Chapter 28: A Friend in Distress

John Barstow, prosecutor at the Central Criminal Court, alighted from the rented cab that had taken him to Newgate Prison. The case of the attempted murder of Sir Hamilton Crewes had been assigned to him just an hour ago, and the suspect, Sir Hamilton's wife, was already kept at Newgate. He wanted to interview her first to get an impression of her.

The magistrate rose when he recognised the Crown attorney.

"Good afternoon, Sir."

"Good afternoon. I wish to speak Lady Crewes."

"Certainly, Sir! I shall have her brought to the interrogation cell."

"No need for that, my good man. I can see her in her cell."

"But, Sir! She's not in a private cell. Her husband refused to pay. She's in..."

"Don't tell me she's in the common cell!" Barstow expostulated, horrified by the thought of a mere suspect to be locked in with the whores and thieves that were usually kept in that common cell.

"But she is, Sir!" the man answered miserably. "She had no money on her when she arrived, and she refused to give up her valuables."

"Good God! Have her brought out here at once!"

Barstow was truly shocked. His shock went deeper when the woman was brought in. She had bruises in her face, and a nasty bruise around her neck where somebody had apparently tried to strangle her. Her dress of blue cotton was torn in some places, too. The worst were her eyes that showed the terror she had endured for the last hours. With a shock he recognised her as the woman who had so resolutely defended her friend against a violent attacker.

"Madam, words fail me to express the regret I feel over the treatment you had to endure."

She gave him a bitter smile. "Well, my husband promised me to leave me to the wolves, and at least in that he did not lie."

"He refuses to put you up in a private cell? Has he no concept of the consequences?"

"Oh, I believe he does. I should not have married a lunatic."

Barstow turned to the magistrate. "Have a private cell readied for her!"

"You see, Sir, she has..."

"Never mind! I shall pay for it if need be. See to it at once!"

"As you wish, Mr. Barstow," the magistrate answered with a little smirk.

Barstow turned back to Lady Crewes and found her looking at him with a crooked smile.

"Mr. Barstow?"

"Yes, indeed, Madam. Perhaps you remember me from the inquest after Mr. Moore's death? I am a prosecutor at the Central Criminal Court of London."

"I did not poison my husband, Mr. Barstow. If you hope to elicit a confession with your generosity, then I suggest you have me brought back into that cesspool at once."

Barstow blushed. "I hope that you do not think that I might have something like that in mind."

She blushed under the bruises. "Forgive me then. In a place like this a gentleman is very hard to find."

"Firstly, and before we begin the interview, let me ask whether you may have friends in London who might be willing to assist you."

She exhaled deeply. "There were many, although I have no way of knowing whether they will stand by me given the accusations levelled against me. Of my friends Mr. and Mrs. Tremayne of Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, I am certain, however. If you were to alert them to my predicament, I should hold you for a true gentleman whatever your duty will compel you to do."

"I shall act accordingly, Madam. Now, if you were to tell me your side of the events?"

Lady Crewes nodded and took a deep breath.

"I met my husband during a function of the Benevolent Society of St. Albert where I act as secretary to Lady Wilkes ... Well, that is over, too. Nobody will ever want to be seen with me again."

"Your guilt has not been established yet."

"Yes, but I am confined to this prison, and my husband will no doubt spread his views in this moment."

"That cannot be helped I fear," Barstow acknowledged. "Madam, should I better call on you tomorrow? You need to recuperate a little. If you'll allow it, I shall also see to it that you will receive adequate food. A good blanket and other items, too."

"Will you do that? You are indeed a ray of hope for me. I cannot pay you back with a confession to a deed I did not commit, but I will remember you as a shining example from which other men should learn."

Barstow blushed a little, and he bowed. "I take no satisfaction from this case, Madam. I shall call on you tomorrow, and I hope that you will be able to find some rest."

He did not leave without giving the magistrate stern instructions as to the treatment the woman was to receive, and when he left he could not banish the thought of Lady Crewes from his mind. Accused or not, she had left an impression on him.

°°°

Rose stood with her mouth open staring at the newspaper. It proclaimed to the world that Lady Crewes stood accused of attempted murder by poison of her husband, Sir Hamilton Crewes. The reporter then assured his readers that the evidence against her was unshakeable and that she would owe her life to the miraculous survival of the victim. She was, the public was assured, held at Newgate Prison until her trial and conviction.

"This is horrible!" Rose whimpered, and Jim regarded his wife with immediate concern. Thankfully, Amanda was already supporting her. There was more, however. The housekeeper produced a billet which she handed to Jim.

"This is from the prosecutor. He informs us that Lady Crewes is at present held at Newgate Prison and that she cannot expect support from her husband. She named us as her closest friends," he ended with a small smile. He looked at Rose. "Rose, darling! I shall look into the matter at once. Please calm yourself. I am certain that this is a terrible misunderstanding. Let me get to the bottom of this."

"Jim, we must help her!"

"And we shall," Jim replied with his jaw set in determination.

He studied the newspaper article once more. He knew that to go off half-cocked was a sure way to make things worse. His own solicitor, Mr. Turnwell, had his office in the City. It was there where he had to find help.

"Tell the coachman to stay ready!" he snarled at the poor housekeeper who jumped and ran from the hallway.

"Ned, will you watch over Rose?" he asked his friend who nodded grimly.

"I'll do just that and don't you worry none about her. Us and Rose and Mandy, its the same all over again."

"Let her rest, and don't allow her to leave!" Jim bent over Rose. "I shall be back with news as soon as possible!"

Within twenty minutes, the coach came to a stop in front of Mr. Turnwell's office, and seconds later, Jim stormed up the front steps. Thankfully, Mr. Turnwell was in, and he received his wealthy client immediately.

"My dear Mr. Tremayne, you look in haste. You had better come in medias res without ado."

"Mr. Turnwell, I need you to identify the best barrister London can boast."

"For a property dispute?"

"No. A criminal murder trial."

"Mercy! You are not... ?"

"No. It is about our friend, Lady Crewes. We wish to render her any possible aid."

Mr. Turnwell whistled softly. "The best man for a case like this would be Sir Archibald Pendrake. I happen to befriend him. If you wish we can visit him this minute."

"That would indeed be helpful," Jim sighed with relief. "My coach is waiting outside."

"Splendid! No need for a coat on a sunny day like this."

Mr. Turnwell was already heading for the door and Jim followed him in haste. Mr. Turnwell gave the directions to Jim's coachman, and a minute later the wheels of the coach were rattling over the cobble stones. Sir Archibald's office was in the City, too, and the coach ride took but five minutes. Mr. Turnwell was well known, and they were admitted before Sir Archibald with only a minimal delay.

"Roger, my dear! Welcome! Pray, who is your client with the lack of patience?"

"Archibald, this is my client, Major Tremayne. Mr. Tremayne and his wife befriend the Lady Crewes, and he inquired about the best barrister for her defence. Naturally, I thought of you."

"The Crewes case? How very interesting! Mr. Tremayne, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. Pray, be seated and state your interest."

In brief words, Jim described how they had returned from a stay at their country seat only to find the alarming newspaper reports.

"Are you a personal friend of Lady Crewes?" Sir Archibald inquired with a neutral tone.

"I owe her my wife's life," Jim answered without hesitation. "I promised my wife to do my utmost to clear up the misunderstanding that must undoubtedly lie at the heart of the affair."

"Quite. Are you prepared to post sureties against Lady Crewes' release from Newgate Prison?"

"Certainly. Any amount."

"This may run up to £1,000," Sir Archibald warned.

Jim just gave him a cool smile and a nod.

"Major Tremayne owns a gold mine in the Americas," Mr. Turnwell felt compelled to explain.

Sir Archibald gave a brief laugh. "Then I suggest that you procure sufficient funds or a bank letter guaranteeing them. Where do you bank?"

"Lambert & Norton. It is around the corner."

"Splendid! Why don't we do the following: while you engage in the procurement of the bank letters, I shall have my clerk warn the magistrate of our intentions. Once you return we can then proceed to offer bail."

Jim nodded briefly, clapped his hat upon his hair and left the offices. Five minutes of brisk walking brought him to the bank house. Fortunately, Sir Anthony Carter was in presence and helped to expedite the process. Jim was issued fifteen bank letters, each of them guaranteeing £100, and he left the bank in a brisk walk not thirty minutes later.

Mr. Turnwell bade his good byes wishing Jim luck and success, and Jim set out for Newgate Prison with Sir Archibald. The coachman did his best, and not thirty minutes later they arrived at the prison. Newgate had been built eighty-six years before in a style intended to induce fear in the lawbreakers, and Jim shuddered thinking of Priscilla being locked up in this place.

The magistrate in charge received them being warned ahead of their arrival.

"I am here to represent the Lady Crewes. Major Tremayne here is prepared to post sureties against her release from prison."

The magistrate looked them over.

"It's late already," he said.

Jim nodded to that. "Then we should better hurry, shouldn't we? I shall be grateful indeed for your help."

The magistrate did a neat magician's trick and Jim's two folded pound notes vanished from the desk.

"Where has she been kept?" Jim asked next, and he detected uneasiness on the part of the magistrate.

"In the common cell at first," he mumbled.

"In the common cell?" Jim exploded. "With whores and thieves?"

The magistrate cowered before Jim. "You see, she had no means to pay for the better cells. Her husband being the victim, he did not see fit..."

"That worthless coward will hear from me," Jim snarled. "Quickly, man, name the bail."

"F-five hundred pounds, Major?" the cowed magistrate offered. "You have to see that Mr. Barstow, the prosecutor, had her set up in a private cell after only a few hours. Paid for it, too. She's safe."

"Better, but still not good enough! Now bring her out and be quick about it!" Jim shot back, placing five of his bank letters on the desk.

The magistrate fairly ran from the office and could be heard bellowing in the adjacent hallway. Only a few minutes passed before a prison guard appeared leading Priscilla into the office. Her face and neck showed some bruises, and her dress was torn in the front. She looked like a wounded animal. Seeing him, she began to cry helplessly.

"Who did this to her?" Jim demanded, and his tone was such that both the magistrate and the prison guard flinched noticeably.

"Common cell, you have to understand, Major," the magistrate grovelled.

Jim stepped close and lifted Priscilla's chin.

"Cilla, did the guards molest you?"

"No," she whispered.

"Who beat you then?"

"There's this woman. She took what possessions I had on my person, and she beat me to get more. Only, I couldn't give her more. She beat me and tried to throttle me. Thank God, some of the other women who were of a kinder disposition interfered on my behalf."

"What's the name of the woman?"

"Maggie Bullson."

Jim looked at the magistrate. "I expect Lady Crewes' possessions returned to her immediately! What sort of place are you running I feel compelled to ask?"

Sir Archibald stood to the side, an amused smile on his face, and watched the guard run from the room. He felt the need to establish his presence.

"Lady Crewes, I am Sir Archibald Pendrake, barrister, at your service. Major Tremayne retained my services for your defence, and I shall represent you in court and in all proceedings related."

Priscilla swallowed hard. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Archibald," she said with a shaky voice giving Jim a grateful look.

"Major, I suggest that once Lady Crewes' possessions have been retrieved, we shall return to the City. I have but a few questions to ask of Lady Crewes that cannot wait until tomorrow, but the coach ride will afford me with the opportunity. After that, I would suggest that you find her a comfortable resting place."

Jim nodded.

"I would also abstain from any action regarding Sir Hamilton. It would only hurt our case."

Jim nodded again, although he balled his fists involuntarily.

They had to wait for close to a quarter hour before the prison guard returned with scratches in his face but also with a mother of pearl comb, two rings, and one brooch that belonged to Priscilla. Another two pound notes changed hands to console the guard over his injuries, and then they were able to leave.

People stared at the two richly dressed gentlemen who escorted a woman in torn dress from the prison. This would be a problem, Jim and Sir Archibald decided. Priscilla would need her wardrobe. The barrister suggested that Mr. Turnwell would tend to this, perhaps assisted by one of the Tremaynes' servants. Jim found that a sensible suggestion.

They let Sir Archibald alight in front of his offices and he promised to pay a call on the next morning to interview Priscilla. This left the two friends alone, and while the coach rumpled towards Chelsea, Priscilla sat close to Jim leaning against his shoulder.

"I was such a fool," she said dejectedly. "You and Rose offered me love and security, and I scorned it to find a husband of my own."

"It doesn't matter, Cilla. We're still there for you, and we'll see you through this."

She looked up with a tear-streaked face. "I did not poison him!"

"Sssh! Nobody in their right mind believes in this utter rubbish. Rest now, and when we arrive you will take a long bath. You will dress nicely then, have a good dinner, and then go to sleep."

"Don't you want to know... ?"

"That can wait. You'll have to tell Sir Archibald anyway."

"You're far too good to me, Jim."

"Nonsense. We are friends, Priscilla. Friends trust each other."

°°°

Mr. John Barstow, Public Prosecutor at the Central Criminal Court, looked at the police inspector sitting in front of him.

"What do you make of the victim, Sir Hamilton, Inspector Mellard?"

"He's deathly afraid of being poisoned, Sir. I mean, Sir, why else would he eat arsenic for years to harden himself."

"I quite agree, Inspector. Did you question the man? Is it conceivable that he overdosed all by himself?"

"I asked just that, Sir, and he launched into a quarter hour diatribe explaining how he was a teacher of chemistry himself and how learned men such as him never made such mistakes."

"So the point is that he has been hardening himself by a regular intake of arsenic for years, and when he was given a deathly dose three days ago, he survived with little more than a bout of the dysentery."

"Precisely. He then performed the Marsh test on the food leftovers and found arsenic in the chicken broth. The chicken broth had been from the day before and warmed over, so it had been standing in the food locker for a day."

"Lady Crewes did not eat of it?"

"She attended a meeting at one Lady Wilkes' house. She is involved in a hospital charity, the St. Albert's Benevolent Society. She did not return before nine o'clock."

"How about that housekeeper? Has she reason to poison her employer?"

"This is just an impression, Sir, but I believe she's secretly in love with him. Besides, Sir Hamilton stated that she knows of his efforts to harden himself against arsenic poisoning. Had she been behind it she would have given him a much higher dose."

"Quite so. The other servants?"

"None of them had access to the kitchen. Miss Wharton was adamant. Lady Crewes has the only other key."

Barstow sighed. "What do you make of her?"

"I've known her, Sir. Last autumn she came to the aid of her friend, Mrs. Tremayne, who was attacked in her home by some American brigand. Lady Crewes stabbed the assailant with Mr. Tremayne's sabre whereupon Mrs. Tremayne grabbed a loaded Colt revolver and shot him to death. She appeared to be quite a courageous lady then and a very close friend to Mrs. Tremayne. I held a rather favourable view of her."