Kent's Orphans: The Prisoner Part 13

Genevieve stared at her brood in shock. "You attacked Mr. Ingram?"

"It was my idea," said Jack adamantly. He wanted to spare the children from Genevieve's anger and disappointment. "I made them come with me."

"That's not true!" protested Grace.

"We all wanted to go," Simon a.s.sured Genevieve.

"And we had to make Jack see that it would be better if he didn't do it alone," Annabelle elaborated.

"They were going to leave me behind, but I wouldn't let them," finished Jamie.

"I see." Genevieve knew she should be angry with them, but there was no time for that now. Later, when Charlotte was safely back home, she would find the strength to be utterly furious with all of them. All that mattered in that moment was that she return the stolen jewelry and bring Charlotte home.

"Come, Genevieve." Haydon's voice was rea.s.suringly calm and steady. "We shall return the jewels to Mr. Ingram, apologize profusely for the trouble the children have caused him, agree to pay for anything that was damaged, and bring Charlotte home."

Genevieve shook her head. "She won't be at Mr. Ingram's anymore," she said with dull certainty. "The police will have come and taken her away. She is at the prison."

"Then we shall go and retrieve her from there. Come." He extended his hand to her.

"You cannot accompany me." She slowly rose to her feet, unable to accept his help because her hands were still clutching the stolen jewels.

"Of course I can," Haydon argued flatly. "As your husband I'm sure they will expect me to be at your side."

She shook her head, overwhelmed by her fear for Charlotte. "We have already courted disaster by letting you be seen by Governor Thomson and Police Constable Drummond. We deceived them once, but that doesn't mean they will be misled a second time. There is also the risk of having that awful warder recognize you-or an officer of the court, or even another prisoner in the jail. We cannot take that chance."

"I'm afraid the la.s.s is right, lad," said Oliver soberly. "'Tis a strange fact that those of us who have spent time in prison have a far keener sense of things than b.u.mbling lackwits like Governor Thomson, or even that suet-headed Constable Drummond."

"'Tis a skill that comes from sitting all day and night in a dirty, cramped cell with naught but yerself for company," explained Doreen. "It makes ye more aware of yer surroundings, and of people as well."

"I hardly think one of the other prisoners is going to recognize me," objected Haydon. "I look entirely different than I did when I was there."

"They won't have to look at you," Eunice a.s.sured him. "They'll be able to tell who ye are just by listenin' to your voice, or the sound of yer steps as ye walk down the hallway. That's something even I learned to do during my time there. Ye start to pay attention to all the little things, like who sc.r.a.pes the edge of their heels as they pa.s.s, or how heavy a person's step is, or what a voice sounds like as it bounces off the cold stone walls. It helps to pa.s.s the time."

"Then I shall disguise my voice and alter my stride," said Haydon stubbornly.

"No." Genevieve's tone was resolute. In truth, she would have taken comfort in Haydon's strong presence at the jail, but the possibility that he might be discovered as Lord Redmond and hauled back into his cell was too great. "I already have one member of my family in jail, Haydon-I won't risk having you arrested as well."

"Then I'll go with you," said Jack. "I'll tell them Charlotte had nothing to do with the robbery. They can arrest me instead. Old Thomson is just dyin' to have me lashed and sent away, and so is that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Constable Drummond. Whatever they do to me, I can take care of myself far better than Charlotte can."

Genevieve looked at Jack in surprise. His gray eyes were glittering with determination and his hands were clenched at his sides. She had always known he was capable of empathy for others. The fact that he had risked his own freedom to help Haydon escape had been ample testament to that. Even so, his willingness to sacrifice himself for Charlotte moved her deeply.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Jack. I know you want to help Charlotte, but I don't believe the Governor will let you trade yourself for one of his prisoners. If anything, you'll be arrested along with Charlotte, and then there will be two of you to worry about. I will go on my own, I will return these jewels and I will make Governor Thomson and Constable Drummond see that they have no reason to detain Charlotte further. And after Charlotte is safely at home once again," she finished, raking her gaze over her dejected-looking children, "we shall further discuss the matter of your trying to rob Mr. Ingram."

CONSTABLE DRUMMOND REGARDED GENEVIEVE WITH spurious sympathy over the skeletal steeple of his fingers. His hands were unusually large with a taut sheet of pale skin stretched over them, and his fingernails were long and not quite clean. Given his hands and the greasy length of his hair, it was clear he was a man who did not concern himself overmuch with his personal ablutions. Of course, there was the black swath of hair that he curried and combed alongside each cheek, but even that was in need of a good tr.i.m.m.i.n.g. Genevieve had long a.s.sumed that he had neither wife nor mistress, but until she sat across from him in Governor Thomson's office, uncomfortably aware of his musky, unwashed odor, she had not realized that he had no interest in attracting a member of the opposite s.e.x into the narrow, cheerless parameters of his life.

"I'm sure you must realize, Mrs. Blake, that the accused's involvement in the brutal attack on Mr. Ingram and Lord and Lady Struthers completely nullifies any arrangement you may have with Governor Thomson regarding her custody." Constable Drummond didn't quite smile, but Genevieve knew he derived intense satisfaction from making the statement.

"It is my understanding that Charlotte neither stole anything nor actually attacked anyone," Genevieve argued. "Since I have returned all the missing items and intend to fully compensate Mr. Ingram for any damages he may have suffered, I believe the matter is largely resolved. I therefore see no reason why Charlotte needs to be detained further. If you will just take me to her, I will escort her home and deal with the matter privately."

"Unfortunately, Mrs. Blake, the situation is not quite that simple," said Governor Thomson, who was nervously scratching his beard.

It did not reflect well upon the governor to have one of the children he had released but a year earlier into Genevieve's care commit a serious crime against three of Inveraray's most influential and upstanding citizens. When this incident was combined with the recent escape of Lord Redmond from his prison, it seemed clear to Governor Thomson that he would imminently be called before the prison board to explain his extravagant failures. It was absolutely critical, he realized soberly, that he demonstrate to all that he realized the gravity of these recent mishaps, and that he take steps to ensure that they never happen again.

"The gang of thieves who attacked Mr. Ingram's shop stole jewelry that was extremely rare and of great value. In the process of doing so, they attacked Lord and Lady Struthers, two of our most distinguished citizens in Inverary. Lord Struthers has sent word that his wife is severely traumatized by the incident. She has been examined by Dr. Hayes, who has prescribed that she be confined to absolute quiet and bed rest for at least a month, to help her overcome her hysteria and any other injury to her person."

Genevieve bit down hard on her lip, fighting to refrain from making any comment. Jamie had told her how he had accidentally barreled into Lady Struthers after Lord Struthers tripped him with his walking stick. In her opinion, any woman who could afford the luxury of taking to her bed for a month after being knocked on her backside by an eight-year-old boy did not have enough responsibilities to keep her out of it.

"There is also the matter of the accused's unwillingness to a.s.sist me with my investigation, which clearly demonstrates the weakness of her moral fiber," added Constable Drummond. "She refuses to give me the names of her accomplices, despite the fact that I have indicated that the judge might view her case more leniently should she do so. Of course, we have deduced from Mr. Ingram's descriptions that the other children involved in this attack were your wards, but it would be helpful if the girl would confirm that."

Genevieve regarded him in disbelief. "Are you saying that you expect Charlotte to accuse her brothers and sisters?"

His jaw tightened with contempt, as if he found Genevieve's description of the other children as siblings both distasteful and ridiculous. "I am saying that should this girl demonstrate even a modic.u.m of remorse by a.s.sisting me with my case, I would be more inclined to believe that there was some hope of your rehabilitating her. As it is, however, I can only conclude that a substantial length of time spent in prison and then reformatory school will be the best course of action for all concerned. Although I have decided not to pursue the matter with the other thieves, this girl must be made an example. Society cannot afford to let dangerous criminals inspire fear and unrest without due punishment."

"We are talking about an eleven-year-old child." Genevieve's outrage was tempered with her rapidly swelling fear. "She is scarcely a dangerous criminal."

"On the contrary, we are talking about a young woman with a criminal past who, despite all that you have misguidedly offered her by way of a home and a fine moral example, cannot seem to overcome her own corrupt instincts," Constable Drummond retaliated. "As I have told you before, Mrs. Blake, these things are in the blood, pa.s.sed down from one generation to the next. No amount of coddling or comfort will cleanse the impure souls of the children in your household. It is best to treat them with a hard hand. Your unwillingness to do so has resulted in the unfortunate incident that has occurred today, in which several innocent citizens have suffered."

"I don't deny that the children were wrong in what they did today, Constable Drummond," Genevieve allowed, trying to mollify his unsparing att.i.tude by agreeing with him. "But they were not doing it out of greed or any inherent need to steal. They were doing it solely because they wanted to help me-"

"Whatever the accused's reasons were can be presented at the time of her trial," Constable Drummond interrupted.

"Her name is Charlotte," said Genevieve, fighting to maintain a civil demeanor. She disliked the way Constable Drummond kept referring to Charlotte as if she were bereft of an individual ident.i.ty, like a dog or a pig. "And you cannot possibly believe that anything good will come from imprisoning an eleven-year-old child in this foul place and forcing her to stand trial-"

"Unfortunately, Mrs. Blake, there is nothing more that we can do." Governor Thomson's voice was shadowed with regret. "If it were the la.s.s's first offense, perhaps we could afford to be somewhat lenient. Unfortunately, the girl has a well-doc.u.mented history of stealing-that is what led her to be incarcerated in my prison in the first place."

"It was her father who was stealing," Genevieve corrected, feeling the taut threads of her composure begin to snap. "He was forcing Charlotte to show her crippled leg as a way of distracting a crowd while he picked their pockets-a leg that is malformed because he beat her so severely in one of his drunken outbursts that he broke it."

"There is no question that the la.s.s has had a difficult time of it," Governor Thomson acknowledged. "But as you are aware, one of the conditions of your arrangement with the prison is that once the children are released to your custody, they must not break the law again, or else you will lose custody and the child must suffer the full punishment of our justice system. It is only by enforcing this provision that I am able to provide some a.s.surance to both the court and to the citizens of Inveraray that the children will pose no further threat to our society. Charlotte has broken the law, and I am therefore bound by our agreement to relieve you of custody and pursue the matter through the court. I'm afraid there is nothing else to be done." He looked as if he wished it were otherwise. "If we were to overlook this matter, the citizens could dispute my arrangement with you and insist that all the children currently serving the remainder of their sentences under your roof be returned to the prison system immediately. I'm sure Lord and Lady Struthers would be among the first to instigate such a pet.i.tion."

He was right, Genevieve realized. Sick despair tightened around her chest.

"The Sheriff Court will sit again in three days," continued Governor Thomson. "At that time you will be able to plead your case on the la.s.s's behalf. Perhaps you can appeal to the sheriff for lenience."

Three days. An eternity for a child to spend trapped in a prison. But it was time enough for Genevieve to try to get Mr. Ingram and Lord and Lady Struthers to view Charlotte sympathetically, and to provide testimony on her behalf. If the victims were willing to be compa.s.sionate, she did not see how the sheriff could not be.

She swallowed her fear and slowly rose from her chair. "I would like to see her now," she said, forcing herself to appear calm. She must give Charlotte the impression that everything was going to work out just fine.

"Of course." Governor Thomson rolled out of his chair and jerked the creased fabric of his black waistcoat over the swell of his belly. "I shall escort you to her myself."

LEADEN STRIPS OF LIGHT WERE FALLING THROUGH the narrow bars of the tiny window, casting the frigid cell in a somber caul.

Charlotte sat upon her wooden bed with her back against the wall and her crippled leg stretched out stiffly before her, the foot resting upon an overturned chamber pot. She was wearing her hat and coat, and had taken the two thin blankets that the governor's wife had provided her with and wrapped them tightly around herself in a desperate effort to stay warm. She knew she should try to walk around a bit to restore some heat to her flesh, but her leg was aching, so she did not think she could manage it just yet. Her injured limb was always worse when it was cold, or damp, or when she first awoke in the morning and it had grown rigid from repose. It also pained her badly at night after she had forced it to drag after her all day.

She could not remember a time when it had not hurt, although she knew that she must have once enjoyed the luxury of being whole and free of pain, for she had not been born this way. The memory of her actual injury had waned, however, and she was infinitely glad of that. That was the advantage of being young, she supposed, although there were times when she felt far older and wearier than her mere eleven years could account for. When one was a child, a year or two seemed nearly a lifetime away. While that made the wait for the privileges of being, say, thirteen, almost unendurable, it did have the benefit of blunting at least some of the sharp torments and cruelties of the past. The memory of her father's brutality seemed less immediate to her now, and although the dreams still haunted her, she no longer wakened to find her heart racing and her sheets soaked with a mortifying combination of urine and sweat.

"Stop yer starin', ye wicked wh.o.r.e of Satan, or I'll cut yer heart out and crush it in my hand!"

Charlotte glanced uneasily at the woman with whom she shared her cell.

Margaret MacDuffie was a short, st.u.r.dy woman of some forty years, with a plain, masculine face that scowled from beneath a filthy brown scarf which she wore tightly wrapped around her head. Her nose was large and misshapen; it started out between her eyes well enough, but then it rose in a stiff k.n.o.b before flattening into a listless pulp just above her upper lip. In one of her slightly more lucid moments Margaret had told Charlotte that her husband used to beat her regularly, and that he had broken her nose more times than she could remember. This had aroused a great deal of sympathy on Charlotte's part, for she knew what it was to be at the mercy of a man who drank, and spoke with his fists.

She had tried to imagine how Margaret might have been before her husband began to brutalize her. Surely she could not always have been the raving madwoman she was today, or else he would never have married her. It was possible that Margaret had once even been somewhat attractive, although that required a rather substantial leap of the imagination. Charlotte was wise enough to know that most marriages were not based upon the romantic love that Annabelle described when she rhapsodized about her actress mother and the Scottish n.o.ble she claimed was her father. Even so, it seemed to Charlotte that when two people married, even if they did not love each other, they had to like each other, at least a little. In the case of Margaret and her husband, it seemed clear that they had not liked each other quite enough. Duncan MacDuffie drank and pummeled his wife nearly every day of their marriage, until one morning Margaret refused to tolerate his poor treatment of her any longer. On that particular day she rose before her husband awakened, washed her face and hands, then laid a fire in the stove and put a kettle on to boil. Then she went back into their bedroom, sliced open his throat with his own razor, dragged him into the barn and left him for the pigs to feed on. After she had washed away the blood, she sat at her kitchen table and enjoyed a strong cup of tea, a boiled egg, and two thick slices of oat bread spread with strawberry preserves. It was nae but a fitting end, she had told Charlotte, for a man who had been nothing but a swine his entire life, and certainly not worth missing breakfast over.

Unfortunately, Margaret was unable to bring the judge and jury presiding over her trial round to her way of thinking. In its wisdom, however, the jury did sense that there was something about Margaret that was not entirely sound-perhaps because of the way she wept so pitifully when she described how one of the poor pigs choked to death on a rather tough piece of her husband. Her ability to feel empathy for that animal, but see nothing wrong whatsoever with what she had done to her spouse, persuaded the jury to find her insane. Thus her life was spared, but she was sentenced to be confined as a prisoner for all the remaining days of her life. She had spent nearly two years in the Inveraray jail, and if her healthy appet.i.te and robust const.i.tution were any indication, it seemed she would spend many more there, although she was slated to eventually be transferred to a prison in Perth with a separate criminal lunatics section.

"I know what yer thinkin'," Margaret hissed, eyeing Charlotte suspiciously. "Yer thinkin' to have my share when the warder comes. Well, I won't allow it, do ye hear? I've a farm to run when I leave this place, and I need to keep myself well and fed. The pigs are waitin' on me," she concluded, nodding happily.

Charlotte drew her blankets tighter and dug her chin into her chest, ignoring her. It was better to ignore Margaret when she ranted or talked nonsense. Charlotte had learned that answering her just seemed to make her further agitated.

There were footsteps coming down the hall, and a jangling of heavy keys. A pale waver of candlelight seeped into the dark cell as the door creaked open.

"Genevieve!" cried Charlotte, nearly tripping over the chamber pot in her haste to rise.

Genevieve swiftly crossed the cell and wrapped her arms tightly around the trembling child.

"Charlotte, my love," she breathed, kissing the top of her head before pressing her cheek against Charlotte's soft hair. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." She buried her face into the rea.s.suring warmth of Genevieve's cloak, which smelled like soap and cinnamon. "Can we go home now?"

Genevieve swallowed thickly. She wanted to say, "Of course we can," and turn around and lead Charlotte out of the dark, cold little chamber, and away from the strange woman crouched in the corner who was staring at her with such unnerving fascination. She wanted to march past that vile Warder Sims, who was watching her embrace her daughter with such obvious derision, and by Governor Thomson, with whom she was unaccountably angry, even though she understood that he had been put in an impossible situation. She wanted to take Charlotte home, see that she had a soothing warm bath to wash away her fear and the foulness of this place, and then send her to bed with a tray laden with all of Eunice's specialties. And tomorrow morning Charlotte would be allowed to rest as long as she wished, and then she would join the rest of the family by a fire in the drawing room, and she would tell them about her terrible ordeal, and they would all hug her and tell her how good and strong and brave she had been to have endured such an awful thing.

Instead she held her child fast, stroking her hair as she desperately tried to think of what she was going to tell her.

"I'll leave you to visit, then," said Governor Thomson, placing the candle on a small wooden bench. He stroked his wiry beard a moment before adding, "You may stay as long as you like, Mrs. Blake,." It seemed he was at least trying to be accommodating. "Just call for Sims when you are ready to leave."

The door slammed shut.

"Where's my supper?" screeched Margaret, lunging at the door like a wild animal and banging on it with her fists. "I want my porridge! Ye'll nae steal it from me, ye greedy wh.o.r.eson. I'll have it if I have to kill ye first-do ye hear? The pigs are waitin' on me, Sims, and they're waitin' on you, as well, unless ye bring me my p.i.s.sin' supper!"

Charlotte burrowed her face even deeper into Genevieve's cloak, trying to lose herself in its warm shelter.

"Let's sit down over here," said Genevieve, steering Charlotte toward her wooden bed. "There, now," she said, drawing her into the cradle of her arm and kissing the child's forehead. "That's better."

"That's better, that's better," cackled Margaret, scurrying back to her corner.

"I'm not going home, am I?" Charlotte's face was pale as she looked up at her.

Genevieve's heart clenched. "Not just yet," she replied softly. "I'm afraid you're going to have to stay here for a few days-but I shall come to visit as often as I can, and we'll find some way to make them go fast. We have to wait for the next session of the Sheriff Court. Then we shall be able to talk to the sheriff and make him see what a dreadful misunderstanding this whole thing is. Once he realizes how terribly sorry you are for what happened in Mr. Ingram's shop, I shall able to take you home and everything will be all right."

"I'm going home too," Margaret said, tying and untying the oily scarf around her head. "My pigs are waiting for me."

Charlotte trembled. "I stood before Sheriff Trotter once before, and he sentenced me to prison and reformatory school."

"That was because he believed you had nowhere else to go." Genevieve's voice was soothing. "After I have explained to him that you now live with me and that except for this unfortunate incident your behavior has been absolutely faultless, I am certain he will see that the best thing for everyone is for you to come home."

"Come home, come home, come home," chanted Margaret before bursting into giggles.

Genevieve tightened her grip on Charlotte. "I am also going to speak to Mr. Ingram, and see if I can get him to speak kindly on your behalf."

"I don't think he'll be willing to say anything good about me," reflected Charlotte soberly. "He was sorely mad after Annabelle broke a painting over his head. Grace and I had to throw a tablecloth over him to stop him from grabbing her, and that just made him even angrier."

"After he has had a little time to calm down and consider the situation, he may see things differently," said Genevieve, although she feared the possibility was remote. "At any rate, I don't want you to worry. I just want you to try to eat and stay warm and think about how all this will be over in a few days. When I come tomorrow I shall bring you some books and some food, and we shall have a nice long visit."

Alarm flared in Charlotte's eyes. "You're not leaving now, are you?"

"No," Genevieve said, giving her a rea.s.suring squeeze. "I shall stay for as long as you like."

Charlotte relaxed a little and settled herself against Genevieve once more. "Is everyone else at home all right?"

"Everyone is fine. Of course, they were horribly concerned when they realized what had happened to you. Your brothers and sisters came crashing through the door like a herd of mad elephants, flinging mud and snow all over Doreen's freshly washed floor."

Charlotte managed a wan smile. "That must have made Doreen upset."

"I do believe she was far more distressed by the fact that you had been arrested than a bit of wet mud on her floor. Poor Jack was particularly shaken by it all. He wanted to come down here and offer himself to Governor Thomson in exchange for your release. Oliver had to practically chain him to the stove to stop him from doing so."

"Oh, you mustn't let him do that, Genevieve." Charlotte regarded her imploringly. "I know he thinks he could stand prison better than I, but Jack is far more likely to make the warder or the governor angry, and then they might lash him. At least they won't lash me, because I'm a girl."

Genevieve regarded Charlotte in surprise. When had this special, selfless bond developed between Charlotte and Jack, she wondered, and why had she not been able to see it? Charlotte was an extremely gentle, reticent child who was typically wary of new people. And Jack was a detached, suspicious, angry young lad who seemed determined not to have feelings for anyone, lest it interfere with his jealously guarded independence. Yet here the two of them were, each apparently determined to sacrifice themself for the sake of the other.

"I'm not going to let him do it," Genevieve a.s.sured her, feeling a sense of wonder that these two abused children could be so protective of each other. "I made him realize that he would be very lucky not to have Constable Drummond arrest him as well, and then I would have the both of you to worry about in here."

Regret shadowed Charlotte's gaze. "I'm sorry for what I did, Genevieve. It's just that Simon overheard you saying that the bank was going to take our house from us, and then we would all be sent away. None of us wanted that to happen. We thought that if we could just find enough money to pay the bank, then you wouldn't have to worry anymore."

"I don't want you to concern yourself about that, Charlotte. I will find a way to pay the bank, and no one will take you or any of your brothers and sisters away from me. Do you understand?"

Charlotte nodded.

"Good. Now I want you to lie down and try to sleep."

She helped Charlotte to pull her legs up onto the hard slats of the bed, then arranged the thin blankets over her. Seating herself once more, she placed Charlotte's head on her lap and began to sing in a soft, lulling voice as she gently caressed the child's cheek.

"Sing to me," pleaded Margaret, who was watching her from her corner. "Sing, sing, sing."

"If you want me to sing to you, then you must lie quietly upon your bed and promise not to yell out or frighten Charlotte," Genevieve said. "Can you do that?"

Margaret obediently crawled onto her bed and closed her eyes.

"Sing, sing, sing," she pleaded softly.

Genevieve resumed caressing Charlotte's cheek and began to sing once more, and did not stop until the candle had burned down low and both prisoners in the barren little cell had drifted into the fleeting sanctuary of slumber.

HAYDON PROWLED THE CONFINES OF THE DRAWING room like a caged beast.

He never should have permitted Genevieve to go to the prison without him, he realized furiously. It would have been dangerous, but the threat of being discovered and thrown back into a cell would have been far better than this G.o.dd.a.m.n interminable waiting. She had been gone for hours now, the streets were pitch-black and it was taking every shred of his self-restraint to keep himself from going out to find her. The fact that she had not returned immediately with Charlotte could only mean that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Drummond or whoever the h.e.l.l had been responsible for her arrest had refused to release the terrified girl. Haydon could only imagine Genevieve's horror when she realized that one of her children was going to be detained in the foulness of that jail. She had probably decided to stay with Charlotte, to try to calm the poor child's fears. Perhaps she even intended to remain with her through the night-or until Governor Thomson had her bodily dragged out of Charlotte's cell. It would be just like her to do something like that. Genevieve MacPhail was not a woman who would easily leave the side of a child whom she knew to be in jeopardy. Her determination to help others was a trait he had respected and admired in her from the first moment he saw her standing in his cell.

He wished he had possessed the same indomitable resolve with Emmaline.

He cursed and downed the last of his whiskey. Thank G.o.d Oliver kept a bottle in his room, "for medicinal purposes." After watching Haydon restlessly pace the drawing room for nearly an hour, the old man had suggested that perhaps Haydon needed a wee drop to help calm himself. Haydon had drunk well over half the bottle and still didn't feel the least bit calm. If anything, the need to take action was like a fire in his gut. If Genevieve was spending the night in the jail, then she should have sent word to him so that he wouldn't worry, he decided furiously. How was he supposed to be calm with Charlotte in prison and Genevieve wandering the streets of Inveraray alone in the dark? The streets were crawling with all kinds of vicious sc.u.m at this hour, a fact to which he could well attest. For all he knew, she had set out to come home hours ago, and on her way home had been attacked or abducted.