She'd used his strength against him and he'd fallen for it. Again, he reiterated how quick thinking she was, as he got up, ignoring the pain in his side. Looking up, she was gone and he leaped up the stairs, taking them three at a time. When reaching the landing, he couldn't see her, so he stopped and tried to listen. She would access the roof, likely the way she'd come. Running down the corridor, he accessed the servants' staircase to the upper story.
She only had seconds on him, maybe ten. Running down the main corridor, he peered in every room there. The house had been completely cleared. Finally, he saw her, climbing out of a window, but he rushed in and caught her foot before she was out of sight, which was necessary, as he couldn't climb through the small opening.
Clasping around her ankle, he drew her back in. She kicked him hard in the chest, almost succeeding in pushing him over, but he refused to relent, drawing her to him and wrapping his arm firmly around her thigh as he pulled her in through the window again. The weight of her forced him off balance and he crashed to the floor with her sprawled across him.
Quickly, she scrambled off him and the material of her black breeches slipped out of his fingers. Cursing, he got to his feet again, but she had already disappeared out of the room and he pursued her with every bit of speed he had. She flew down the hall and jumped gracefully over the staircase banister, taking the bulk of it in one neat jump, but it was a trick that two could play and he followed suit, dropping the open space and landing awkwardly at the base of the stair. Her lithe body was definitely better at this than his, but he had determination and he wasn't giving up. Catching sight of her, he ran down the hall where the owners' bedroom were. She'd seemingly given up on the roof, but then she might not know where she was going.
It didn't really matter, there were bobbies everywhere, hidden along the street as well as on the roof. Chasing after her, he was gaining on her again. Again, she used his momentum against him as she quickly ducked sideways and he couldn’t stop his trajectory fast enough to follow.
If he had time to think about it, he'd have to admit that he loved every moment of this chase. The risk of her getting away only drove him harder. He would win.
Doubling back, he made it into a room which was dark and still. There was no sound, but there was an open door across the room into a smaller room. The moment he approached it, he knew it was a mistake, seeing as she slipped out from under a table behind him and back out the door he'd come in through. He almost had to chuckle. She really was getting the better of him.
The circular staircase was too large to jump, so she made her way down the stairs as fast as she could, pushing her slim legs to take the steps. Again, he took them three at a time, at speed, which was the quality she’d used against him repeatedly. His sheer desire to catch her was the thing that detracted him from achieving the goal again and again. But then with his speed, as he hadn't set a foot wrong down the staircase yet, she wasn't going to make it to the door in time. He would get her. Realizing this, she changed course and headed toward the kitchen.
He could just let her go; the bobbies would get her, but it went against the grain. He wanted to be the one that caught her, to be the one concluding this.
The narrow staircase of the kitchen was easy as he could plant his hands on the side-walls and jump down in one go, crashing through the door into the warm space of the kitchen. A pot flew at him and he had to brace himself. "Don't make it worse for yourself," he yelled. He could clearly see her eyes by the light of the kitchen fire, but her mouth was covered with a handkerchief. He had to establish her identity, but she threw another pot at him, acknowledging that he had to take care, because this room was full of knives and if she so much as picked one up, she would hang.
He dove across the table for her, knocking her to the ground. A grunt from her told him that it had bruised her and he was sorry, but he needed to stop her in case she did something stupid. She struggled to get up, but he held tight. "Let go," she said, fear lacing her voice.
"Hardly. Game's up, Miss Woodford."
Still struggling, she hit him in the chest as she tried to escape his clutches, catching in the spot hurt by landing on the stairs, but despite the pain, he refused to loosen his grip. Scrambling to get hold of her and the fists she was aiming at him, he held her down with all his weight, placing his lower arm on her braid, immobilizing her head. "I have you now," he said, not quite believing that he did. She tried to push against him, but his weight was bearing down on her—she could not shift him. They were stuck in an indelicate situation, her legs wrapped around him and he could see fury in her eyes. Forcing her arm behind her back, he held her in place, freeing his other hand, which he brought up to her cheek to push down the handkerchief covering her mouth, revealing all her delicate, rosy skin and the lush lips that had caused him so much trouble. "I have you now." She drew breath wildly from the chase as he held her in place underneath him. Her identity was established and nothing would change that, even if she escaped, she was still wanted.
She looked utterly beautiful in her fury and shock, and he fought a strong urge to claim his prize. As much as he felt the impulse, it wasn't his right. Footsteps were coming down the stairs, rushing to his assistance and bobbies burst through the door. Still, he refused to look away from the eyes that were growing more fearful by the second.
It was over. She was caught and the chase was done. A coldness was descending as men came and grabbed her arms. Pushing himself off her, he let them take her. It was no longer the two of them locked in a battle of wills. The war had been won and she was vanquished.
They took her, led her away and Rowan stayed where he was, crouching on the floor, recovering from the heat still coursing through his veins, unsure he was ready for it to be over—but he had no choice. The heights of their game followed by a cold wave of reality. She was being taken away.
Getting up, he followed, feeling like he had to see to her. The bobbies led her to the police wagon, where they handled her into the back, locking the barred door behind her. They weren't rough, but they were adamant.
Walking up to the door, he peered inside. Her eyes sought his. She was terrified and he wished he could alleviate some of her fear, but there wasn't much he could say. The things she was about to experience would not be fun and the life she had known was over. "You won't be hurt," he said.
"What will happen to me?" Her voice sounded distant and thin.
"You will be taken to Newgate, awaiting your trial. It will happen quickly. You’ll need a barrister to plea your case. Do you know of one?"
She stared at him, like she was trying to understand. She had no idea what was to come, while he'd been through this process many times before.
The wagon started with a jolt and rolled away. He watched it go, almost wishing he could protect her from this, but he couldn't. She'd committed crimes and this was the result. He wasn't responsible for her predicament—even if he felt that way. The feeling would pass. Like now, there were times when he felt inordinately sorry for the persons he caught. It was part of the job, and his duty.
Everyone dispersed, even the shocked onlookers, and the street returned to its normal business, as if nothing had happened.
Chapter 22:
* * *
The darkness surrounded her and she listened to the sounds outside as the wagon moved steadily toward her fate. Serephina tried to handle the sheer panic she felt. It had happened, but it felt completely surreal. She didn't know how she felt. It wasn't until the policemen came that she felt true fear. For some reason she hadn't felt fear when Mr. Cox was chasing her, just a desire to persevere—to show him up.
It was a very different story now—she was terrified. Controlling her rampant breath, she tried to think through the situation. She'd been caught—she'd always known this was a possibility. Maybe she'd even been prepared to pay for the things she'd done, always suspecting that there had to be a price to pay. Looking back, she'd never really expected that she'd get away scot-free—it
seemed wrong that she would. The world demanded its justice and she'd always accepted that. It didn't mean this wasn't beyond frightening.
It was too dark to see anything, so she closed her eyes and tried to think of something pleasant—warm summer days and her sister laughing. Mrs. Rushmore would know what happened when she hadn't returned by dawn. Serephina knew Mrs. Rushmore would take care of Millie, whatever came. The only thing that couldn't happen was that Captain Heresworth rejected Millie and broke their engagement. It would all be for nothing if he did, and he did have cause now. News could get out and the Woodford name would be notorious all over the country in a matter of days. Millie was too well-known to assume another identity, but she could perhaps disappear into a marriage.
If was unfortunate that her capture couldn't have been delayed until after the wedding and Millie was secure, but Mr. Cox's determination had forced his will.
Finally the wagon stopped and Serephina felt another moment of panic. She was alright in this little wagon, wishing she could just stay here and avoid what was to come, but the men came, opened the door and reached in for her, dragging her out of the wagon. After placing shackles on her wrists, they led her into a large stone building designed without an ounce of warmth or comfort.
She was taken to a room where a man sat behind a desk, lamps brightening the austere walls and the policemen spoke to each other about her charges and what cell she should be put in. Her input wasn't required at all, but one of the constables had his hand around her upper arm in case she tried to escape. Panicked, she tried to think of a way, knowing that it was pointless.
"This way," a man said, urging her toward a locked door. which looked like it could hold back an army. They were neither kind nor unkind, just efficient as the man grabbed a lantern and led her through the door.
The smell of the place assaulted her, making her stop, which seemed to cause some concern amongst the policemen, who pushed her along. It smelled like sewage and sickness—a concoction of the worst odors imaginable. Serephina involuntarily tried to cover her nose to the overwhelming stench. "You get used to it," the man said with a chuckle. "You'll stop smelling it after a while." But she wasn't convinced.
They walked up stairs and passed cells where she could hear people inside—coughing, snoring, moaning and crying. She couldn't believe she was going to be put in this place. It seemed so completely unreal. Her mind refused to process what was happening.
One of the men stopped and pulled out a key, unlocking a heavy door with a small barred window around head height. "Welcome to Newgate," he said and pulled the heavy door open to a black space. The only thing she could see was a small window where moonlight shone on the bars. "In you go."
Her body refused to comply and they ended up pushing her in, locking the door behind her. She heard the key turn and the locking mechanism move. The cell smelled terribly of human waste and she couldn't see a thing. Standing where she was, she put her hand up to her mouth to stop herself from crying out in despair.
It took her a moment to understand that there were others in the cell; she could hear them breathing, but she couldn't see anything in the blackness. There were more than a couple, there were quite a few people in the cell. They could hurt her and she had no protection against them, but no one seemed to move or notice her.
Tears started running down her cheeks and she stopped herself from sobbing. No one said anything, not noticing or not caring that yet another person had been shoved into the cell. She wrapped her arms around her, too afraid to move. She would likely stumble on someone if she did, and she had no idea what kind of people were in this cell with her.
Instead, she stood where she was, eventually crouching down, unknowing what was on the floor underneath her, staying either crouching or standing for hours until dawn finally crept through the tiny, unglazed window to the outside. Dawn finally revealed that there were people along the entire perimeter of the cell, except in one corner where a bucket of waste was overflowing. A baby woke and its mother started to feed it. A few of the people were old and their clothes ragged, a few women, clearly prostitutes, a couple of men, and a young boy, seemingly on his own.
The floor was filthy and there was nowhere for her to sit, and Serephina didn't know what to do with herself.
"Sit down, girl," one of the older men said. "It does my nerves you hovering like that."
She didn't want to, but finally, she shifted back to the door and crouched down leaning on it. Burying her head in her knees, she tried to think of something to distract herself with. In all her bravery in thinking she was prepared to deal with the consequences of her actions, she hadn't imagined this and all she wanted was to escape from it.
A few of the people started chattering, but Serephina kept to her own thoughts, still tucked into a ball, leaning on the door. Fleas were biting her and burrowed into her woollen clothes, which were at least warm in this icy place.
The door yanked open and she spilled out. "Not a good place to sit, woman," a uniformed man roared at her. "Woodford," he called to the room.
Serephina stood up. "That's me."
"This way," he said as if in a terrible temper. Serephina moved as the man walked beside her.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Someone wants to have a little word with you," the man said with the human warmth of an iron pike. He pushed her along and Serephina was fearful while at the same time glad to be out of the horrible little cell. Stopping and unlocking another cell door, he shoved her roughly in. This cell was empty except for a table and chair, and a small cot along one of the walls, which looked inviting as she hadn't slept a wink.
She wondered what had happened, grateful to be alone for a moment, but it didn't last as a key was shoved into the lock and twisted. To her relief, Mr. Cox appeared through the door and she was glad to see a familiar face, even though he looked drawn and unhappy—not that she'd ever really seen him happy.
"Come," he said and she didn't know what he meant. He held a key in his hand and it took her a moment to realize he would take her shackles off. His fingers were warm against her skin and she realized how cold she must be, feeling relief as the heavy weight came off her wrists. Serephina rubbed her them, trying to soothe the bruising and get the blood flowing to her fingers.
"Is this my cell?" she asked hopefully.
"Yes, until your hearing."
"And I will be alone here?"
"Yes."
She felt like crying again, but she suppressed it. At least she didn't have to go back to that other awful cell, she realized with gratitude.
"Have you slept?" he asked.
"Not yet," she said, not wanting to complain about how awful the other cell was. She suspected he knew.
"You'll get food here too," he said. "More than bread."
She nodded, wondering if he had arranged it for her. "Thank you," she said, not knowing if there was something to thank him for. He snorted, refusing to look at her.
"Your trial will be next week. Do you have a barrister?"
Serephina felt dread creep up her spine. She didn't want to think about it. "No."
"I would recommend Mr. Alexander Parsons. He's one of the better ones."
"What will happen to me?" she said after a moment of silence.
"I don't know—depends on the judge. Yours is Swensen and he is a little unpredictable, but he can be merciful, depending on how you plea. How are you planning to plea? You don't have to tell me, but you should discuss it with your barrister."
"I'm not sure if there is any point denying what I did," she said.
He didn't say anything, but the corner of his mouth ticked slightly. "I won't deceive you by telling you that you'll walk away from this, but it won't be the rest of your life either. What you have done isn't a hanging offense—not in this day and age."
Exhaling, Serephina breathed a sigh of relief, trusting his confirmation of her hopes. "How long?"
"I don't know. Five years maybe. It's hard to tell. M
aybe transportation."
"Transportation," Serephina repeated, trying to take in what he was saying. She knew criminals were transported, but had never heard of it happening to anyone. It seemed such an abstract concept.
"And if I get transported, I can come back?"
"After your sentence is served."
Crossing her arms around her, she looked around the tiny cell. "Mr. Cox," she said. "Would you possibly do something for me?"
"What?"
"I need to know if my sister's fiancé is going to stand by her," she said, stepping closer. "Please find out for me. I know it's an imposition, but I need to know—so very much is riding on it." She felt tears encroaching on her sight. She needed to know if all she'd done was worth it. "I need to know if my sister is safe." Searching his eyes, she beseeched him, until he nodded. "Thank you."
"I have to go," he said, looking distant, still she was sorry to see him leave. The door shut behind him and she turned into the emptiness of the little cell. This could be her life for the next five years, she thought to herself. Curling up on the little cot, she slept, shutting out the sheer turmoil her life had turned into.
Chapter 23:
* * *
Rowan's side ached as he walked up the stairs to his office, but it didn't compare to how bad he felt generally. He'd hated seeing Miss Woodford in that cell, looking lost and frightened. It wasn't his fault. He wasn't responsible for criminals being caught. If it wasn't him, it would be someone else. He represented an institution, and it prevailed. And it wasn't like it was the end of the world—it might be from her perspective as she would never again have a place in the society she'd existed in.
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