The Making Of A Gentleman. Ruth Axtell MorrenЧитать онлайн книгу.
Jonah glanced from one to the other. Miss Hathaway hadn’t spoken yet and her serious face made him question whether he had any choice but the noose. “Do I have any?”
Hathaway smiled faintly. “A few. You can leave our house once you feel fully recovered, if you choose. I wouldn’t recommend that path unless you have some friends or family who are willing to help you out.”
Jonah shook his head. He had no one to run the risk of hiding him…other than this man and his sister.
Miss Hathaway leaned toward him. “Have you any family at all?” When he said nothing, she added, “You mentioned a…Judy…and Mary and…Joshua in your fever.”
He turned away from her gently probing look and picked at the threads of his coverlet. He felt his neck flush as he pictured himself ranting out the most personal details of his life in his delirium. “I…had a wife and two bairns.”
Her soft voice broke into his thoughts. “What happened to them?”
He kept his eyes fixed on the blanket beneath his hands, its pattern blurring. “Brought ’em—” He cleared his throat. “Brought ’em with me when I came to London.” After a few minutes he was able to continue. “All three died last winter from fever.”
“I’m sorry,” both of them said.
He wiped the corner of his eyes with the back of his hand, despising himself for his loss of control. When he finally looked at the Hathaways again, he read only compassion in their eyes.
“You’ve nothin’ to be sorry for. It was the fault of a city that doesn’t let a man defend himself nor earn the bread to feed his family.”
“Do you have any other family?” the curate asked.
“My kin is scattered across Bedfordshire. I lost touch with ’em once we came to London. I wouldn’t want to involve them in my misfortune. They have little eno’ as it is. They’re likely facing terrible times themselves.”
Hathaway nodded. “Another option is to flee the country. We could provide you with some money, but I know little enough of getting you aboard a ship heading to lands beyond. You’d need false papers for one thing. France, the closest, would be difficult as we’re at war. With the blockade, seas are dangerous if you should choose to venture farther.”
Jonah could not imagine leaving England. Just leaving his native village and coming to London had proved disastrous.
Miss Hathaway spoke. “There is one other possibility.”
Slowly, Jonah raised his head as she continued. “I would say ‘impossibility,’ except that my brother would remind me we serve a God of the impossible.”
Jonah waited, his body tensing.
“Commutation of your sentence.”
The words meant nothing to him. “I…don’t ken the expression.”
The curate explained. “If we appeal to the home secretary for clemency—that is to say, mercy—there is a possibility that your sentence could be commuted to life or to transportation to the colony.”
“You mean I’d either have to rot in that stinkin’ Newgate cell, or be stuffed into the hold of one of those prison hulks—”
“Most likely it would mean transport,” Miss Hathaway said.
“Which means death on the seas.”
“It is a harrowing journey, I’ll grant you, but for those who arrive, there is the chance for a fresh start.”
“Living like a slave out there for the years of me sentence.”
The young curate leaned forward. “There is also the possibility of a royal pardon.”
Pardon. The word rang in the stillness. Then Jonah remembered he wasn’t guilty in the first place. “For something I never done?”
“Something you did unwittingly,” the curate corrected gently. “If we could get the home secretary to consider the innocence of your action, there is a chance for a full pardon.”
Miss Hathaway cleared her throat. “Do not let my brother’s words get your hopes up, Mr. Kendall. There is very little likelihood of a pardon. Your best hope lies in transport to the colony. However—” her slim fingers formed pleats in her skirt as she spoke “—my brother has a scheme, and I am willing to consider it, however little chance it has of succeeding.”
“Don’t let my sister’s words frighten you.”
Jonah looked from brother to sister and back again, his worry only growing. What did they mean, “scheme”?
Miss Hathaway folded her hands in her lap. “There would be no hope for clemency unless you showed yourself a thoroughly reformed individual.”
Jonah frowned at her. “Reformed from what?”
“Reformed from the defiant individual who stood on the gallows refusing to kneel in prayer and who later flaunted all authorities when he fled the gallows.”
In contrast to the grim picture his sister painted, Mr. Hathaway’s tone was gentle. “Pardons are not as uncommon as you may think. Many a man—and woman—has been issued a full pardon when they’ve shown themselves repentant of their deed.”
His uneasiness grew. “But I’m not guilty of anything.”
“Unfortunately, the fact that you were rescued from the gallows and a riot ensued will not go over well with the home secretary,” the curate reminded him. “However, Miss Hathaway has achieved a good reputation working among the prisoners of Newgate. If she vouches for your character, that will guarantee you an audience at least.”
Jonah looked at Miss Hathaway. He knew little of her work as the prison lady.
The curate continued. “That is only the beginning, however. We must also prove to the home secretary and to the lord chancellor, and ultimately to the prince regent himself, that you are a reformed individual—a man who looks and sounds respectable, a man as far from the one who escaped the gallows as day from night.”
“The first step, therefore, Mr. Kendall, is to transform you into a gentleman,” Miss Hathaway finished for her brother.
Jonah stared at her as if she’d told him he must fly to the moon. “A what?”
“A gentleman. A man the home secretary can understand. He knows nothing of the plight of a poor farmer from East Anglia whose cattle has lost its grazing rights through the system of enclosures, but a man who is presentable, can speak his language, and is an upright member of society, exercising a trade and living an exemplary life—that man might just win the secretary’s sympathy.”
Jonah gave a bark of laughter. “A gentleman! Who would ever believe Jonah Quinn as a gentleman?”
Mr. Hathaway tapped his knee, a light of optimism in his eyes. “If you allow Miss Hathaway and myself have a go at your, er, education, you might be surprised at the results.” He turned to his sister. “Miss Hathaway can coach you in the finer points of etiquette, manners and dress, and I can help you refine your speech a bit. By the way, can you read?”
Jonah grunted. “Well enough.”
“That’s very good. Did you receive some schooling as a child?”
He shrugged. “Taught meself to read once I arrived in London. Never had no need of it back home.”
They both looked at him, eyes wide.
He stared right back at them. Didn’t they believe him?
“That’s remarkable,” Miss Hathaway said. “How did you do that?”
Did she think he was as brutish as he looked? “I found an old schoolbook in the rubbish. It must have been a child’s primer, all beat up and dirty.”