Read Online Sergeant Verity and the Blood Royal by Francis Selwyn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Francis Selwyn
Tags: Crime, Historical Novel
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hopefully. 'Captain Smiles! Prince of Wales's orders!'
A boot toed him hard under the lower rib, driving the breath from him.
'Bastud!' said someone in the darkness.
At last the wagon stopped and they carried him unceremoniously out, his head hanging backward. A massive granite building with squat pillars, suggesting the portico of an Egyptian temple, rose above him. The tall rectilinear windows, heavily barred, ran almost the entire height of the facade. As the men who were carrying him passed into the shadow of the first hall, their steps echoed lingeringly along the bare vaulted passageways. Then they were in a long narrow interior which rose like the nave of a lofty cathedral. There were several iron platforms along its sides at varying levels, and iron bridges which crossed from one side to the other. The men dragged Verity to what looked like a small furnace-door. There was a rattle of keys, his wrists were uncuffed and he was dumped down heavily in a pool of water on a stone floor.
The door closed and the keys rattled again. As though from a great distance he could hear voices, plaintive, weeping, angry and cursing by turns. From time to time there was the slow measured tread of a man walking the length of the hall outside. Then, like iron castanets, keys rattled the length of the platform and stairway railings. Verity recognized the gaoler's inveterate habit of drawing the bunch of keys along the iron struts, as though to comfort himself as well as his charges by breaking the sepulchral silence of the long night. He was assisted in this by a woman's voice, wailing and eerie, and by a man's drunken song. Verity knew little about the prisons of America but he was evidently in one of the most impressive. At least, he thought, it was no worse than that.
When the first light of the autumn morning lit the small barred window of the cell, it was grey as all light in that place. Working himself up to peer out, Verity could see that all the windows looked out on to a narrow yard, the pitiless prison walls rising so high that the sun never slanted into the cells. In the centre of the yard was the gallows without either a platform or a drop. Presently a slow procession crossed to the structure and a small pinioned man was stood beneath it with the rope round his neck. Verity watched in horror as the preparations were made. The man was left standing on the ground, while his executioner walked behind the gallows and released a cord. A weighted sandbag, at the top of the gallows, plummeted to earth with a soft thud, jerking the pinioned man off his feet and swinging him into the air. He hung almost still, after a few spasmodic struggles, his head inclined as though in acknowledgement of his fault.
Verity clambered down, his body shaking uncontrollably, and sat on the stone floor of the bare cell. Presently he heard a woman howling from the yard outside, the last desperate sounds from the throat of the creature who had been wailing the night before. He pushed his fingers into his ears and prayed.
It was half-way through the morning before anyone came to him. Then the door of the cell was opened by a uniformed gaoler who stood back to allow a smartly dressed little man in. The visitor was hardly larger than a dwarf but his hair was plastered flat and his dark eyes gleamed with the zeal of one accustomed to command.
'I,' he said bitterly, 'am Captain Smiles.'
Verity's coat and trousers were still stiff with damp from the deluge of Miss Jolly's bath-water. They hung shapelessly upon him. He pulled himself up in a parody of parade-ground attention.
'Sir!'
'I have been woken early this morning,' said Smiles peevishly 'to learn that a sergeant o! the Prince of Wales's bodyguard, who should have reported for duty last night, is being held in the Tombs Prison!'
'Is that a fact, sir? Is that where this is, then?'
'Damn you, sir!' shouted Smiles, making Verity jump with the explosiveness of his anger. 'What the devil do you mean by it
A boot toed him hard under the lower rib, driving the breath from him.
'Bastud!' said someone in the darkness.
At last the wagon stopped and they carried him unceremoniously out, his head hanging backward. A massive granite building with squat pillars, suggesting the portico of an Egyptian temple, rose above him. The tall rectilinear windows, heavily barred, ran almost the entire height of the facade. As the men who were carrying him passed into the shadow of the first hall, their steps echoed lingeringly along the bare vaulted passageways. Then they were in a long narrow interior which rose like the nave of a lofty cathedral. There were several iron platforms along its sides at varying levels, and iron bridges which crossed from one side to the other. The men dragged Verity to what looked like a small furnace-door. There was a rattle of keys, his wrists were uncuffed and he was dumped down heavily in a pool of water on a stone floor.
The door closed and the keys rattled again. As though from a great distance he could hear voices, plaintive, weeping, angry and cursing by turns. From time to time there was the slow measured tread of a man walking the length of the hall outside. Then, like iron castanets, keys rattled the length of the platform and stairway railings. Verity recognized the gaoler's inveterate habit of drawing the bunch of keys along the iron struts, as though to comfort himself as well as his charges by breaking the sepulchral silence of the long night. He was assisted in this by a woman's voice, wailing and eerie, and by a man's drunken song. Verity knew little about the prisons of America but he was evidently in one of the most impressive. At least, he thought, it was no worse than that.
When the first light of the autumn morning lit the small barred window of the cell, it was grey as all light in that place. Working himself up to peer out, Verity could see that all the windows looked out on to a narrow yard, the pitiless prison walls rising so high that the sun never slanted into the cells. In the centre of the yard was the gallows without either a platform or a drop. Presently a slow procession crossed to the structure and a small pinioned man was stood beneath it with the rope round his neck. Verity watched in horror as the preparations were made. The man was left standing on the ground, while his executioner walked behind the gallows and released a cord. A weighted sandbag, at the top of the gallows, plummeted to earth with a soft thud, jerking the pinioned man off his feet and swinging him into the air. He hung almost still, after a few spasmodic struggles, his head inclined as though in acknowledgement of his fault.
Verity clambered down, his body shaking uncontrollably, and sat on the stone floor of the bare cell. Presently he heard a woman howling from the yard outside, the last desperate sounds from the throat of the creature who had been wailing the night before. He pushed his fingers into his ears and prayed.
It was half-way through the morning before anyone came to him. Then the door of the cell was opened by a uniformed gaoler who stood back to allow a smartly dressed little man in. The visitor was hardly larger than a dwarf but his hair was plastered flat and his dark eyes gleamed with the zeal of one accustomed to command.
'I,' he said bitterly, 'am Captain Smiles.'
Verity's coat and trousers were still stiff with damp from the deluge of Miss Jolly's bath-water. They hung shapelessly upon him. He pulled himself up in a parody of parade-ground attention.
'Sir!'
'I have been woken early this morning,' said Smiles peevishly 'to learn that a sergeant o! the Prince of Wales's bodyguard, who should have reported for duty last night, is being held in the Tombs Prison!'
'Is that a fact, sir? Is that where this is, then?'
'Damn you, sir!' shouted Smiles, making Verity jump with the explosiveness of his anger. 'What the devil do you mean by it
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