“I’ve never talked to a lord much before,” Jeremy said at last, duckinghis head shyly.
Tristan’s chest tightened. Someone had taught the boy his manners, but they were little enough use to him here. He opened his mouth to say something comforting—what, he hadn’t the faintest idea—but before he could get a word out, he heard raised voices coming from just outside the door ofJeremy’s cell.
Hogg was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, and Miss Monmouth was saying something to him, her words quick and urgent. Her shoulders sagged when Hogg’s face remained hard, but then she reached into the pocket of her skirt, pulled something out, and heldit out to him.
Her silver locket. She stared down at it for a long moment, then offered it to Hogg.
Tristan watched, anger searing his veins as Hogg snatched it up, and turned it over in his hands to test its weight. Finally, he nodded.
A bribe for…something. Something she wanted badly enough she was willing to part with the locket once again. He’d seen the way she looked at it when he held it out to her yesterday, had heard the slight break in her voice when she’d told him it had belonged to her mother. He hardly knew her, and even he could tell how dearit was to her.
She turned her face away as Hogg stuffed it carelessly into his pocket. Tristan got a glimpse of her bleak expression before she schooled her features into the same calm cheerfulness with which she’d greeted Jeremy when they arrived.
That one glimpse was enough.
When she joined Tristan and Jeremy again, she wore a bright, false smile on her lips. “I have good news for you, sweetheart. Mr. Hogg says you don’t need to wear the irons anymore, and you’re to have some broth,and a blanket.”
Tristan stood silently next to her as she related this welcome news, the knot in his chest choking off his breath. She’d traded her locket for better accommodations for Jeremy. She’d given up something dear to her, and gained very little by it. Between the violent treatment from the guards and the disease that infected every corner of this cell, Jeremy Ives was going to die in Newgate. A blanket and some broth wouldn’t change that.
Tristan cornered Hogg while Miss Monmouth was bidding goodbye to Jeremy, who, despite the improvement in his circumstances, was weeping piteously. “That locket the lady gave you. Iwant it back.”
Hogg eyed him sullenly. “She change ’er mind?”
“No.Idid.” Tristan moved a step closer, so Hogg could feel the difference in their height, and held out his hand. “Give me thelady’s locket.”
“Nay. It’s too late fer that, milord. She gave it up fair like, and I’m keeping it.”
“No, I don’t think you are.” Tristan voice was soft, but menacing. The wardens at Newgate were some of the most loathsome, corrupt men in London, and Hogg was no exception. There wasn’t a drop of honor or compassion in him, but what he lacked in sensibility, he more than made up for in greed.
Tristan drew a handful of guineas from his pocket. “You can take these, hand over the locket, and consider yourself fortunate, or I can take the locket off you myself, and keep the guineas.”
Hogg sized him up, then he snatched up the coins, dug around in his pocket, and handed the locket over to Tristan.
“Wise choice.” Tristan slid the locket into his waistcoat pocket. “It would be a great pity if I were to discover young Mr. Ives didn’t receive his broth and blanket, or has been mistreated in any way. You don’t want me as your enemy, Hogg. Be sure you keep your end of the bargain, or I’ll haunt your every bloody step.”
Hogg’s face drained of color. Satisfied, Tristan strode back across the cell, where Miss Monmouth had managed to calm Jeremy to some degree. The lad’s pale blue eyes were still swimming with tears, but he offered Tristan a wobbly smile. “Goodbye, my lord. I thank ye for coming tosee me today.”
Tristan managed a smile and a goodbye for Jeremy, but the boy’s words echoed in his head as he and Miss Monmouth followed Hogg back through the dank stone passageways and into the turnkey’s lodge.
Thank ye for coming to see me today.
For all the good it had done, Tristan thought as they emerged into the fresh air, leaving the hell that was Newgate behind them.
For all the good anyof it had done.
Chapter Ten
It was some time after they returned to the carriage before either Sophia or Lord Gray said a word. The minutes ticked by, but Lord Gray didn’t instruct his coachman to drive, and Sophia, who was staring blindly out the window, didn’t ask him to.
It had taken every bit of her strength to leave Jeremy’s cell just now—every bit of her forbearance not to collapse with fury and grief when she saw what they’d done to him. She’d been on the verge of sinking to her knees with each step through that endless, winding maze of stone and iron. She gripped the folds of her cloak in cold, numb fingers, her eyes dry despite the misery lodged in her throat. The brutality of Jeremy’s fate, the injustice of it was too profound for tears.
“I believe you,Miss Monmouth.”
Lord Gray’s voice was so quiet Sophia might not have heard him but for the stillness inside the carriage. She turned away from the window and found him staring straight ahead, his face strangely blank.
“About Jeremy Ives,” he clarified, when she didn’t reply. “He’s no murderer. He didn’t kill Henry. I…don’tknow who did.”
He turned to face her then, and Sophia’s breath hitched in her throat at his lost expression, the bleak hopelessness in his eyes. She hadn’t known Henry Gerrard. She’d grieved for him still, even shed tears over his fate, but she hadn’t truly understood the depth of the loss of him until she saw it in Lord Gray’s eyes.
