Louise Allen - Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1

It was a distracted young lady who rang the bell at the magistrate’s front door a few minutes later. Katherine found she did not have to act. Sheer nerves left her pale and trembling and her voice shook. The footman, somewhat grey and bent, admitted that Justice Highson was at home and might be willing to speak to the young lady who was so eager to report yet another outrage upon the King’s highway.

He showed them through to a small, rather neglected salon, and returned a few moments later to announce that Mr Highson would be pleased to speak to Mrs Lydgate.

‘Thank you so much,’ Katherine said graciously, emerging from behind her handkerchief and bestowing a dazzling smile upon him. ‘Come along, Jenny.’

She swept into the study, Jenny at her heels and, as the door closed, faintly heard John’s voice announcing that he would stay just here outside the door in case his mistress needed him.

Mr Highson proved to be middle aged, rotund, somewhat choleric of complexion and neglectful of his dress. He brushed away a small cloud of snuff and surged to his feet as Katherine entered. ‘My dear Mrs, er … Lydgate. How may I serve you? My man said something about a highwayman, ma’am. You must not alarm yourself, we laid the notorious rogue by the heels very recently; he is awaiting an appointment with the hangman even as we speak.’

‘I fear … oh, dear!’ Katherine waved her handkerchief somewhat wildly in front of her face. ‘I fear I am about to faint! Some air, I beg of you …’ She sank picturesquely into Jenny’s waiting arms, carefully blocking the magistrate’s route to his desk as he hurried towards the window. It was very possible he kept a pistol in the drawer. ‘Oh, more, sir, throw it open, I implore you, I feel quite …’

She could feel Jenny’s suppressed giggles and kicked her sharply as Justice Highson threw up the sash with an effort and stepped back. ‘There, ma’am. What the devil!’

Jack Standon was over the sill and into the room before the outraged magistrate could do more than recoil from the window against Katherine. She threw her arms around him and clung.

‘Never fear, ma’am,’ he gasped, trying to disentangle himself. ‘I will save you from this ruffian!’

Katherine felt positively guilty; the poor man was bravely shielding her from the threat she had brought into his house.

‘Mr Highson, sir,’ she said, ‘do you not recognise this man?’

‘Of course I do,’ he snarled. ‘It is that rogue Standon who held me up …’ His voice trailed away as he stared at Black Jack, then twisted to fix Katherine with a shrewd look. ‘Black Jack Standon is in Newgate gaol. Just what are you about, young lady?’

‘My husband is in Newgate,’ Katherine said, clinging firmly to his arm. ‘This is the real Black Jack, the man who held you up. Please, sir, may we all sit down and I will explain everything?’

Reluctantly the magistrate allowed himself to be pressed into a chair while Katherine recounted the story as Nick had told it to her. She explained how she came to be married to him, trying to ignore the look of shock on his face at the sordid story.

‘Well,’ he grunted at last. ‘That is some tale, my dear. Now then, you, speak up. Is this the truth?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Black Jack dug into his pocket and laid a pocket watch on the desk. ‘I’ve sold the rest, but I took a fancy to this. Pretty thing, as you’ll remember I said to you at the time I took it.’

Mr Highson reached out his hand and picked up the watch. His fingers closed tightly on it. ‘This was my father’s,’ he remarked in a neutral tone before tucking it into his waistcoat pocket. ‘And what has this lady paid you to tell me this tale?’

Katherine stiffened indignantly, but Black Jack met the magistrate’s eyes with equanimity. ‘Just the price I put on the watch. No man goes to the gallows for Black Jack Standon. I have my pride. How was I to know the swell cove had no way of proving who he was?’

There was a long silence, then the magistrate said, ‘When is he due to hang?’

‘The day after tomorrow, sir.’ Katherine could feel the room swimming before her eyes. She had convinced him, she knew it.

‘Do not faint on me now, ma’am,’ he said firmly. ‘We have a journey to make tomorrow and I must get some paperwork in order.’ He turned a shrewd eye on the highwayman towering over them both. ‘I presume you have no intention of surrendering to me?’

The dark man grinned, showing a set of blackened teeth. ‘You have the right of it there, Mr Justice. I think I’ll go and rob a coach or two, just to let them all know that Black Jack’s back. Good day, ma’am—you tell your husband he’s a lucky man.’

‘You’ll end on the gallows,’ the magistrate prophesied grimly as the highwayman stepped over the sill.

‘Happen I will, sir,’ he responded equably and was gone.

‘You believed me, Mr Highson?’ Katherine demanded. ‘You will come to London with us and clear my husband’s name?’

‘Yes, my dear. I will write a deposition and get it sworn in front of one of my colleagues in town and we’ll be off tomorrow. Your young man will be glad to see you, I will be bound.’

‘He is not my young man—’ Katherine began, then broke off at the twinkle in Mr Highson’s eye. ‘I wish I could let him know now. He must be so—’ She broke off again and took a moment to compose herself.

‘Well, today is Sunday so he will have had the distraction of the Condemned Sermon,’ Mr Highson said. ‘That at least gets them out of their cells, although I doubt it could be characterised as light entertainment.’

‘Sunday! Oh my goodness, I quite forgot. I must go to evensong.’ Katherine gathered up her reticule and shawl, dropped when Black Jack had entered the room. ‘What is the Condemned Sermon?’

‘The Ordinary of the prison—that is the chaplain—preaches to the condemned awaiting execution, with a coffin in the centre of the chapel. It is intended to fix their minds upon eternity and to prompt repentance.’

‘How horrible.’ She shuddered, then resolutely pushed all thoughts of what Nick must be experiencing out of her mind. ‘I cannot begin to thank you, sir. At what hour shall I call for you? I thought to hire a chaise for ourselves and my maid. My man can follow with my coach, for it is old and slow.’

‘No need to hire. We will take my carriage. I have a good team and we will be in London by late afternoon, never fear. I will collect you at your inn at ten in the morning if you give me your direction.’

Katherine took a warm farewell of him and almost made it to the road outside before her legs gave way and she sank down on to the grass. ‘We did it! Oh, John, Jenny, he is not going to hang.’ And promptly burst into tears.

Nicholas Lydgate jerked upright on the hard pew where he had been attempting to doze and ignore the somewhat routine call to repentance the Ordinary was delivering. Sleep eluded him here as it did in his cell, but he had fallen into a pleasant half-sleeping dream involving freedom and Kat and broad acres under high moors. He straightened his back and looked coldly at the coffin lying in the centre of the chapel. Better not to dream, there was no hope to be had. To hope was to delude himself and he had never done that. The day after tomorrow his body would be tumbled into an open grave; he doubted that the prison authorities would go to the expense of providing a coffin.

If Kat was happy somewhere, so much the better. She would shed a tear for him, he knew. No one else would, and in a few years a better man than he would take what was his by birth. Robert would not disgrace the family name. He just wished he could be sure that Kat would be all right.

Katherine spent a sleepless night. What if the magistrate changed his mind or decided it was all some elaborate plot to free a guilty man? What if he was not believed when they reached London? What if the prison authorities changed the day of the execution and brought it forward?