Lord Johnnie

Leslie Turner

Description

Men will like and women will love dashing, rip-roaring Lord Johnnie, left-handed scion of nobility. Strange mixture of London's Whitehall where the nobles lived and Whitefriars where the thieves and pickpockets dwelt, Johnnie the Rogue was at home in both.
Leader of London's underworld, Johnnie barely escapes hanging, but not before he has met the lovely Lady Leanna Somerset. His headlong adventures take Lord Johnnie out to sea as a pirate, and eventually to the New World in command of a ship he has captured. Society and the underworld are of a different stripe in New York, but a brigand is still forced to keep several jumps ahead of the law. Johnnie meets new friends, effects new and daring paces, and finds himself used as a pawn in the game played by the English and the French in pre-Revolutionary days in America. His great yearning to be a gentleman is seldom absent from his mind, but fulfillment of that desire comes in an unexpected and surprising way!

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Thriller
• Action
• Fiction
• Romance
• Adventure
• Romance policière

Informations

• Publié par: Rare Treasure Editions
• Date de parution: 09 novembre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781774643921
• Langue: English

Extrait

Lord Johnnie
by Leslie Turner White

First published in 1949
This edition published by Rare Treasures
Victoria, BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany
[e-mail]
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Lord Johnnie






by LESLIE TURNER WHITE

To My Good Friends

Paul R. Reynolds

and

Paul D. Conover

Godfathers to Lord Johnnie
PART
ONE
1
On the 18th of March, 1756, London was agog with excitement.From the Court of St. James to the dives of Whitefriars, two portentousevents were under discussion—the inevitability of war with Franceand the hanging of Lord Johnnie on the morrow.
There was no connection between the two events. War would be agrim catastrophe, but the hanging of such a popular hero was a holidayaffair, and Johnnie the Rogue was the idol of London’s lowly, as wellas a sliver under the toenail of London’s gentry. Yet now that he wasgallows-bound, rich and poor willingly turned out to do him honor,and everybody in the city who could possibly manage it would be atTyburn in the morning to cheer him on to glory.
The day itself was gray and cold, and the rawness penetrated intothe prison office of old Newgate where huddled the two officials responsiblefor Johnnie’s fate. Mr. Goad, the hangman, through whosecalloused hands Lord Johnnie would pass to eternity, resembled anunhappy mastiff; a large, scarred man with a dirty leather jacket, andhair cut short enough to make poor hiding ground for lice. Mr.Muggins, Newgate’s Chief Gaoler, was gaunt and sallow, and lookedas if he himself had been hanged the week before.
The little office was not a cheerful place. The furnishings weresparse, and it had but two small barred windows on either side of theroom, one of which gave a view of the prison press-yard, where at themoment Lord Johnnie was holding court at a drunken banquet tocelebrate his departure into the unknown. The opposite window lookeddown upon the street in front of the prison, which, since daylight, hadbeen jammed with people hoping for a glimpse of the condemned.Unable to see their hero, they were enjoying a vicarious thrill fromthe snatches of song and squeals of happy laughter which came overthe gray walls.
An exceptionally wild gust of shrieking from the press-yard broughtMr. Goad to his feet. He crossed to the courtyard window, and whathe saw made him wince. Even the thought of Lord Johnnie’s elegantgarments, which as the hangman’s rightful perquisites he would inherit,failed to buoy him.
“ ’E shouldn’t have allowed the brawl, Muggins,” he grumbled,turning away. “H’it’ll breed trouble, mark ’e!”
“H’allowed h’it? Ha! Bleedin’ little I ’ad to say about h’it!” TheChief Gaoler laughed without mirth. “The ruddy bastard’s the mostpopular knave we’ve ever ’ad in Newgate in my time. ’Appy ’tis I’ll beto see the last o’ ’im.”
“Aye,” agreed Goad. “A regular Devil ’e is, wi’ more lives than acat.”
“Than a bloody ’ole litter o’ cats.”
“ ’E ought to be drawn an’ quartered,” reasoned Mr. Goad. “Thenwe’d be certain ’e was dead.”
Muggins nodded. “I’ve h’arranged for six h’extra guards.”
“Six? Six? ” Mr. Goad sniffed. “ ’Tis said before ’e left France, ’esingle-’andedly out-fought a baker’s dozen o’ the King’s Guardsmen’oo tried to h’arrest ’im!”
“Rumor,” mumbled Mr. Muggins. “H’idle rumor.”
Mr. Goad ran a horny hand over the stubble of his pate and walkedto the street window. Avoiding looking at the sea of morbid facesbelow, he scanned the low-hung clouds.
“H’I don’t like it,” he reiterated. “If there’s a fog tomorrer—!”The very thought sickened him, and he slumped into a chair.
Mr. Muggins cherished the same unspoken fear. Not in a generationhad gallows-conscious London been so excited over an execution. Inthe coffee-houses and grog-shops, wagers were being laid on the lengthof time Lord Johnnie would dance at the rope’s end. Street urchinserected miniature gallows and played at hanging dolls; eel-criers soldmore rumors than fish to eager ladies of quality; chambermaids discussedwith lords, Lord Johnnie’s alleged amours, and coyly claimedimpossible intimacies; and for once thieves and bailiffs met on commonground. And even now, nearly twenty-four hours before the appointedtime, the people were trekking out to Tyburn—bucks on horseback,ladies of fashion in carriages, lackeys representing their lords andladies—all seeking to engage the choicest seats in the galleries, erectedpermanently around the gallows, from old Mammy Douglas, thefemale pew-opener who kept the key to them. Most of the poor wouldfollow the prisoner’s cart from Newgate in the morning, but the lesshardy of these were now tramping out to Tyburn on foot, carrying acrust of bread and just enough gin to warm them during the coldnight’s wait.
“Well, ’e h’ain’t no cat, an’ ’e h’ain’t no Devil; ’e’s h’only a bloodyscoundrel,” said Mr. Muggins determinedly. “H’an’ w’at’s more—”He paused as the door opened and a smirking turnkey ushered a youngwoman into the office.
She was a tiny thing, gowned in black silk, and though heavilyveiled, had about her an air of distinction. There was a pleasing sensuousnessin the rustle of her costume and in the furtive bird-likeway she moved into the room, but Mr. Muggins recognized qualitywhen he saw it, so he stumbled erect and groped behind him for hiswig. When a gale of laughter, shrill and obscene, swept into the roomfrom the press-yard, the woman shuddered and appeared to wither.Muggins gallantly closed the window, and in the operation managedwith a look to convey to Mr. Goad that his absence was more to bedesired than his company. Mr. Goad took the hint.
With the door and windows closed, Mr. Muggins enjoyed a titillatingsense of isolation. He bowed the visitor into the chair so recentlyvacated by the hangman.
“Your servant, m’lady?” he said tentatively.
She perched stiffly on the edge of the rough seat, silent, regal somehow,yet not quite at ease. Muggins was uncomfortable, as he alwayswas in the presence of the highborn; a squirmy sense of inferioritywhich even his powerful position as Chief Gaoler failed to dispel. Hissallow face puckered warily, and he reflected, logically enough, thatthough highborn this creature might be, she wanted something of him ,else she would never have come to Newgate in this clandestine fashion.This knowledge acted as a leveler.
“Now, m’lady?” he urged confidentially.
She seemed about to resent the intimate tone, but a perceptibleflutter of her tiny hands was the only outward indication. Yet Mugginscaught the gesture, slight as it was, and waited patiently.
“I understand,” she began in a low controlled voice, “that it ispossible for a lady. . . for a woman plagued by debts to, er, marrya condemned felon and thus be cleared of her indebtedness in secret.”
“H’mmn!” Muggins perceived the slip about “a lady,” and realizedthat he had a neat profit in the offing, if handled properly. She wasobviously in deep trouble, but her genteel poise had not yet cracked,so he let her simmer a few moments longer while he carefully examineda broken fingernail.
“Aye, m’lady,” he conceded finally, “it ’as been done in the past,but ’tis now a practice frowned upon. Laws are bein’ planned to prohibitit.”
She swayed slightly. “If it is a question of money, I can pay youwell!”
“Ah-h!” Muggins’ frown of concentration melted into a conspiratorialsmile. “In that event, it just might be arranged, m’lady.” Hemoved as close to her as he deemed safe and lowered his voice. “Theprocedure is simple enough: ye marry a condemned rascal, who as yer’usband becomes legally responsible fer yer debts. We promptly ’angs’im, leavin’ ye a pretty little widow, free as a bird o’ both ’usban’ an’debts.”
“But how do we prevent everyone in London from knowing aboutit?”
Muggins winked. “Ah, m’lady, we keeps the records safe ’ere inNewgate. Ye gets a marriage certificate, w’ich ye shows to yer creditors.Since by that time, yer dearie is removed from this vale o’ sorrow,there’s precious little the money-lenders can do but gnash their teeth.”
“Yet won’t the truth get around?”
Muggins shrugged. “Per’aps a bit o’ gossip may leak out, ’tis true,but as the money-lenders, w’ich I presumes ye fear, don’t sit in theparlors o’ the gentry, such as ye plainly be, m’lady, ye’ll ’ave naught toworry about fer a long time.”
“This, er, wedding? Does it have to be, well, consummated?”
He permitted himself a smirk. “Not unless ye wishes to bed thescoundrel, m’lady. Of course if ye did—”
She said with asperity, “Prithee don’t jest, sir!”
“No offense, m’lady!” Muggins took a slow turn around the officeto cool off. “Now,” he said crisply, “ ’twill cost ye fifty guineas fer me;the risk is great, y’understand. Five guineas fer a Bishop, an’ a properHigh Church cleric I can promise ye, an’ mebbe a tenner fer the luckybridegroom hisself.” He noted her reaction with a practiced eye, andthough she wavered slightly, she finally nodded.
“Methinks I can manage that, if you’re sure everything will be allright. But, oh merciful God, it must never be known!”
“A fiver fer the clerk will guarantee secrecy, m’lady. Ye can safelyleave all arrangements in me capable ’ands.” He felt his fever overcominghis natural caution and he hovered close above her. “Surely,’tis cheap enough fer a great lady, such as ’tis plain ye be, to escapethe debtors’ prison?”
She cut off his familiarity with a tart question. “Have you a felon now ?”
Muggins gave a flustered chuckle. “Aye, more’n enough an’ someto spare, m’lady. There’s Conkey Cobb, due to dance Monday week,an’ Punch Conover—a likely lad is Punch, if I may be so bold to sayso—the followin’ Friday.”
“That’s too late! Good Lord, I must be free before this week is out!I must,