“I’ve decided to send my apprentice in my stead to the Court of Chancery. Nothing is set to happen on my current case for a period of…oh…five years, at the very soonest.”
She couldn’t help smiling slightly.
“You think I am joking. Dear lady, there are cases in Chancery that started before you were born. Probably a few before I was born, too. Our court of fairness and equity has become anything but. Luckily, you will be in a very different court.” He stood. “Besides, this is far more interesting than anything else I could be doing today. I want to meet your brother and hear what he has to say.”
He folded the paper upon which he’d been writing his notes, sealed it with a dab of black wax and his ring, and hastily scrawled “Mr. Nigel Jaggers, Esquire” upon the other side.
“We’ll drop this into his slot on the way out.” Then, as he put on his hat and grabbed a cane, Mr. Brassel shook his head. “That Lady Westing! She knew I would become immediately interested in your brother’s situation and distracted from the tedious work I already had at hand. Bless her!”
*
Thus, Adelia foundherself in the company of Mr. Brassel on her way to Newgate jail, a mere five minutes to the east, along Holborn Street. Each was in their separate carriage, as he would go next to Lincoln’s Inn Hall where the Chancery court was currently meeting.
Adelia could barely breathe when she stepped out of her carriage at the entrance to the prison. It seemed utterly incredible that Thomas should be there, and she, visiting him in such a ghastly place.
She had walked past the gloomy building a number of times in her life and never considered its inhabitants more than to think they were there for good reason. Moreover, it never once dawned on her the prisoners behind the ugly granite-block walls could possibly be people she would ever know or meet.
Studying it now, it looked no better—a squat, unadorned structure that looked as if it had dropped heavily onto the corner of Newgate and Old Bailey Streets. The barred windows far overhead, on what she assumed was a second and third story, were the only telltale sign of the building’s use.
“Don’t be too dismayed, Lady Adelia,” Mr. Brassel said. “Hopefully, your brother will not be here long. Regular visitors can only see prisoners in the central courtyard, if at all. However, as we are going for a deposition—his reliable statement of defense—we shall be allowed to see him privately in a room.”
They began their journey into the infamous facility with an ordinary knock at what Adelia found out was the door of the governor of Newgate’s house. After Mr. Brassel gave a servant his card, the man allowed them entrance, and they waited for another officer who would escort them inside the actual prison.
To Adelia’s right was an ordinary office, one that looked like the solicitor’s at Gray’s Inn except larger, with room for two clerks who did not look up from their duties. Beyond them, windows looked over the Old Bailey side of the facility.
“Would they not bring my brother out here?” Adelia asked, still hesitant to go inside the jail itself.
“Part of your task here today is to grease the palms, if you know the phrase, of all the right people who will make the earl’s time here more comfortable. To that end, you must enter.”
She nodded. The waiting seemed endless. Eventually, a stocky man dressed all in black with a massive set of keys arrived to escort them inside. They followed him through a door opposite to the one they’d entered from the street. In front of Adelia were death masks of two men, labeled Bishop and Williams.
When she glanced at them and back at the solicitor, Mr. Brassel only muttered, “Notorious murderers,” and drew her away.
Passing through that room, they finally found themselves nearly in the prison. The Old Bailey remained on their right-hand side and, on their left, a collection of irons, which she could not take her gaze from. When she saw Thomas, he would be in chains. A sob rose to her throat, and she tamped it down. They next went through a heavy wood and iron gate, studded with nails and guarded by another man who watched them disinterestedly as their escort used a key to open the gate and allow them entrance.
Ahead of them was a narrow stone passageway, which Adelia discovered led to different yards, each guarded by further gates and gratings.
“I am becoming bewildered,” she said. “It is like a rabbit warren.”
“Actually, my lady,” the guard spoke up, “Newgate is an orderly square, made up of wards. There are yards in between for exercise. We have a separate women’s side, closer to the Session House, and the men’s side, which we shall go into next. You are looking for Thomas Smythe, is that right?”
“Lord Thomas Smythe, Earl of Dunford,” she said, clear as a bell. “And he is innocent.”
“Of course, my lady.” But the man had obviously heard that often.
Mr. Brassel patted her arm for reassurance, and she realized it accomplished nothing to plead her case to a guard.
Was he one to whom she should pay a little?
Tapping her full reticule, she looked at the solicitor and gestured her head to the back of the guard who led them.
Mr. Brassel nodded. “I’ll tell you when,” he said softly.
When they entered the men’s side of the jail, the guard locked the last gate they’d passed through. “We’ll go to the receiving room. I think Lord Smythe may still be there, as all prisoners remain in it until they’ve been examined by the surgeon.”
“The surgeon?”
“Aye, my lady. The prison has its own. Got to make sure the prisoners aren’t going to die on us before trial and execution.”
