It was a long carriage ride to Newgate. Lucy kept going on about how horrible the government system was for incarcerating an innocent man, and how much she and Matthew were in love. One would think the two women were best friends, the way she went on. As with most that had grown accustomed to the life of high society, and even more in a moment of distress, Lucy Hawthorne was content just to get the occasional “how awful” or “I agree” from Claire to make sure she was paying attention. To make it worse, while Lucy was an attractive woman when dressed up, she was [i]not[/i] an attractive crier, and must have not even tried to be so by the looks of her during the entire way over.

“Now Lucy, you don’t want to let Matthew know you broke down like this, do you? It will do terrible things to his courage. Be strong, no crying while we’re in there.” That bit of advice was for the both of them. Lucy nodded, accepting help to look presentable before approaching those at the gate. It took quite a bit of convincing, and a strong threat on Claire’s part to get them inside, but eventually the two women were strolling through the thick double doors at Newgate Prison.

It was eerie inside, but Claire refused to show how much it disturbed her. She had never been to a place so devoid of decoration, furniture, people…or warmth in general. No comfort was given to the visitors, which made her wonder what the cells within were like. With a deep, steadying breath Claire looked down at the wicker basket covered in cloth on her arm. She was one step closer to achieving her goal. “Claire?” Lucy’s voice brought her back, causing her to look up and see a couple men in uniform a few meters away, clearly waiting for their arrival.

“Remember what I said, Lucy. These men are just doing their job, they mean no harm,” she whispered before they were close enough for one of the men to speak to them.

“You brought food for the prisoner? He isn’t allowed any extra meals, Mrs. Rochford, I can’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow the smallest gift from his [i]wife[/i] and I? That’s a bit harsh. If he’s here and not already dead then I’m assuming you don’t have very good evidence against the man. If that’s the case, it would be very cruel to deny him a few simple sandwiches…perhaps I should have my father look into the treatment of your prisoners, Mr…?”

The man shifted, clearly not wanting to give his name to someone who might report it to a Duke. “Fine, but I’ve been given orders to sample your [i]fine[/i] cooking before you go in. May I?” Basically, it’s not my fault I have to do this, blame somebody else.

“Don’t try and flatter, its sandwiches not cooking. Go right ahead, my goodness you would think they were weapons, not snacks. Gentlemen it is his wife and a friend…but here.” With an annoyed sigh Claire pulled back the cloth and held one out, waiting for him to take it.

“Not that one. I get to pick.” Claire froze for the slightest second before smiling sweetly and holding out the basket. The odds of him picking were slim, surely… she’d placed it in the corner, this idiot in a nameless uniform couldn’t be the one to stop her now!

His rough fingers landed on a safe sandwich, which he thoroughly checked through piece by piece before biting into it. The other made a joke about him falling over dead, but a glare from the man who’d eaten it shut him up. “Go on in,” he said before taking a second bite. Apparently he thought the search was a bit pointless and didn’t want to sample anything else. At least he got a free sandwich out of it.

“Thank you, Claire,” Lucy breathed as soon as they were past the men. “I can’t believe the way you spoke to them.”

Claire didn’t respond, only looked forward as a door was unlocked and Matthew Hawthorne was in their sights. His pale complexion was a stark difference to the dark, grimy stone walls around him, and Lucy seemed to notice right away. “Darling! My lands look at you,” she cried out, the skirt of her dress billowing as she ran and knelt at his side, her gloved hand stroking his unshaven cheek. “Have they been treating you well? Of course not, look at you. Do you even have a proper bed?” she asked, looking about the room. He was cuffed to a thick wooden pole, the room bare except for a table against the wall and a couple chairs.

While Lucy was shocked because of his bad condition, Claire was surprised he had no missing fingers or ears. Not even a bruise! If her contact had caught an English spy, she was sure the rough treatment would have already started.

“Sweetheart, calm down,” Matthew smiled, looking into the woman’s eyes and leaning into her touch. He tried to act as if he didn’t notice Claire yet, but it was hard not to. He knew who she was, what she was. “I’m fine. I can’t imagine what they could possibly have against me, so I am sure this mistake will be worked out in no time.”

“Have you eaten? Claire was dear enough to bring you something. She helped me get in here, wasn’t that wonderful of her?” Lucy smiled at Claire, gesturing for her to come over. `She did, walking slowly as her hand slid inside the basket. She knew which one to grab, exactly where it lay beneath the cloth cover. It had been the only thing going through her mind for the past twenty minutes. Her own smile was gone, only a cold, calculating look being given to Matthew. Did he know? If he did, would he comply? Surely so, for even if he told on them it would give him away and lead to his death anyway…probably after being tortured for information. No, Matthew Hawthorne would rather die by her hand than theirs, she was sure of it.

“Here. I made it myself,” she told him, and their gaze met. He knew. She could see it in his eyes. “It’s all right,” she assured him, unsure what else to say. She was killing him, right there in front of his wife. “They won’t be hurting you.”

Lucy took the sandwich, eager to feed it to him since his hands were useless behind his back. “That’s right. As awful as this is, I love you and I just know you’ll be back home with me in no time.” Matthew swallowed with a small nod, leaning forward to kiss her.

It felt wrong to watch what she and Matthew knew were their final goodbyes. He whispered of his love, as did she, to which Claire got up and moved slowly about the room, giving them time. It would be hours before anything took effect, so he would probably die in his sleep. That was what she hoped, anyway.

“Time to go. Visiting hours are over,” came a rough voice eventually from the doorway from a man swinging a key around his finger. As if there were actually set hours, but Claire wasn’t complaining. She was ready to leave.

The rest of the night went by slowly. They left, Lucy being sure to leave the remaining food on the table for him to eat later. She was dropped off at their estate before Claire rode home, glad for the silence. Once home she realized just how late it was, the clock in the foyer ticking just past nine. They must have stayed there longer than she’d thought. With a quick stop to the kitchen to have a servant serve her mixed fruit, Claire went upstairs to the master bedroom to check on her husband. The cold from the prison was still in her, and all she wanted was to slip into bed with him again. Claire hoped he was asleep, but either way she would request his company. Perhaps his presence would once again make the waking nightmares go away.

Not wanting to bother with getting a maidservant she undressed herself and got right back into a nightgown before going to the bed. It had been a long day, but they had succeeded. The British would get nothing out of Matthew Hawthorne, and certainly nothing out of her.