Protection (12 page)

“Ah, well, you play cards with a man long enough, you learn who he is. At first I didn’t understand. Not ’til I realized he couldn’t look you in the eye. Thirty years old, no wife, no girl I ever heard of. I should have guessed sooner.” Gabriel sighed, passing a hand over his face. “And spoke gentler.”

The overhead lights snapped off. “We still have ten minutes!” someone bawled. By Joey’s watch it was fewer than five, but he’d been at Wentworth long enough to understand the sentiment. It was hard to feel like a man when bedtimes were enforced and sometimes changed on a whim.

“Joey. If McCrory comes back with the lieutenant governor, say I forced you. Beg for a transfer to a different cell block,” Gabriel said. “’Twill save you from the lash. We can mend things later.”

Joey couldn’t see Gabriel’s expression in the sudden darkness, but he could imagine it. Hard, stubborn and used to being obeyed. “No.”

“We’ll still be able to meet. I can still keep you safe. Tell them—”

“I said no.” Joey slid his arms around Gabriel, pressing his face against his chest and holding him tight. “If you get the lash, so do I. Let’s go to bed.”

“At least sleep up in your own bunk. If the lieutenant governor—”

“Gabe. The die is cast. And if I’m due for the lash, I damn sure mean to earn it.”

* * *

J
oey woke twice in the night, dreaming of torches and unlocked doors, but McCrory never reappeared. Later the next day, word went round the cafeteria that McCrory’s mum had taken ill and he’d gone home to Clerkenwell to keep vigil at her bedside. Gabriel frowned.

“What is it?” Joey asked.

“His mum’s been dead for ages,” Gabriel whispered. “Hope the damn fool isn’t planning something drastic.”

“You could write him a letter. Say things were said in anger. Maybe he’s just afraid to face you.”

“Inmates cannot post letters or packages to Wentworth staff, or vice versa,” Gabriel said. “To prevent the exchange of contraband. For a man who reads as much as you, I don’t know why you won’t learn the handbook. And how’s your own letter coming along?”

“I’m finishing it tonight,” Joey said firmly, still uncertain of what he would actually say. “Hell or high water.”

But an hour after supper, he still had nothing, just a fountain pen and a fresh sheet of paper. Exasperated with himself, Joey thought,
I’m literate. University educated. And an Englishman, for heaven’s sake
.
I can speak to anyone, under any circumstances, without rudeness or undue emotion. It’s in my blood!

Taking up his pen, he drew in a deep breath and wrote,

Dear Julia,

I hope this letter finds you well. It has been unseasonably warm here this autumn but with so little rain, that is perhaps to be expected.

I am well settled in my new routine. I work in the gardens most days and have ample quiet time at night. I am …

Joey paused, putting his pen to his mouth and nibbling thoughtfully on the end. After a moment’s consideration he couldn’t resist continuing.

… fortunate to have a cellmate whose company I enjoy. He shares many of my interests, including my love of reading. I expect when I leave here, my mind will be improved beyond recognition.

I hope you are quite comfortable in your cousin’s house. Life in London should suit you well and permit you to move in new circles. Never doubt that I think well of you and wish you the very best.

Your friend,

Joey

Before he could second-guess himself, Joey folded the letter and placed it in an envelope. There was no point sealing it; it would be read by the prison censors for approval before posting.

As autumn passed into winter, Joey grew more and more accustomed to life at Wentworth. McCrory returned after ten days’ absence, thinner, quieter, and no longer inclined to prowl F-block after lights out. Buckland’s wife gave birth to a son; he passed out cigars to several inmates, including Joey and Gabriel. Mr. Cranston wanted to renovate his old hothouse, long disused because of broken windows, but was denied permission due to the high cost of plate glass. Joey suggested the gardener look into old daguerreotype plates, as Lionel Coates had done back home. Sure enough, they could be obtained cheaply, as long as no one objected to ghostly images of unsmiling men and women in the mismatched panes. So Joey spent November helping another inmate repave the hothouse floor as Gabriel shored up the rafters and installed the new windows. It was the first time they’d shared a work detail. Several times each day, often for no particular reason, Joey caught himself looking at Gabriel, usually up a ladder with a hammer in his hand. It was nice to be together in the fresh air, especially with the promise of an undisturbed night to come.

On 12 December, F-block inmates were allowed visitors from noon until two o’clock. Gabriel, expecting his usual visit from Rebecca Eisenberg, queued up with the other men, most of whom awaited wives or mothers. Joey, reading in the unlocked cell, looked up in surprise when Buckland called, “Cooper! You have a visitor! Miss Pearce.”

Cooing and whistling broke out amongst the men as Joey hurried to join them. It cut off as Gabriel looked around, startled.

“It’s Julia,” Joey called.

“Grand.” Gabriel’s smile showed too many teeth. Turning, he trained his gaze straight ahead, following the man ahead of him.

* * *

T
he visitors’ room overlooked the gardens, currently nothing but barren earth and clumps of old snow. Joey found Julia right away, sitting at the very last table. Her blond hair was thicker than he remembered, the natural wave threatening to escape those neat pin curls. The visitors’ room was very warm, stuffy even, but Julia wore her coat. Not the slim, stylish wrap he remembered but something large and shapeless, unrefined as a horse blanket. Joey dimly recalled Cousin Dora as big-boned and dowdy. Was Julia dressing to please her hostess?

“Hallo.” Joey sat down across from her. The greeting sounded absurd, but it was all he could manage as he looked into Julia’s face. She was made up, of course, with sooty eyelashes and a swipe of rouge on her cheeks. But her painted red lips pulled down at the corners no matter how valiantly she tried to smile.

“Joey. Are you quite well?”

His smile, at least, was genuine. It had been so long since anyone addressed him in that once-familiar manner – the unmistakable cadence of an educated person – he was overcome with gratitude.

“Perfectly well, thank you. Did you get my letter?”

Julia nodded. She was as lovely as ever. Those brown eyes stared at Joey as if he’d returned from the dead.

“I must apologize for mine,” she said stiffly, as if repeating words long rehearsed. “It was never meant to be sent. I was just pouring out my feelings. My confusion. But Dora took it and posted it and said done was done. And—” Julia looked away, swallowing. “And the truth is, I was relieved. I thought the cord was cut. That I’d never see or speak to you again.”

“Julia, I told you before I was sentenced. Our engagement ceased the moment I was convicted. I understand how important loyalty is to you.” Joey wished Julia would look at him, but didn’t dare reach across the table for her hand. If she cried out or made any sign of distress, the guards would advance and their visit would conclude, no questions asked. “But I’ve released you from your promise. I’m happy you’ve started a new life.”

Julia blinked twice, eyes filling with tears. “Oh, God. You mean that, don’t you? I came here to beg your forgiveness but now I don’t think I can – can—”

“Julia.” Casting a quick look at the guards, Joey passed a clean cotton handkerchief across the table. “If you go to pieces, they’ll assume I’m to blame and escort you out. So please, be strong. Don’t cry.”

Seizing the handkerchief, Julia gave a quick, violent nod. As she stared at an imaginary point in space, fighting back tears, Joey glanced across the room. At the front sat Gabriel with a heavyset, plain woman who could only be Rebecca Eisenberg. Her magenta dress clung to her in all the wrong spots; the peacock feather on her hat drooped sadly. But the animated way she moved her hands while talking to Gabriel, eyes alight, confirmed Joey’s suspicions.

Joey was surprised by the tightness in his chest. Of course Rebecca Eisenberg was charmed by her former client. Gabriel was younger, fit and handsome. That Irish lilt could make even a dirty word sound poetic, turn even a snarl half-romantic.

“Joey. I’m better now. Thank you.” Julia dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

“I’m glad,” Joey said, attention shifting back to his former fiancée. After watching Gabriel with Rebecca, he suddenly saw Julia not through the filter of memory but with acute new eyes. She was overheated in her shapeless coat, yet kept it on. Two new lines had formed across her once-smooth brow. She looked tired and frightened, complexion shining with feverish vitality.

“Oh, God,” Joey whispered. After adapting to Wentworth he’d believed nothing could startle him, but for a split second, Joey was shaken all the same. Then he cast about within, locating his physician self and pulling it out of mothballs.

“Julia. We’ve known one another for a long time. But I’m also a doctor. If there’s anything you want to confide in me …,” Joey paused, holding her gaze. “There’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Nothing you can say will shock me.”

Ironically, it had been Dr. Pfiser himself who taught Joey that phrase, explaining that even the most frightened woman would relent if such words were spoken kindly enough. And true to Dr. Pfiser’s wisdom, Julia’s shoulders sagged with relief.

“I – I’m five months gone. Perhaps six,” she said, opening her coat enough for Joey to see the curve of her belly within. “And he won’t marry me. He’s married already. He won’t leave his wife for me.”

Joey nodded, waiting to feel betrayed, to feel angry. During their long courtship, Julia had permitted him certain liberties, but intercourse had been out of the question. She’d been saving herself for their wedding night, and he’d accepted her decision. Yet as Joey gazed on Julia, all he could think of was Gabriel – nights of mutual need when falling asleep in Gabriel’s arms had been the greatest comfort in the world. Surely Julia had craved the same. She’d once loved Joey, he had no doubt of it, yet lost him through no sin of her own. Practically alone in London, existing under a cloud of disgrace, was it any surprise she’d sought comfort in a new man?

“I didn’t know Frank was married,” Julia whispered, eyes wide, desperate to make Joey understand. “He was separated from his wife and l—li-lied …” She broke off, controlling herself. “I thought we’d be married. That he was a good man. But once he knew I was … was—” Julia stopped again, shaking her head and clutching the borrowed handkerchief tight.

Joey glanced at the guards. Neither was paying them the slightest attention. His eyes flicked to Gabriel. The other man stared back at him with hooded eyes and compressed lips. But the moment their gazes locked, Gabriel turned back to Rebecca, beaming his most charming smile.

“What about Dora?” Joey asked. “Does she know?”

Julia’s laugh was alarmingly high-pitched. “Of course. Two women can’t live together without one knowing if the other’s monthly visitor doesn’t call. Dora gave me six weeks to change Frank’s mind. But the day I started to show, she put me out.”

“What?”

“I’m staying at the Nautilus Hotel. It’s not terrible. Very modern. The manager never asks questions. I couldn’t be luckier. Joey,” Julia said suddenly, reaching across the table to take his hand. “When you’re released, you can start over. Men can do that; they can marry and start a family at any age. When I read your letter, when I felt how good and honest you were, I knew I had to come. To prove how lucky you are to be shut of me.”

Joey blinked. “Bollocks.”