The Dowager Duchess of Hereford dragged in a shaky breath as she made her way through the crowded streets of Leeds. Fighting the fear that threatened to bubble to the surface, Willamina lifter her black silk gown out of the muck, straitened her spine and walked steadfastly onward. Though she couldn't resist casting occasional anxious glances behind her at the smiling nine-year-old boy and the grim-faced nanny clutching his hand.
Nanny Jones didn't approve of Willamina's mission. She had made that very clear when she described it with words such as 'foolish', 'reckless' and 'bloody daft'. The old woman was probably right, she usually was, but Willamina still had to try. She couldn't miss her last chance to see
him
again.
It was only by sheer chance that she had seen a poster advertising the execution of the notorious criminal Black Jack Turner in the market the day before.
Nearly ten years had passed since that day when she had met him, yet in all that time he had never been far from her thoughts. She could practically see it now- lost in the forest she had stumbled on Jack and his band of highwaymen. Every detail of her woodland ravishment was emblazoned in her memory; the power of their groping hands, the punishing pleasure of their cocks and finally the sweet sense of surrender that lifted her to the gates of paradise.
Her husband had not exactly been pleased when she had returned that night covered in sweat and other men's come. But once it was determined that she was with child, all was quickly forgiven. Nine months later she had given the Duke the one thing he wanted from a wife- a son. As the only child of a long line of unfruitful descendants Giles knew securing a legal heir was paramount. Even if that heir was a dark-eyed, raven-headed, little stranger.
With the Worthington legacy assured, in name at least, she and the Duke enjoyed a happy marriage due largely to the fact that they lived entirely separate lives. She had her beloved son John and he had his mistresses. That agreeable arrangement had ended nearly a year ago when Giles suddenly died of the pox leaving Willamina a wealthy widow of only thirty.
But there was no more time to contemplate the past as the present suddenly intruded. For she had reached her ultimate destination- the imposing stone archway of Bentlow Prison. Nothing about the location was inviting; from the severe architecture, to the grated windows, to the rank odor that hung about the place like an abattoir on a hot summer day.
After a few rapid knocks, the rusty wrought-iron gate creaked open. The fact that the gate bore an unfortunate resemblance to the yawning mouth of hell did nothing to quell her jangled nerves. Still, in she stepped clutching her basket close to her side.
Once inside it was surprisingly easy to gain an appointment with Warden Stokes. A few smiling words and a couple of coins was all it took to persuade the guards. In a matter of minutes she found herself waiting in his office. Outwardly she tried to appear calm but on the inside her stomach was turning summersaults.
Mr. Stoke entered proceeded by the sound of heavy boots and rattling keys. He was a large, imposing man with an air of command about him. He was slightly past middle age, judging by the grey shading at the temples of his chestnut hair, but still quite handsome with strong but regular features.
He was richly dressed in a suit of vibrant blue with shiny golden buttons down the front. A warden's income is reliant on the 'donations' of his inmates. Stokes showy garb was a calculated message to prisoners and their families that within his walls basic necessities and moderately humane treatment would not come cheaply.
He settled in the chair behind his desk, eyeing her shrewdly. Despite the outward appearance of gentility, he gave off a rather hard, menacing aura. Willamina couldn't decide if that frightened or excited her. Perhaps a little of both.
"I was told there was a lovely lady awaiting my presence and I see now that I have not been deceived." The warden said with a broad smile. His voice was low and as rough as burlap. "How might I be of service to you, my lady?"
"Well, Mr. Stokes, I-"
"Warden." He interrupted.
"Yes, warden." She fidgeted nervously in her seat, "I wish to be granted an audience with the prisoner John Turner."
He smiled at that though it didn't reach his eyes. "There are many ladies who would like to see that particular prisoner to offer him relief in his final hours."
"You mistake me sir." She replied sharply, bristling at his crass accusation and condescending tone. "The man is a distant relation and my kindly and quite wealthy grandmother would never forgive me if he were to end his days without a friendly face and a few creature comforts."
As she spin her yarn he snatched her basket from the desk and began riffling through it. He plucked a pastry from the linen-lined interior and sniffed it dubiously.
"A wealthy relation, you say. I didn't think such a notorious outlaw would have his roots in such exulted ground." Digging deeper, he took a bite of an apple he found there and then tossed it carelessly to the floor.
She watched the crimson orb roll across the ground before turning her gaze back to the smug warden. "This particular apple has fallen very far indeed from his ancestral tree. But even the rottenest fruit is a creation of god and therefore deserving of a little Christian charity."
Finally, he reached the bottom of the basket and the sizable bag of coins that she had put there. This time the smile made it to his eyes. In fact, they practically lit up like pound signs. The bag quickly disappeared into the pocket of his fine silk waistcoat.
"I see you are serious about performing your Christian duty." He regarded her from across his desk with obvious interest like a wolf eyeing a tasty hare. It was clear from that ravenous look that he wanted more than just a pecuniary payoff from her.
Willamina had hoped that a heavy purse would be sufficient to pay her way into Jack's cell but she had walked into that office willing to do anything necessary to achieve that goal. She knew that she was a beautiful woman with the kind of fine features and womanly curves that men seemed to find endlessly appealing. If her beauty was the only bargaining chip left to her then she would play it to full advantage.
"Entirely serious." She dropped her voice to a seductive purr.
"I'm not sure if my conscience would allow a lady of delicate breeding to meet with a notorious criminal alone."
"Be assured that despite my breeding I am not as delicate as I look." She leaned in so that he could get a good look of the two lush mounds of flesh as they spilled forward.
