Page 30 of Maid for the Duke

‘Amelie,’ Warden Fry said with a jovial smile as he sauntered out of the guardhouse. ‘Ah, you have brought a guest, I see.’

‘This is Mr Beescroft,’ she said quickly, not wanting the warden or any of the guards to realise Will was titled and therefore likely to be wealthy. The bribes she needed to pay would only increase if they thought she had access to someone with more funds. ‘He used to do business with my father.’

‘I do hope you are not here to declare another debt that old rascal Somersham has run up.’

Will gave a bland smile but did not answer.

‘Please can we go and see my father?’

‘First there is the matter of the fees that need paying. The money you brought last month has alas run out and he has been on a diet of gruel since. Even that warrants a charge, but he assured me you would pay when you next visited.’

Amelie felt her heart sink. It frustrated her that her father was locked up here in debtor’s prison but that every day the fees for his room and food sunk him even further into debt. She paid what she could, but it meant that, instead of being able to save to pay some of the debt her father owed to the men who had insisted he be brought here to the Fleet, she was only able to settle the bill for his accommodation and food every month.

‘Come through to my office and we can have a look at the accounts.’ Warden Fry gestured for them to step inside the gloomy room in the guard house and Amelie felt her heart sink further. She hated it in here. The whole prison was gloomy and depressing, and the warden’s room was no different, but what she really hated was the sense of helplessness. It had been in this room the warden had suggested she might like to pay for her father’s room and food in another way, letting his eyes roam over her body to make it clear exactly what he meant.

This time, however, she had Will. He had been silent so far, sensing that this was a delicate situation that he had no control over. His title meant nothing here. The warden was in control and she was grateful he was sensible enough not to do anything rash that might make things worse for her father. His presence was reassuring, though, and as they stepped into the warden’s room she felt him squeeze her hand surreptitiously.

She had expected to feel a deep, unrelenting embarrassment to have Will see the terrible self-inflicted fate of her father, but his non-judgmental attitude put her at ease, even in this awful place.

‘Let me see,’ Warden Fry said. He was a man who revelled in his power over his little kingdom. He flicked through the pages of the ledger on his desk until he came across the right page. ‘Here we are. Account settled last month on the sixteenth. Since then there has been multiple charges added.’ He spun the book round and placed his finger under the amount.

Amelie felt her mouth go dry. It was almost everything she had.

‘Then I am sure you will want to pay for another month of superior lodgings. Or I can arrange for your father to be thrown into the communal cell with the other destitutes. There is a nasty bout of gaol fever there at the moment, but…’ He shrugged, as if matters were out of his hands.

Amelie reached into her purse and took out all the coins except the one she needed to pay the lad who would take her up to her father’s room. She laid it on top of the ledger.

‘This is what I have,’ she said, forcing herself to meet Warden Fry’s eye.

Slowly he counted it out, his tongue darting over his thin lips, making Amelie feel nauseous.

‘Do you wish me…?’ Will began to murmur in her ear but she cut him off with a quick shake of her head. He had already done so much. She could take charity when it was on behalf of her innocent sisters and brother, but she did not want him to pay for her father’s sins.

Warden Fry entered the amount she had handed over in the ledger and then shut it with a satisfied thump.

‘I can keep your father in his current room, on basic rations for another few weeks, but I suggest you bring what is owed next time or he will begging from the communal cell within the month.’

‘Thank you,’ Amelie said, trying to force a smile, but she was certain it came out as a grimace.

‘Arthur!’ Warden Fry shouted, making her jump.

A young lad with a filthy face and ragged clothes appeared almost immediately, skulking into the room, sticking to the edges as if he didn’t want to be seen.

‘Take Amelie and her guest up to see Mr Somersham.’

Without even looking at her, the boy held out his hand and Amelie pressed the last coin she had into his palm.

They silently left the warden’s room and crossed the courtyard. Amelie tried not to meet anyone’s eye. She was alwayd overcome with a horrible bout of melancholy after leaving the Fleet. She hated seeing people so desperate, at their very lowest point. Most of the inmates were men of various ages, but some were allowed to keep their wives and children in the rooms they paid for. It was a miserable existence, and Amelie had vowed after visiting her father for the first time that Marie, Harriet and Charles would never end up staying in the dank, disease-ridden prison.

She glanced across at Will who was doing a good job of keeping his expression completely neutral. For all anyone could have told from his face, he could have been listening to a debate in parliament or talking with a slightly dull debutante at a ball.

Again she wondered what she was doing, bringing him here. It had not been necessary at all. She could have told him about her father’s debts and his incarceration; there had been no need to bring Will to see the sordid truth of it. But her plan to shock him, to try to push him away, wasn’t working. He looked calm, accepting, as if he walked through the filth of debtor’s prison all the time.

Amelie closed her eyes momentarily. There could be nothing between Will and her—they had agreed that after that kiss in the garden—yet the attraction that swelled between them was undeniable. She felt torn, confused, and through it all there was Will, standing stoical and unwavering, seemingly unperturbed by the mess her family was in even as she threw more and more at him.

They climbed a short spiral staircase to the first floor and the boy left them outside her father’s door. It was not locked. Because of the fees she paid, her father was lodged in a shared room with access to the courtyard below. It meant he could stretch his legs and do laps of the yard in the fresh air.

The most desperate of the debtors kept in the Fleet were held in a communal cell—the same communal cell Warden Fry had threatened to put her father in. It was a dark pit, the floor covered in straw to soak up the excrement that built up inside. People in there had no chance to walk around the courtyard, and most never left after they had entered. Gaol fever was rife in those terrible conditions, and those who did not succumb to the fever often starved. These were the prisoners who stretched out their hands through the bars that led onto the street, begging for food, knowing the only way they would survive another day was if someone charitable passed by and handed them a crust of bread.