“I’m sorry, Lord Bedlow,” he interrupted, “but he was honest enough about where to find their store of arms, nets and snares, and the pitch they used to blacken their faces. I’m afraid there is no question of his guilt.”

Mrs. Bailey’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, he didn’t peach! He wouldn’t!”

The look on Bedlow’s face was extremely gratifying. “I suppose you had the right of it, Sir Jasper,” he said finally. “I ought not to be so credulous, yet surely it is better to err on the side of caution in these cases. The penalties are so harsh, and the crime-”

“The crime is black,” Sir Jasper said. “Good God, have you no thought for your wife and family? You would give armed men license to roam the countryside?”

“They would not need guns if being taken did not mean assured transportation.”

“The thieving blackguards must be stopped somehow, or they will tear the foundations of English society up by its roots!” Sir Jasper had thought, at first, that it would be all right to let Lord Bedlow keep Loweston. But the young puppy had quickly proven to be dangerously susceptible to the histrionics and sedition of his laborers. They wanted to see it all go up in flames, everything Sir Jasper had worked for his whole life-

He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, clearing the scent of the dirty Seine from his nostrils. It was all right. He had things well in hand.

“We will never agree on that point,” Bedlow said. “In the meantime, I will arrange for a barrister to represent my people. I know you will treat them with fairness. Do you think you might tell me who has been accused?”

“I prefer to keep that information private until I am assured they are in custody,” Sir Jasper said. “Mrs. Bailey, you won’t mind waiting here? It should only be an hour or two, and then I shall be happy to return your husband to you.”

The Bedlows waited too, arranging themselves on a low wall near the jail. Sir Jasper couldn’t think why; they both looked dull and anxious, and barely spoke to each other.

Sir Jasper’s interference was probably unnecessary. They would have drifted apart on their own, and as for heirs-he found it hard to imagine that governessy countess even allowing her husband his conjugal rights, although the memory of them giggling and glowing in the doorway, that day after the rainstorm, gave Sir Jasper a touch of unease. He comforted himself with the thought that she was so thin and pale, she was more than likely barren. Mary had had that same fragile look, after the last miscarriage.

At length all seven members of the Loweston gang were brought to the little jail. The last one, Sir Jasper saw with annoyance, provoked an absolute firestorm of misplaced sentiment in the Bedlows.

“Sir Jasper, please, she’s only a girl!” The countess’s distress made her common little face even more unattractive.

“A girl who is evidently hell-bent on following in her radical father’s footsteps,” Sir Jasper said as Josie Cusher was led past them, fighting and glaring and generally behaving like the disagreeably pert piece of trash that she was. “Do you wish me to circumvent the law? Perhaps her fate will persuade back to the path of righteousness other children whose feet have begun to stray.”

He signaled the constable to release Jack Bailey. The man came out on his crutch, his head bent and his shoulders sagging. Sir Jasper didn’t blame him; a gentleman would never have betrayed his word in that fashion, and although Jack Bailey was not a gentleman, he seemed instinctively to feel that he had done something shameful.

Mrs. Bailey hastened forward to help him. “Oh, Jack! It was wrong to do it, but the children will be glad to see you.”

Aaron Smith opened the Cushers’ door as soon as they knocked. “Your lordship, your ladyship.” He nodded his head respectfully. “Is there news?”

“Good morning, Aaron,” Nev said. “Not yet. Is Agnes home?”

“Aaron, is that Lord Bedlow?” Agnes Cusher rushed to the door with red, swollen eyes. She clutched at Nev’s arm, and Penelope saw that she had been twisting her lavender satin ribbon, Josie’s gift, in her hands. It was ragged. “Please, your lordship, you won’t let them send my girl away? My little Josie-” Her voice broke. She did not look at Penelope.

“We are doing what we can,” Nev said. “But I don’t know that it will do any good if she is really guilty. Agnes, tell me-was she part of the gang?”

“She helped them with little things-making nets, carrying messages to the men who work for the butchers in London. She-she went into the woods once or twice, because she’s small and handy. I didn’t want her to do it, but how could I stop her? Joe was gone and we would have starved-the baby would have died-” She twined the strip of satin around her palm until her hand turned white.

“It wasn’t your fault, Aggie.” Aaron reached out and covered her hands with his. “It’s not your fault.”

Penelope looked for Kit. The boy had been crying too-he was sitting in the corner now, staring. She went over to kneel by him. “Good morning, Kit.”

“Kit, don’t bother her ladyship,” Agnes said.

Penelope looked up, surprised. “He isn’t bothering me. I just-”

“Kit, come here.” And Kit went past Penelope to his mother, who picked him up and held him tight.

Penelope stood, brushing the dirt from her gown. They all knew that Jack Bailey was arrested on her information then. They all hated her.

“Aggie,” Aaron said in a low tone. “She’s overset, your ladyship. Don’t hold it against Josie.”

“I wouldn’t,” Penelope said, more sharply than she meant to. “Of course I won’t.”

He looked at her carefully. “Good.”

She bristled, but-he seemed to believe her, at least.

“As I said,” Nev told them evenly, “we will do everything we can for Josie. Are you doing all right for money?”

Aaron’s eyes were on Agnes. “I’ll take care of them.”

It was at Harry Spratt’s house that the worst blow was struck. Young Helen Spratt opened the door dry-eyed and seemingly collected, but it took only a few sentences for her fevered state of mind to become clear. “I’d like to kill Jack Bailey,” she raged. Penelope remembered the taciturn laborers of their early visits, and marveled at how stress stripped away the discretion and reverence. “I’d like to murder that old son-of-a-bitch. You were coming to free him, and he couldn’t be a man for another hour? My Harry would never have peached on him. They all risked everything to save the bugger from that trap. It was Jack Bailey that recruited the half of them, anyway! We were always hungry after the commons were enclosed, but Harry thought we’d get by honest until Jack told him how easy it was, how safe, how sure! And there didn’t seem to be no harm-there’s plenty of game for us all, and if rich folk in London want to pay us for a few rabbits, who does it hurt? When the baby was sick, we could buy him some milk! It seemed so little to take, when we had to get rid of our cow-”

It was inane, but Penelope grasped on the one thing she didn’t understand, just as an excuse to not hear the horrible sound of Helen Spratt’s misery and anger for a few seconds. “Why did you have to get rid of your cow?”

Helen stared at Penelope as if she’d been dropped on her head as a baby. “You can’t go on the parish if you’ve got a cow. We had a pig too, and some geese.”

“But if you were doing so well, why did you want to go on the parish?” Penelope asked.

“You can’t get a job around here if you aren’t on the parish. That’s how it works. Mr. Snively gives us our dole, and Tom Kedge pays him for the men’s work. Mr. Kedge won’t hire you if you aren’t on the parish. It’s cheaper for him, see, so he gives Snively a little something to grease the wheels, and it’s all sunshine and daisies for everyone.”

Penelope rocked backwards. Why hadn’t anyone told her this before? How many of the farmers had had to give up what little they had, just to keep their jobs?