a message to a justice in Finsbury Square, Ernest stopped at No. 4 to give Sophia a brief report of the situation. 'I 'eard Sir Ross and Sir Grant talk as 'ow they're surprised the public 'as taken Gentry's arrest so quiet-like. Sir Ross says it's a sign that many opinions 'as swung against Gentry.' Ernest shook his head at the masses' disloyalty. 'Poor Black Dog,' he murmured. 'Bloody ingrates, all o' 'em.'
Were Sophia not so miserable, she would have smiled at the lad's ready defense of his tarnished hero. 'Thank you, Ernest,' she said. 'Be careful when you go out. I would not like for you to be hurt.'
He blushed and grinned at her concern. 'Oh, no one'll lay a finger on me, milady!'
He dashed off, and Sophia was left to brood alone once more. The sun set, leaving London covered in hot, black night. The air was pungent with coal and the stench of a foul east wind. Just as Sophia considered changing into her nightgown in preparation for bed, Ross strode into their private apartments. He stripped off his sweat- dampened shirt as he crossed the threshold.
'Is there any news?' Sophia demanded, following him into the bedroom. 'How is my brother? Are there any reports? Has there been agitation near the prison? I'm going mad from the lack of news'.'
'Everything is relatively calm,' Ross said, pouring water into a washbasin. The long muscles of his back flexed as he sluiced water over his face, chest, and beneath his arms. 'Fetch me a clean shirt, will you?'
She hurried to comply. 'Where are you going? You must eat something first. At least a sandwich--'
'No time,' Ross muttered, donning the fresh linen shirt and tucking it into his trousers. Deftly he positioned the collar and tied a cravat around his neck. 'An idea occurred to me just a few minutes ago. I'm going to Newgate--I expect to return soon. Don't stay up on my account. If I have news of any significance, I'll wake you.'
'You're going to see my brother?' Quickly Sophia pulled a patterned gray waistcoat from the wardrobe and held it up for him to slide his arms through. 'Why? What is this idea? I want to go with you!' 'Not to Newgate.'
'I'll wait outside in the carriage,' she insisted desperately. 'You can give the footman a brace of pistols, and the driver as well. And there are patrols all around the prison, aren't there? I'll be as safe there as I am here. Oh, Ross, I'll go mad if I have to wait here any longer! You must take me with you. Please. He'smy brother, isn't he?'
Pelted by the flurry of anxious words, Ross gave her a hard stare, a small muscle jumping in his cheek. Sophia knew that he wanted to refuse her. However, he also understood her anguished concern for her brother. ? 'You swear that you will stay in the carriage,' he demanded.
'Yes!'
His gaze held hers, and he muttered a curse. 'Get your cloak.'
Afraid that he might change his mind, she obeyed with alacrity. 'What is your idea?' she asked.
Ross shook his head, unwilling to explain. 'I am still considering it. And I don't want to raise your hopes, for it will probably come to naught.'
As a temporary lodging for those awaiting trial or execution, Newgate was often called the stone jug. Anyone who had ever visited or been incarcerated in the place swore that hell itself could not be more wretched. The ancient walls echoed with the constant howls and jeers of prisoners chained like animals in their cells. No furniture or comforts of any kind were allowed in the open wards or solitary cells. The gaolers, who were supposed to maintain order, were often corrupt, cruel, mentally unbalanced, or some combination of the three. Once, after depositing a condemned man in Newgate, Eddie Sayer had returned to Bow Street with the comment that the gaolers alarmed him more than the prisoners.
Although the prisoners suffered mightily in the bitter cold of winter, it was nothing compared to the unholy stench that accumulated in the hot summer days. Armies of cockroaches scurried across the floor as Ross bade the head gaoler to take him to Nick Gentry's cell. It was located in the heart of the prison and nicknamed the 'devil's closet,' from which there was no escape.
As they proceeded through one of the twisted mazes, lice crackled underfoot and squeaking rats fled from the approach of heavy boots. Distant cries of misery rose from the cells on the lower floors. It unnerved Ross to think that he had allowed his wife to wait in a carriage just outside, and he sorely regretted his decision to bring her here. He comforted himself with the knowledge that she was in the company of an armed footman, a driver, and two runners bearing cutlasses and pistols.
'That Gentry, 'e's a quiet one,' Eldridge, the head gaoler, commented. An enormous, stocky individual with bulbous features, he reeked almost as badly as those who were incarcerated. The top of his head was bald, but long, greasy strands trailed from the sides of his scalp and fluttered down his back. Eldridge was one of the rare prison-keepers who appeared to enjoy his job. Perhaps that was because he made a nice profit each week by selling his accounts of prisoners' experiences within Newgate, including the final confessions of the condemned, to London newspapers. No doubt he would make a pretty penny with his tales of the infamous Nick Gentry.
'Nary a peep from 'im all day,' Eldridge grumbled. 'I ask ye, what kind o' story can I sell if 'e keeps 'is gob shut?'
'Inconsiderate of him,' Ross agreed sardonically. Apparently gratified by Ross's concurrence, the gaol-keeper led him to the entrance of the devil's closet. A six-inch-wide window had been cut in the heavy oak-and-iron door to allow the prisoner to speak to visitors. 'Gentry!' Eldridge grunted through the hole. 'Visitor!'
There was no reply.
Ross frowned. 'Where is the guard?'
Eldridge's oily face turned toward him. 'There is no guard, Sir Ross. 'Twasn't needed.'
'I specifically ordered a guard to be placed at this door at all times,' Ross said curtly. 'Not only to prevent escape attempts, but also for Gentry's own protection.'
A deep laugh rose from Eldridge's pendulous gut. 'Escape?' he scoffed. 'No one can escape the devil's closet. 'Sides, Gentry's been handcuffed, an' irons fitted on his legs, an' 'e's weighted with three hundred pounds o' chains. 'E can't move to pick 'is nose! No man alive could get in or out o' that cell, wivoutthis' He brandished a key and worked to unlock the door.
The thick slab of oak and iron groaned in angry protest as it was pushed open. 'There,' Eldridge said with satisfaction, the lamp in his hand jangling as he walked into the cell. 'Ye see? Gentry is--' His huge frame jiggled from a start of surprise. 'Bloody 'ell!'
Ross shook his head slightly when he saw that the devil's closet was empty. 'My God,' he muttered, filled with a combination of admiration and fury at his brother-in-law's resourcefulness. A bent iron nail gleamed beside the massive pile of chains on the floor. Gentry had managed to pick the locks on his handcuffs and leg irons--in the dark, no less. A bar was missing from the inner window on the other side of the room. It was inconceivable that Gentry could have loosened that bar and squeezed his large frame through such a narrow space, but he had done it. There was every likelihood that he'd had to dislocate a shoulder to accomplish it.
'When was the last time someone saw him here?' Ross barked to the dazed-looking gaol-keeper.
'An hour ago, I think,' Eldridge mumbled, his eyes bulging from his sweat-drenched face.
Staring through the inner window, Ross saw that Gentry had broken through the moldy wall of the next cell, probably using the window bar. He strove to recall the details of the Newgate layout that was tacked to the wall of his office.
He shot a murderous glance at the gaol-keeper. 'Does that key work for all the cells on this floor?'
'I-I think so--'
'Give it to me. Now get your fat arse to the ground level, and tell the runners at my carriage that Gentry is escaping. They'll know what to do.'
'Yes, Sir Ross!' Eldridge fled with surprising speed for someone of his girth, taking the lamp with him and leaving Ross in darkness.
Gripping the key, Ross left the devil's closet and unlocked the adjoining room. Swearing profusely, he climbed through the hole in the wall, following his brother-in-law's tracks. 'Damn you, Gentry,' he muttered as rustles and squeaks of unsettled vermin greeted his intrusion. 'When I catch you, I'll hang you myself for putting me through this.'
Breathing hard from exertion, Nick Gentry pushed a swath of damp hair from his eyes and emerged onto the roof of Newgate. Cautiously he placed a foot on an outside wall that connected to a neighboring building. The wall was about eight inches thick, and so old that it was crumbling along the top. However, it was the only route to freedom. Once he made it to the other side, he would enter the building, find his way to the street, and then be unstoppable. He knew London as no one else did--every alley, every corner, every hole and crevice. No one could
