Chapter 209: This Is All Your Fault
Jane was thrown into the same gaol chamber as the other girls from Beaumont’s. She was the last to arrive.
The chamber stank of sweat and the sour rot of too many bodies pressed together. A small barred window sat too high in the wall to offer anything useful.
The girls turned at once. They rushed her, coming at her with panic in their eyes, skirts muddied, hair undone, faces pale from hours of not knowing whether they were being held for questioning, or the hangman.
"Jane!"
"What happened?"
"How are you here?"
"What did we do wrong?"
"Are we to be tried?"
The questions rose in a chorus, each girl trying to climb over the other’s fear to reach an answer first.
Jane shoved through them, breathing hard, her own terror turning quickly into anger. Her wrists ached from where the constable had gripped her. "Will you just keep quiet, all of you!" she snapped.
The chamber fell into startled silence. Jane glared at them, her heart was thundering.
"This is all your fault," she said.
A few of the girls recoiled.
"Our fault?"
"Yes, yours. All of you. I told you. I warned you, did I not? I said no good could come of killing Livia."
"Are we here because of that bitch?"
"Turns out that ’bitch’ has an in with the royal family."
The girls stared. The words sounded ridiculous even after Jane said them, yet nothing about their present misery allowed room for disbelief.
Jane lowered her voice. "Since she is not dead, she has probably told them what happened to her."
"After all this time?" one of the girls whispered. "We thought she was dead."
"I do not know what happened to her," Jane said, "but she is back, and we are going to stand trial for hurting her."
The gaol chamber went silent. Jane thought perhaps fear had finally done what sense had failed to do. Then one girl gasped.
"Oh, my God..."
Jane pressed her fingers to her temples.
"We need to come up with a plan," one of the girls said. "I cannot spend the rest of my life in the gaols."
"As opposed to the pleasant country estate you expected?" Jane snapped. She paced the length of the chamber, which was a generous description for three angry steps one way and three angrier steps back. Her skirts dragged through filthy straw. Her shoes were already damp. Somewhere in the corner, a rat moved.
"I had a perfect life," she said bitterly. "I had a house. I had money." Jane rounded on them. "If only I had not listened to you witches."
"Oh, stop pointing fingers," another said. "You wanted her gone just as much as the rest of us."
That was not entirely false. The chamber began to fill again with whispers.
Jane dragged in a breath. "Let us just think of a plan."
"Yes," one girl said, suddenly brightening. "We could have her taken care of."
Jane stared at her. "Oh, my God...Why is your next move always violence?"
The girl folded her arms. "It has worked before."
"We are standing in a gaol because it did not work before."
"That is a matter of execution. Bess broke her fall."
"We need something clever," Jane said.
"What level of violence do you think will be waiting for us for the rest of our lives?"
"We can appeal to her," Jane advised.
"Appeal to her?" one girl repeated.
"Yes," Jane said, even she heard how desperate it sounded. "We tell her we were frightened."
"If I pushed you off a roof," another girl said, "would you forgive me?"
No answer came.
"Fine," Jane said sharply. "But how do we ’take care’ of her? We do not even know where she is."
That, at least, ought to have silenced them. It did not.
One of the girls stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I have a man. He will not leave me here to rot," the girl continued. "He can handle her. I only need to get a message to him."
Jane looked from one face to another. She was thinking. This might be her way out. Not by joining them. God, no. Jane was not so committed to stupidity that she would climb into the hangman’s cart willingly.
If she could pass their plan to Lionel, if she could warn him before this mysterious man found Livia, then perhaps she might separate herself from the rest of them. Perhaps she could prove she was useful. Perhaps saving Livia this time would be enough to keep her from being thrown into the same pit as these witches.
Jane sighed. "Then we shall need paper."
"You agree?"
"I agree that if we do nothing, we rot here."
*****
Lord Chancellor Geoffrey arrived at the house in Covent Garden the next morning to see the king.
By then, His Majesty was already out of bed. He looked pale, irritated. He sat near the fire, wrapped in a robe, while Stephen hovered.
Mrs Crowe stood beside him. On the small table nearby sat a cup of dark herbal mixture prepared by the physician. It smelled dreadful enough to suggest it might genuinely work.
"Your Majesty," Geoffrey greeted as soon as he entered. He bowed, his eyes moved quickly over Henry’s face, robe, bandaged back. "You gave us quite the fright...Why in God’s name would you leave Whitehall without a proper escort?"
Henry sighed and leaned back in the chair. "I miss the days when I could go wherever I wanted without half the kingdom following behind me."
"Those days ended when you became the kingdom."
"Yes, well, no one mentioned how inconvenient that would be during the coronation."
Geoffrey’s mouth twitched. "I suspect they feared you would refuse the crown."
"I would have asked more questions."
Mrs Crowe pushed the cup closer to Henry, and he glared at it. "You have to drink, your majesty."
Henry looked at Geoffrey. "You see? This is how kingdoms fall. By herbs."
