London - Edward Rutherfurd [471]
Sam and Sep were standing in Grosvenor Square watching the sweeps go by, when Sam thought of it.
The sweeps were a cheerful enough crowd: grimy and soot-covered on working days, they were scrubbed clean and dressed in sparkling white shirts and breeches for May Day. But what really caught Sam’s attention were their assistants. Each sweep had one or two of these – small boys, some as young as five or six. These were the little sweeps who were sent up the chimney itself when the long-handled brush could not negotiate a corner. Their job was filthy: half-choked with soot, they might have to climb thirty feet up the blackened tunnel. And their lot was often very hard. If the sweep was their father, they were probably all right; but if they were orphans, or sent out to work by their poor family, their treatment might be harsh. It was quite common, however, for a householder, or even one of the servants, to take pity on these little fellows and slip them some money or a present of food. If you were clever, Sam had heard, you could make some money. Something else had occurred to him, too.
These sweeps got into the grand Mayfair houses. They visited every room. His face broke into a grin.
“Sep, I think I know how we can make some money.”
The Clink’s best room was certainly a great improvement. It had a decent bed, a writing table, a rug on the floor and a narrow medieval window with a view of an overgrown little garden. Jack Meredith felt more himself as soon as he was installed. The message from Lady St James, if unclear, had been encouraging and he had decided to take no further action until he heard from her again.
At noon, Silversleeves brought him a meal: a chicken, a pastry and a bottle of claret. Also a journal to read.
“Most of my gentlemen take the Spectator,” he observed.
After his meal, Meredith contented himself with that periodical for an hour before there was a knock at the door and a visitor was announced. Though he was half expecting Lady St James, the visitor’s face was so entirely hidden under a hat and a silken scarf that for a moment he was not quite sure if it was she. Only when the door was closed did she remove the wrap; and Meredith received a shock.
Lady St James had taken great care over her appearance. The cheek which her husband had struck had been carefully slapped by her maid with a wet towel for an hour before she left, so that the entire side of her face was now horribly swollen and puffy. Further, her ladyship had even knelt down and bumped the other side of her face against the bedpost so that she had a black eye too. She did not lack courage.
The captain, who had risen to his feet, gazed at her in horror.
“Who has done this to you?”
“Who do you think?”
“St James? My God! How? Why?”
She shrugged, indicated that she needed to sit down. Then slowly, letting him coax it from her, she told him about her husband’s assault.
Lady St James did not exactly lie. There was no need. After all, she had been assaulted and considerably hurt. But by the time she had related all to Jack, the scale of the violence had mounted to match and even surpass the injuries she now displayed. Cynical man of the world though he was, Meredith was appalled.
“He must be stopped,” he cried. “The blackguard!”
She made a sad little face. “How?”
“By God, I’ll stop him,” he declared.
“You are in prison,” she reminded him. “You can do nothing.” She paused. Then gently: “Would you really be my protector, Jack?”
He looked at her, remembered her message and in the back of his worldly mind guessed that there was some artifice here; but even so he could not fail to experience a great rush of protective feeling towards her. She, watching his thoughts, now quietly interposed:
“Jack, if you don’t save me, I’m condemned to a lifetime of this, and I don’t know what I shall do.”
“That mustn’t be.” His voice was low, manly.
“Well, Jack, there may be a way to save us both. But