Newgate Prison, the Governor’s House
I had a visitor today – Lord B’s solicitor, Mr Attaway. He came into my small chamber in the governor’s house wearing the same yellow unpleasant wig and on his very thin nose a pair of spectacles that gave him a quizzical look, as if he could not quite remember the reason for his visit to this unholy place. He was accompanied by his clerk, Tubbs. Tubbs reminded me of a bee buzzing round a buttercup. The first thing he did was take hold of the chair on which the solicitor was about to place his learned bottom, and dust it vigorously before replacing it in position. Then he buzzed round the solicitor, bringing out sheaves of legal documents, tied with pink ribbon. It appeared that he was only able to stop buzzing if he could catch hold of his own arms and fold them under himself, with his legs twisted round each other. I was most entertained. If the pair had been on stage they would have received a round of applause for such a farcical performance.
‘To what do I owe the honour of your visit?’ I asked Mr Attaway.
The solicitor took off his glasses and handed them to Tubbs, who unwound himself sufficiently to clean them and give them back. Mr Attaway concentrated on the papers in front of him.
He cleared his throat and, keeping one finger on the relevant passage, said, ‘Miss Truegood, as I am sure you are aware, I was retained as solicitor to the late Lord Barbeau. As you may not be aware, his lordship’s wish was that the bulk of his estate should be left to you on his death. It is a most uncommon practice and not one I encouraged, yet on this one issue he refused to take sound legal advice. Furthermore, he instructed me to take care of your interests at the appropriate time.’
I looked at Mr Attaway, astonished, and tried to say something but I could see that once he had started he would not countenance interruptions until he had finished. He cleared his throat again.
‘Due to your clandestine marriage,’ he said, unnecessarily shuffling the papers, ‘certain stipulations were put in place that had to be fulfilled before you came into your inheritance.’
‘I think there is a misunderstanding,’ I said. ‘Lord Barbeau gave me gifts of jewellery and some money, but nothing more. I thought Mr Ainsley had inherited the estate.’
‘Mr Ainsley?’
‘Yes,’ I said, somewhat impatiently. ‘Mr Ainsley, Lord Barbeau’s nephew.’
The clerk leapt to his feet and buzzed in the solicitor’s ear. He rustled his papers.
‘Ah, yes. You refer to the Reverend Jonathan Ainsley.’ He sniffed as if there was an unpleasant smell coming from the ink itself. ‘Yes, I have it here. Mr Ainsley was left two thousand pounds. He tried and failed to dispute the will. That is by the by. Back to the matter in hand. Your inheritance has been held in trust and the three trustees are myself, Mr Little of Coutts Bank, and Mr Merritt. They will continue to manage the estate until you…’
He ran out of words for there was little to say.
‘…become the wealthiest whore ever to swing at the gallows.’ I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud. ‘Are you sure there is no mistake?’
Mr Attaway looked like a man who had never made a mistake in his life.
‘As you are now unencumbered by a husband, you are the legal beneficiary of five hundred thousand pounds, in addition to his lordship’s house in Highgate, his estate in Chippenham and the contents thereof.’
I was completely stunned. How ironic that, finally, I was my own mistress and richer than I could ever have imagined. There in all this gloom, a little crack of hope.
‘It would seem, sir, that there is more than enough money for me to fight my case.’
‘Indeed there is, madam,’ said Mr Attaway. ‘This murder is anything but straightforward. It is becoming increasingly necessary, especially in cases of felony, to instruct a defence lawyer on behalf of the accused. If you will allow me, madam, I will give the brief to Mr Gately, who is one of London’s foremost barristers.’
‘Please do, sir,’ I said.
‘Very good. I will make sure Mr Gately calls on you tomorrow.’ He turned to his clerk. ‘Have you written that down, Tubbs?’
I would imagine every word Mr Attaway had ever uttered was engraved on the clerk’s heart.
‘One moment, sir,’ I said. ‘If I have access to the money, then my dear friend, Mercy, must see the best doctor there is.’
‘Is there anything else?’
‘Yes, there is a woman by the name of Bethany Goodere. I want to help her…’
‘Furnish Tubbs with the details and it will be done.’ He paused.
‘Would it be out of place if I made a suggestion?’ asked Mr Attaway.
‘Not in the slightest, sir.’
‘Victor Wrattan should be investigated.’
‘I agree, sir.’
He stood up. ‘A man will be hired for the purpose. I will do my very best for you, Miss Truegood,’ said Mr Attaway, taking off his glasses and handing them to Tubbs, who was already buzzing round in anticipation of being gone. ‘Madam, my advice is two-fold: do not gamble, and…’ he glanced at my belly ‘. . . do make a will.’
Thank you, my sweet Lord B, I thought as they left. I may hang, but at least my daughter will have a chance to be an independent woman.