"I say we walk along Piccadilly, madam."
Juliana's smile remained unwavering as her three friends were handed into the coach by the footman. "Indeed, my lord, but we cannot spare the time. Poor Lucy could even now be dying of starvation in that place. We don't have a minute to lose." She turned to follow her companions into the hackney. Seating herself, she leaned out of the still-open door.
"If you don't wish to sit on the box, my lord, perhaps you could follow us in a separate hackney."
Lucien glowered at her. Juliana coaxed, "Please come, my lord. If I go alone, His Grace will feel he has cause to be vexed with me. But as you so rightly said, if you come, he'll have to bite his tongue."
It worked. The viscount, still glowering, climbed onto the box beside the jarvey. "The Marshalsea," he growled. The jarvey cracked his whip and the hackney moved off, the footman leaping onto the step behind, hanging on to the leather strap.
"Why are you so set on this, Juliana?" Lilly fanned herself in the warm interior, her languid air belied by the sharpness of her gaze. "I warrant it has to do with more than Lucy's plight."
"Perhaps it has," Juliana said with a serene smile. "But Lucy's situation is the first consideration."
Rosamund was sitting in silence in a corner, the muslin collar of her short cloak drawn up around her ears as if she were hiding from something. When she spoke, her voice was husky and awkward. "Forgive me, Juliana, I don't wish to pry. But… but that is your husband who's accompanying us?"
"Yes, for my sins," Juliana replied with a shudder. Once out of the viscount's presence she couldn't hide her repulsion.
"He's a sick man," Rosamund said hesitantly. "I don't know if-"
"He's poxed," Lilly stated flatly. "There's no need to beat about the bush, Rosamund, we all know the signs. Have you been in his bed, Juliana?"
Juliana shook her head. "No, and I shall not. It's not part of the arrangement."
"Well, that's a relief!" Emma sighed and relaxed. "I didn't know what to say… how to warn you."
"There's no need. I've had fair warning," Juliana responded, looking out of the window to conceal her expression from her companions. "And I'm in no danger… at least not of that sort," she couldn't help adding in a low voice.
"It's to be hoped we don't catch something in the Marshalsea," Rosamund muttered. "There's jail fever and all sorts of things in that place. Just breathing the air can infect you."
"Then you may stay in the hackney," Juliana said. "The viscount and I will go inside and procure Lucy's release."
"I'm certainly coming in," Lilly said stoutly. "You don't know Lucy. She won't know to trust you."
"No, she's had so much ill luck," Emma agreed with a sigh. "She won't know whom to trust."
The carriage came to a rattling halt on the uneven cobbles in front of a fearsome high-walled building. Great iron gates stood open to the street, and ragged creatures shuffled through them, exuding a desperate kind of defeat.
"Who are they?" Juliana gazed out of the door as the footman opened it.
"Debtors," Lilly said, stepping down to the road ahead of her.
"But they aren't incarcerated."
"No, they're paroled from dawn to dusk so they can beg-or work, if they can find something," Emma explained, following Juliana to the cobbles. "And they have visitors, who bring them food, if they're lucky. There are whole families in there. Babies, small children, old men and women."
Lucien clambered off the box, the maneuver clearly costing him some effort. He stood for a minute wheezing, leaning against the carriage, sweat standing out on his pallid brow. "I must be mad to agree to such a ridiculous scheme," he muttered, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief. "You go about your business, madam wife. I'm going to settle my chest in that tavern over yonder." He gestured to a ramshackle building with a crooked door frame and loose shutters. Its identifying sign was unreadable and hung bv a single nail over the door. "Come to me in the taproom when you're finished with your errand of mercy."
Juliana silently resolved to send the footman through that unsavory-looking door, but she curtsied meekly to her husband, eyes lowered to the mud-encrusted cobbles.
Lucien ignored the salutation and hurried off, the smell of cognac drawing him like a dog to a bone.
"Oh, dear, I thought the viscount was going to negotiate for us," Rosamund said, dismayed.
"We have no need of Edgecombe for the moment." Juliana gathered up her skirts and set off toward the gate, watching her feet warily as she picked her way through the festering kennel in the middle of the street, praying she wouldn't catch her high heel on an uneven cobble.
The gatekeeper stared blearily at them as they stopped at his hut. His little eyes were red-rimmed and unfocused, and he smelled most powerfully of gin. He took a swig from the stone jar on his lap before deigning to answer Juliana's question.
"Lucy Tibbet?" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Tibbet, eh? Now, who'd 'ave put 'er in 'ere?"
"Mistress Haddock," Lilly said.
"Oh, that bawd!" The gatekeeper threw back his head and guffawed, sending a foul miasma into the steamy summer air. "Lucifer, but she's an 'ard one, she is. Worse than that 'ubby of ‘ers. That Richard. For' bless me, but 'e was worth a bob or two. weren't 'e?"
"If by that you mean he took every penny his girls earned, I'd agree with you," Lilly said acerbically. She was clearly made of sterner stuff than Rosamund and Emma, who were hanging back, holding their skirts well clear of the matted straw and rotting vegetables littering the cobbles.
"You one of 'em, missie?" The gatekeeper leered. "Mebbe we could come to some arrangement, like."
"And maybe you could tell us where to find Mistress Tibbet," Juliana said, stepping forward. The gatekeeper drew back involuntarily from the tongues of jade fire in her eyes, the taut line of her mouth, the tall, erect figure. This lady looked as if she were unaccustomed to meeting with opposition, and she held herself with an assurance that whores generally lacked.
"Well, now, mebbe I could, my lady… fer a consideration," he said, pulling his whiskery chin.
"I have forty pounds here to pay her debt," Juliana said crisply. "In addition I will give you a guinea, my good man, if you make things easy for us. Otherwise, we shall manage without you."
"Oho… hoity-toity, aren't we!" The gatekeeper lumbered to his feet. "Now you listen 'ere, my fine lady. The name's Mr. Cogg to you, an' I'll thankee to show a little respect."
"And I'll thank you to mind your manners," Juliana said. "Are you interested in earning a guinea or not?"
"Ten guineas it'll be to secure 'er release." His eyes narrowed slyly.
"Forty guineas to pay off her debt, and one guinea for your good self," Juliana said. "Otherwise, I shall visit the nearest magistrate and arrange for Mistress Tibbet's release with him. And you, Cogg, will get nothing."
The gatekeeper looked astounded. He was unaccustomed to such authoritative young women at his gates. In general, those who came to liberate friends and relatives were almost as indigent as the prisoner. They addressed Mr. Cogg as sir, with averted eyes, and crept around, keeping to the shadows. They were not comfortable with magistrates, and in general, a threatening word or two was sufficient to ensure a substantial handout for the gatekeeper.
Lilly had stepped up to Juliana's shoulder, and she, too, glared at the gatekeeper. Emma and Rosamund, emboldened by their friends' stand, also gazed fixedly at Mr. Cogg.