Chapter 1 #3
Governor Thomson was already on his way out the door, evidently anxious to have the transaction completed.
But the lovely Miss MacPhail hesitated.
“I will send my maid to attend to you as quickly as possible,” she promised Haydon. “Is there anything special you would like?”
“Do not take your eyes off the lad until you are certain he will stay with you—otherwise he will be gone by morning.”
Her dark eyes widened. Obviously she had expected him to ask for something simple and self-indulgent, like whiskey, or perhaps that a particular dish be prepared for him.
“There is one more thing.”
She waited expectantly.
“I would like you to believe that I am innocent.”
The warder snorted with amusement. “All ye murderers want the world to think ye’re sweet an’ pure as bairns—especially before ye’re due to have yer neck snapped.”
“Why does it matter to you what I believe?” she asked, ignoring the warder’s jeer.
Haydon regarded her intently. “It just does.”
She was silent a moment, contemplating his request. “I’m afraid I do not know the facts of your case, sir, and therefore can pass no judgment.” Her voice was soft and laced with remorse, as if she would have far preferred to tell him that she believed him.
He nodded, suddenly feeling immeasurably weary. “Of course.” He closed his eyes.
“Come, then, Miss MacPhail,” said Governor Thomson, who was waiting impatiently for her at the cell door. “Let us have this matter of the lad settled.”
“I will have my maid prepare something special for you,” Genevieve promised Haydon, perhaps hoping that he would be somewhat consoled by this.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Then she will do whatever she can to see to your comfort,” she persisted.
“Fine. Thank you.”
He sensed rather than saw her hesitate, as if there was something more she wished to say to him.
And then she left the cell, leaving him to face his final hours alone in the frigid darkness.
THE CONTRACT IS THE SAME AS THOSE TO WHICH YOU have previously agreed, except, of course, I have included the particulars of the lad’s sentence,” said Governor Thomson, laying a sheet of paper on the desk before her.
“I’m certain you will find it is all in order.
” It was clear he was most anxious to have the document signed and receive his payment.
“I’m sure it is,” Genevieve replied. “But it would set a poor example if I were to sign it without reading it first. One must always read a document thoroughly before putting one’s signature on it,” she instructed Jack. With that she began to carefully read the contract.
“Well, now, lad, this is a fortuitous day for you, is it not?” asked Governor Thomson, lamely attempting to fill the awkward silence.
Jack said nothing.
Genevieve glanced up at the boy. He was staring intently at the passage beyond the doorway of the governor’s office, apparently transfixed by Warder Sims, who was busy piling scummy porridge bowls onto a heavy wooden tray.
Perhaps, Genevieve reflected, the boy was considering how close he had come to being beaten to death by the horrid man.
“Jack, you must respond when someone asks you a question,” she instructed gently.
Jack blinked and looked at her in confusion. “What?”
“In polite conversation we don’t say ‘what,’ we say ‘pardon me,’” Genevieve corrected, deciding this was as good a time as any to begin work on the boy’s manners.
He regarded her as if she were crazy. “What are you talkin’ about?”
“Governor Thomson was speaking to you,” she explained, deciding to put the issue of “what” versus “pardon me” aside for the moment.
“What did he say?” he asked, not bothering to look at the governor.
Later she would explain that it was rude to speak of someone who was present as if he weren’t there. “He asked you if you felt lucky to be leaving this place with me,” she said, realizing he would likely not understand the word “fortuitous.”
Jack shrugged. “Anythin’s better than this pisshole.”
Governor Thomson’s gray brows shot up and his face reddened with indignation. “Why, you ungrateful little—”
“You’re quite right, Jack,” interjected Genevieve, untroubled by either the lad’s surly indifference or his colorful choice of words. If anything, she admired him for his honesty. “Anything is indeed better than here.” She smiled at him, then proceeded to study the contract.
Looking bored, Jack slumped in his chair and began to bang the heels of his filthy, worn shoes against the elegantly carved legs.
“Here now, stop that, you’ll scratch the wood!” protested Governor Thomson.
Jack shrugged. “It’s just a chair.”
“It may be just a chair to you, you filthy ruffian, but it is solid mahogany and cost more than you shall ever earn honestly in your entire life!” the governor snapped.
Oozing defiance, Jack kicked the chair again.
“Why don’t you wait in the hall, Jack,” suggested Genevieve, trying to avoid an altercation between the two. “The governor and I will have completed our business shortly.”
Needing no further encouragement, Jack stomped out the door and began to pace restlessly up and down the corridor.
“You’ll have your hands full with that one, mark my words,” huffed Governor Thomson.
“I wager he’ll be back to his lawless, pilfering ways and in here again before the month is through.
My recommendation, Miss MacPhail, is that you take a firm position with him—with a regular beating, just to keep him obliging. ”
“I am not in the habit of beating my children, Governor Thomson,” Genevieve informed him coolly.
“The Lord tells us children must be beaten,” Governor Thomson argued. “‘He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him.’ Let the lad know in no uncertain terms that you own him now. If he gives you one whit of trouble, send him right back to me.”
“What did he steal?”
“Pardon?”
“You mentioned in your letter to me that the lad had been found guilty of the crime of stealing. What did he steal?”
Governor Thomson pulled a pair of spectacles from his jacket and placed them on his nose before opening a file upon his desk.
“He broke into a home and stole one pair of shoes, one blanket, one round of cheese, and a bottle of whiskey,” he reported gravely.
“He was later found asleep under the blanket in a neighbor’s coach house.
The whiskey and cheese were all but gone, the stolen shoes were on his feet, and the lad was thoroughly drunk.
” He regarded her seriously over the rims of his spectacles.
“I’m afraid there was never any question of his culpability in the matter. ”
“And for the crime of being cold, hungry, and without decent shoes, he was to be imprisoned, lashed, and sent to reformatory school.” Genevieve’s tone was flagrantly bitter.
“We live in a lawful society, Miss MacPhail. Where would we be if everyone who was cold and hungry decided they could just walk into someone else’s home or shop and help themselves to whatever they wanted?”
“No child should ever be that desperate,” she argued. “We need laws to protect our children from starving, so that they don’t have to resort to stealing food and clothing to survive.”
“He did not starve while he was here, nor would he have starved at the reformatory school,” Governor Thomson pointed out.
“Regardless of whether you had decided to take him or not, his arrest was the best thing that could have happened to him. It usually is for strays like him. He claims his parents are dead and that he has no home or kin who might take him in. At least in a reformatory school he would have a roof over his head, a blanket to cover him at night, and three meals a day.”
“Boys cannot live on thin gruel and water, and stealing some cheese and a pair of shoes scarcely merits being lashed and locked in a freezing cell with a murderer,” retorted Genevieve.
“As for our precious reformatory schools,” she continued mockingly, “they are little more than a place where children are abused and forced to slave under intolerable conditions. If, somehow, they find the will and strength necessary to survive, they are then tossed onto the street with no appreciable skills or money, and callously told to get on with their lives. Which, of course, leads them straight back to thieving and prostitution.”
“Regrettably, we who work within the system can only do so much, Miss MacPhail,” Governor Thomson responded.
“By bringing the lad to your attention, I hope I may have played some small part in the possibility of his salvation. The other children I have directed to your custody are doing reasonably well, are they not?”
“They are doing extremely well,” Genevieve assured him. “Far better than they would have otherwise.”
“And I don’t doubt that you shall do your utmost to try to help Jack overcome his baser instincts and eventually, perhaps, lead a life that is both honest and productive.
Let us hope so, at any rate, for his sake.
” He closed his file. “One more altercation with the law, and I’m afraid there will be nothing further that either of us can do except let him suffer the full burden of his sentence.
” He rose from his desk and regarded her expectantly, indicating that their business was all but finished.
Satisfied that all the details of their arrangement were in order, Genevieve signed the document, then retrieved the money she carried in the inner pocket of her cloak and handed it to Governor Thomson.
“Thank you, Miss MacPhail,” he said, smiling as he quickly counted it. “I do hope this arrangement shall work out satisfactorily for you.”
“I have no doubt that it shall.” Genevieve rose and moved toward the door, ready to tell Jack that they were leaving.
And froze.