Chapter Text
Colin Bridgerton could not understand what he was doing here. He stared up at the imposing facade of Newgate Prison with freshly built scaffold out front, hoping that this was all a misunderstanding. He was just a curate, only recently ordained, there must be hundreds of clergymen in London more suitable to hear a last confession from the condemned on the eve of execution. Where was the prison chaplain? Why summon him from Kent?
A shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the chill of the February night. He tried to ignore the slight tremble in his hand as he reached for the knocker. It slammed against the door with a dull thud. He heard the jingle of keys followed by the scrape of the lock before the door swung open and Colin tentatively stepped over the threshold.
"Mr Bridgerton?" Asked a tall, heavy-set man in a warden's uniform. His face was fixed in a scowl, as though he hadn't had call to look anything but stern for many years. He looked Colin up and down with an appraising eye. He did not look impressed.
"Yes." Colin croaked out before clearing his throat. He adjusted his posture in an attempt to appear less intimidated before continuing. "Are you Mr Jenkins?" Jenkins gave a curt nod. "I must confess, I am at a loss as to why I should be summoned. I had hoped to go my entire life without setting foot in a place like this." Colin looked around at his bleak surroundings, almost feeling the hope drain from him the longer he stood there.
"I am sorry we had to call on you so late, Mr Bridgerton, but she requested you specifically by name." Jenkins said with an annoyed huff. "It's the only request she has made since she arrived here. She might be a cold-blooded murderer, but she still gets a last request. A courtesy I doubt she gave those poor souls." He sneered.
Colin knew who "she" was. The whole country had heard of the brutal Whistledown murders. A family brutally murdered, a young woman found covered in blood, still holding the knife. She had been dubbed "Lady Whistledown" by the press after Whistledown Cottage, the scene of her crimes. She had not spoken a word in her defence or as justification during the brief trial. With a previous record of theft it was enough to damn her. The judge had been swift to hand down the death sentence. Due to the notoriety of the case, justice would be served swiftly. The whole story had made him feel sick to his stomach. Now Lady Whistledown had asked for him the night before her execution. The thought of being face to face with her made his skin crawl.
"Did she say why she wanted me? Is there some connection I should be aware of?" Colin asked, still hoping this was an error and he might be allowed to leave.
"We were hoping you might be able to enlighten us. Apart from requesting you she has barely spoken since she arrived a few days ago." Jenkins' irritation was obvious. "My men find her rather... unsettling. I think she's trying to play mind games to rattle the guards. You would do well to remember that, sir, you cannot know what is going on in her twisted mind."
Once again, Colin's blood ran cold. What mind games would she have in store? What did she know of him? Was he just a weak-minded fool to torment for distraction in her final hours? He had a growing feeling that this encounter was going to leave him changed somehow.
"With that in mind," Jenkins drew his attention to a box on the desk, "Best leave anything that could be used as a weapon here", he fixed Colin with his stare, "and be sure to keep your wits about you." Colin swallowed and nodded. Once he was ready, he moved to follow Jenkins towards the cells.
The corridors were eerily quiet as they moved through the prison. The loudest noise by far was the jingle of keys and their boots sounding off the stone floors. Their path was lit by lamps along their way and the one that Jenkins carried that cast constantly moving shadows as they walked. Colin could feel eyes watching him from the darkness.
"I imagined there would be more noise in a prison, even at night." Colin said, mostly in an attempt to dispel the eerie quiet.
"Any other night there might be," Jenkins replied, keeping his voice low, "but the eve of an execution has a strange effect on them." He cocked his head, listening to the sounds.
Colin, too, stopped to listen. He heard the low murmur of prayer from one corner, a small whimper and sniffle from another before the rattle of keys in a lock brought him back to himself.
The air grew colder as they passed through the next door into a partially open passageway. Colin looked up, glad to see the sky again but then he noted the tight mesh caging him in.
"Dead Man's Walk." Said Jenkins, solemn-faced. "The door at the other end leads out through the lodge to the gallows you'll have seen on your arrival."
Colin's steps slowed as his gaze landed on the heavy, studded door ahead. Jenkins continued on before coming to a halt by one of the doors.
"Here we are, sir. Now, mind what I told you. She is a killer, do not forget that." Jenkins gave a reassuring squeeze to Colin's shoulder.
Colin tried to swallow down his nerves and the dread rising inside him. He drew himself up to his full height and nodded back. Jenkins moved to unlock the door.
The cell door swung open. Colin took a deep breath and stepped inside.
There in front of him, her head bowed, sat Penelope Featherington, Lady Whistledown.