The Prisoner (9 page)

Haydon paused in his eating, appalled. “They put a pregnant girl in jail for stealing some apples?”

“Makes ye wonder about what they call justice, don't it, laddie?” Oliver shook his head in disgust.

“What happened then?”

“Well, Cora knew Miss Genevieve had a soft heart, and so she sent word to her,” continued Eunice. “And when Miss Genevieve went, Cora begged her forgiveness, and asked her if she could see it in her heart to take the bairn when it was born.”

“How could Genevieve take the child if she was dependent upon her stepmother's charity?” wondered Haydon.

“She couldn't. And that's what she told poor Cora. Miss Genevieve was scarcely eighteen years old at the time, and was betrothed to the Earl of Linton. Her father had arranged the match afore he died, and because he believed her future was secure, he hadn't taken the precaution of leavin' her any money. He did give her this house an' a few paintings and such—perhaps in the hope that they might be passed down to his future grandchildren. Miss Genevieve's stepmother got all the money.”

“Miss Genevieve told Cora that the minute she got out of jail she would help her to find a position,” said Oliver, who was now hacking Doreen's carrots into uneven chunks. “And then Cora would be able to work and look after the bairn herself.”

“Don't forget, at that time, Miss Genevieve was young and had scarce notion of what life was like for those not of her station,” explained Doreen, anxious to defend her mistress for her ignorance. “Nor had she any ken of how much work a bairn could be. She probably thought it would just sleep all day while Cora did a few easy chores.”

“But when Miss Genevieve went next to visit her, she discovered that poor Cora had died in her cell while birthin' the bairn.” Oliver paused in his chopping. “The warder told her the bastard was a sickly runt that would not last through the night, which would save them the trouble of sendin' it to the orphanage, where it would just die anyway. Miss Genevieve demanded to see the bairn. When they brought him out, she took wee Jamie in her arms and said, ‘This is my brother and I'm takin' him home,' just like that.” Oliver's wrinkled face beamed with pleasure, as if he could just imagine Genevieve doing such a thing.

“What did her betrothed think of that?” wondered Haydon.

“At first he thought she must be suffering from some sort of woman's ailment that had made her touched in the head,” scoffed Doreen. “Thought she was just grievin' over her father's death. Brought in a doctor all the way from Edinburgh to examine her and make her right again. After a week the doctor presented his lordship with a huge bill, and told him there was nothin' wrong with his betrothed except, like most new mothers, she was very tired.”

Eunice chuckled. “He even insisted the earl consider hiring someone straightaway to help her with the bairn, since she seemed to know nothing whatsoever about caring for bairns, other than what he had shown her.”

Haydon found himself smiling. From the moment she had appeared in his cell like an outraged angel, he had known Genevieve was a woman of unusual strength and conviction. Even so, for a gently bred, inexperienced girl with no apparent income to take in a bastard baby in the face of both her stepmother's and her betrothed's opposition demonstrated remarkable compassion and courage. “And did the earl hire someone?”

“No.” Oliver's expression grew dark. “The miserable swine broke their engagement and walked away. Told everyone that she had gone off her head and he wasn't to blame for whatever might become of her.”

“Then the viscountess packed up and left as well,” added Doreen. “Which was the best thing, except that she took all of Miss Genevieve's father's money with her and dismissed the remaining servants, leavin' Miss Genevieve with nothing but this old house and a pile of debt.”

“'Twas hard on her, that first year,” said Eunice, placing a fresh batch of oatcakes before Haydon. “Living all alone in this house, with no one to help her or show her how to care for a bairn. The folk who used to pretend they were her friends stopped callin' upon her or inviting her to their parties and such, because they didn't want to be tainted with the scandal. Until I finally came to live here, the poor lass was just barely managing, all by herself.”

“How did you come to be employed here?” asked Haydon.

“Well now, I'm afraid that was another bit of a scandal.” Eunice's plump cheeks, already pink from the warmth of the fire, reddened with embarrassment. “Miss Genevieve had heard that I was about to be released from the prison, ye see, after servin' time for stealing a brooch from my former employer, Lord Dunbar.”

“Because they wouldna pay her a decent wage so she could put some quid aside for when she was too old to work,” interjected Doreen, wanting to make it clear that Eunice had had a very good reason to steal. “Instead they expected to her slave for them from morning 'til night, and then when they'd no more use for her they would toss her onto the street like an old rag without so much as a thank e.”

“Miss Genevieve bundled up Jamie and went down to the prison and asked if she could speak to me,” continued Eunice, smiling affectionately at Doreen. “Very sweet and polite she was, not at all like all the other rich folk I had known. And after we had talked a while, she asked me if I had any plans for when I got out of prison. I told her I hadn't, but 'twas certain no one would hire me, as I was guilty of stealin' from my former employer and therefore would forever be considered a dangerous criminal and untrustworthy. And she asked if I might consider coming to live with her and Jamie, and said she hoped I would, because they really needed my help to get along. Made it sound as if I would be granting her a wonderful boon. Said she couldn't pay me much, but that I would have a warm roof over my head and good food to eat, and if I ever needed more of anything I only had to ask her and she would see if she could provide it. And here I am, thankin' the good Lord each and every day that he sent Miss Genevieve to me, because if he hadn't, I dinna know what would have become of me.” She fished an enormous handkerchief out of her apron pocket and dabbed at her eyes, then trumpeted her nose noisily into it.

“Then came the rest of us,” said Doreen, taking up where Eunice had left off. “Miss Genevieve took a special concern for any child that had nowhere to go after spending time in the prison. First came Grace, then Annabelle, then Simon and Charlotte. She asked me to come here after I was jailed for liftin' a wee bit of brass from the customers at the tavern where I used to work for slave's wages.” She snorted with contempt, as if it was beyond comprehension how she could have been imprisoned over such a trifling matter. “Said she could really use my help, since I knew about servin' and cleaning up after crowds of people and such.”

Haydon looked at Oliver. “What about you?”

“Well, lad, I'm proud to say I'm the only true professional amongst the lot of us, descended from a long and distinguished line,” Oliver declared loftily.

“Your father was a butler?” said Haydon, somewhat astonished.

“A thief,” Oliver corrected him, amused. “And one of the best in the county of Argyll, I might add. Began teachin' me the family business when I was but a wee lad of seven. I could ask a gentleman, ‘What time is it, sir?' an' lift his watch and billfold before he'd finished giving me the answer,” he boasted, chuckling. “Because I had an uncommon talent for it, my da had me breakin' into houses and robbing coaches at an early age. There isn't a lock in all of Inveraray I can't get past. 'Course there's no honor to it anymore,” he finished, scratching his white head wistfully. “Thieves today just bob a pistol or a blade about and terrify people into givin' everything over. I ask ye, where's the bloody sport in that?”

“And Miss MacPhail took you from the prison as well?”

Oliver's expression softened. “Like a bonny angel she was,” he said. “Cold had seeped into my bones in that miserable place, and I was plagued with a nasty cough that made me sure I was about to take my dying breath. And she marched into my cell and asked but one thing: Did I like children?”

Haydon absorbed this in silence. How had one small slip of a girl found the strength and the resources to salvage the shattered lives of all these people? he wondered. And how did she manage to support all of them? Clearly money was tight, as was evident by Eunice's thrifty approach to meal preparation. These three were obviously not paid much, but even so, to maintain a home and feed, clothe, and otherwise provide for ten people would be very costly. And that cost was only exacerbated by his presence, he suddenly realized. A stab of guilt penetrated his reflections. It was Genevieve's uncommon concern for others that had enabled him to lie shivering upon her bed for the past three days, just one step ahead of the law.

He needed to get out of here soon, before his presence placed her and her family in any further danger.

“Well, laddie, if ye've eaten enough to tide ye over 'til dinner, ye'd best be thinkin' about getting yerself back in bed,” Oliver suggested. “If Miss Genevieve were to come home and find ye wandering around naked but for a plaid about yer waist, I'm sure she'd have somethin' to say about it.”

“What time will she and the children return?”

“She usually takes them to a tearoom after their gallery visit, where they have to mind their manners and sit still and learn how to behave in public,” said Doreen, banging her pot of mutilated carrots on the stove. “They'll likely be gone another two hours or more.”

Haydon rubbed the dark growth of beard on his chin. “It appears I am in need of a shave and some clothing.” He raised an inquiring brow to Oliver. “Do you think you might have something that would fit me?”

“Only if ye dinna mind havin' yer shirts stop at yer elbows and yer trousers end at yer shins,” he joked, amused by the idea. “I'm thinkin' we'll have to do a sight better than that if we don't want to have ye arrested for indecency.”

“What about the viscount's clothes?” suggested Doreen. “There's two whole trunks of them up in the attic. Very fine things, too, I might add—Miss Genevieve has been keeping them so that the boys might wear them one day, providin' the fashions haven't changed overmuch.”

“Well, now, that just might do,” said Oliver, critically studying Haydon. “From what I understand, the viscount was nae as tall as you and he carried a fair bit of pudding on him, but with a nip here and a tuck there, we might be able to make ye look tolerable. Both Eunice and Doreen know a thing or two about needle and thread, and I can shine up a pair of boots until they look like glass.”

“I'm thinkin' a lovely bath might do you a world of good as well,” said Eunice. “Why don't you take him upstairs and fix him one, Ollie, while Doreen and I see what we can find amongst the viscount's clothes? If we all work together, we'll have his lordship cleaned up and looking presentable before Miss Genevieve comes home with the children.”

“All right, then, laddie,” said Oliver, delighted to have a task that released him from his duties in the kitchen. “Let's see if we canna get ye lookin' more like the gentleman ye were before this whole sorry murder business began.”

 

T
HE FRONT DOOR CRASHED OPEN AS A GIGGLING,
yelping crush of children surged inside.

“I win! I made it in first!” declared Jamie, triumphant.

“Only because you pushed me out of your way,” Simon complained, shoving at him hard. “You cheated.”

Grace sniffed the air. “I smell ginger biscuits.”

“That's not ginger, it's allspice,” said Annabelle, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Eunice is making haggis again.”

“Maybe she made biscuits and haggis.” Charlotte's expression was hopeful as she limped through the door.

“If she did, she won't let you have a biscuit now,” Jamie told her with certainty. “She'll tell you it's too close to dinnertime.”

“Tell her you saw some naked ladies in the paintings today,” suggested Annabelle. “Then she'll give you a biscuit to make you forget about it.”

“If you want to discuss the paintings you saw today with Eunice that's fine,” said Genevieve, walking through the door. “But you just had tea and scones, and that should suffice until dinnertime.”

“I only had one cup of tea, and Simon had two,” complained Grace. “That wasn't fair.”

“Fine, next time we go you shall have two cups,” Genevieve assured her, trying to restore the balance of justice. “Then you'll be even.”

“Can I sit beside Jack next time?” asked Jamie, smiling at Jack as he sauntered in.

“I believe you shall have to ask Jack that.”

Jamie gazed at the older boy with worshipful eyes. “Can I, Jack?”

Jack shrugged and looked away.

Genevieve studied him, taking in his careless stance and averted gaze. Throughout the afternoon, he had remained cool and removed from the children, always standing just beyond the cluster she had instructed them to maintain, barely answering them when they asked him an excited question. It was as if he was uncomfortable with their obvious fascination with him, and was trying to maintain his distance. He was still planning to run away from her, she realized, troubled by the thought. Jack was older than the others had been when they came into her care, and therefore had a greater sense of his own maturity and independence.

She could only hope that he would realize the benefits of staying with her far outweighed the freedom and autonomy for which he apparently yearned.

“All right, everyone, let's put our coats and hats in the cupboard and then we shall go into the drawing room and continue our reading of
Gulliver's Travels
,” she said, releasing the ties of her bonnet and cloak. “Simon, would you please hang this up for me?”