stared at the letter in his hands again. “I’m quite pained to tell you this. They intend to arrest your brother, William, for Bessie’s murder.” He crumpled the letter in his hand. “The constable was good enough to send this note. He wanted you to learn this news from me, not out on the street. Will is to be kept in Newgate until the spring assizes in a few weeks.”
A great buzzing filled Lucy’s ears; she could not stop seeing the sickening image of Will swinging from Tyburn tree. The bile rose in her throat. She had to swallow several times before she could focus. “Will?” she repeated. “How can that be? He had nothing to do with this!”
“He was courting Bessie, and depending on which story they plan to tell, either she threatened to break off their engagement, or he did not wish to be trapped in wedlock to her. Either way, witnesses state that he threatened to kill her.”
“No!”
“Adam told me so himself. Indeed, it was that same misbegotten pub brawl that got your brother into trouble.”
Will and Adam—together at a pub? Lucy shook her head.
“Such words will not stand up in every court,” the magistrate continued, “but they could well damn him in some of my fellow judges’ opinion.”
“I don’t believe it!” she said. “It can’t be true.”
The magistrate unexpectedly looked sad. “There is the truth, my dear, and there is the law. But your brother’s guilt shall not be assumed, by me or any of my peers of the Bench, until he stands to defend himself in a few weeks’ time.”
13
Lucy moved quickly through the market stalls and the sellers, not wanting to be intercepted by an acquaintance. She was headed to Newgate for the first time, instead of staying to shop for cheese and lamb for supper. A market basket slung casually over one arm, Lucy darted effortlessly between the peddlers and fishwives, glad for once that her small size allowed her to move so nimbly. Two weeks had passed since Will was arrested, and Lucy hoped he was faring well enough in jail. Everyone said Newgate was a fearful, terrible place.
Lucy stopped when Newgate loomed darkly before her, casting a monstrous shadow. Nervously, she walked toward the entrance, where two bored guards stood stiffly. The sight of soldiers always made her a bit nervous, reminding her of that terrible day so long ago when Cromwell’s armies had waged war against the king’s men on her father’s fields.
She remembered how she and William had huddled in the hay for hours, until the air grew silent and cold. Finally, they had ventured forth to find their parents. Lucy remembered little enough of her father, who died a few years later, but she would never forget the sight of him kneeling on the ground, crying as only a broken man could and crumbling fistfuls of dirt as his fields smoked all around him. He had lost everything, but she did not truly understand until she was much older. Her mother, she still remembered, was holding the hand of a young red-coated soldier with a great scarlet wound across his chest. The boy was dead, but still her mother had held his hand. “So young,” she had repeated over and over. “His poor mother shall never know his death.” It was Will who had protected her, that day and through those next anguished weeks, as their family numbly retrieved their farm from the rotting corpses.
Now Lucy lifted her chin, mustering her courage. Just as Will had not failed her so long ago, she could not fail him now. Booksellers milled about the dusty courtyard, their pockets and sacks bulging with chapbooks and penny pieces, spreading the news of recent executions. As she drew closer, a horrible stench assailed her nose.
One of the guards took notice of her. He had a shock of red hair and freckles that stood out against his pale skin. “Whatcher want, little girl?” he asked, leering down at her. Lucy was glad that she had worn her oldest, loosest smock, so that she would seem too young for their lechery. The other glanced at her but then turned his attention back to the courtyard, not caring for such small sport.
Lucy straightened her shoulders but tried to sound like a young witless girl. At least it was easy enough to sound afraid. “If you please, sir, I should like to see one of your prisoners.” She decided she would not give Will’s name unless absolutely