The Prisoner (15 page)

“You mean in a factory?” Simon was intrigued. He liked the idea of all that complicated machinery pressing and squeezing and hammering away at a myriad of tasks before spitting out a button or a kettle at the end.

Jack snorted with contempt. “I'd never work in one of those places. You might as well be in prison—or dead.”

“Then how will you make money?” wondered Jamie.

“Same way I always have. Glasgow's full of fancy folk just waitin' to have something lifted off them. Most of them are so rich, they don't even notice if a wallet or watch goes missing, an' if they do notice, they don't care.”

Annabelle's pink bow of a mouth tightened with disapproval. “You mustn't go back to stealing, Jack. You might get caught and end up back in prison.”

“How would Genevieve ever find you all the way in Glasgow?” added Grace. “The prisons there must be very big.”

“I don't need Genevieve to find me,” Jack retorted. “And I won't end up back in prison. I've been stealin' my whole life and never got caught—except,” he grudgingly allowed, “for this one time. I know how to snatch something and slip into the shadows. Most times folk don't even know they've been robbed. You can make a bloody good living at it, if you're clever and quick.”

Simon regarded him curiously. “Does that mean you weren't clever and quick when you got caught?”

“I made a mistake,” Jack grumbled. “I won't make it again.”

“If you run away, you will get Genevieve into a lot of trouble.”

Charlotte's quiet, earnest statement had the effect of instantly silencing the room. None of the children wanted anything bad to happen to Genevieve.

Jack shifted uneasily on his bed. He did not relish the thought of adding to Genevieve's troubles, but he did not feel that was reason enough for him to stay. After all, he had to look out for himself first. It had been that way from the moment he was born, and it wasn't about to change just because Genevieve had been kind enough to take him out of prison and save him from being lashed by that bastard of a warder. Even if she had subsequently risked herself to help Haydon as well, and stayed by his side while he burned with fever, and then lied and told everyone he was her husband when it seemed for certain he was going to be arrested. She had taken risks for both of them, sure, but that didn't mean Jack was obliged to stay there.

Guilt gnawed at his conscience.

“If Genevieve gets into trouble because of you, Jack, they might take us all away from her,” added Grace soberly.

“They can't.” Jamie looked stunned by the possibility. “Can they?”

“I don't think they would be able to take you away, Jamie,” Simon said, wanting to reassure him. “You've never been in jail.”

“I was born in jail.” His little voice trembled with pride, the result of many long talks with Genevieve in which she had instilled an unyielding sense of dignity in the lad regarding his heritage and the unfortunate circumstances of his birth.

“That doesn't count,” Annabelle told him. “You didn't steal or break any laws like the rest of us. The court can't take you away just because of where you were born.”

“If they take our house away and we've no food to eat, they're going to put all of us in a reformatory school or workhouse,” concluded Grace. “Genevieve won't be able to stop them.”

“I can't.” Charlotte swallowed thickly, trying hard to be strong and not to cry in front of the others. “I can't possibly go to live in a place like that. I know they'll be cruel to me because of my leg, and they'll make me do things I can't do, and when I fall behind they'll beat me and tell me I'm lazy and stupid….” Tears began to drip down her cheeks in two anguished streams. “And I won't have any of you with me to help keep me strong—”

“Hush, now,” soothed Grace, wrapping her arms around Charlotte and pulling her against her slender form.

At twelve, Grace was barely one year older than Charlotte, but the life she had endured thus far had given her a tenderness and maturity that was years beyond her youth. She had run away from an uncle who tried to molest her at the age of eight, and then spent a year working with a small ring of pickpockets before she was finally caught and rescued from the jail by Genevieve. “Whatever happens, I won't let them separate us, Charlotte—do you hear?”

“Nor will I,” added Annabelle fiercely, laying her head affectionately upon Charlotte's trembling shoulder.

Like Grace, Annabelle also knew what it was to be utterly desperate and alone. Her mother had died long before she could remember, and her father had been a drunk who seemed to despise her very presence. He beat her often, once throwing her across the room into a table and knocking her unconscious. She still bore a scar on her temple from that vicious attack, and was most careful to arrange her blonde hair so that it was hidden from view.

“Me neither,” said Simon.

“I'm going to go with you too.” Jamie's expression brightened suddenly. “Do you think they might let Genevieve come with us as well?”

Charlotte inhaled a ragged breath, as another tear spilled down her face.

“None of you is goin' anywhere,” growled Jack suddenly.

The little group looked at him in confusion.

It was Charlotte's tears that had decided the matter for him. They shimmered upon her cheek in a liquid trail of pain and fear that cut straight into his heart. He could not remember anything affecting him so much before. He had vowed not to care about any of these children when he first arrived. At the time, it had been an easy enough oath to make. He had thought he could leave this house the moment it suited him and not look back. But the thought of Charlotte—or any of the children, for that matter—being beaten and abused in some filthy, evil reformatory school was impossible to contemplate. He had only the flimsiest knowledge of their circumstances before they came to live there, but he was well aware that each of them had suffered the pain of rejection, fear, and hopelessness in their brief lives. Then Genevieve had rescued them. She had pulled them from the wintry ashes of their existence and brought them into her home, where she had cleaned them and fed them and held them in her arms, making them feel wanted and safe.

Jack was not about to stand by and watch them be torn from the only person who had truly loved them, only to be tossed onto the refuse heap of life once more.

“All we need to do is get the money to pay off the soddin' bank,” Jack said succinctly, “and you can all stay together in this house.”

“But where will we find the money?” asked Jamie.

“Genevieve believes she might have something to sell, but Lord Redmond said whatever she has won't fetch enough,” reported Simon. “He said she had better find some diamonds.”

“I don't think Genevieve has any diamonds,” Annabelle reflected. “I've never seen her wear any jewelry of any kind.”

“She once had a ring and a necklace that belonged to my grandmother,” said Jamie, “but she sold them down at Mr. Ingram's antique shop just after Simon came. You remember that, don't you, Simon?”

Simon nodded. “She was trying to pretend to be very happy about it afterward, but I could see that she was really sad. She took us out for tea and let us order lemon tarts instead of scones, saying that it was a special occasion and we had to celebrate.”

“I'm not going to find any money here,” Jack said impatiently. “I'm going to have to find it there.” He tilted his head meaningfully toward the window.

“In the curtains?” asked Jamie, confused.

Jack rolled his eyes. They were practically babies, he reminded himself. “In the streets.”

“Do you mean you're going to steal it?” Grace bit her lip, uncertain of the idea.

He nodded.

“We can help you,” offered Simon, excited by the possibility. “We've all got experience at picking pockets—except for Jamie, of course—but I suppose he can learn.”

“Picking pockets won't be enough,” Jack informed him. “I need to steal something really valuable. Like a piece of jewelry with lots of fancy stones in it, or maybe a statue or a painting.”

“I think it would be hard to steal a painting,” reflected Grace with her customary pragmatism. “They're much too big to hide beneath your coat.”

“We would have to break into a house to find those things,” added Annabelle. “But how would we get in?”

“I know how to blow up a lock,” volunteered Simon. “I did it once to get into a house.”

Jack raised a brow, suitably impressed. “What did you steal?”

“I ate an enormous ginger cake, half a date pudding with sticky sauce, four crumpets with marmalade, a plate of cold lamb and peas, a bag of raisins, a bowl of butter, a chunk of sugar, a pint of double cream, and a jug of ale.”

“Weren't you sick?” asked Jack, amazed.

“All over the prison warder's trousers,” Simon reported. “He was most anxious for Genevieve to take me away.”

“Genevieve will be sorely mad if she finds out you were blowing up things again, Simon,” said Annabelle. “The last time you tried to blow the lid off of Eunice's roasting pan, you set fire to the good carpet in the dining room. Genevieve said it was lucky you didn't burn the entire house down.”

“That was an accident,” replied Simon dismissively. “I know how to do it better now.”

“Oliver says we shouldn't need to resort to things like exploding locks,” said Charlotte. “He always says there isn't a lock in Inveraray that can't be picked, as long as you've the patience and the charm to coax it.”

“He taught us to open both the front and back doors of this house without a key,” Jamie told Jack proudly. “But we're not to ever do it in front of Genevieve, because Oliver says she might not think that's a fitting skill for us to have.”

“The trouble with breakin' into a home is, I can't be certain there's going to be somethin' there that's really valuable,” reflected Jack. “I need to go somewhere where I know there's somethin' worth taking.”

“Why don't you steal something from Mr. Ingram's store?” suggested Annabelle. “He has a suit of armor that a brave knight used to wear. Genevieve says it may have even belonged to Sir Lancelot. He was one of the knights at a round table.”

“I don't think I can steal a suit of armor without anyone noticing,” observed Jack dryly. “Besides, who'd want it?”

“Mr. Ingram has other things as well,” Grace assured him. “That's where Genevieve sometimes takes things from our home to sell.”

“She showed us a case filled with broken pots from ancient Egypt,” said Simon. “The paint was badly chipped and the pots couldn't be used, but Genevieve made us study them anyway. She said they were worth a fortune.”

Jack was unconvinced. “If someone wants a pot, why not just buy one that isn't all dirty and chipped?”

“They're worth more because they're old,” Annabelle informed him with great authority. “People like the fact that other people have used them.”

“I know someone who will give me money for what I steal, but he won't want a lot of broken rubbish from Egypt,” said Jack. “He prefers things that look expensive.”

“Mr. Ingram has jewelry too,” Charlotte reflected.

Jack raised a querying brow. “Made of diamonds and rubies?”

“He keeps it in a special case at the back of the store made all of glass, and he gets sorely mad if you press your nose against it and make a mark.”

“Genevieve sometimes looks at that case while she's waiting for Mr. Ingram to pay her,” supplied Jamie. “She says most of the jewelry came from families who used to live in castles in France and had to run away so they wouldn't have their heads chopped off.”

This was definitely starting to sound like a possibility, Jack decided. “Is the case locked?”

“I don't think so,” said Grace. “But you have to go around to the other side of the counter to open it.”

“There's a lot of pretty things in that case,” added Annabelle. “I'm sure Mr. Ingram wouldn't notice if you took something.”

“I would need to take a few things,” Jack decided, “just to be sure I could get enough money to pay the bank.”

“If it isn't enough, we could always just go back and steal something else,” Simon suggested.

“No,
we
couldn't.” Did they actually think he would take them with him? “I'm doing this alone.”

The children regarded him in dismay.

“But we want to help,” protested Jamie.

“We'll be able to help you,” Grace insisted.

“And we won't get in your way,” Simon vowed fervently.

“I can't risk any of you gettin' caught.” Jack's voice was flat. “It's better that you just let me take care of it.”

“But what if you get caught?” asked Annabelle.

“I won't.”

“But what if you do?”

He shrugged. “I'm older than all of you. If I'm caught, I can take care of myself. I'm not used to any of this.” He gestured to the comfortably furnished room around him, with its dark-green curtains blocking the chill from the windows and the richly patterned carpet that felt like brushed silk against his bare feet. “Wherever they put me, I'll be able to get on.”

Grace firmly shook her head. “You may be older, but you haven't been here as long as I have. You must at least let me go with you. I will watch out for you, and let you know when Mr. Ingram is about to look.”

“Well, I've been here three years, and that's only one year less than you, Grace,” said Annabelle, her chin set with determination. “Since I'm an actress, I will go and create a distraction for Mr. Ingram, which will make stealing the jewelry easy.”

“I can make a better distraction than you,” scoffed Simon. “I'll blow something up.”