The Making Of A Gentleman. Ruth Axtell Morren

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      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.” He shook his head at the memory of hours spent in the dim light of evenings, bent over the torn pages. “I studied it and studied it until I figured out the pictures.” He smiled, remembering the drawings. “A is for apple, B for boy, C…cat. If I close my eyes, I can still see those pictures. The letters and their sounds began to make sense and soon I could put together the letters I saw on street signs and make out whole words. ’Course I can’t read a whole lot, but enough to get by.”

      “And no one had ever taught you before?” Her tone remained dubious.

      “No.” He folded his arms across his chest. “And I had no need of it neither, farming the land.” Bitterness crept into his voice. “When I still had some land to farm.”

      Hathaway sat back with a satisfied air. “This is wonderful. If you’ll permit me, I can help fill in the gaps, perhaps teach you some arithmetic as well.”

      “I don’t mind. I suppose I’ll have to while away my time somehow till I’m fit again. I’m as weak as a fish right now.”

      “That will pass. Now, to more practical matters. You took the name William Kendall the first night you arrived. Does anyone know you by that name?”

      He shook his head. “It was the first thing that popped into my head. William is me brother’s name and Kendall me mother’s family name.”

      “Very clever. It will do, don’t you think?” The curate turned to Miss Hathaway.

      “Yes,” she answered more slowly. “My brother and I don’t believe in telling falsehoods,” she said. “However, in this case, we see the necessity of concealing your identity. And since they are family names, they are not wholly untrue.”

      “So, from today forward, we will only refer to you as Mr. Kendall.”

      Jonah thought of something else. “Where are me clothes? I think I’d like to get out of this bed. Seems I’ve been here months.”

      He turned to his sister. “His clothes?”

      “I’m afraid they’ve been disposed of.”

      “What do you mean, disposed of?” Quinn asked, feeling a sudden terror.

      “Burned.”

      “Burned?” He swore then stopped in midsentence at Miss Hathaway’s stern frown.

      “The vermin,” she said. “We had to ensure there would be no spread of it through the household.”

      He stared at her, panic growing in him. “I had some…things…” Once again, his face felt hot at having to confess these things to this lady.

      “You had a lock of hair and a small square of cloth in one pocket,” she said in a softer tone. “I saved them for you, supposing they were sentimental keepsakes.” She rose and went to the bedside table. From the drawer she extracted СКАЧАТЬ