A Counterfeit Suitor by Darcie Wilde

Author:Darcie Wilde [Wilde, Darcie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2021-08-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 29

To Venture into the Depths

Less glaring demonstrations of the same vice, the silent egotisms of personal vanity, intellectual pride, domestic self-seclusion, sordid calculation, and diverse others, glide through the world unde- tected, or arrayed in the mask and domino of virtue.

Catherine Gore, The Banker’s Wife

Rosalind fully expected her friends to be upset by her decision to visit the New Prison. But even Alice, this once, had been genuinely shocked.

“You can’t, Rosalind. This is madness. Even for you. Even for me.”

Sanderson Faulks had appeared on the verge of raising his voice. “My dear Miss Thorne, I find myself almost ready to wish we had married, so that I would have the power to absolutely forbid you to do this thing.”

Mr. Harkness, however, did not waste breath on admonishments. “I’m coming with you,” he said.

As Rosalind moved to protest, Mr. Harkness cut her off, something he never did.

“I will wait outside so he will speak more freely, but I will be there.” He lowered his voice, his face as grim and serious as she had ever seen it. “Fullerton has threatened your destruction. He may still be trying to carry that out. I will be there.”

To this, Rosalind had no answer.

* * *

The place where Fullerton was being held was officially called Clerkenwell Prison. However, it was commonly known as the “New Prison,” having been rebuilt after the original structure burnt down in the Gordon riots. Despite its new construction, it was as solid and forbidding as any medieval fortress. Rosalind found herself grateful for Adam’s presence as he handed her down from the carriage.

He hammered on the turnkey’s door, and when the wizened little man slid back the little shutter, he handed through his written orders. The turnkey squinted at him, then shrugged and opened the door.

Adam held out his arm.

“I believe this is the first time I’ve taken your arm, Mr. Harkness,” Rosalind murmured as they walked beneath the long, dark archway.

“I believe you’re right,” he answered softly. “How strangely appropriate.”

Rosalind felt the urge to smile, but it died immediately. The guard was plying one of his great iron keys on yet another closed door, and they were inside the prison.

They followed the turnkey through a sort of tunnel. To their left, a series of arches opened onto the bare prison yard, where men clustered. Rough shouts and laughter cut the dank, frigid air. To the right was the stone wall, with its stout, barred doors.

The jailor stopped in front of one of the doors and worked the heavy lock. He grabbed the lantern off the hook on the wall and walked into the darkness. It took all of Rosalind’s nerve to follow.

Outside, it was broad daylight. In here, it was midnight, and as cold as it had been in the open air. The smell was overpowering. Rosalind extracted her handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it against her nose. She struggled not to shrink back against Mr. Harkness as they were led up the slick, narrow stone stairs. The smell seemed to cling to the damp stones.

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