Paying the Virgin's Price (Regency Silk & Scandal #2)(4)

He laughed. 'It is a bit late to talk of freedom, Stephen. I have wealth, but no one to share it with. I have no friends. No one trusts me. No decent woman would want me. In the course of gaming, I have ruined many and caused men to do unspeakable things, convinced that one more hand will be all it takes to break me.

'And now, you will set me free? Can you wipe out the memory of the things I have done? Will you go to the House of Lords and insist that they clear my family's name? Can you get me my title? And my father, as well? Can you raise the dead, Gypsy? For I would like to see you try.'

Stephano the Gypsy spat upon the floor, and passed his hand before him as though warding off the suggestion. 'Your father was a murderer who deserved what he got. And I mean to see that you accept your share of his punishment.'

Nate had learned to see his past as a single dark shadow that threw his empty life into sharper relief. But now that the shadow had become the foreground, the picture created was so ridiculous, he let out with the first honest laugh he'd had in ages. 'My share of the punishment?' He leaned forward and grinned into the face of the man who had once been Stephen Hebden, daring him to see the joke and laugh along. 'Well I have news for you. You enriched me by a hundred pounds before you brought out the damned rope and began speaking nonsense. If this is a curse, then many would welcome it. But if you wish to see me punished? Then take my luck with you, and we will call it even.'

He pointed a finger at the rope on the floor. 'But do not come here, pretending to make my life worse with vague threats and portents of doom. There is nothing coming that will make things worse than they already are.'

And then the Gypsy smiled with true satisfaction. 'You think so, do you? We shall see, old friend. We shall see.' And he rose from the chair and exited the room, leaving the silk noose on the floor behind him.





In his dreams, Nate was at Newgate, again, surrounded by angry giants. They laughed and the sound was hollow and cruel, seeming to echo off the stone walls around him. He pushed through the crowd. But it was difficult, for he was so small and they did not wish to part for him. They had arrived early, to get a good view.

And he had come late, for he'd had to sneak from home. Mother had said it was no place for the family. That father had not wished it. But was Nathan not the man of the family, now? It was his responsibility to be there, at the end. So he had forced his way through the mob to the front, and had seen his father, head bowed, being led to the gallows.

He called out to him, and William Wardale raised his head, searching for the origin of the cry. His eyes were so bleak, and Nathan was sure he must be lonely. There was no friend left who would stand by him at the end. He looked down at Nathan with such love, and such relief, and reached out a hand to him, as though it could be possible to gather him close, one last time. And then, his hand dropped to his side, and a shudder went through him, for he knew what Nathan did not. While he was glad that his last sight on earth would be his son, he had known what it would mean to a child.

The hangman bound his father's hands, and the Ordinary led him through a farce of meaningless prayer. And all around Nathan, the people were shouting, jostling each other and swearing at those who would not remove their hats so that the men in the back could see. Vendors were hawking broadsides, but he did not have the penny to buy one. So he picked a wrinkled paper from the ground before him, to see the lurid cartoon of his father, and his supposed confession.

It was lies. Every word of it. Father would never have done the things he was accused of. And even if he had, he would not have told the rest of the world the truth on the final day, after lying to Nathan, over and over. But even if it was lies, there were tears of shame pricking behind his eyelids as he read.

The hangman was placing the hood now, and a woman began to scream. He hoped it was his mother, come to take him home before he saw any more. His coming had been a mistake: there was nothing he could do and he did not want to see what was about to happen.

But it was a strange, dark-skinned woman leaning out of a window above the gallows. She was screaming in triumph, not fear, and her face had the beauty of a vengeful goddess as she stared down at the bound man and the laughing crowd.

And at him. She had found Nathan in the crowd, and stared at him as though she knew him. And then, she had shouted, in a voice so clear that the rabble had hushed to catch her words.

I call guilt to eat you alive and poison your hearts' blood. The children will pay for the sins of their fathers, till my justice destroys the wicked.

She pointed at him as she spoke of children. And smiled. The adult Nathan screamed to the child to look away. The woman was mad. He should not mind her. And he should run from this place. If he did not, it would be too late.

And then, there was a thump, and his father's body dropped as the floor under him disappeared. As he fell, so did the woman in the window, dangling from the silk scarf that was wrapped about her neck.

In his child's mind, Nathan thought that the worst was over. But since then, the adult Nathan had seen enough in the Navy to understand what happened to a hanged man if there was no one to pull on his legs and help him to an easier death.

The kicking had begun. His father, and the garish puppet of a woman hanging from the window above him.

It had seemed like hours before the bodies stilled, the crowds had begun to part, and his mother had come for him.





When Nate woke, the bedclothes were wet with sweat and tears. And there was the Gypsy's silk rope on the dresser beside him. Why had he bothered to pick the thing up and bring it home with him? The gesture was macabre, and meant to upset him. He had been foolish to play along. And Stephen Hebden had managed to raise the old nightmare to plague him.