Wings of the Morning (Kensington Chronicles) (31 page)

answered. His demeanor was that of one in control, but his

voice was respectful. "I'm afraid Miss Simmons will have to

come with us, my lord."

Dallas was ready to jump in at Smokey's defense, but

Brandon, wearing his position and power like a cape, spoke

up.

"I will be handling Miss Simmons' case myself, constable."

"Yes, sir," the other man answered, his face serious.

The younger officer stepped forward then and put a hand

on Smokey's arm to lead her away. She looked back over her

shoulder at Brandon and Dallas. Her face was a mask of numb

surprise.

Dallas shared her shock, but for just an instant. He recovered

quickly, and when he started after her, Brandon moved

his entire body to block him.

"Don't do it, Dallas," Brandon said as he, with no little

effort, held his friend against the side of the carriage.

"I can't let them take her, Hawk! Did you see her face? I've

got to do something!" Dallas' eyes were wide with panic, but

Brandon only shook his head

"You can do nothing for her right now. Your interference

would only get you arrested as well. Pray, Dallas, and trust

God to work this out. I'll do all I can to set her free."

Smokey's mind was in a mass of confusion as she was led

to a waiting carriage and then to a part of London that was new

to her. The ride seemed very brief. In no time at all, Smokey

was being led inside a huge stone structure. Her head craned

back to take it in as they moved inside, and Smokey wondered

if this was the infamous "Tower."

She was given little time to speculate, but was led immediately

inside and to a cell. There was no rough treatment and

few words spoken as she was locked inside. Smokey stood for

a long moment and just stared

The room was spacious with a large, barred window, and

Smokey was surprised at the cleanliness. It was dry and swept,

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with a cot in one corner. Smokey's relief was so great that she

moved to the room's one chair and sank gratefully down.

She started to pray, giving this nightmarish situation over

to the Lord She committed herself, Dallas, her men, and

everyone involved to her heavenly Father. She'd been praying

for the better part of two hours when she heard movement

and voices in the corridor without.

"Smokey."

Smokey stood quickly, unable to believe her ears, and

moved to look at the barred portal in the door.

"Dallas!"

"Are you all right?" His voice was anxious.

"Yes." Smokey felt breathless with relief as she stood on

tiptoe in order to be nearer the man she loved "Have you

come to get me?"

"No." Dallas' voice and eyes were pained "But Brandon is

working on it."

"All right. Have you talked to Darsey or the men?" Now

Smokey's voice was anxious.

"They're all right; just worried about you," Dallas replied

"They didn't hurt you?"

"No. It's not bad in here at all. It's just that I'm..." she

hesitated slightly, "a little frightened."

"No need to be," The surety of Dallas' voice calmed her.

"God is with you, and I know He's going to show us the best

way to help you."

Smokey nodded, unable to speak. Dallas' fingers were

suddenly there through the bars, and Smokey reached her

own to touch his. For just an instant they let their eyes and

fingers speak for their hearts. The next minute a voice was

heard in the corridor, and Dallas' face disappeared from view.

Before Smokey could turn away, Brandon's face appeared

beyond the bars. He spoke gently, and Smokey took his words

to heart. "Don't give up hope, Smokey. I'll do everything

within my power to set you free."

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Brandon's "everything" was something to behold Dallas

accompanied Lord Hawkesbury to the office of a private investigator,

where he paid the man a huge retainer to immediately

go to work on the case.

When they were back in the carriage, Brandon ordered his

driver to Parliament. Confidently striding into this building,

Brandon moved into offices where Dallas could not follow in

order to gain the real news of this case.

The charge against Smokey Simmons, captain of the Aramis, was piracy, and the rumors about the actual pirate

were all too true--Haamich Wynn was a free man. The problem,

as Brandon did more research, stemmed from the fact

that Haamich Wynn had an airtight alibi for every charge.

Lord Darrell Lynne had reputable witnesses, one of whom

was the prime minister himself, who had seen him at balls,

parties, and even on the streets of London each and every time

he was supposed to be attacking a ship.

By the evening of the first day, Brandon had gathered

enough conflicting information to baffle a genius. He and

Dallas retired to Brandon and Sunny's town house in the early

evening, both men feeling spent and confused

They talked over dinner and then for hours afterward

before both went to bed exhausted but peaceful. They had

formulated a plan. In the morning they would pay a visit to

Haamich Wynn.

Neither Brandon nor Dallas would have slept so soundly

had they realized that not two hours after they left Smokey,

she had a visitor. He was a fat, foul-smelling man who did not

use the main entrance to exit the Tower. Fear clawed at

Smokey's throat as she was led out of the Tower courtyard and

into a back alley to a waiting carriage.

"Where are we going?" she tried to question the man who

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seemed to be in charge, but she was simply ignored as the

carriage lurched into motion.

Ten minutes later the coach came to a halt in front of

London's Klink Prison for women; Smokey could only stare in

horror until she was commanded roughly to alight from the

carriage and go inside. The smells that assailed her senses

nearly caused her to vomit as she was led below street level to

a dark, damp cavern.

She could barely see as she was ushered forward to her

cell, but as her eyes became accustomed to the dark, she

realized that the inmates of Klink Prison were treated like

animals. Pale faces beneath layers of dirt were momentarily

illuminated as the lantern moved across their cells. The eyes

in those faces were nearly lifeless, as hopeless as Smokey had

ever seen.

Smokey was taken all the way to the cell at the end. Until

that time no one had touched her, but she suddenly found

herself pushed forward over the threshold where she heard

the door slam behind her. With just two steps she caught

herself, but started violently as a weak but irate voice spoke

from the corner.

"Put her across the way in an empty. It's my turn, and I

don't want her."

"Shut yer trap, ya old hag," the guard snarled, banging on

the bars with his stick. Smokey shrank back from both the

Jailer and her cellmate and then watched as the jailer walked

away, taking his light with him.

A few moments passed before Smokey's eyes acclimated

once again to the dark and she took in her cell, illuminated

only by a small, filthy window, some ten feet off the floor. The

cell was a square, Smokey figured perhaps eight by eight feet

in size, with two filthy straw ticks on the floor and a chamber

pot in the corner.

Her nearly skeletal cellmate lay prone on one of the ticks

and spoke when Smokey's eyes met hers.

"You'll not 'ave all that pretty flesh on yer for long," she

said in a voice weak from her surroundings as well as her age.

"How long have you been in here?" Smokey asked, although

not sure why she did.

"This time? A month, maybe two. Down 'ere, you lose

count."

Smokey suddenly felt as if her legs were going to go out

from under her. She moved to the edge of the unoccupied tick

and sank to her knees. Her pants grew immediately damp, but

she couldn't force herself to stand again.

With a shudder that ran over her entire body, she let her

shoulder fall against the damp stone wall. The old woman

appeared to be sleeping. Smokey let her own eyes slide shut,

only she didn't sleep. She silently prayed the only words that

would come to mind as her world began to close in to the

point that she thought it would suffocate her.

Help me, Father, I beg of You. Help me to believe You never

make mistakes.

"I'm sorry, you must be mistaken, my lord," the young

footman told Brandon the next morning as he and Dallas tried

to gain information from the doorman of a rather seedy club

in the heart of London.

"We have not now, nor ever, had a member by the name of

Lord Lynne." The servant's air was so superior that Brandon

wanted to laugh, but he also felt the man was telling the truth.

That day and into the next had led them to one dead end

after another in an effort to speak with Darrell Lynne. A visit to

Lord Lynne's London town house had directed them to his

club. They had gone to White's, only to come up empty, and

finally now to this club, where no one had ever heard of him

either. Brandon was beginning to wonder if the agency he had

hired was going to offer him anything more than empty leads.

He also began to wonder how many aliases the pirate had

Their choices were quickly narrowing down. Brandon and

Dallas would have to ride out into the country where Lynne's

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wife lived in hopes of tracking the man down. Brandon knew!

he could damage the case if Lynne could prove harassment,

but something was driving him to confront the man himself,

and without knowing exactly why, he knew he must carry on.

"Is it routine to starve the prisoners?" Smokey asked her

cellmate in a small voice as the second morning of her captivity

dawned

"They say it keeps us weak and easy to 'andle," the other

woman told her. Smokey's heart sank.

They had done very little speaking since Smokey had

arrived, mainly because the other woman seemed to sleep a

great deal of the time.

Even though Smokey was still in a state of shock, she was

aware enough to believe that the woman across from her was

dying right before her very eyes. There was water every day

from a bucket in the corner, but neither she nor Smokey had

been given anything to eat since Smokey arrived. Smokey was

hungry; the other woman was starving.

"Every other day," the other woman went on in a whisper,

as though talking took more energy than she could spare.

"They brings bread every other day."

Suddenly the other woman's words became clear. As

Smokey had been pushed into the cell, she said it was her turn.

Smokey understood now that her cellmate had gone extra

days without food since they were not yet ready to feed the