“Cat?” demanded Black Jack Flash.
“Aye, that’s the one.” Gitan nodded.
“Christ Almighty,” swore Rory, “so that’s why she seemed to drop from the face of the earth.” He slipped his knife back into its sheath. “Can the warden be bribed?” he asked.
Gitan shook his head emphatically.
“Is there a way I can get in?” Rory asked.
Gitan shook his head again. “There’s no way in and no way out except through death’s door.”
“You’ve earned yourself a bag of gold this night. Come aboard and tell me the whole tale again in minutest detail,” invited Rory.
He took the risk of staying in port, but after three visits to the prison, Rory Helford was convinced he would get absolutely nowhere. Bludwart would answer no questions, give no hints, take no bribes. Short of storming the stronghold with the entire crew of the Phantom, Rory had no way of helping Cat. Lord Ruark Helford, however, should be able to come up with some sort of plan which would allow him to walk in and at least try to assert his authority. A vile curse dropped from Rory’s lips. He was loath to leave Cat incarcerated for one more hour while he sailed to London, but he knew in his heart it was a job for Lord Helford and not Black Jack Flash.
Ruark was in danger of letting his anger and his impatience get the better of him. It was a platitude to say that knowing the fate of a loved one was better than being left wondering. In this case it simply wasn’t so. To think of his sweet, precious Summer in a prison cell, and worse, to think that she had been moldering there five months, was unendurable to him.
A knife was twisting inside his heart, the pain made more unbearable because of the great burden of guilt which threatened to crush him. If only Lil Rich wood’s suspicions had been correct. If only Summer had sailed off with Rory five months ago. Well, he wouldn’t enlighten her—wouldn’t inflict even a small part of the pain he was suffering on her. Somehow, someway, he would free her, and no one would ever know she had spent one shameful, degrading hour in an English prison.
He paced about the anteroom to the King’s closet like a caged animal. His body cried out for action, yet here he was trapped with all his excessive energy coiled tight within him. At last he saw the door open and Charles emerge and he schooled himself to patience.
Charles smiled at his friend. “All was accomplished with the precision of a well-oiled machine.”
Ruark looked at him blankly for a moment. Then he recalled he must be speaking of the covert operation involving Rory and Rupert. “I’m here about a totally unrelated matter,” he said with what he hoped was an affable grin. “The high magistrate in Hampshire has been indisposed for over a year and as a result there have been no trials in Southampton and Portsmouth. The prisons are bulging at the seams and I think I could do something to ease the backlog before I return to my own district.”
“Find a suitable replacement for the magistrate if you will. That is a ridiculous situation which should never have been allowed to go on this long. All the seaports are overcrowded, unspeakably evil and filled to the rafters with scoundrels who daily break the law, but they should not be incarcerated without trials.”
“Sire, all I need is a letter of authority.”
“See Cornwallis for that. I’ve appointed him head of the justice system. Apparently it stands in need of a damn good overhaul. He has some scheme under way which transports petty criminals to the Americas. Apparently there is a grievous shortage of laborers and a crying need for women in the colonies.”
“It sounds like the scheme has merit,” said Helford, his brain already at work on a scheme of his own.
“Makes more sense than letting them sit on their backsides, eating their heads off at my expense,” said Charles.
Ruark Helford lost no time visiting Cornwallis. He put it in such a way that he would assume the King had ordered him to Portsmouth. “Some women were shipped to prisons in other counties after the London fire. That was five months since and they haven’t even been tried for their offenses.”
Cornwallis warned him. “The selection must be a careful one. We don’t want cutthroats and murderers overrunning our colonies, but I see no reason why women who were arrested for small debts or stealing bread to feed their children cannot be given a chance to help populate the New World. I’m still undecided about prostitutes. What do you think, Helford?” he asked, raising bushy eyebrows.
It was the closest Ruark had come to smiling since he’d learned the whereabouts of his wife. To think the fate of perhaps hundreds of ladies of the night rested with him. He considered the matter gravely, then said without the least hint of mockery, “Since men in the colonies are in need of women to warm their beds and make a harsh life more bearable, I think women who have loose morals would be welcomed with open arms.”
“Mmm. Man does not live by bread alone,” agreed Cornwallis, remembering many of his own irregular pleasures.
“Give me the necessary letter of authority and I’ll be off to Portsmouth. Which vessel will transport the women I select?” he pressed.
“Goddammit, Helford, you’re in a tearing hurry. Don’t you realize the wheels of justice grind slowly?”
“Well, now that the war’s over, I see no reason for the navy to sit about on their backsides eating their heads off,” he said, borrowing a phrase from the King.
“You’re right of course,” said Cornwallis, still smarting at navy men like Sandwich and Albermarle who had kept him in the background during the late nasty business with Holland. “I suppose I have full authority to pick and choose any vessels from the fleet I might need.”
“I don’t think there’s any question of it,” replied Helford smoothly. “How about the Neptune? I believe it’s riding at anchor in Portsmouth this very day, doing nothing more than gathering barnacles.” He picked the slow, cumbersome Neptune for its dearth of cannon.
“The Neptune you say?” asked Cornwallis, beginning to see the humorous side to Helford’s choice. “God’s flesh, that’s the ship they gave William Penn to command after he lost the Royal Charles. I don’t think our rigidly religious Penn will appreciate transporting a shipload of drabs.”
“On the contrary,” said Helford, “I don’t think we could put our women in safer hands.”
Lord Helford arrived at Portsmouth Prison with half a dozen young militiamen under his command. When he dismounted in the prison yard, he realized that for the first time in his life he knew real fear. His guts threatened to turn to jelly and he almost contemplated bolting. When he entered the building, he had to clench his jaw to keep his gorge from rising at the stench of humanity which oozed from the very stones. One glance at Bludwart made him assert total authority immediately. He flashed his legal letters signed by Cornwallis and sealed by the Crown and decided then and there he would give no further explanation of his actions.
