Kent's Orphans: The Prisoner Part 11

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 s.h.i.+fted 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d 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 rea.s.sure 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 circ.u.mstances 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 s.h.i.+mmered 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 circ.u.mstances 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 b.u.t.ter, 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 a.s.sured 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 gla.s.s, 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."

"We want to steal from Mr. Ingram's shop, not burn it down," pointed out Annabelle.

"I won't burn it down," Simon retorted, insulted.

"I would also like to go." Charlotte regarded Jack earnestly. "People always stare at me when I walk by, so that might help to take their eyes off of you."

"I don't want people starin' at you," growled Jack, infuriated by the idea.

"It won't bother me, Jack," she a.s.sured him in a small, soft voice, "if I know it's going to help Genevieve."

"I don't want to be left out," lamented Jamie. "Couldn't I help too, Jack?"

Jack stared at the imploring crescent of faces before him.

His first impulse was to tell them that they were too young to accompany him. But he had survived on his own since he was nine, which was but a year older than Jamie was. That was when he had finally realized that his mother was never going to keep her promise to rescue him from the h.e.l.lish existence he was enduring with the vile husband and wife she had placed him with shortly after he was born. Over time her brief visits had grown less frequent, but when she appeared she was like a warm wash of sunlight in his otherwise cold and miserable life. Heavily powdered and rouged, her amply fleshed body squeezed into overly tight corsets and faded gowns that revealed a generous knoll of snowy bosom, she was always unbearably soft and lovely and exotic to Jack. She would ruffle her fingers through his hair and draw him close, holding him tight as he inhaled the mysteriously sweet scent of her, a fragrance that reminded him of flowers and honey, but which he later came to recognize as cheap whiskey. It won't be much longer, my sweet lad, she would promise him. Only a wee bit more to save and then we'll buy a fine cottage and live in it together, as cozy as two mice in a teacup. After she was gone the old man would drink and beat Jack until he could barely stand, saying his mother was nothing but a drunken wh.o.r.e and he couldn't afford to give her little b.a.s.t.a.r.d his charity any longer. Finally her visits stopped and the savagery of Jack's beatings grew, until one day something within him snapped and he decided to fight back, with a shovel.

That was the day he ran away, uncertain whether he had become a murderer or not.

Jack was accustomed to surviving on his own and stealing by himself, without the comfort or complication of knowing that there was someone else working with him. But his customary solitude had worked against him recently, resulting in his arrest and imprisonment in the Inveraray jail. There might be merit to having accomplices on this particular job, he decided. After all, every pair of eyes could keep a sharp watch and warn him of any trouble brewing. And if something did go wrong, it could prove helpful to have others there to create a distraction, as Annabelle had suggested.

"Fine," he relented finally. "You can all help. But you must do exactly as I tell you-is that clear?"

The little band of aspiring thieves solemnly nodded.

Chapter Six.

SNOW FELL IN RAGGED WISPS OVER THE BLACK rooftops and cobblestone streets, dressing the town of Inveraray in a foamy white cape. It fluttered over the gray, choppy waters of Loch Fyne, dancing upon the chilly air before it kissed the frigid water and disintegrated, and piled in frothy layers upon the elaborate hats of the ladies and gentlemen walking through the frosty streets, making them look as if they were balancing enormous cakes upon their heads.

Jack stamped his feet, vainly trying to restore some heat to them. The boots Genevieve had given him were far too big and the snow had seeped through the worn leather, soaking his stockings. He wished he had thought to stuff some newspaper in them. He could not remember ever having a pair of shoes or boots that fit him well. Over the years he had utilized a variety of techniques for either filling up the excess, covering cracks or relieving blistering pressure. A cus.h.i.+on of newspaper would have made his boots more comfortable and had the added benefit of increasing their insulation. Their previous owner had obviously not spent much time standing about in the freezing wet snow, he reflected irritably.

He would have preferred not to do the robbery on such a miserable day.

Fresh snow had the distinct disadvantage of leaving a trail of footprints, particularly if one tried to escape down a previously untrod lane. It also reduced the number of people milling about and shopping, which would make it difficult for him to lose himself in the crowd once the jewels were safely in his pocket. Unfortunately, a delay in their plans was impossible. According to Simon, the bank had insisted upon payment immediately. Genevieve and Haydon had arranged to meet with the bank manager that very morning; therefore, the children had been excused from their regular studies. Jack had quickly offered to take them out for a walk in the falling snow, a suggestion that Oliver, Doreen, and Eunice agreed to happily, thinking it would enable them to get their own work done without having all the children getting in their way. Jack did not mention that they would be going to Inveraray's main street. If anyone questioned their presence while they were there, he could easily explain that they were merely enjoying the Christmas decorations adorning the shop windows.

"There's an old man and his wife in the shop now, looking at a pair of silver candelabra on a table," reported Grace, returning from her stroll past Mr. Ingram's window. "Mr. Ingram is helping them."

"Are they anywhere near the jewelry case?" asked Jack.

Grace shook her head. "The table is at the front of the store."

"Can we go inside now?" Jamie had been amusing himself by forming little mountains of snow with his boots and then pretending to be a giant and crus.h.i.+ng them flat. "I'm cold."

"Jack said we had to wait until the store was crowded with people," Annabelle reminded him.