Percival just looked at him, digging in his pocket and extracting five sovereigns. Jack looked down at the blunt, his brow wrinkled thoughtfully.
“You really like this one, huh?” He said in wonder.
“You make sure no harm comes to her, see that she's fed and has somewhere to sleep. You will never have to work another day in your life.”
Jack straightened his back, giving Percival a salute. “It’ll be just as you say, guv’nor.”
Percival nodded. “Excellent.”
He walked back to say goodbye to Abigail. “My love, this is Jack O’Malley. He will take care of you from now on. I will see you in the morning.”
He stuck his two fingers through the bars and she grabbed them, squeezing desperately. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered.
He stilled in the middle of turning away and turned back to face her. “I will always come for you.”
Chapter 24
Gathering
Joan was pacing anxiously, waiting and hoping for news from somebody. Her daughter was out there alone in the world, probably scared, definitely in need of help. And she had no idea what to do. She wanted to tear out her hair and scream. Waiting was most definitely the worst part. A knock at her door had her sighing in relief.
At last. Some news.
She hastened to open the door, only to find that it was Claudette on the other side. The actress grabbed onto her. “Has there been any news?” Her eyes were wide and anxious. Joan shook her head sadly.
“I am still waiting.”
“Then I will wait with you.” Joan stepped back as Claudette came into the house. They clasped hands, sitting down on the settee in silence. Waiting together.
Not fifteen minutes later, there was another knock on the door and they exchanged glances.
“I hope this is it.”
Joan let go of Claudette's hands to go and answer the door, this time finding a tall footman, his uniform buttons embellished with the Northcott family crest.
“Oh…” she said weakly as he held out a note. She took it, her hands shaking, wondering why the Duke was not here to deliver it himself. Claudette came to stand before her, cradling Joan's hands in her own.
“It'll be all right,” she whispered, as Joan slowly unfolded the page. She read it as Claudette watched, the shaking in her hands getting worse until she could not hold the paper anymore. Claudette snatched it and read it for herself.
“Newgate?” she whispered in disbelief.
“My daughter is in prison. Accused of thievery? What ridiculousness is this?”
“You know that woman will do anything to get the Duke back.” Claudette pointed out.
“Oh, trust me, I know.” She snarled, “What that woman doesn't know is that she has trifled with the wrong person.”
Claudette nodded in grim agreement. “That is true.”
Philip walked home deep in thought. The information he had gleaned from Tobias and Judas was truly disconcerting. This earl was certainly a lot more malevolent than any Philip had dealt with in a while.
“Hail to the Foxes.”
Philip stopped. He had been aware that he was being followed for a while, but had waited for the boy to feel safe enough to initiate contact.
“What did you find out?” Philip leaned casually against the wall, not turning to face the boy.
“The jewel is in limbo. What should we do?”
Philip sighed deeply, closing his eyes in despair. “Do we have anyone among the guards?”
“There are Foxes inside the gates.”
“Can you get word to them?”
“Of course.”
“Tell them to find her, and keep her safe until we can get her out.”
The boy hesitated. “What about...him?”
Philip took a deep breath. “Apprise him of the situation.”
“Hail to the Foxes.”
The boy disappeared.
“Hail to the Foxes.” Philip replied before resuming his walk. He would have to tell Joan of this, and he just didn’t have the words.
Philip and Percival turned up almost at the same time, with near identical looks of perturbation on their faces. Joan let them both in and then poured them some whisky. She handed it to them wordlessly, before pouring herself and Claudette some.
They all drank.
“I take it that you know what has befallen our child?” Philip was the first to speak, after a prolonged heavy silence, his eyes on Joan.
“Yes.” She nodded her head, eyes fluttering as she forced back her tears. Now was not the time for weakness.
Philip turned to Percival, “What did they say Abby did?”
Percival sighed, “There is a brooch Lady Rosaline has, her most treasured possession, given to her by the Prince Regent. They say that Abigail took it.”
Joan was already shaking her head. “She would never!”
“Of course she wouldn't,” Percival snapped impatiently. “They merely seek a way to get her out of the picture.”
Philip had not lifted his eyes from Joan. “I have people who will be watching over her,” he assured her, placing his hand on top of hers.
“No need,” Percival said, “I paid a guard to see to her comfort.”
Philip and Percival stared narrowly at each other. Joan looked from one to the other, shaking her head minutely. “Abigail can never have too many helpers. We must get her out of there as fast as possible. What is the plan to do that?”
The men continued to watch each other a moment more, before Percival turned to Joan. “I shall go and see the Earl again tomorrow, and extract from him a promise to withdraw the charges, by whatever means necessary.”
“I shall seek to pervert the legal system, by whatever means are available to me. To us.” Philip gave Joan a significant glance.
“By ‘us’ you mean the Foxes?” Percival asked.
Philip inclined his head and smiled. “Indeed I do. You will forgive me but I do not think your Earl will bend to your wishes.”
“He wishes me to marry his daughter. If that is what I have to do to set Abigail free, I will do it.”
Philip sneered, “How noble of you.”
“I love Abigail. I will do what I must for her. Nobility has nothing to do with it.”
“All right!” Joan shouted, quite fed up with the both of them, “Both of you will stop this ridiculous competition. Abigail loves you both, and she is in trouble now. You will put aside your feelings for each other and work together to bring my daughter home.”
They both at least had the grace to look shamefaced.
“Forgive me, Joan. It has been a stressful day.” Philip said.
Percival bowed, “My most humble apologies, Mrs. Thorne.”
Joan nodded curtly at them both. “Good. Now that that is in the past, let’s talk about how we are going to get Abigail out of the blockhouse.”
Philip squeezed her arm. “We will find a way.”
Jack O’Malley took them to the chapel.
“It’s warm, it's dry, and nobody will disturb you. D’ye want me to bring you some food?”
There were candles burning in the sconces. She was able to see the boy, Tommy, for the first time. His face was covered with dirt, only his blue eyes shining bright, through the filth. She looked down at herself and saw that she was similarly dishevele.
“May we have some water to wash up?” She reached into her pocket, worn beneath her skirts, taking one of the silver coins that Percival had passed to her. “If you can get us something hot to eat, we would be very grateful.”
Jack nodded, taking the coin and walking out of the room. Abigail looked around, trying to think where they would be most comfortable. The chapel was small, made of stone like the rest of Newgate. There were wooden benches lining the aisles, and a stone altar in front.
“I say we each take a bench to sleep on. What do you think, Tommy?”
He shook his head. “Don’t want to sleep alone.”
Abigail nodded.
“I understand that. But I don't think we can both fit on one bench.”
Tommy pointed to the floor. Abigail looked down at hard stone. She gave a sad sigh. “Are you sure? I think the benches are a bit softer.”
Tommy pointed to the floor again.
“All right then, the floor it is. Come, let us go and explore behind the altar. There might be a bit of carpeting or something.”
Tommy nodded agreeably and trailed behind her as she took the two steps to the altar, genuflecting awkwardly before she walked around the big stone table, to see if there might be a comfortable nook behind it.
The area below the tabernacle seemed likely, and Abigail found a pile of cushions thrown underneath. They were probably used for kneeling while praying, but they would do very well as bedding. Now if only Jack would hurry up with that water, so that she could clean them both up, before lying down to sleep.
Tomorrow, Uncle Philip and Percival would come to save her.
Percival was finding it difficult to rest. The early hours of the morning found him prowling the streets of Mayfair, his eyes on Huntington House.
He was aware that he needed to calm himself, but it was difficult to do knowing that Abigail was spending the night in a cold, dark, filthy prison, while Lady Rosaline reclined on her four-poster bed, with a soft feather mattress and a heating bottle, probably enjoying the sleep of the wicked.
He could not imagine how he could ever have thought that she and he would make a good match. Their incompatibilities were glaring. Percival was a man who valued integrity and honesty above all things—clearly, Lady Rosaline possessed none of these things.
He growled to himself, turning his feet for home. There really was nothing more that he could do at this time of night. As he let himself quietly into his house, he was surprised to find Henry lounging in the parlor, looking into the fire.
“I heard you get up. I thought I might sit vigil with you.”
“Indeed? I expected a scolding, an, ‘I told you so.’”
Henry shrugged. “Now is not the time for recriminations. This must be very difficult for you.”
Percival took a seat next to Henry. “Thank you for understanding.”
Henry handed him a glass. “I thought a tincture of laudanum with your brandy just might be the ticket tonight.”
Percival smiled and grimaced even as he took a sip. “Laudanum gives me some vivid dreams.”
“Oh, it won't kill you to dream in color for one night.”
Percival laughed. “Famous last words.”
He took another sip of his concoction, feeling grateful for his cousin's company and his care.
Jack had not returned with a pitcher of water; he had returned with two. One contained hot water, the other cool. He also brought them a cloth to wash themselves with. It was an embarrassment of riches.
That was not the end of his care. He also carried two covered bowls of hot broth, and freshly baked bread! Tommy fell upon his with a ravenous lack of restraint, but Abigail made sure to thank Jack profusely, before downing hers a little more sedately.
She then rubbed Tommy down with the cloth and water, and tucked him on three cushions to sleep. She took her own time cleaning the filth from her body, before laying down next to Tommy.
She closed her eyes, praying to God to keep them safe and to rescue them from this predicament, before drifting off to sleep.
Philip and Joan lay back to back in bed, neither thought the other was asleep, but they extended to each other the courtesy of pretense.
Joan let out a breath and curled in on herself. “Such a mess.” She murmured before closing her eyes and attempting once more to sleep.
“I have been inside Newgate,” Philip said, apropos of nothing.
Joan turned onto her back. “I keep wondering where she is sleeping. Is she warm? Scared? Hungry? How can I sleep on this soft warm bed, knowing that my daughter is probably chained, with nothing softer to lay her head on than stone? I wish they had taken me instead.” A bitten off sob escaped her lips.
“I wish they had taken me.” He turned to face Joan and gathered her into his arms, squeezing her tight against him. “We will get her out. Whatever it takes.”
They all gathered at the dressmaker shop early the next morning before the sun had even risen. It was the closest location to Newgate prison and so they would strategize from there.
“I have learnt the name of the magistrate. I shall be calling on him today, to ask that Abigail be released on bond. If he agrees, then he will release her into my custody and I will be obliged to accommodate her in my household.”
Philip opened his mouth to say something but closed it again after one look from Joan.
“I am going to the prison.” She stood up and picked up a rather large basket she was carrying, “I shall try to see my daughter.”
“Speak to a guard named Jack O’Malley. Tell him that I sent you.” Percival said.
Philip snorted very quietly.
The door to the shop opened, and a tall man, his dark hair laced with grey, eyes the color of slate and narrowed with annoyance, yet gleaming with intelligence, limped into the room. There was a charged silence.
“There is one thing that could get my daughter out of gaol that you all seem to have overlooked,” he said.
Percival got to his feet. “Who are you?”
The man limped towards him, looked him up and down, seemingly unimpressed. They were of a height, but he still managed to look down his nose at Percival. He stuck out his hand.
“Who am I?” He repeated. “Why, I am your future father-in-law, Reginald Sinclair.”
Chapter 25
Ruling
Abigail awoke when someone shook her roughly. She startled, shooting up to sit, bringing her hands up to defend herself against she knew not what.
“Hush. It’s me, Jack. Time to get up. You can’t stay here during the day. Come with me.”
Abigail cleared her throat, feeling befogged. She looked down to see Tommy still sleeping peacefully. Swallowing, she turned to Jack.
“Where are we going?”
“Recreation room. You can eat’cher breakfas’ there.”
Abigail pulled a protesting Tommy to his feet and dragged him along with her as she followed Jack. Someone was wailing in a most disconcerting manner, choking the corridor with a despairing sound. Abigail wanted to cower and cover her ears. She could feel Tommy clinging to her limpet-like, even as they walked.
With relief, they turned down a different corridor and the sound faded away behind them.
How much more of this am I to take?
Abigail could feel despair well up inside her like a flood in a storm. She had been avoiding thinking about what would happen when she was eventually brought in front of a magistrate. Unless she could prove that she was innocent she would hang.
If Abigail knew anything at all, it was that she was not ready to die.
Percival looked around at the group of people gathered in the shop. Between Mrs. Thorne and Mr. Phillip Sinclair, he seemed the only one all-a-mort by the resurrection of Mr. Reginald Sinclair.
“I see that reports of your death were greatly exaggerated.” He murmured drily.
Reginald Sinclair looked amused. “A satirist Duke! How fascinating.”
Percival turned to Mrs. Thorne. “Is Abigail aware that her father still lives?” he asked coldly.
She shook her head slowly, dropping her head and sighing. “This was never supposed to happen.”
“Another thing that was never supposed to happen,” Reginald Sinclair said glaring at them all, “was my daughter joining the dice.”
Mrs. Thorne took a deep breath, “Reggie—”
He cut her off with a lift of his palm and a slight shake of his head.
“No excuses, please. I left my daughter in your care and you have let me down.”
Mrs. Thorne’s face filled with angry color and she opened her mouth but Mr. Phillip Sinclair reached out a hand and wrapped it t
ight around her wrist.
“You’re right, brother,” he said, “We have failed Abigail in this one thing. Now are you going to help us get her back or are you going to vilify the woman who raised your daughter to be an exemplary young lady?”
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