Pride surged through Eloise like a bracing river. “Madame Adrienne, I think we need to wait in the office.”
*
Thursday, 21 July 1825
Bow Street
9:30 in the morning
The iron shacklesencasing Robert’s ankles made walking a tedious and dangerous chore. They did not weigh the same, and the disparity—and his limp—threw him off balance, and once he even toppled into the keeper escorting him, earning Robert a blow across the kidneys from the man’s truncheon.
The sharp pain only added to multiple layers of excruciating agony. The left side of his face had bloated to the point that he could barely see out of the eye. On the right, a cut above his brow kept re-opening, letting blood seep down his cheek. An ongoing sharpness in his right hip prompted the limp, and he thought his left shoulder might be dislocated if not broken. The pain fogged his brain, and though he had slept some, he had no energy or mind to think about what was happening.
Until he heard the shouts, the catcalls, and the slams of vegetables against the hackney transporting him to court. Then he understood better than ever why his molly-house friends kept their lives secretive, hidden away from even the most trusted friends.
The hackney jerked to a halt, and he let out a sharp cry, muffling it behind his wrist. He was in slightly worse shape than the two men who rode with him, although their injuries had come from the Bow Street constables who had gathered them up. Robert’s had been incurred at the hands of the White Stallion men, once they saw him lowering Timothy Surrey out the window.
But Timothy had gotten away. Robert had heard Eloise cry out his name, and he had glimpsed the three of them fleeing into the alley—just before his head had been slammed into the window a second time. At least that good had come out of this.
The shouts reached a fever pitch as the wagon halted in front of the Bow Street Magistrates’ Court. More vegetables pelted them as they were rushed inside the building, where Robert found himself in a crowded courtroom, surrounded in the dock by almost twenty other men, all of them taken in the raid. Some hung their heads and tried to hide their faces. Others stared defiantly at the empty bench, as if daring the very wood to cry out against them.
And four glared at him, trying to inch closer without gaining the attention of the officers who were responsible for them all being here.
Robert also spotted the puffy profile of Constable Lewis near the edge of a cluster of officials. He doubted the man would speak up for him—he had no reason to—but it gave Robert a nice inkling of hope nonetheless. Who else would? Despite knowing his father had supplied money for a more comfortable cell—such a definition being relative within Newgate—Robert also knew that his family could not risk exposure in an open courtroom. Too many risks and too many delicate negotiations were still in play.
Robert edged as far away from the White Stallions as he could and waited.
Precisely at ten, Sir Richard Birnie took the bench. One of the most well-known of the Bow Street Magistrates, Sir Richard had been the lead over the Cato Street Conspiracy trial five years earlier. A burly but handsome man in his mid-sixties, he was known for being tough but fair. He was a favorite of the king without being one of Prinny’s toady friends.
And Robert knew him. He had met Sir Richard at more than a few Society affairs—and twice on the gambling floor of the emporium. The magistrate was not a gambler or a womanizer but loved the company of his friends. He had come to the emporium to pay off other people’s debts.
Robert’s inkling of hope began to swell.
Sir Richard looked over the paperwork in front of him, then bellowed a name in a voice and tone that silenced the entire room. “Constable Hiram Lewis!”
Lewis stepped forward, and as an afterthought snatched his cap off his head. Behind him, Robert heard a familiar snort.No. It must be his imagination.He tried to look around, but the crowd was too thick and his vision too blurry.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Constable, I understand you are responsible for all these men being here.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And how did that come to be?”
“Yesterday morning, we received a tip that there might be a gathering at that location of an organization that engages in criminal activity. The tip came from a man who had been looking for a kidnapped boy, and he thought the boy might be being held there.”
“Held against his wishes.”
“Yes, my lord. Kidnapped.”
“Go on.”
“So we got our men together. The tip suggested after ten would be the best time. So that’s when we went.”
“And you found all of these men there. Engaged in their criminal activity.”
“Yes, my lord.”
