The Prisoner (17 page)

Jack hesitated, torn between stealing a few pieces or just taking the whole bloody 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 assured 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, snatching 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 assistance 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 cumbersome gilded collar, he sent a trail of elegant teacups, delicately cut crystal wineglasses, 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 bloody hell 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

W
HERE
'
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 analyzing 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 God, 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 bloody 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.”

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 assured 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 reassuringly 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 lass 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 bumbling 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 assured 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 scrapes the edge of their heels as they pass, 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 pass 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 bastard 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.”

 

C
ONSTABLE 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 trimming. Genevieve had long assumed 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 sex 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 assist 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 modicum of remorse by assisting 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.”