Bad Miss Bennet (18 page)

‘There is plague in the city,' I whispered, adding, ‘All I want is to dance at Almack's and go to Paris with the Count.' Selena rolled her eyes impatiently.

‘Believe me, my dear, your plans will come to nothing for want of a fortune.'

‘I am sure that poor Getheridge does not have a fortune and why should he bestow it on me?' My friend frowned and stood up in a decisive manner.

‘If I cannot convince you, then this is an end to it. I must await the apothecary, Miles is to be bled this morning.' As she left the room she paused and remarked over her shoulder, ‘I would not suggest this action to you if I had not heard that Getheridge's mistress has abandoned him.' With this parting shot she withdrew leaving me to ponder on my next step.

Lord Finchbrook called at the house later that morning and found me in the red drawing room with a book open. He took one look at my book and reproached me for reading ‘the merest trash from the common circulating libraries'.

‘Why should I not read a Gothic novel in this delightful room?' I replied. No. 27 Portman Square was furnished in exquisite taste. The room in which we were sitting was a smaller version of one in Carlton House with five gilded Gothic arches and crimson silk curtains. What better surroundings for reading
The Monk
by Matthew Lewis? A truly horrifying and disgusting novel, I would never have been permitted to read it in other circumstances.

‘This book is the talk of London,' I assured him. His lordship shrugged in the manner of one who never read anything but the
Sporting Times
. He did not mention Almack's to me. I needed to remind him of his promise. Whoever escorts me, it must surely be before I visit Mr Getheridge. I looked down at the book resting on my lap. It was open at a page describing particularly gruesome scenes in a subterranean prison. I thought again of the Fleet and shuddered.

It was surely a malign fate at work that caused a servant to appear at that very moment with a note from Jerry. He had wasted no time in discovering my whereabouts. Then I recalled that I had given him the direction. Of course, he knew about Getheridge's imprisonment and he agreed with Selena that I should visit the man.

‘In fact', he declared when we met later that day, ‘I can smooth your path in a manner of speaking. I have an acquaintance with one of the jailers.'

I could well believe this: the jailers were notoriously easy to bribe and Jerry had probably spent time in the prison at some stage. No doubt he would use my money for the purpose. He generously offered to escort me ‘at a distance', in view of his own dubious status. My own life was beginning to resemble the plot of an unsavoury novel. How could I, poor little Lydia Marianne Bennet, have come to such a pass?

My wants in life have always been modest. A few pretty gowns, a sprinkling of diamonds, a matching pair of footmen (so, so fashionable) and of course a respectable roof over my head, some land and a handsome, attentive, wealthy husband. These are the dreams of any well brought up female. I cannot imagine how they became entangled with outlaws, royal plots and fraudulent bankers.

Inevitably, I agreed to visit Mr Getheridge although I was in a state of terror the whole time. I could not pursue the matter of Almack's as Mr Getheridge was due to be hanged in two weeks' time. Even Lord Finchbrook declined to accompany me, so great was the fear of cholera. Chivalry had died a death.

Selena pointed out that I must remain anonymous. I therefore travelled in a common hackney carriage wearing a dark cloak and hood that covered every part of my body and face. I carried a plentiful supply of lemons as an antidote to disease as well as a basket of food and drink to comfort the prisoner. I saw no sign of Jerry but no doubt he was lurking somewhere in the background. He was probably spying on me from a corner. That would be his idea of escorting me.

I was greatly relieved to discover that my poor friend was not in the insalubrious prison itself but in nearby lodgings that were available to the better class of prisoner for two guineas a week. I offered some silver coins to the evil-smelling guard who hovered outside and he let me into the premises with a sneer.

Mr Getheridge's room was far from well appointed: the pockmarked plaster was peeling from the walls and the furniture consisted of a wooden chair, a small wooden table bearing a candlestick, and a narrow trestle bed. He was gratifyingly pleased to see me, weeping a few tears over my hand and thanking me for the food in sepulchral tones.

Selena had instructed the cook to prepare some broth and a few meat patties, bread and honey and a small bottle of brandy. There were also some pills to purge the head which Miles swears by, although I cannot think that the prisoner will have much use for them in the circumstances.

My former patron offered me the chair and sat on the bed to eat a little bread and honey. For a while we exchanged pleasantries and discussed food. He confessed that he had made a request for a final meal of hind of pork and rout cakes with a glass of champagne.

‘I am glad you have not lost your taste for the finer things in life,' I remarked, then regretted the sharpness of my tone. The poor man was facing a dreadful end with some fortitude after all.

He gave me a reproachful look. ‘I know that I am regarded as a great villain, dear Lydia, but my intentions were never evil. I believed that I could have resolved everything if I had been given time. I was also greatly distracted by the prince's affairs.' He heaved a deep sigh.

‘Has the prince abandoned you to your fate?'

He nodded sadly. ‘His Highness cannot afford any more scandal.' I thought it a poor thing for any man, prince or pauper, to abandon a man to the gallows who has rendered him a considerable service. I remembered my papa declaiming, ‘Put not your trust in princes' although I cannot remember the source of the quote.

I tried to bring the conversation delicately around to the subject of Getheridge's own fortune and its whereabouts, if any, but he had other matters on his mind. Reminding me that he had been deserted by his womenfolk he patted the bed and smiled winningly.

‘I entreat you to visit me again, my dear, before my end. We will be undisturbed here for a while!' I was so startled I bit down on a lemon and almost choked at its bitterness. Selena's instructions ran through my head. How could I broach the subject of money not to mention convincing him that I could help him to escape?

The scent of lemon hung in the air and I felt juice dribbling down my chin. He was looking at me expectantly.

‘Of course I will, you dear thing,' I cried. ‘But you must not despair.' I launched into a breathless description of our rescue of the prince's emeralds. ‘If we can accomplish such a thing why should we not, my friends and I, rescue you from the gallows? Of course, it would necessitate considerable expense,' I added. He shook his head.

‘It is too late for me, dearest Lydia. All I can hope for is a little comfort at the end.' He looked meaningfully at me and then at the bed again.

‘I would do anything for you, my dear,' I declared, trying to keep a note of desperation out of my voice. ‘We could even become man and wife if you wish.' He seized my hand and drew me towards the bed.

‘I already have a wife and little use she is to me.' How was I supposed to resolve this situation? Selena was far too glib with her suggestions.

I allowed myself to be deposited on the hard and none-too-clean bed and I patted Mr Getheridge on the cheek. ‘My regard for you is too great, sir. I could not forgive myself if we did not put together a plan for your deliverance.'

‘Oh, whatever you say, my dear.' He pulled me towards him and two fat lemons suddenly shot out from my bodice where I had secreted them against the fetid airs of the prison. My companion was so startled that he fell backwards across the bed and on to the floor. He rose to his knees, shaking off the dust and looking petulant. I seized my cloak, waved my hand and fled, promising to do everything in my power to remove him from harm's way. Jerry was waiting for me outside.

Chapter Fifteen

‘Did he tell you where the money is hidden?' The question was predictable and I heard myself replying in the whining, wheedling tone I usually adopted with him. I despised myself for this but I was helpless, having never truly been in love before, dear reader, except for my passion for Lord Byron which remains unrequited – for the moment.

‘He did not tell me anything. I do not believe he has any money. Surely that was the point of the embezzlement?' Jerry shook his head sadly.

‘You are naive, my sweet. The man had fingers in many pies. He has swindled everyone from the highest in the land to the humble tradespeople. Did you not read the reports in the
Times
newspaper?' I acknowledged that I had heard rumours to that effect.

‘If he has not made a secret profit then he is a spectacularly bad example of a banker.' Another thought occurred to me. ‘Surely that is the reason why he is being hanged at Newgate, because he was not successful?' My highwayman laughed. ‘He was not quite clever enough but he fooled many people for a long time. You must try harder with him, my dear.'

We were standing in the street called Faringdon as we spoke. Suddenly, the great doors of the Fleet prison opposite slowly opened and foul, stomach-clenching fumes wafted over us. I knew that Getheridge would be transferred to Newgate forty-eight hours before his execution and I had no doubt that the environs of that place were every bit as ghastly as this one. I swallowed hard and whined again.

‘There is so little time left, only a few days before he goes to Newgate. We have enough money for now. Cannot we spend a little time together, my love?' I rested my head against his lapels and looked up imploringly at him. Jerry remained unmoved. He looked down at me incredulously. ‘And lose the chance of a fortune? Stop this girlish nonsense. We must make plans.' He loosed himself from my grasp and sped off promising to contact me ‘soon'. He had not even offered to escort me home. As I ran off to find a hansom cab I began to wonder whether he cared for me at all.

On the journey back to Portman Square I kept the lemons pressed against my nostrils until we reached a more healthful area of the city. I had once passed the place where the Fleet Ditch outfall empties into the Thames and that hellish stench was the worst thing I had ever known. The odours floating around the prison had been almost as unbearable, and there was cholera in the city. Panicstricken, I rushed into the house leaving Miles to pay the cabbie.

I commanded the servants to bring hot water as soon as possible and to burn the clothes I had been wearing all day. As the gown had a charming and most becoming cherry print border one can imagine the desperation I felt. Even after bathing in hot water and lemon juice I felt unclean. At dinner I ate little and while the others enjoyed fig tarts I sucked on more lemons until my face was wrinkled up like a bleached walnut kernel.

Miles, none the worse for his recent bloodletting, gave us a vivid description of a hanging and its attendant rituals which he described as the finest entertainment imaginable.

‘Your banker friend will soon be doing the morris, my dear.' When I looked perplexed he explained that the squirming and writhing of the prisoners at the end of the rope was known as doing a morris dance. My blood ran cold at the thought.

‘Do they not die instantly?' I asked in a low voice.

‘Oh dear, no!' carolled Miles. ‘But if the prisoner pays something to the hangman the matter is concluded faster. The executioner will grab the prisoner's knees and pull on them to assist the process.'

‘That is quite enough of that, Miles,' said Selena with a glance at my face, but her husband was not to be suppressed.

‘Of course, we must secure a place at the Magpie and Stump Inn where we will have a good view of the proceedings. A window will cost at least ten shillings but their breakfasts on these occasions are famous, the devilled kidneys are a triumph.' At this point I lost my appetite completely and retired to my bed where I lay awaiting the first symptoms of whatever deadly disease might afflict my body. I recorded these facts in my journal fully expecting it to be my last testament in this life.

Whatever poor Getheridge had done he surely did not deserve his fate. He had rendered services to the Prince Regent and that alone should have secured a reprieve, but perhaps death was preferable to imprisonment for life in a sewer. Of course, there was transportation, why had I not thought of that? He could begin a new life in Van Diemen's Land if it could be arranged.

I turned my head and saw in the faint light of the candle the diamond and amethyst bangle lying on my dressing table. Getheridge had expected something in return for that and I had not provided it. Wickham's words came into my head to torment me.

I bought you my dear …

What is a young woman to do? Urged on by Jerry's commands and my own feelings of guilt I waited for forty-eight hours to pass before returning to Mr Getheridge. He was already in Newgate prison and this time the guard had to be more heavily bribed in order to turn a blind eye.

‘'E's a marked man,' the fellow commented, jerking a thumb in the direction of the prisoner's door. ‘Off to the dance 'e is, tomorrer. You, madam,' he sneered, ‘are by way of bein' 'is last visitor.'

I hurried in to Mr G's room to find him with his head resting on the bed and his knees on the floor in an attitude of complete dejection. He had been writing letters – the pages were strewn over the thin coverlet.

‘I have been putting my affairs in order, Lydia, writing my last letters. You are kindness itself for making this visit.' He waved away the basket of victuals I offered, saying that he was not hungry. His depression was in marked contrast to his manner on my first visit. I was relieved that he no longer had designs on my person. After I sat gingerly on the bed the unfortunate man placed his head in my lap and wept bitterly. He poured out a good deal of stuff about the bank and its affairs, letters of credit, guarantors, gold reserves and other matters that I did not comprehend. I had never before received anyone's last confession and I felt ill-equipped for such a role. It appeared that he had little time for religion and had not asked for any spiritual comfort.