Although he didn't normally run errands for criminals, he would comply with her request and walk over to check on the sister. He could see how much it meant to her, and he knew her sister's welfare was in the center of her concerns. It would be a shame if the sister suffered as well, but crime had long tentacles and it affected everyone around.
At his desk, he gathered all the notes he had on the case and put them in a folder to be filed. The case was closed, the evidence firm and the perpetrator was even of mind to plead guilty. An uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach, but his desk-clearing was disturbed by the arrival of Lord Stansom, which was unusual as the man typically called people to his office.
"I hear you caught her," he said with a beaming smile. "Well done, man. I knew you would eventually. I hear she was caught red-handed as well. Excellent."
"She was caught on the premises," Rowan confirmed and Lord Stansom clapped him on the back.
"I'm glad we can put this one to bed. Bad apple that one. Hopefully we won't be seeing her for a while."
Rowan nodded and Lord Stansom took his leave, off to report that the new Metropolitan Police Force succeeded in protecting the good people of London to his peers in Parliament. Sitting down, Rowan stared at his desk. It was an outcome that had to happen—not only for it being the right thing to do, but also because it was a political measure of how effective this new force was. She probably never realized the broader importance of her capture.
Rowan still didn't feel the pleasure he normally did at nabbing a criminal—everything around this felt uncomfortable. If he did this errand for her, maybe he would be more of mind to put this whole thing behind him. Getting up, he decided to get it over with. It wouldn't be pleasant, but he wasn't a man to back down from any task because it was unpleasant—he wouldn’t be very effective in the job if he did.
Taking a breath, he knocked sharply on the door of the Woodford house and waited. After a while, the older woman answered and her eyes sharpened when she saw him. Stepping forward, she slapped him hard and Rowan closed his eyes with annoyance. He could haul her in for that, but he would let it be.
"You horrid, horrid man," she accused, pointing at him. He refused to defend his actions. This wasn't the first time the criminal's family had had a go at him—it was also part of the job.
"Who is it?" another voice said, but the older woman didn't respond. The younger, the sister, appeared at the door. "What does he want?" There was clearly anxiety in her voice and her eyes were red from crying.
"Never mind, Millie, I will deal with him. You sit down and have your tea." It looked like the young girl wanted to argue, but relented, leaving as quickly as she'd appeared. The tension in the house was palpable, as would be expected, he supposed. "Haven't you done enough?" the woman said once the younger one had retreated.
"I am enquiring on behalf of Miss Woodford."
She wasn't convinced, and stared daggers at him, her mouth drawn so tight the skin around it had gone white. And his cheek still stung from the slap, but he'd had much worse. She didn't want to speak to him, but her duty to Miss Woodford overrode her disgust facing him.
"Miss Woodford wants to know if the fiancé is standing by the girl," he said.
The woman elevated her head a little more. "He appears to be," she said after a while, then closed the door on him. Sighing, Rowan turned back to the street. He needed to eat before he made his way back to Newgate.
Finding a chop house, he took an empty stall and waited to be served, unable to entirely shake that he felt like a pariah. Perhaps he just needed to get on with the Allerson murder, where serious crime had occurred and the people truly suffering were the family of the victim.
The stench of Newgate was something one would never forget and it stuck to the people in here. Walking down the hall, he wondered what effect it would have on her. A stint in prison was never something that added positive things to a person's life. A twist of discomfort knotted his stomach, as it always did when he came here. He hated this place, but that was the point—it was supposed to be a horrible place.
It least he'd gotten her a better cell and regular meals. He had to pay for it, something he'd never done for anyone before, but for some reason he'd done it, suspecting that the other women in Miss Woodford's family had to distance themselves as far from her as they could, and were also probably unaware of how the system worked and which palms needed greasing.
The guard unlocked the door and pulled it back for him. She was standing when he entered, having obviously been sitting in the chair just prior. She looked calm, still dressed in the black clothes she'd worn when he caught her. It would do her no good being presented in court in that garb, even if she was pleading guilty. Another wave of discomfort hit him, and he wondered if maybe he was coming down with something.
"I spoke to the woman at your house, and she said the fiancé appears to be standing by her."
She visibly relaxed, almost swaying on her feet. Nodding, she sat down, putting her fingers up to her forehead. "It was worth it then," she said.
Wanting to argue, he didn't quite know what to say. "The cost to you will be high."
"But I have gained more. I suppose what I really stole was a future for my sister she wouldn't otherwise have."
Shifting uncomfortably, he knew that partially she was right. Things went really badly for unsupported women, particularly if they weren't skilled at fending for themselves on the street, although there were those that were supremely equipped for it—not perhaps the gentle girls of quality, who had none of the requisite skills—although Miss Woodford had utilized an uncommon level of skill.
"Did you find a barrister?"
"I am not going to contest the charges." She looked at him. "To start with, I was only collecting my mother's things," she smiled, her eyes looking tired.
"Have you slept?"
"Naturally, I am a bit worried at the moment. It is interfering with my sleep."
"You should still get a barrister," he said. "They could influence where you are sentenced, and it would be better to be sent to one of the smaller prisons outside London—they tend to be more comfortable. A barrister could request it."
"Is that normal?"
"No."
They sat in silence for a moment, and Rowan felt unsure what to say. "You'll be okay," he said. "It won't be pleasant, but you are adaptable. You will come out of this." Although he wasn't sure what to. Her sister, if she married this man, wouldn't be allowed to have any communication with her. She would have no position in society, and nowhere to go, but then he'd seen her take on challenges with a cool head, outwitting him more than once. Suddenly, he couldn't stay any longer, feeling like he had to get out of there. Rising out of his chair, he nodded to take his leave.
"I don't blame you," she said. Rowan felt his heart twist. "I recognize that you did your job admirably and I commend you for your professionalism." Standing, she held out her hand for him. He'd actually prefer it if she railed at him, swung at him with claws out. He'd experienced that before. This calm acceptance was much more disconcerting. Part of him wanted her to still fight for a chance of freedom, to beat the charges and walk away—even though it was an unrealistic outcome, but she accepted her culpability. The only thing he could realistically hope for was that the court show her clemency. With her youth and birth, there was the possibility that her sentence would be light, even maybe mere months.
Groaning inwardly, he accepted her handshake, taking her warm, small hand in his. He actually wanted to pull her into an embrace, wishing he could make it so she didn't need to show so much bravery—it was hard to watch, especially knowing he'd done this to her.
Chapter 24:
* * *
Serephina was stiff and sore in the morning. She'd slept, but had been cold. The blanket was thin and the little cell never warmed. Her trial was coming that day she'd been told. Sitting on the little cot, she stared out at the little square of blue sky. The sound of a bowl of porridge sliding in through the bott
om of the door made her jump with fright.
The porridge was unsweetened and gloopy like glue, but she had nothing else and she was hungry, unsure what would happen that day. It would be the start of a new life, a lesser one, but perhaps that was inevitable and she'd only been delaying it with her actions. There was part of her that was relieved—everything would be known and there would be no more lies, no more deception. It was finished.
The porridge came without a spoon, so she had to use the tool she had for opening windows. It was unsuitable for the task, but it was the only thing she had if she didn't want to use her fingers—besides, she wouldn't need it for its intended purpose anymore.
An hour later a package came. The jailer came in and left it on the table without saying a word. It was wrapped in paper, and it was soft. Opening it, she found one of her dresses and a coat. A note sat on top of it. It was from Mrs. Rushmore saying how very distraught she was and that she would do her best to see Millie right.
Changing, Serephina donned the dress, glad that she wouldn't be going to court in the garb that clearly stated she was up to no good. She had no brush, but she tried to straighten her hair.
The jailers came shortly after, replacing the manacles around her wrists and urging her out and down into a courtyard where a walkway led to the Old Bailey, where she was left to sit on a bench with other persons waiting their fate. Two men stood guard at the door, ensuring no one tried to escape. The whole room was quiet as everyone nervously awaited their turn, some looking almost nauseous with fear. The boy she'd seen in the other cell was shown in and sat next to her. He was disturbingly young, maybe eleven. His face and clothes were dirty and he wore a little brown cap. As sorry as she felt for herself, the idea that a little boy was facing the judge was incomprehensible. "Are you frightened?" she asked.
"Nah," the boy said bravely. Did they really put children in prison? It seemed inhuman. "Gonna join my Da in Australia," the boy said with a beaming smile.
"You father is in Australia?"
"Transported a year ago. Says I should join him. Got a letter and everything. Only way of getting there." He pointed up to the stairs leading up out of the room.
"Did you get caught on purpose?"
"Practically had to wait for the clods. Amazing they catch anyone as slow and fat as they are," he said dismissively, pointing to the jailers, who roared for quiet.
Serephina had never realized anyone would be transported on purpose, but she supposed for a child, they would be better off following their parent than on their own on the mean streets of London. She was still sorry a child had to make such choices. From what she'd heard the voyage to Australia was awful and people perished on it. But she was glad that the boy was pursuing a goal instead of being distraught, frightened and facing cruel justice. She wasn't sure she could handle having to watch a frightened child being given justice by a bunch of hardened men. "You are very brave," she said.
"Nah, nothing to worry about. What you here for?"
"Stealing."
"Me too," he said brightly, like they had something in common. "Wallets mostly. You?"
"Jewelry."
The boy looked impressed and Serephina felt like laughing at the strange conversation. The boy seemed genuinely proud of his achievements, which was such a very strange thing. Then she couldn't stop herself laughing, because she just needed to release some of the tension cramping her whole body. Others stared at her like she was mad, and they might have a point—until the jailer roared at her to shut up.
Men came for people, pulling them up a set of stairs were bright light and noise escaped down when the door opened. The courtroom was right above them, Serephina realized and suddenly she was so nervous she didn't know what to do with herself—her nerves were getting the better of her and she had to stop herself from crying.
Her name was called and her heart began to race. She had to face this and reassured herself that it would end. Fighting an urge to refuse, she followed the men when they came for her. She stumbled on the stairs, but they held her upright as they almost carried her into the bright light of the noisy courtroom. The light stung her eyes and it took her a moment to see. Every space of the gallery was packed with people, and she spotted reporters as well, who eyed her curiously.
She was pushed into an enclosed box with a bench and she felt everyone's eyes on her, burning holes in her back. The manacles were heavy around her wrists and she felt their coldness in her lap as she sat down.
Looking around frantically, she locked eyes with Mr. Cox, and she breathed a sigh of relief, feeling better for seeing him, even though he looked cold and distant. She felt better knowing he was there as she trusted the advice he'd given her. A man in a black cloak and white wig spoke to her and she assumed it was the barrister she had engaged. The man smiled tightly. "How will you plead?"
"Guilty, I think," she said.
He chewed his cheek for a moment, considering her answer. "You were caught on the premises. It might be worth throwing yourself on the mercy of the court. The way you were caught, it is unlikely you would not receive a guilty verdict no matter what you plead."
"I was trying to protect my family."
"As are they all," he smiled tightly. "I'll see what I can do for you."
"Thank you."
"Shall we get on with it," the judge dressed in a red cloak roared to the courtroom. "Next."
A bailiff stepped forward. "The Crown versus Miss Serephina Woodford. Charge of housebreaking and theft."
The prosecutor then rose and outlined the case. The courtroom had gone silent as they listened to her crimes, and the journalists scribbled furiously.
"Yes, yes," the judge said dismissively as the prosecutor started repeating himself, impassionedly pledging how distressing her activities had been for the finest circles in London. How she, of such appalling character, had used the invitations she'd received to identify the targets for her devious activities. "How do you plead?"
Her barrister turned to her, nodding his head to her, telling her to stand. Looking around, she sought out reassurance from Mr. Cox. There was still a part of her that wanted to deny what she'd done and try to convince everyone that she was not responsible for the devious activities described by the prosecutor, because they did sound terrible the way he’d described them. But then she wasn't raised to lie and she wasn't raised to not own up to her own actions, even the ones she was ashamed of. "Unfortunately the charges are true," she said to the perfect silence of the court. Noise broke out and some were screaming abuse at her. Something even hit her skirt.
The judge banged the gavel repeatedly, demanding silence. It took a while, but the courtroom finally quieted.
The judge turned his cold, hard eyes back on her. "It seems you have been engaging in these activities for quite a while."
"Yes," she confirmed holding her head high, hoping the shake of fear in whole body wasn't too visible. Her mouth had gone completely dry and her hands were sweating cold.
"You've terrorized the houses in London, Miss Woodford," the judge said harshly. "You've broken the sanctity of persons’ homes and stolen things you had absolutely no right to, contravening your birth and education. More was expected of you, Miss Woodford. Your actions have been deplorable; you have shamed your family and your name, and the good people of this city do not need persons of your character roaming the streets. Due to the nature of your crimes and the consistency of your offending, I hereby sentence you to seven years transportation."
Serephina blinked repeated as the judgement sunk in. She was being transported, to Australia, exiled from her country and taken far away. She would never see her sister again, or see the only world she knew. Holding her head up, she straightened her spine. A tear escaped, but she refused to acknowledge it. She'd always known there would be a price to pay, and now it was here. Like every other undesirable, she was to be ejected from the country of her birth, thrown away and forgotten.
The gavel banged. "Next," the judge roare
d and just like that, the trial and the life she’d known was over. A jailer tugged on her arm. Desperately she searched out Mr. Cox again, but his face looked drawn and frozen, and he refused to look at her. Even he was rejecting her, she realized. The cold, harsh judgment of the people around her sunk in. Some of them were clapping, or laughing at her fate. Her speech made it obvious which class she came from and many liked seeing one of privilege being recognized for the thieves they were. She read the paper, so she knew what some people thought of her class and the wealth they kept to themselves. And she was guilty, having stolen in a very literal way, to maintain a lifestyle most of the people here could never aspire to.
She was dragged down into the blackness and again she couldn't see anything for a moment.
"What'd you get?" the boy asked as she was being taken past.
"Transportation," she called back.
"I'll see you there then," he said brightly.
As the jailers walked her back to Newgate, a tiny smile curved her lips. The only reassurance she had now was a young boy, who saw this as a great adventure. Perhaps she would have one friend in this, although she was too old to see it with the eyes of a child, a very brave child. She only felt fear and sadness of the loss of her life. Perhaps she should take guidance from the young boy and try to see this as an adventure, she told herself, when her insides felt like they were falling into a dark, endless pit.
Chapter 25:
* * *
A fist connected with his cheek and the world swung sharply, landing him in the muck. His ears were ringing, but he staggered up and faced his opponent, taking a swing and connected brutally with the man's ribs. The large man howled with pain and staggered back, recouping for another assault. Rowan was too tired to hold his arms up defensively, so the large man, with the powerful fists scored another point, knocking Rowan to the ground again. His mouth was full of blood, but he got up yet again to the cheer of the crowd.
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