A Wayward Man: A Prequel to A Dangerous Invitation (The Rookery Rogues) (6 page)

He needed more time.
If only the hearing had been delayed. There had to be a way to escape
this fate—if he thought hard enough, something would occur to
him. He’d be with Kate again.

Chained to fellow
detainees, he’d at least felt somewhat safe in the Brindle
Brier. They were all awaiting sentences, caught in that place between
the unknown and the certainty of execution. As the magistrate's cold
eyes looked down at him from his pulpit, Daniel would have given all
the gin in the world for that unknown. Hell, he would have sold his
soul in that moment if it meant he could go back in time, taking Kate
up in his arms and never letting her go.

He barely listened
as Strickland presented his evidence. Wrapped in a cloth was the
knife used to slit the warehouse laborer's throat. Strickland undid
the cloth and presented the knife to the magistrate.

Such a gruesome,
twisted blade, used on the man Daniel had now come to know as Tommy
Dalton. Dalton’s name sounded vaguely familiar. Most likely
he'd heard it before or seen it on one of the various documents he
cataloged for the company.

The knife was
serrated, each notch in the metal a little deeper than the former. A
wooden handle, a crusty red, for the blood had spilled down into the
hilt. The blade had not been cleaned. If he looked close enough, he
could swear he saw bits of Dalton's flesh.

His stomach lurched.
Bile bubbled up in his mouth, as the magistrate asked if there had
been witness testimony. The woman at the scene had not appeared;
Strickland said she’d been too distraught to come to court, but
Daniel believed she’d disappeared completely. This was the way
of affidavit women.

He wanted to scream
at the magistrate until he listened—until he realized he’d
the wrong man.

But that would leave
him further from the possibility of seeing Kate again. Better to
remain calm. His chance of survival hinged on this hearing; if they
arrested him, he’d be sent to prison, and an escape from
Newgate was beyond his powers.

“The evidence
is too strong to be dismissed,” Strickland claimed. “Mr.
O'Reilly was found at the scene, dazed and disoriented. It was a
crime of passion, we believe. Perhaps Mr. Dalton had angered Mr.
O'Reilly. The Irish are quick to flare up, as you know.”

“My
nationality has nothing to do with this,” Daniel protested.
“Nor did I kill Mr. Dalton. If you’d just give me a
moment to explain…”

The magistrate held
up his hand, silencing him. His lethal eyes were trained on Daniel,
as if he could see inside his soul, knew of his innocence and didn’t
care.

“Then there is
the matter of the glove,” Strickland continued. “When we
took Mr. O'Reilly into custody, I went through his possessions. In
the pocket of his jacket was a glove coated in what I can only
conclude was Dalton's blood.”

“When I awoke
in the alley, I reached out to see what was next to me, and that's
how the glove got bloodied,” Daniel explained, coaxing
tolerance into his voice.

“Silence,”
the magistrate ordered. “I have heard enough. Daniel O'Reilly,
you are bound over in the murder of Johnny Dalton. You will await
criminal trial at Newgate, for this court has deemed you far too
dangerous to be released into the public. I am placing you under
arrest.”

All at once, the
world stopped. He was moved back, tugged toward the antechamber of
the court room. The next person was brought toward the pulpit, but
Daniel barely recognized him.

He saw only
Strickland, burly hands clasped around his arms, the leer of
satisfaction stretched across the rotund officer's face. Then he was
out of the court room, placed on a bench to await proper
transportation to Newgate.

He’d failed
Kate. That knowledge hit him hard in the gut, stripping him of breath
for a moment.

If you can take a
chance on an Irish fool like me…

What had he done to
repay her for that leap in faith? Nothing. The trial would be a mere
formality. He already knew where he was heading. A noose tight around
his throat, body wafting in the breeze.

Kate hadn't seen
Daniel in two days. He’d been supposed to come to the house,
but he’d never showed. This was highly unlike him. Daniel
prided himself on punctuality. It had been one of the first things
she liked about him, an extension of his determination and desire to
succeed. He had initiative. He was going somewhere in life, and she'd
be by his side.

She stopped by
Papa's office. He reclined in his office chair, broadsheets spread
about his desk and a cup of coffee in his right hand. He peered over
the top of the paper, surprised to see her this early. Her mornings
were normally spent at home, for Justine and Diana always came by
before regular visiting hours started.

“Katiebelle,”
Papa greeted her, setting down the broadsheet. “What brings you
here? Did I not leave you proper ready money on the table this
morning? You're to go to the modiste today, I thought.”

Kate blinked. She
couldn't think of the appointment to finish her trousseau, not now.
Set deep in her stomach was the feeling that something was wrong. She
couldn't explain it, but there it was nonetheless. Clasping her hands
tight in her lap to keep them from shaking, she looked up at her
father, concern crinkling her forehead. “Have you seen Daniel
today?”

Papa's eyes darkened
inexplicably. His lips were pressed together, as he did whenever he’d
decided a conversation with his employees over and would admit no
further questions. Once Richard Morgan had drawn the line, he didn’t
bargain. But Kate had never seen him look at her that way. He'd never
denied anything she wanted before, nor had she ever had any reason to
ask him for something outlandish.

“Papa,”
she began, half in fear of his response, half needing the
confirmation. “Has something happened to Daniel?”

Papa gave a slight
shrug. “I'm sure it will all gloss over.”

Kate dropped down in
the chair across from him. She fixed him with a steady glare. He
might intimidate other people, but she was his daughter, and if
something had happened to Daniel she wanted to know. “What
aren't you telling me?”

“Katie, there
are certain things a lady needn't dabble in.”

“Are you
quizzing me? That's nonsense, and you know it.” She frowned. “I
can decode ciphers, read Latin and Greek, and read a navigation chart
better than any man. If something has happened, you need to tell me.
I love him, Papa. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

Papa sighed. He
didn’t meet her eye. “Daniel has been arrested.”

“What?”
That didn't make sense. Daniel was nothing if not stalwart. He didn't
have a criminal bone in his body.

Papa plucked up a
slip of parchment from the pile on his desk, handing it to her. “They
suspect him of murder.”

“That's
absurd!” She exclaimed. “Daniel wouldn’t murder
anyone. He’s a good man!”

“Read the
message,” Papa said. “One of our clerks lives near the
Shadwell public office. He saw Daniel being escorted from the hearing
this morning, and inquired about it.”

“He obviously
saw wrong.” She looked down at the paper, thumb pressed so hard
into it that the edge creased. The message was short but lethal to
her heart. A patrolman had found Daniel in an alley near the North
Quay, beside the mutilated corpse of a warehouse laborer. A worker
for Emporia.

Could she be wrong
about Daniel? Of course not. She knew the innermost workings of his
heart, and he was not a murderer. He was kind, devoted, caring. The
idea that he’d hurt someone in his own company—a company
he was truly loyal to—was lunacy. The man that had lain in her
bed, telling her his deepest secrets as the sun rose, wasn’t
capable of such cruelty. What could possibly have happened to make
the police think he’d murdered someone?

“Bloody,
bloody hell,” she cursed, flinging the paper down on the desk.

“Language,
Katiebelle,” Papa admonished. “This is not the time to
abandon propriety.”

She ignored Papa’s
remonstration. She'd say what she damn well pleased, when Daniel had
been taken into custody. He needed her. Needed to know that she
supported him, that she understood this must all be some wretched
mistake.

She shook her head.
“We have to go to him. He'll need our support.”

Papa reached across
the table, taking her hand in his. His grip was resolute. “There's
little we can do except weather this storm.”

“I love him.
How could you even consider not doing anything?” Shock splayed
across her features. “You wouldn’t let him rot, would
you?”

Papa tensed at her
accusation. “It’s more complicated than that.”

Kate lifted her
chin, looking him in the eye. “Then explain it to me, for all I
see is that you’re giving up hope.”

Papa pursed his
lips. “There’s a witness.”

“A witness?”
Kate repeated, the word like acid on her tongue. Someone had seen
Daniel kill the laborer? That didn’t make sense. She remembered
Daniel’s hands pressed into hers, the hopefulness in his eyes
when he’d proposed.

You're my heart,
my ruler, my best friend.
She twisted the gold ring on her
finger, so that the heart was against her palm.

Whatever the witness
thought
they’d seen, it couldn’t have been Daniel.

“Then the
witness is wrong. Surely, you must know someone in the police,”
she pleaded. “You can get him released to us. Get these
horrible charges dropped.”

“You
overestimate my reach, child,” Papa said. “If Daniel
killed this man—one of
my
employees—there is not
much I can do to save him.”

“You know
him!” She wrenched her hand from his. “You know he
wouldn't do this.”

“I can talk to
the papers, but that's the only sway I have.” Papa frowned.
“We'll be lucky to get out of this without stock dropping.”

“Stock? You
want to talk of stock at a time like this?” She pushed herself
up and out of the chair, aghast at his callousness. “I don't
care about your shareholders, Papa. Let Emporia burn for all I care.
I'm going to Newgate.”

He stood. “That's
no place for you.”

“Because I'm a
lady?”

“Yes,
precisely. You're a lady of good breeding, and you're my
daughter.
I forbid it.”

She balled her hands
up into fists at her sides, facing him. “I love him. I’m
not going to abandon him.”

Papa didn't flinch.
“And I think of him as a son. But this is London, my dear, and
the journalists are animals. I won't have you dragged through the
muck, simply because he made a mistake. Your name is already tied up
with his. I will do what I can for Daniel, but associating with the
criminal lot at the prisons would surely be disastrous.”

“It's a risk
I'm willing to take,” she responded stubbornly. “He would
do it for me.”

Papa stood, crossing
over to her. Gathering her up in his arms, he laid a kiss to the top
of her head. “I know. But let me handle this and we'll get
further.”

Kate sank against
him, as if she were again the little child who had fallen in the
garden and scraped her knee. Papa would make it right, as he always
did. He'd find Daniel and bring him back to her. She had to believe
that.

The alternative
would be that Daniel was left without allies. She believed in his
innocence, but she was only a woman without power or connections. If
she only trusted Papa, went by his plan, Daniel would appear in front
of her once more.

They stood there for
what seemed like ages, her sobs quieted by the thick wool of his
coat.

The hack used to
transport prisoners to Newgate was obscenely small. Daniel sat
smashed in between two other prisoners. One smelled of cheap port,
the other of old cigars and mildew. Mixed together, the odors were
exactly what he imagined prison would be like: vile and nauseating.
He knew well enough that he wouldn't survive long, for without the
flow of gin through his body his hands would shake and his mind would
slow. Already, he could feel it starting. He’d not taken a
drink in hours.