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“No,” said Ned, seeing the trap opening before him.
“Thought not.”
Next morning Ned went to Bristol jail and found that the city-appointed head jailer of Newgate prison had not yet finished his breakfast in his house, and was not to be disturbed.
“Brother,” he said to the scruffy guard standing before the castle jail, “I’ve come ahead of a pardon for one of the Monmouth rebels. He’s innocent and the pardon will set him free. Can I see him and tell him it’s coming?”
“They’re not kept here. There’s too many of ’em for the jail.”
“Not here?” Ned exclaimed, his heart sinking. “But he was sent from Taunton to Bristol. Don’t tell me they’re shipped already?”
“Some of ’em,” the man said indifferently. “Some of ’em gone, some of ’em waiting for ships. Some of ’em dead from jail fever. There’s too many of ’em, that’s all I know.”
“I know there are many,” Ned said steadily. “Help me, Brother, I beg you, in the name of the Lord. Where are they? Those that are not yet shipped out?”
“St. Mary Redcliffe.” The man jerked his thumb in the direction of the towering spire. “In the crypt, poor bastards. Pushed down into the crypt, sleeping alongside the dead.”
“Thank you,” Ned said, heartfelt. “At the church? How can I get to see him?”
“You can’t,” the guard said. “If we let one man see his family, we’d have the city filled with crying widows and children. They’re down among the dead for a reason. They’re as good as dead.”
“But I have a pardon for him!” Ned exclaimed.
“Better show it to the master of the ship. He’ll release him to you, if your pardon’s good.” The man paused. “Is it good?”
“It will be, it’s coming from London.”
“Then it’s no good,” he said gloomily.
“It is, I tell you!” Ned snapped.
“A pardon coming from London is no good for anyone. One in your hand is what you need. And you haven’t got that.”
REEKIE WHARF, LONDON, AUTUMN 1685
The hired carriage was drawn up before the narrow door of the wharf, and Alys helped her mother down the steps. Gabrielle and Mia stepped down after her and went on either side of their great-grandmother to help her over the cobbles and into the little parlor.
“I don’t need to be hauled in like cargo,” Alinor protested. “I’m just cramped with sitting for so long.”
“I’ll get you a glass of hot ale,” Alys said, looking anxiously into her mother’s pale face. “That carriage was cold.”
“Should’ve sent for the Avery carriage,” Alinor said mischievously, taking her seat by the parlor fire as the girls took their seats at the table.
Alys came in with a glass of ale for her mother. “Ma, have this, I’ll be back in a moment. There’s a muddle in the warehouse that I must see to straightaway.”
Alinor took the cup with a word of thanks.
“Has our nonna always run the wharf?” Gabrielle asked.
“Ever since we came here,” Alinor replied.
“And have you always dealt in physic?”
Alinor nodded. “When I was younger, I worked as a midwife too. That was a great joy. To help a woman to give birth and keep her safe, to help a child come into the world.”
“Not like business,” Mia suggested.
Alinor smiled. “No. Business is very orderly; your grandmother is good at it because she likes things in the right place, and sold at the right price. But I like a world that is a little… unruly.”
