Page 69 of Refining the Debutante
Ethan winced.
Just then, Lady Callister came down behind her. “Why is the door open, Ethan? Never mind. I am ready now, so we can leave.” Lady Callister and her maid were to accompany them to the Marshalsea but would wait in the carriage while Ethan and Miranda went inside.
Ethan held his arm out to his great-aunt, and Miranda did her best to dismiss her annoyance as she followed them. She had to prepare herself to meet her father in a place she never imagined she would ever go. Once inside the carriage, she turned her body so she might keep her gaze out the window. Silence permeated the enclosed space.
There must have been a reason to keep the criminals in the front eye of the public. Why else would the hub of England, even Buckingham Palace, be surrounded by prisons like Newgate, Fleet, King’s Bench, and the Marshalsea? Miranda had frequented Thames Street often enough for the theater and musical halls. But across the London Bridge lay a community of prisoners bound by their debts. No one glanced their way unless they knew someone there, and even then, they stole only glimpses when no one was looking.
Lady Callister broke the silence. “Do not bring any money inside. The destitute can sniff out even a farthing.”
Miranda nodded. She stole a glance at Ethan, but their bouncing view captured his full attention. She dreaded his company at such a humiliating time, but she craved his comforting presence too. He must have sensed her gaze. He looked over at her for a moment and gave her a grim nod.
She turned away just as the carriage pulled to a stop. Ethan alighted first, then put out his hand for her. She took it, and immediately her attention was drawn to the brick wall of their destination and the locked gate that separated her from her father. What condition he was in she knew not.
“I will be right here when you are finished,” Lady Callister said encouragingly through the carriage window.
Ethan held out his arm, and Miranda took it, allowing him to lead the way to the gate. “I have arranged with the warden for us to see your father in his room.” He lifted his hand and rapped the knocker against the wood.
A man’s face appeared behind the grate in the door and asked their names and business. Ethan explained who they were, and the man swung the door open for them. Miranda wanted to shrink back, but one look at Ethan gave her the courage to step into the dark forecourt.
The turnkey led them a few paces into the courtyard, and the light gave Miranda a better look at him. His body was stooped like that of an older man, but his face was as young as Ethan’s. His attire was equally contradicting, with his tailored clothes and grimy ungloved hands. The turnkey flicked his gaze to her, and she drew back. His beady eyes roved over the whole of her. He licked his lips and sneered. When her eyes widened with disgust, the turnkey laughed.
Ethan put himself between her and the warden and glared at him. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“Don’t go makin’ Mr. Blackett angry, then,” the man said, pointing to himself.
“Arrogant lout,” Ethan grumbled as soon as Mr. Blackett turned to lead them down a narrow, elongated courtyard. Ethan looked at Miranda, and his expression turned sheepish. “My apologies. This place is not fit for a lady.”
It wasn’t fit for her father, either. They followed the turnkey across the colorless strip of dead grass, which was contrasted by a lonely blue pail that lay on its side next to a water pump. A line of snow along the wall was the only sign that winter had touched the already-barren place. Miranda heard a child crying and several laughing and could make no sense of either since the voices came from inside the three-story brick barracks. A few men circled up alongside the first barrack were quietly talking amongst themselves. They looked over at Miranda and Ethan, and silence fell between them. She was sure their curiosity could not match her unease.
The warden brought them to the second of what seemed to be eight barracks clumped together. An entire neighborhood of people was locked away from the world, and Miranda had never thought twice about it. Each barrack had several rooms and outer doors.
The turnkey stopped in front of the last wooden door on the first floor and rapped twice before swinging it open. “Looks like yer both lucky to be on the king’s side today. But warn yer friend to pay his fees, or he’ll be rotting in the common side without any bread for his mouth.”
Miranda squeezed Ethan’s arm. She might be angry and confused by her escort, but the turnkey’s words and odious presence allowed her to temporarily forgive Ethan. He put his hand over hers, which only made the warden laugh again. He stalked away from them, his cackle echoing through the courtyard like that of a crazed animal. Ethan looked down at her and gave her a vacillating smile before helping her down two steps into a small room with a single window.
Miranda’s father was standing by a table with a plate of exactly three scones and a pitcher of water. He looked well enough—a mite thinner, with all gray hair instead of the mostly black she was used to. He wore no overcoat, though his room was as cold as the weather outside, and no fire burned behind the grate.
“Father,” Miranda whispered, letting go of Ethan’s arm. She hurried to her father and threw her arms around him. This was the man who had comforted her all her life and made her feel like a queen.
He squeezed her tightly against him. “My girl. My beautiful, darling girl.”
Miranda pulled back and wiped at her streaming tears. “I would have come sooner, but I thought you were in Spain.”
“Spain,” he said with a laugh. “My driver turned me in for a reward no doubt greater than my debt. If I ever see the scoundrel again, I will—”
Ethan cleared his throat.
Her father looked up and sighed. “Ah, Mr. Roderick. Thank you for bringing my daughter to see me. Or perhaps I should not thank you. You should have had the sense to keep her far away from here.”
Miranda put her hand on her father’s arm. “Mr. Roderick brought me as a kindness to my employer.”
“Employer?” Mr. Bartley swore. “You were supposed to be at my brother’s.”
“Your brother’s house is a prison under a different name,” Miranda said, wishing Ethan would step out so she could speak frankly. “I am a companion to Lady Callister, and I assure you, it is an extremely respectable position.”
Her father shook his head. “I have brought ruin to the both of us. And I am sorry for my brother and his behavior. He is blinded with hate, but I never thought his feelings would extend to you.”
“Why does he despise us so?” Miranda longed to know the reason behind it.
