Carla Kelly by Reforming Lord Ragsdale Page B

open his pocket watch. “I trust you learned all you need to know, and I hope you don't have anyone else to visit at Newgate. As it is, I am certain I will never get the stench of this place out of my coat.”
    “No, my lord, I have no one else to visit,” she replied as he started back down the hall. “But I do want you to stop in the governor's office for a moment.”
    “Not if my life depended on it,” he assured her and hurried faster.
    “I want you to give the governor some money to keep Mr. Breed-low from starving,” she said and then held her breath and waited for the storm to break.
    She was not disappointed. He stopped, took her by the arm, and gave her a shake. “Emma, he robbed me!” Lord Ragsdale shouted.
    Why am I doing this? she thought as she nerved herself to look into his eye and stand her ground, even though he was taller than she by a foot at least, and seemed enormously large in that many-caped coat he wore.
    “And Mr. Breedlow is going to a lifetime in a penal colony for stealing a paltry twenty pounds from you,” she continued, surprised at her own temerity. I am not afraid of you , she thought, and to her amazement, she meant it.
    “So he is,” Lord Ragsdale said, calm again. He let go of her arm and hurried her along the endless passage, past cells crammed with wretched people, prisoners for whom all time was suspended into a continuous, dismal present that she understood very well.
    Emma did not really expect Lord Ragsdale to stop at the governor's office again, but he did. The governor ushered them into the office that still smelled of elderly mutton.
    “This is for David Breedlow's upkeep,” the marquess said as he slapped a handful of coins down on the desk and then scowled at Emma.
    “Thank you, my lord,” she replied and edged closer to the row of ledgers as the governor searched around on his messy desk for a receipt book. In another moment she was looking through the newest ledger, running her finger down the row of names of prisoners incarcerated in the last five years. There were so many, and the governor's scribe had such poor handwriting. This will take me an hour at least, and I do not have an hour , she thought as the governor scratched out a receipt and handed it to her employer.
    “Come, Emma,” Lord Ragsdale said. He stood next to her, and she jumped at the sudden intrusion on her rapid scramble through the ledger. “We have come to the end of this day's philanthropy, I trust.”
    She closed the book reluctantly.
    “Looking up relatives?” the marquess asked. “Close relatives, I would imagine.”
    He was teasing her, she could tell. “Of course, my lord,” she responded promptly. He could think what he chose.
    Blessedly outside the prison, Lord Ragsdale nodded to his tiger, who unblanketed his horse.
    They started out in silence. It was almost dark now, and Newgate was only a hulking shadow. She shivered, hoping that she would not dream tonight.
    “I trust we needn't repeat a visit to my late secretary.”
    “No, my lord,” she said. “Tomorrow, though, we need to visit your banker and find out what bills remain to be paid. Breedlow tells me that your banker has his ledgers.”
    “It can wait, Emma,” he grumbled.
    “It cannot, my lord. The sooner your finances are organized, the less I will bother you.”
    “Thank heavens,” he replied fervently. “In that case, I am yours this evening too.”
    Silence filled the space between them. They might have been miles from each other instead of touching shoulders. She knew she should be silent, but Breedlow's face was still so vivid in her mind.
    “My lord, did you ever ask Mr. Breedlow why he stole the money?”
    “No. I don't care why.”
    The marquess spoke with such finality that Emma knew she did not dare to continue. But she did, as though some demon pushed her onto an empty stage, daring her to perform for a hostile audience.
    “His sister's husband died, and that twenty pounds was to cover funeral