Kent's Orphans: The Prisoner Part 12

"But we've been here forever, and there are never more than one or two people in the shop," Jamie complained. "Mr. Ingram should try selling something better than all that old stuff-like cups of hot tea and chocolate."

"Why don't we go to the tearoom and have something to eat?" suggested Simon. "I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry," teased Charlotte.

"We can't go to the tearoom-we haven't any money," Annabelle pointed out.

"We could go back home and ask Oliver to give us some," said Simon.

"Oliver's not about to give us money for tea when we're already at home," argued Jamie, sc.r.a.ping together another mountain with his feet. "He'll just make us sit in the kitchen and eat something that Eunice has made."

Simon's mouth began to water. "Maybe she's made some treacle scones."

"We're not goin' home," Jack said firmly, "until we've done what we came to do. Now pipe down and pay attention."

The children obediently quieted.

"Mr. Ingram is havin' a bit of a slow day, so we're going to have to go ahead with our plan with just that old couple in the store. Does everybody know what they have to do?"

They nodded.

"Good. Make lots of noise as you go in-we don't want Mr. Ingram to think you're tryin' to sneak about. I'll come in by myself a moment later. Grace will keep watch for me while I get into the case. The rest of you do whatever you have to do to keep Mr. Ingram's attention away from me. The most important thing to remember is, if anything goes wrong and I'm caught, all of you get out of there as fast as you can. Don't try to help me-understand? Just keep movin' and go home."

Charlotte's eyes widened. "But Jack-"

"If you won't swear to me that you'll do this, we'll b.l.o.o.d.y well go home right now," Jack snapped.

Charlotte dropped her gaze to her wet boots.

Jack instantly regretted his tone. He had to learn to be more gentle with Charlotte, he realized in frustration. She didn't have the same confidence and resilience that the others enjoyed. It was clear to him that she had been deeply affected by the life she had led before Genevieve took her in. He had no desire to further erode her already fragile countenance.

"I'll be fine, Charlotte," he a.s.sured her, his voice low and edged with apology. He reached over and tipped her chin up, making her look at him. "Trust me."

Charlotte stared at him, her gaze glistening with emotion.

He held her chin a moment, staring deep into the swirl of her brown-and-green eyes. There was fear there, fear and regret and something else that he could not quite understand. He frowned and studied her longer, holding the delicate round of her jaw in his fingers. Snow was drifting like goose down around her, forming a lacy pattern on her hat and coat and in the auburn silk of her hair. A flake settled upon her cheek, an exquisite work of the finest frozen lace. She seemed more perfect to him in that moment than any of the ladies in the paintings Genevieve had taken such pains to show to him; more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. Her skin was cool and pale, but there was sufficient heat to melt the intricate snowflake, turning it into a single, silver tear. And suddenly he understood what he was seeing in Charlotte's enormous eyes.

Charlotte cared about him.

A slender ray of warmth shot through him.

"Everything is going to be fine, Charlotte," he said gruffly. He released his hold on her chin to gently brush the silvery tear from her cheek with the back of his fingers. Then he cleared his throat. "I promise."

"I'm getting cold," complained Jamie, rubbing his stiff little hands together.

"We're going now," Jack decided. "Keep your hats low and your scarves up around your face, so no one gets a clear view of any of you. The snow is comin' down hard, so people won't think it strange that you're bundled up. When you see me movin' away from the jewelry case, that's your signal to leave. Don't race out in a pack-go to the door nice and slow, as if you've finished whatever you were lookin' at and are now moving on to another shop. We'll meet by the church at the end of the street and go back home together. Does everybody understand?"

They nodded.

"Good." He swept a critical gaze over them, trying to be certain that there was nothing about any of their appearances that would give anyone pause. They were all reasonably well dressed, with freshly scrubbed faces and cheeks chilled pink from the cold. None of them looked like a ragged, starving urchin who might be about to filch something.

"Let's go, then."

A little bra.s.s bell tinkled cheerfully as the door opened, heralding their arrival. The six children poured into the shop, giggling and chattering as they made a great show of stamping the snow from their boots and brushing it from their shoulders. Once they had given Mr. Ingram time to appraise them and realize they were relatively well dressed and were not trying to escape his notice, they each wandered into different areas of the store, so that the shopkeeper would have to keep shifting his gaze to keep track of what each of them was doing.

Jamie went to stare in awe at the gleaming suit of armor that stood guard in one corner of the store, while Annabelle adopted a tragic expression as she studied a painting of a heartbroken young woman cradling her murdered lover in her lap. Charlotte limped over to a bookcase and became engrossed in several leather-bound volumes that had their t.i.tles stamped in gold on the spines, and Simon frowned at a statue of two naked men battling each other. Why the artist had chosen to have them fight without any clothes on was absolutely beyond his comprehension-he thought they looked ridiculous. Grace went to the back of the store and made a show of examining a pretty set of blue-and-white plates that had been carefully arranged upon an elaborately carved sideboard, not too far from where the jewelry cabinet stood.

"...and you're absolutely sure, Mr. Ingram, that these candelabra are from the palace of Versailles?" inquired the bloated gentleman in the black felt hat and enormous overcoat.

His flaccid-faced wife apparently suffered from an equal fondness for rich foods, and had barely been able to squeeze her colossal, crinolined backside into the allotted s.p.a.ce beside the polished mahogany table upon which the enormous pair of candelabra were displayed.

"Belonged to King Louis the Fourteenth himself," Mr. Ingram a.s.sured his prospective buyer. He was a compact little man of slightly less than average height, with a neatly combed mat of carefully arranged graying hair upon his head, and a slightly strained expression upon his face. Clearly he did not enjoy having the authenticity of his wares questioned. "Truly a magnificent pair, and extremely rare. Stolen by a French duke who was an adviser to Louis the Sixteenth at the time of the Revolution. Poor chap barely made it out of France with his head on his shoulders. One can only imagine the remarkable events in history to which these handsome pieces were witness," he continued, embellishing his sale with a whiff of intrigue. "The workmanship is so superb, I almost hate to part with them," he added wistfully.

Jack sauntered nonchalantly toward the back of the shop. An ancient, battered sword caught his eye, and he paused for a moment to study it. He didn't think an old, rusted weapon like that could be worth very much, but he decided that if he ever had a home of his own, that was the kind of thing he might like to hang on the wall. All the other ornate furnishings around him made him feel uncomfortable, as if the furnishings themselves thought they were better than him.

"Pssst!" Grace tipped her head slightly in the direction of the jewelry cabinet.

Jack nodded once. He glanced back to make certain that Mr. Ingram was still engrossed in making his sale.

"Think of the dinners they have overheard-the drama, the mystery, the romance that has unfolded before their elegant presence," Mr. Ingram continued, making it sound as if the candelabra had eyes and ears. "What an impressive addition to your home these pieces will make-you shall be the envy of all those who see them...."

Feigning interest in several objects that lay between himself and the jewelry cabinet, Jack surrept.i.tiously continued his trek to the back. One more quick glance to make sure that Mr. Ingram was still engrossed in making his sale.

Then he slipped behind the cabinet and ducked down, un.o.bserved.

Grace had been wrong, he realized, cursing silently. A small padlock clamped the door to the case closed. Jack had not yet mastered the skill of opening a lock without the benefit of a key. He thought he could probably break it off easily, but that would make too much noise.

Better to unscrew the pins holding the hinges in place.

He raked his gaze over the table behind him, where a number of objects were waiting to be cleaned and tagged before being put on display. A small, gleaming dirk lay in a nest of packing straw. Checking once more to make certain Mr. Ingram remained occupied, Jack s.n.a.t.c.hed the dirk and bent down to set to work.

The point of the blade fit almost perfectly into the head of the screws. Working quickly, Jack twisted the blade round and round, releasing the small screws and setting them silently on the floor. Finally the hinge to which the lock was linked was freed. Jack pulled it off and eased open the door to the cabinet.

A dazzling array of jewels sparkled before him. Glittering rubies, sapphires, diamonds and emeralds of every size and color were artfully arranged in glorious necklaces, brooches, rings, and earrings. Within that single case there was sufficient wealth to keep him comfortable for his entire lifetime-or possibly two. One quick sweep of his hand across the blue velvet-lined case and he could be on his way to a new life-one that was free of perpetually searching for food and wearing blistering boots and sleeping on the streets. He wondered what the penalty for such a tremendous theft would be. Would they hang him if he was caught, or worse, put him in jail for the rest of his life?

"...I don't know," the boiled dumpling of a wife was saying, shaking her head until her powdery jowls trembled. "I had been hoping to find something bigger, perhaps with a bird or two worked into the pattern-or maybe even some fruit...."

Jack hesitated, torn between stealing a few pieces or just taking the whole b.l.o.o.d.y lot. He had never been presented with such a fabulous amount of wealth, and the allure of it was overwhelming to the point of making him feel sick. He might never know what it was to be starving and desperate again, he realized numbly. He could buy a home, fill it with food, and keep the lamps and fireplaces burning day and night if it pleased him. He could buy clothes as fine as or better than the ones that fat old codger at the front of the store had stuffed himself into, and never have to worry about where he was going to sleep that night, or finding food in the morning. He could be truly free, in the way that he believed only great wealth could make a man. He fantasized about this for a long, heady moment, tempted to the point of dizziness by the possibility of the life that lay shimmering before him.

And then he remembered that if he took everything, Mr. Ingram would certainly notice, and be bellowing for the police within a matter of minutes. Jack would be caught, and Jamie, Simon, Annabelle, Grace, and Charlotte would be implicated by their presence in the store at the time of the robbery. Genevieve would lose everything, including the children she so obviously loved. After all of her unexpected kindness to him, Jack could not risk hurting her so terribly.

There would be other jewelry cases, he a.s.sured himself philosophically.

Exhaling the breath he had been holding, he quickly selected two rings with enormous diamonds at their centers, a stunning sapphire-and-diamond necklace and a brilliant diamond brooch. He crammed them in his coat pocket, then quickly rearranged a few of the remaining pieces so there was no discernible gap in the cabinet. He closed the narrow door, repositioned the lock, and began to swiftly twist the screws back into the wood with the tip of the dirk.

"...if it's fruit you're looking for, madam, then I believe I have the very thing," Mr. Ingram continued, temporarily abandoning his battle to convince his customers of the merits of the candelabra. "There is a magnificent silver serving tray at the back of the shop that dates from the sixteen hundreds, which once belonged to King Charles the First himself. If you'll just permit me-"

"Jack!" whispered Grace frantically as Mr. Ingram turned toward the back of the store. "Jack!"

There was no time to replace the last screw, Jack realized in frustration.

"You there!" barked Mr. Ingram suddenly. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"

Had he been given an opportunity to reply, Jack might have been able to fabricate an almost credible answer.

Unfortunately, Jamie decided to help him by sending the heavy suit of armor crashing noisily to the ground.

"Run!" Jamie screamed, darting down an aisle, toward the door.

"Stop him!" roared Mr. Ingram, momentarily forgetting about Jack.

The corpulent couple at the front did their best to oblige. The portly man stuck out his walking stick as Jamie raced by, neatly tripping him. Unfortunately, this sent the lad plowing straight into the voluminous hooped skirts of his abundantly sized wife. The impact caused her to fall flat on her backside between the table and the wall, effectively trapping her amidst the endless layers of her petticoats and the expensively wrought metal cage supporting them.

"Help!" she shrieked, her arms and legs flailing as she bobbed about like a great, overturned turtle.

"Got you, young ruffian!" huffed the man, s.n.a.t.c.hing up Jamie by his shoulders.

Simon launched himself at Jamie's captor, wrenched his walking stick away from him and began to whack him soundly in the shins. "Take your hands off him!"

"Help-murder!" cried the man, releasing Jamie in favor of trying to defend himself. "He's trying to kill me!"

Mr. Ingram abandoned Jack so he could offer a.s.sistance to his poor customers. As he rushed past Annabelle, who was looking magnificently serene in the midst of all the chaos, she leaped lightly onto a chair, pulled the painting she had previously been admiring from the wall, and smashed it upon Mr. Ingram's utterly startled head.

"Why, you little-"

He did not finish whatever he might have thought to call her, but began to chase her along the narrow aisle instead. Unfortunately, with the frame wrapped about his neck and shoulders like a c.u.mbersome gilded collar, he sent a trail of elegant teacups, delicately cut crystal winegla.s.ses, and several heavy decanters that had been painstakingly arranged on a magnificent sideboard smashing to the floor in his wake.

"Look over here!" called Charlotte, as Mr. Ingram was but an inch away from grabbing a fistful of Annabelle's silky blonde hair.

Momentarily distracted, Mr. Ingram looked.

A fine Venetian tablecloth sailed toward him and landed squarely upon his head before draping over the picture frame, giving him the appearance of a small, high table with a round ball sitting on it.

"I'll kill all of you, you vile wretches!" he roared, turning about and clawing furiously at the delicate fabric as he struggled to free himself. Chairs and small tables fell every which way as he churned himself in a mad circle.

"Everybody get the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l out!" shouted Jack, causing the little bell above the door to jangle merrily as he tore it open. "Now!"

The children scrambled to navigate their way through the litter of broken china, fallen armor, and overturned furniture. They tore through the store in a desperate streak, too frightened to even glance behind to see if Mr. Ingram had managed to free himself and follow them.

"Run!" commanded Jack as they spilled onto the street.

The children needed no further encouragement. Each dashed off in a different direction, easily darting around carriages and shoppers as they made their escape. Jack raced across the road, then turned to take a final look to see if any of the children were being followed.

And felt his heart slam to a stop as he watched Charlotte trip just as she reached the shop's threshold, only to be wrenched to her feet by the enraged and triumphant Mr. Ingram.

Chapter Seven.

WHERE'S GENEVIEVE?" DEMANDED JACK, HIS LUNGS heaving for air as he burst through the door.

"Sweet Saint Columba, just look at the snow ye're troddin' all over my clean floor!" scolded Doreen, who was on her knees scouring the floorboards at the end of the hall. "Do ye not know to take off yer boots when ye come inside?"

"Genevieve!" shouted Jack, ignoring Doreen as he threw open the doors to the drawing room. He spun around in frustration on finding it empty and ran to the stairs. "Genevieve!"

"What's all this commotion?" demanded Oliver, appearing from the door to the kitchen with a boot in one hand and a greasy brown rag in the other. His gaze fell upon Jack's panicked face. "What's happened, lad?"

"Here now, all of ye, stop and take yer boots off!" commanded Doreen, tossing her brush in her bucket in frustration as Annabelle, Simon, Grace, and Jamie stampeded into the house, depositing muddy snow everywhere. "Have ye all taken leave of yer senses?"

"Oliver, where is Genevieve?" Jack's pale face was glistening with sweat and his eyes were wild and frantic.

"Why, she's in the cellar, lad," said Oliver, realizing that something was terribly wrong. He glanced at the children to be sure no one was hurt, then frowned. "Where's Charlotte?"

Jack tore through the kitchen and sprinted down the cellar stairs. There he found Genevieve sitting on a crate, wearily rifling through the contents of a trunk that lay open before her. She appeared to have been a.n.a.lyzing the contents of the cellar for a considerable length of time, and was surrounded by a veritable mountain of musty-smelling boxes, paintings, chests, and discarded furniture.

"You've got to get her back." Jack's voice was curt and desperate. "She didn't do anythin'-she just went along because she wanted to help. I was the one who stole the jewels." He wrenched the stolen jewelry from his pockets and shoved it carelessly into Genevieve's hands. "That's all of it-I swear I didn't take anything else. Just take that to Mr. Ingram and make him let her go."

Genevieve looked in horror at the beautiful pieces glittering in her hands. "My G.o.d, Jack," she whispered, suddenly feeling as if she couldn't breathe, "what have you done?"

He blinked hard, fighting the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "I stole this jewelry from Mr. Ingram's shop," he confessed miserably. "I was goin' to sell it and give you the money, so you could pay the b.l.o.o.d.y bank and keep your house and no one would be put on the street. But Mr. Ingram spotted me before I had left the shop and everyone started to run and then Charlotte tripped and fell and he wouldn't let her go."

The other children came racing down the cellar steps, followed by Oliver, Doreen, Eunice, and Haydon.

"I don't understand." Genevieve fought to remain calm as she tried to make sense of what Jack was telling her. "Why would Mr. Ingram detain Charlotte?"

"Because she was the only one of us that he could catch." Grace's face was drawn and pale against the dim light. "I know I should have made her go before me because of her leg, but I was closer to the door and I thought she was following right behind-and she was-but then she tripped and-I'm sorry, Genevieve." She brushed angrily at the tears pouring down her cheeks.

Suddenly all the children began to speak at once, the voices shrill with fear and agitation.

"We thought we would go in and out without any trouble-"

"But when Mr. Ingram saw Jack by the jewelry case, I knocked the knight's armor over-"

"-And then that fat old man tripped Jamie with his walking stick and his wife went down like a top-"

"-And I told him to let Jamie go, but he wouldn't, so I hit him in the legs with his stick-"

"-And I broke a painting over Mr. Ingram's head and he started to chase me-"

"-So we threw a tablecloth over him, which made him sorely mad-"

"-And then we all ran out-"

"-Except for Charlotte."