Freya Bates sniffed and took another casual drink of tea. Javan gave her his handkerchief, which she used to dry her eyes.
“Are you willing to testify about what you just told me in court?” he asked.
She nodded. “I am. I shall leave the name of the hotel I am staying at on my way out.”
His nose had gone blind to that strange smell, but the odd feeling lingered. Something wasn’t right.
She reached over and rested her hand over his. “Remember, Lord Javan, Pierce Landcross is a dangerous man. He will tell you many lies. You must not be taken in by them.”
He believed her. There was no doubt about it. Strangely, he was convinced she could tell him anything and he’d believe it without a second thought. What was happening here?
Javan thanked her and returned to the royal bedchambers to ask for the prince’s permission to take several guards with him to the prison. Somehow, he doubted he would object.
When he arrived, he found the prime minister, John Russell, in the room. When the prime minister saw him in the doorway, he immediately went to greet him.
“Lord Javan,” he whispered while shaking his hand. “How very good it is to see you.”
“My lord,” Javan greeted him with a slight bow.
The prime minister let go. “I heard about what you did tonight. Well done, sir. Very well done.”
“I deserve little credit,” he said humbly.
“You caught the bastard, though.”
“Yes, my lord. I came to request some men to bring to the prison with me as a precaution. You understand.”
Just as he finished speaking, he spied Archie and Clover Norwich standing on the other side of Her Majesty’s bed.
“Of course,” allowed the prime minister. “Take however many troops you need. I will explain it to the prince.”
“Thank you, my lord. Do you happen to know when Tarquin Norwich’s children arrived?”
Russell glanced over at them. “Shortly after I did. Why?”
Javan did not wish to create any kind of scene. If he weren’t in a rush to return to the prison, he’d have taken the siblings away to a room and questioned them. He’d known they were in league with Landcross for quite a while now. Recently, he even warned Mr. Norwich about assisting the outlaw again. There was no doubt in his mind that Landcross was their reason for being in London.
“I can’t explain everything at the moment, my lord,” Javan admitted. “Yet, I strongly suggest that those two are not allowed to leave this palace until further notice.”
“Have they done something?” the prime minister wondered.
“I believe they have. I will need to question them, yet I would rather not bother the prince with it right now.”
“Right. Right,” said the prime minister. “I shall handle it. Go fetch your men.”
* * *
Javan assembled some troops and returned to the prison. When he arrived at Landcross’s cell, he was greatly relieved, and a little surprised, to find him still there.
A physician was inside with the prisoner, putting his medical supplies into his leather bag. The physician had cleaned Landcross’s head of the blood, revealing a small cut on his forehead. There were also bandages around Landcross’s knuckles. Boothman was holding a lantern for the physician.
“Did she explain everything?” Landcross asked, standing from the cot to the side of the small room. His chains chimed as he moved.
Javan thought he would murder the prisoner right there. “No, she did not. She is in a coma.”
Landcross scowled in shock and then in disappointment. “Figures,” he grunted bitterly.
His exasperated tone set Javan off. “You bastard!”
Landcross jumped as Javan stormed in, grabbed him by the coat lapel, and threw him against the wall. The physician moved aside and made his way out of the cell with his bag in hand. Javan didn’t slam Landcross too hard, yet Pierce let out a cry, indicating his back was injured. It earned him no benevolence from Javan.
“Who are you working for? Who wanted you to attack the Queen?”
“I’m not working for anyone, chum,” he retorted hotly. “And I didn’t attack her.”
“Then why were you at the theater?”
Landcross paused as if trying to find a way to explain. “Right, here it goes. A witch who calls herself Mother of Craft aims to have me killed and so set a trap to get me where she wants me—which, apparently, is here.”
Javan told himself that with Landcross, anything was possible, yet what he said sounded completely absurd.
He will tell you many lies.
“The truth, Landcross!” Javan demanded with a violent shake.
“I am telling the truth!” Landcross fired back indignantly.
Fed up with his lies, Javan struck him across the face before throwing him to the floor. “Liar!” he exclaimed at the top of his lungs.
Landcross struggled to stand. His injured body and the heavy shackles made it difficult. He stood hunched with a shackled hand held out before him.
“I’m not lying,” Landcross claimed. “The people who attacked the Queen were with that German tosser, Volker Jäger. I fought him at the factory and crushed the bastard under a train.”
“What does he have to do with the witch?”
“She sent him to the theater.”
Javan had heard enough. His Queen, whom he was supposed to protect, was now lying unconscious to the world. There was no telling if she would ever wake up. Landcross had been on the locomotive on the night of the robbery, and he was at the Circle Theater during the attack. It was no coincidence.
He will tell you many lies.
Landcross hit the floor when Javan struck him again. Javan then kicked him while shouting, “I swear I will kill you if you don’t stop with your lies!”
If Boothman hadn’t pulled him off, Javan would have kept kicking until Landcross stopped moving.
“Whoa, Javan, ease up on the boy, now. You can’t murder him. Think of your reputation, eh?”
Reputation had nothing to do with it. However, murdering Landcross would solve nothing. With his friend holding him back, Javan had time to cool his rage and bloodlust.
“Aye, Darius,” Landcross remarked with blood trickling from his mouth. He lifted himself up to a sitting position against the wall. “Think of your bloody reputation,” he said, his voice laced with malice.
Landcross wasn’t afraid. Fear, however, wasn’t what Javan wanted from him. He only wanted the truth.
Chapter Fourteen
Pierce’s Letter
When Callum saw the guards camped by the roadside, he didn’t panic. It was a roadblock, and he was prepared for it. When they spotted him, he instantly got into character.
A uniformed officer stepped onto the road with his hand held out. “Halt!”
Callum pulled the reins on his carriage horse while the soldiers approached. “Mornin’, gents. What’s the problem?”
“We’re looking for a fugitive. We need to search your carriage, if you don’t mind.”
“Fugitive, eh?” Callum said. “Absolutely. Do what you must.”
The soldiers quickly went to work, looking over and under the coach. The guard who had stopped him knocked on the carriage.
“Excuse me,” he spoke to the closed door. “This is General Mills. We need to search your coach, please.”
“He ain’t gonna hear you,” Callum said. “You may as well just open it.”
“Who’s in here?” the guard asked.
“Jonesy,” Callum answered.
General Mills eyed him a little longer, then signaled to his men to be ready for anything. He grabbed the latch as well as the handle of his pistol.
Callum held his breath.
The general flung open the door. His demeanor relaxed.
“Sir?” he said to the sleeping youth inside. “Are you all right?”
“He’s dead to the world, I’m afraid. He was drinkin’ until five this morning.”
To make his claim more legitimate, Callum had fragranced the lad with alcohol—enough for anyone who came near him to become lightheaded. In reality, he had been giving the boy chloroform to keep him unconscious.
Strangely enough, Callum himself did not feel tired in the least. He’d been awake for over thirty hours and didn’t feel even a bit sleepy.
The general shook the lad. “Sir?”
“Good luck waking him, sir. He gulped down whiskey until he collapsed. The lad doesn’t know when to quit.”
“And who are you to him?”
“His uncle. My brother suggested I look after him while he’s away on business.”
“So, you took him out drinking?”
Callum shrugged. “Never said my brother made a wise choice. His boy is a bit of a wild one. Can’t be left alone, you see. I thought I’d let ’im do what he was wanting to do. At least I was there to keep him from gettin’ into any trouble.”
“Where did you come from?” the general continued, still standing by the open door.
“Fleet. We departed there a few hours ago.”
“And where are you heading?”
“Winchfield.”
The general considered him a long moment. Callum thought about how he would get himself out of this if the soldier didn’t buy it. He may not have been smuggling Landcross, but he was still guilty of kidnapping.
“Right. Carry on.” General Mills shut the door.
Callum tipped his hat to him. “Thanks very much, sir.”
Callum went on his way. If he kept going, he’d reach Lepe by midday tomorrow.
* * *
Robert’s heart shattered when he learned the news. Guards from Clerkenwell House of Detention had been telling people about Pierce’s arrest and word spread quickly throughout London. Robert had needed to get out of the house before he went mad, and had found out that morning while fetching eggs at the general store when a man in line told another customer waiting with him.
When Robert and Penelope returned home from the Circle Theater last night, they’d had some explaining to do to their neighbor, Mrs. Paris. Afterward, they waited for someone to show up. After a while, Robert took a hackney carriage back to the theater to search for answers. The crowd, soldiers, and constables who had arrived shortly after the shooting, had all vacated. The theater had closed for the night.
He decided to walk through the city aimlessly, hoping Pierce would simply appear, as he always seemed to. His friend did not, and after a few hours of walking in the cold, Robert caught another carriage home with the hope that at least Archie and Clover were there. The siblings had gone to the palace. Perhaps they had discovered something. Alas, no one had arrived at his home.
“He’ll hang for sure,” stated the customer who mentioned the disheartening news in the general store. “There won’t be any way out for the likes of him this time.”
“Good riddance, I say,” the person he was speaking to added. “This world will be better with one less thief in it.”
Before Robert lost his temper, he left the store and traveled to the prison.
Waiting outside the gate with an eerie carving of a face staring over them was a throng of journalists, civilians, and the curious.
“What is going on?” Robert asked someone from the crowd.
“Rumor has it that Pierce Landcross is being held in there. Arrested for high treason.”
“High treason? For allegedly robbing a train?”
“No, for an assassination attempt on the Queen.”
Robert’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”
Just then, the gate opened and out walked none other than Lord Javan. Behind him were armed troops. His lordship looked exhausted.
“Listen up!” he shouted to the crowd before him. “All of you!”
Everyone quieted down, giving him his or her full attention.
“I am Lord Darius Javan, and I am requesting that every one of you disperse at once. There is no reason for any of you to be here.”
“Sir,” a journalist yelled out while raising his hand. “Is Landcross inside?”
Lord Javan waited a beat as if deciding on how to answer. “He is,” he answered at length. “He was brought in last night and is to stand trial tomorrow.”
“Sir, did he actually try killing Queen Victoria?” someone else spoke up.
“I will not speak on such matters now,” his lordship stated petulantly. “Now, remove yourselves from this place, or you shall be incarcerated for public disturbance.”
That prompted most to vacate, especially under the hard glares of the Royal Guard.
Robert stood motionless while people moved around him. His chest hurt greatly with heartache. His long-time friend, the one with whom he had shared so much, was imprisoned.
And this time, Pierce was completely innocent!
When he returned home, his wife handed him a letter. “I found this on our dresser, darling.”
He read:
Rob, Freya came to me and threatened to harm you and Penelope. It’s obvious she is baiting me, but that doesn’t mean she won’t act on her threat if I don’t go. She has also informed me that Kolt is my son.
“What?” he muttered, scanning that last part again to see if he had read it correctly.
She has plans for him. I told you this same thing in France when I thought it was my other son, Joaquin, whom she wanted. If you see Kolt, warn him and Frederica.
If I don’t make it out of this, please send word to my wife. On the back are instructions on how to find my home.
He flipped the letter over and saw the directions. He turned the page and read on.
I trust very few people in this life, Robert. You’re certainly one of them. You are my closest mate, and in case we never meet again in this life, I just want to tell you that I’m a lucky bastard to have known you.
Your friend,
Pierce
Through the letter, it felt as though Pierce had spoken to him from beyond the grave, and it nearly brought him to his knees with grief.
Penelope took his hand and placed something in it. “They were on top of the letter.”
Robert lowered his tear-filled eyes to the two wedding bands resting in the palm of his hand.
* * *
“Prime Minister, please,” Archie pleaded. “I must be allowed to speak to the prince.”
“He will not receive you right now, Mr. Norwich. In fact, you should count your blessings that he hasn’t thrown you and your sister in jail.”
Shortly after Archie and Clover arrived at the palace, they learned the devastating news about their cousin’s condition. Prime Minister John Russell had secretly spoken to Albert, which turned out to be about him and Clover. The prime minister then requested they join the prince in another room, where the prince interrogated them about their involvement with Landcross. Their past association with him was nothing new to Victoria and her husband, which led to the prince questioning them about the outlaw. Albert was no fool, and the siblings did not try to play him as one. The two of them confessed to everything. Prince Albert was so upset that it surprised Archie that they weren’t being put to death on the spot. Instead, he and Clover were placed in the state apartments at the palace, and now they were unable to leave until further notice. Archie waited until morning to request an audience with the prince, but Russell came in his stead.
“My lord,” Archie went on, “I only need a few moments. Landcross surely did not intend to harm the Queen and—”
“Were you there?” the prime minister asked tersely.
“Sorry?”
“At the theater. Were you there to see what happened?”
“Uh, no, my lord, but—”
“Then you cannot possibly say what that rogue did or did not do.”
“I can claim his innocence because I know him. He isn’t the sort of person to commit murder.”
“You best start praying, Mr. Norwich,” Russell cut in again. “Pray that our Queen
recovers, for if she does not, God help you and your sister. Good day to you.”
With that, he marched out of the room. If it wasn’t for the guards, Archie would have chased him out into the corridor.
Archie was at a loss as to what to do. He decided to take the prime minister’s advice and pray for Victoria’s recovery, pray for his and Clover’s freedom, and pray that Landcross was found innocent before he was taken to the gallows.
* * *
Nona knocked on her mother’s cottage door. In her hand, she held a plate of food.
“Mère, I have brought your dinner.”
To no one’s surprise, there was no answer. She only saw her mother sometimes in the morning when Élie went for her walks. Other than that, she stayed in her hut. Nona would bring food and leave it on the doorstep. The trays would be gone, so it gave her no real cause to worry. Her curiosity, however, drove her to investigate.
The single-room hut was dark, save for a candle burning inside an old gold-colored metal lantern hanging from the corner. Her mother sat in the middle of the room. There was an unwelcoming stench in the place.
“Maman?”
“Bonsoir, Nona.”
Nona came around to face her. She sat with her legs crossed and eyes closed. To Nona, she appeared to be a completely different person. Her hair was unkempt and hanging down freely, silver and grey strands lying over her face. The bones of her cheeks pressed against her skin so tightly that it seemed the flesh was about to split apart, and her closed eyes sat deep within the dark shadowy pools of her sockets. Her dress—a simple patchwork gown—had not been washed, or even changed, in days.
She looks dreadful, Nona thought despairingly.
“I . . . I brought you dinner,” she said.
“Set it on the table, s’il te plaît.”
Nona turned to place the plate on the table near the window when she stopped and gasped. The previous plates of food that Nona thought her mother had been eating hadn’t been touched. The fruits were shriveled up and the cuts of meat spoiled. Flies flew around the buffet of decay. Nona, feeling her stomach churn, covered her mouth at the sight of it.
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