The Frost Fair

    'Wake up, sir!' grunted the man. 'You've a visitor.'

    Henry was bewildered. 'Where am I?' he asked, looking around.

    'Where you belong - in Newgate.'

    'I'm in prison?'

    The realisation brought him fully awake and he sat up to wipe the sleep from his eyes. When the turnkey left the cell, Christopher stepped into it and the door was locked behind him. He was carrying a pile of clothing over his arm.

    'Good morning, Henry,' he said.

    'Is it morning? I've no sense of time in here.'

    'Do you not hear the bells chiming the hour?'

    'All I can here is the pounding of my own heart, Christopher.' He stared at the suit that his brother had brought. 'What do you have there?'

    'A change of apparel.'

    'I need none.'

    'Those things are filthy,' said Christopher. 'You must take them off.'

    'There's no call for fashion in here.'

    'But there is a call for self-respect. That's one of my favourite tenets. Come, now. You'll feel much better when you look something like your old self.'

    'I never expect to do that again,' moaned Henry.

    'We'll see. The turnkey will be back soon with warm water and a razor. Since you did not shave yesterday, I'll be your barber today. I've also turned valet. That's why I called at your house on the way here to pick up this fresh attire.'

    'I'll not wear it.'

    'Would you let Father see you in that state?'

    Henry quailed. The thought of meeting his father at all was unnerving. To receive him in a prison cell when he was soiled and unkempt would be to give the old man additional reasons for outrage and condemnation. A shaven chin and a smart suit would at least offer Henry a slight degree of protection. It would also remind him of whom he was. He thanked Christopher for his thoughtful- ness then bent down to retrieve something from the straw.

    'You'll not need a razor,' he said. 'I have one here.' 'Where did that come from?'

    'A friendly hand dropped it through the bars to help me escape.'

    'Escape?' said Christopher with alarm. 'You surely did not think that you could kill the turnkey and get out of here. That's madness, Henry.'

    'There's a simpler means of escape.'

    He pretended to slit his throat with the razor. Christopher was so appalled that he dropped the clothing on the straw and snatched the razor from him. Slipping it into his pocket, he grabbed his brother by the shoulders.

    'I do not believe that you even contemplated such a thing,' he said.

    'It seemed the only way out.'

    'Of what?'

    'This unbearable misery, Christopher.'

    'But that will not last forever.'

    'No,' said Henry mournfully. 'It will end on the gallows when I dance on fresh air to amuse the crowd. I did not think that I could face that.'

    'You'll not have to, Henry. Your case may not even come to trial.'

    'I feel that it already has. That's why the razor had a gruesome appeal for me.'

    'Then I'll make sure it's not left in the cell,' affirmed Christopher, 'and I'll speak to the prison sergeant. He needs to know that someone is encouraging one of his charges to commit suicide. Has it really come to this?' he asked, shaking his brother vigorously. 'Taking your own life is an unpardonable sin, Henry. It's a crime against God and an act of cruelty against those who love you. How could you even think about it?'

    'I was desperate.'

    'Then pray for deliverance.'

    'There's no hope of that, Christopher.'

    'Yes, there is,' rejoined the other. 'You are innocent of the charge against you.'

    Henry was bemused. 'Am I?'

    'When the real killer is apprehended, they'll have to release you.'

    'When will that be?'

    'Soon, I trust. Very soon.'

    'But not before Father reaches London.' 'Perhaps not.'

    'Do not tell him about the razor,' begged Henry. 'Spare me that.'

    'I'd not dare tell him,' said Christopher, 'for I know how hurt he'd be. Father is on his way here in order to comfort you, Henry. How do you think he would feel if he learned that you had committed suicide? He'd be utterly destroyed. He'd see it, as everyone else would see it, as an admission of guilt.'

    'But I may be guilty. That's what torments me.'

    'You were guilty of drinking too much and losing your temper. Nothing more than that. Bad behaviour is not a crime. You were foolish but you are no killer.'

    'Yet I wanted that villain dead. I own that freely.'

    The door was unlocked and the turnkey handed Christopher a razor and a bowl of warm water. Christopher thanked him then the door was shut again. He looked at Henry with a sympathy that was tempered with disgust. At least, he told himself, his brother had confessed to the thoughts of suicide. That was a positive sign. But it did not take away his sense of shock. The razor suddenly felt hot in his hand.

    'I'd never have done it,' Henry assured him. 'I was not brave enough.'

    'A brave man would never even have considered it.'

    'I'm sorry, Christopher.'

    'Sit down under the window so that I can see to shave you.'

    Henry was contrite. He put the stool where it would catch the best of the light then lowered himself on to it. Christopher had never shaved anyone else before, and these were hardly the ideal conditions in which to try it, but he did his best. After using the water to wash the grime from his brother's face, he plied the razor with great care.

    'I've brought more food as well,' he said. 'I left it with the prison sergeant.'

    'You are very kind to me, Christopher.'

    'Kinder than you are to yourself, it seems.'

    'I had a moment of weakness.'

    'Your life is a succession of them,' said Christopher harshly. 'This is by far the worst. I thank God that you stayed your hand. Now, hold still,' he ordered as Henry moved his head. 'You may wish to cut your throat but I do not.'

    When his beard had been slowly scraped away, Henry felt considerably better. He stripped off his dirty clothing and put on the clean apparel. Christopher had been right. His brother looked something like his old self and that instilled a new confidence in him. Henry told himself that was no longer a condemned man in grubby attire. He was the victim of a dreadful error.

    'Thank you, Christopher,' he said, embracing him warmly.

    'You thank me best by believing in yourself.'

    Twill, I will.'

    'Then let's have no more moments of weakness.'

    'I give you my word.' Henry became afraid. 'When shall I expect Father?'

    'That depends on how fast he travels from Gloucester,' said Christopher, folding up his brother's discarded clothing. 'The most he could manage in a day is thirty miles and only that if the roads are clear.'

    'I thought he'd come down from heaven like a bolt of lightning.'

    'You've already been struck by that.'