Page 30 of Lady Isla and the Lord of Rogue (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #6)

Chapter Twenty

Both Teddy and Algie were occupied the next day.

Algie with his work, naturally, and Teddy with heaven knew what, possibly planning his next vile scheme.

Yesterday’s picnic had done nothing but confuse her further, for whenever Teddy was with her, there was nothing in his behaviour to suggest that he led a double life.

What had astonished her most was how easily she had fallen back into their old conversational ease.

For a short while, she had completely forgotten that he was Lucian Night.

And when he attempted to kiss her goodbye while the butler was not looking, a quick peck on the cheek, she had allowed it.

It had felt natural.

Isla rubbed her cheek, troubled.

That day, Isla planned to visit Newgate Prison with Catherine and several other women from the ‘Association for the Reformation of Female Prisoners’.

They brought food and clothes to the inmates, as well as knitting and needlework, not only to provide occupation but also to calm them and help them earn a little money.

It was no secret that the conditions at Newgate were appalling, and for women especially harsh.

Thus, when Elizabeth Fry, who had founded the organisation, approached Isla for support, she had readily agreed.

The visit would keep her occupied and distract her from the troubling events of the past days and from Teddy.

Interestingly, the opposite occurred.

She spent the entire morning with the female prisoners, teaching one particularly young girl, only a few years older than the Romani girl from the day before, how to sew.

As she departed, passing through the turnkey’s room, Mrs Fry asked her to wait.

She wished to speak with her after meeting with the warden.

Isla and Catherine waited in the narrow chamber, where a grimy window overlooked a dark courtyard below.

From there, they observed prisoners, both men and women, being moved between buildings.

“Mrs Fry is right,” Catherine said, frowning at the sight. “Male and female inmates must be separated, urgently.”

Isla watched a pair of men approach a woman who had just entered the yard. The woman looked about uneasily and shuffled into a corner. The men followed.

“Can’t you stop them from harassing her?” Isla turned to the turnkey, who sat at a corner table, eating his dinner.

He shrugged. “There’s naught I can do about it.”

“But surely you must. ”

“As long as nothing’s happenin’, nothing’s happenin’,” he said, biting into a chunk of bread.

“There is clearly little interest in protecting the female inmates,” Catherine said with a frown. “Mrs Fry is correct. We need reforms. A broader association, something nationwide, to raise awareness of this issue.”

Isla was about to reply that this was precisely why they waited for Mrs Fry, when two turnkeys passed through the yard, dragging a prisoner between them.

She leaned closer to the windowpane, pressing her face against the glass.

That figure. Tall, lanky, wrists bound in iron cuffs, feet shackled by a short chain, in patchwork clothing, with a shock of unruly red hair.

“It cannot be,” Isla whispered. Her eyes must be deceiving her. “How is this possible?”

It was the man Lucian Night had executed.

She had seen him die.

So why was he here, alive?

“Do you know him?” Catherine asked, her gaze shifting between Isla and the prisoner. “Who is he?”

The turnkey glanced outside. “That’s Harkins. Right-hand man of the boss of the Mudlark Gang, he is. Nasty piece of work. They finally brought him in. Should’ve happened long ago. Set to swing tomorrow, I heard.”

“But...but...” Isla pointed toward the man, unable to say she had seen him shot. “Who brought him in? And when?”

The turnkey shrugged. “‘Bout three nights ago. Quiet-like. Heard it were some men from Bow Street, or someone even higher. Difficult to say. Whole thing stank of secrecy.”

That was the night she had followed Teddy to the warehouse. The night she believed she saw the man shot.

But now the evidence proved otherwise. How could she have been so mistaken?

Her thoughts began to race. She had not truly seen him die, had she? She had turned away, hidden her face in her hands. She had heard the shot. But there had been no blood that she had noticed in the moonlight, and no body either. What if it had been a warning shot? What if they had taken him away?

“You said Bow Street men brought him in? Are you certain?” she asked sharply.

The turnkey paused with his bread halfway to his mouth and gave her a sidelong look. “I might be, and I might not.”

“That means he knows something, if you pay him,” Catherine murmured.

Isla took out her purse and handed him a coin.

He bit it, then pocketed it with a grunt of satisfaction. “Word is, there’s a grand sweep happening. The government’s taking action. That business with the Mudlark Skulls. Filthy trade, that one. They got wind of a shipment, or something worse. Three nights ago, they moved in, quiet as cats.”

“And you’re sure Bow Street brought him in?”

The turnkey leaned forward, lowered his voice. “That’s the tale. But if you ask me? They weren’t ordinary Runners. Too clean. Too sharp. I’d stake my wages they were government men. Secret sort. It’s an open secret, miss—this town’s crawling with them these days.”

“Government men,” Isla echoed. “You mean...agents from the Home Office?”

Algie.

The man shrugged. “More likely than not.”

Isla’s heart hammered in sharp staccato beats. Her mouth was dry, and she ran her tongue over her lips. “Lucian Night. What do you know about him?”

The turnkey gave another shrug. “Gone quiet, that one. No one knows where he is or what he is about. He’s a phantom. Comes and goes like smoke.”

Isla unclenched her fingers from her purse and slowly took out another coin. She pulled out another coin. “Thank you. That was most informative. Now, if you would be so good as to assist that woman in the courtyard, there’s another coin in it for you.”

The man’s face lit up. “Certainly, my lady. No trouble whatsoever.”

As the carriage rattled back toward Mayfair, Catherine cast a sidelong glance at Isla. “Would you care to tell me what that was about?”

Isla closed her eyes for a moment before replying. “I have a brilliant brother, Catherine. Truly.”

Catherine chuckled. “I daresay we all know that.”

“But there are moments,” Isla said through gritted teeth, “when I could strangle him with my bare hands.”

Catherine laughed again, but Isla only rubbed her temple.

She didn’t know whether to laugh, weep with relief, or begin planning her brother’s demise in earnest.

Instead, she let out a groan and banged her head softly against the side of the carriage, repeatedly.

“Isla!” Catherine exclaimed. “Whatever is the matter? Do you need some hartshorn?”

“I shall kill him,” Isla muttered.

And Teddy with him.

Lucian Night.

A government man.

Why in heaven’s name had she not realised it sooner?