crawling with insects and squeaking rodents. Even Alec could not help coughing slightly as he and Carr were led into Newgate, for the stench of human excrement and urine had sunk into the pores of brick and stone so deeply that no amount of washing could ever remove it.

“We’ll both stink for a week after we leave,” Carr murmured, looking almost overcome by the foul air that surrounded them.

Alec nodded, wiping the distaste from his own face with effort. “I must be insane,” he muttered. “No one walks into Newgate of his own will.”

For once Carr did not have a cocky reply or wiseacre remark to make. He kept his eyes on the burly figure of the guard who led them by a row of wards. They passed the noisy, clamoring cells, filled with men who demanded drink and meat… menwho called out to the passersby and threatened with thick cockney accents… thick-chested men who came out the victors in the daily squabbles for food… starving, bony men who were fast losing the strength necessary to survive. Carr’s face became cold and shuttered, masking the unease he must have been feeling as they walked deeper into the prison. The thought crossed Alec’s mind that perhaps he should not have aliowed Carr to accompany him. Less than two years ago, Carr’s world had been a safe and innocent one, full of the quiet pleasure of life in the country, full of books, history, and scholarly learning. Now he was learning far different lessons.

“Memmery.” The guard stood at the door of one ward and called through the iron bars. A shuffling noise was heard, and little catcalls were made as the unfortunate Memmery made his way to the portal. “Tonight, ‘e’ll piss when ‘e can’t whistle!” “Mem, you’ll stretch stoutly in an hour—” “Poor Memmy, a wry mouth and a pissin’ pair o’ breeches—”

“Hurry now, Jack Ketch is waitin’ fer ya!” Noting Carr’s confused look at the thick cant phrases, Alec translated softly. “They think we’ve come to take him out and hang him.”

“A sentimental lot, aren’t they?” Disgust flickered in Carr’s olive-green eyes.