The Constant Heart (48 page)

'Afraid!' Sukey spat the word as if it had a bad taste. 'Afraid of me? Don't be ridiculous.'

'Well, maybe not afraid of you, exactly. He feared a breach of promise action.'

'And he told you all this, but he could not tell me to my face?'

'Yes. No. I don't know. Just give me the wretched ring so that I can return it to Harry. Then he will drop the case against Walter.'

'Walter? What do I care if your father's clerk is imprisoned? I expect he deserves it anyway. My pa says he is a river pirate and he should be punished.'

'I – I love him, Sukey. I love Walter, and my papa is dead.'

Sukey sat down suddenly and her lips trembled. 'Your father died? I didn't know.'

'He died in Burnham and I wasn't there.' Rosina wrung her hands, unable to prevent the tears from coursing down her cheeks. 'I was on my way back from Rotterdam and I wasn't there at the end.' She stopped, realising what she had just said.

The horrified expression on Sukey's face hardened into cold anger. 'Rotterdam! So that is where Roland went, and you pretended not to know. You lied to me again. How can I ever believe anything you say?'

'No, it was a mistake. I meant . . .'

'Stop it. Stop lying to me, Rosie. I've heard enough and I want you to leave my house this instant. Go way. I never want to see you again.'

'But Sukey . . .'

'Go now, or I'll have you thrown out. You've ruined my life and my chances of ever finding a rich husband. I hate you.'

It was useless to argue: Rosina could see that, and she ran from the house. She had made such a mess of things. Her heart ached but she would not cry. She might have lost her best friend, but she needed more than ever to see Walter. He must not be allowed to think that she had deserted him in his hour of need. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and set off for the prison. It was midday by the time she reached the dark and brooding exterior of Newgate. The gatehouse loomed above her and she could sense the feeling of desolation that must exist behind the stone walls.

'That's impossible,' the gatekeeper informed her when she asked to see Walter Brown.

'But surely you must allow the prisoners to have visitors?'

'The prison is open to the public on Wednesdays and Thursdays between midday and three o'clock. You can come in then, but not before.'

'Is there no way that you will allow me just five minutes with the prisoner?'

'Are you his wife?'

'No, sir.'

'Or his sister?'

Rosina took a deep breath. 'Yes, I am his sister.'

The gatekeeper angled his head, holding out his right hand and rubbing his fingers together in a gesture that indicated he wanted payment.

'H-how much?' Rosina asked nervously.

'Did I ask you for money? We ain't allowed to take bribes.'

'I'm sorry, I thought . . .'

'Now if you was to give me a gift, that would be another matter. A guinea would help oil the wheels, so to speak.'

'A guinea? But that's daylight robbery.'

'And that is what your "brother" is in for, so I believe. It don't seem a lot of money to see a relative what's going to spend a good many years in clink, now does it?'

Rosina fingered her reticule. She could not afford to give the man a guinea. She battled with her desire to see Walter and the need to keep her family fed for the foreseeable future.

'Don't waste my time, girlie. You may be the fella's light o' love, but you don't get in free, so clear off, afore I has you arrested for loitering.'

Once again, she realised what a sight she must present. She had seen enough prostitutes in the Ratcliff Highway to know what they looked like, and that was obviously what the gatekeeper imagined was her profession. She turned and walked away with her head held high and her heart aching. She glanced up at the forbidding edifice, wondering where Walter was confined. She had thought it might help to know where he was, but the reality of Newgate was far more terrible than the place she had imagined. She trudged, head down, away from the prison, not particularly caring where she was going and without any idea as to what to do next. She walked slowly along Newgate Street towards Cheapside. It was a hot day, even for the beginning of September; she was tired and hungry and her spirits were so low that she could barely think. Then it came to her that there was one other person to whom she might turn: a man of the law. Septimus Sumption had advised her to seek out Roland and he had promised to follow up Walter's case. She would go and see him now in the hope that he would have discovered some evidence of Walter's innocence that would stand up in court.

She caught the green Bow omnibus to Whitechapel where she alighted on the corner of Church Lane and she set off walking to Naked Boy Yard. It was late in the afternoon by the time she reached Septimus's miserable rooms, and the stench of stale alcohol assailed her nostrils before he had even opened the door. He stared blearily at her, running his hand through his tousled hair.

'I think you've got the wrong door, young lady.'

Rosina was too tired and anxious to bother with the niceties. She pushed past him. 'I came to see you, Mr Sumption.' She stepped over a pile of discarded clothing on the floor and made her way to the only clear spot, which was a bare patch of tattered drugget in front of the empty grate.

'You'll have to excuse me, but I don't recall ever meeting you before.' Septimus staggered over to his chair and sat down heavily. He reached for a bottle and poured a hefty measure of brandy into a glass.

Rosina stood her ground, waiting until he had gulped a mouthful of the spirit. 'My name is Rosina May. I came to you some time ago on behalf of my friend, Walter Brown. You advised me to travel to Rotterdam to see Mr Roland Rivers. You were supposed to be investigating the case.'

He held up his hand. 'Not so fast. My head is spinning.' He took another drink, squinting at her with one eye closed. 'I do seem to recall your face. Very pretty.'

'I need your help, sir.'

He threw back his head and laughed. 'My help. That's a good one. Look at me, my dear. I can't even help myself.'

She was in no mood to argue. Rosina moved towards him and took the glass from his hand. She snatched up the brandy bottle before he could reach for it. 'Now, will you listen to me?'

'A woman of spirit. I like that. But you'd better start at the beginning. My memory ain't what it used to be. Just give me back the bottle . . .'

'Not yet, Mr Sumption.' Rosina sat on the pile of law books and began at the beginning, taking him slowly through the events leading up to the present. He listened, apparently attentively, although his eyes did stray rather too often to the brandy bottle clutched in her hand, but he made no attempt to wrest it from her. When she had finished he was silent for a few moments, his forehead creased in thoughtful lines.

'Well,' he said, after a while, 'you are in a pickle, my dear.'

'Never mind me, Mr Sumption. I want you to help Walter.'

'My God, I wish I had a woman like you to care for me. I might not be in the sorry state in which you find me if I had someone to love me.'

Rosina set the glass and bottle down on the floor and she slid off the pile of books to kneel before him. Taking his hands in hers, she looked him in the eyes. 'And I'm sure you will, if only you would stop killing yourself with drink. But that is another matter. I don't need help for myself. I can look after my family and I still have the sailing barge. It is mine now and I intend to make it profitable.'

He smiled. 'I don't doubt it, Miss May. But what do you want from a poor wreck like me?'

'I want you to act for Walter. I cannot pay you at the moment, but I will in time I promise you that. I don't know any other lawyers, and old – I mean, Mr Jamjar of the exotic bird shop spoke highly of your abilities. If you could get Walter acquitted I'm sure it would do much to build your practice up again. Will you help me, Mr Sumption? Please? I'm begging you on my knees to act for Walter when his case comes up before the judge.'

'I'm not sure that I can help you. It's a long time since I accepted a brief such as this.'

'You are my last chance. I know you can do it.' Rosina glanced round at the books and papers littered all about the room, spilling off shelves and piled precariously on every available surface. 'You've got all this book learning. You're a clever man. Please say you'll at least look into Walter's case.'

'I ain't a grasping, greedy sort of fellow, but I have to live. I can't take on a case for nothing, much as I would like to oblige you.'

Rosina's hand flew to the gold chain around her neck. She could feel the locket lodged between her breasts, warm from contact with her body. She had pawned everything else that she owned, but she had clung to this link with Will as a drowning woman might cling to a spar. She undid the clasp and dangled the locket in front of Septimus's eyes. 'Take this as my pledge. I will redeem it when I have funds. It is worth something to you, but to me it is priceless. And, if you see Walter, just show him the contents and he will know that you act on my instructions.'

He took it in his hand, closing his fingers over the locket. 'I need a drink.'

'No you don't. That stuff addles your brain. Please, I'm begging you to help us.'

'Well, it would be a challenge.' Septimus leaned forward and raised Rosina to her feet. 'I'm a worthless sort of fellow, who hides his failures at the bottom of a brandy bottle, but you are a brave and beautiful young woman, and, for you, I will make an effort to stay sober just long enough to make enquiries about your friend. More I cannot promise.'

Rosina left the building in Naked Boy Yard with mixed feelings. She did not doubt his sincerity, but whether Septimus could stay off the drink for long enough to carry out his promise to help was another matter.

It was late afternoon and she had eaten nothing since a slice of bread at breakfast time. Her limbs felt heavy and exhaustion was creeping up on her, stealing her will to continue any further that day. It was a long walk to Limehouse where the
Ellie May
was berthed at Etheredge's repair yard, and an even longer trek back from there to Black Eagle Wharf. She was forced to acknowledge that it was too late either to visit the yard or to find alternative lodgings, and she would have to trespass on the Smilies' hospitality for another night. Her feet were sore and her legs aching as she trudged onwards through the back doubles and narrow alleyways towards the river. For the first time since his death, she was glad that her papa was not here to witness the sorry state in which she found herself. He would be horrified if he could see her now in her dishevelled condition, wandering the mean streets alone, unprotected and open to the insults and indecent proposals from men looking for a cheap thrill in a dark doorway.

*

Rosina was close to collapse by the time she reached Sam's shop. She had thought to offer them payment for another night spent in their parlour, but as soon as she entered the shop she could tell from Sam's expression that something was wrong.

'What is it, Sam?' she asked anxiously. 'What's happened?'

'It's the scarlet fever, or so my missis thinks.'

Her knees trembled and Rosina clutched at the shop counter for support. 'Who's sick?'

'Me eldest boy, Jim. And Gladys thinks that the youngest two might be coming down with it. We had to send Caddie and her nippers away out of danger and Miss Spinks went with them. I'm sorry, ducks. But you'd best not come in.'

'Where did they go, Sam?' She was desperately sorry for the Smilies, but could hardly believe the continued ill fortune that might leave them without shelter and with nightfall not many hours away.