Chapter 7 #5
“It’s all right, Genevieve,” he said, his voice low and sure as he held her fast. “Everything is going to be all right.”
He had no grounds to make such assurances, yet he continued to murmur it over and over, soothing her the way he might a small child.
He guided her into the drawing room and closed the doors so that no one else in the household would hear her weeping, knowing her distress would only increase if the other children were witness to it.
He gently removed her hat and cloak, which were cold and soggy with snow, then seated her on the sofa before the fire.
Her flesh was chilled, as if fear and weariness and all the hours spent at the prison and arguing with Ingram and Charles had sapped her blood of heat.
He went to the hearth and threw two logs on the fire, then blew upon the coals, quickly coaxing fresh flames to life.
Returning to her side, he pulled her into his arms once more, vainly wishing he could somehow wash away all the terrible things she had been through.
“We will hire a lawyer without Charles’s assistance,” he began firmly, stroking the soft silk of her pale hair as he spoke.
“We cannot afford to hire a lawyer,” sobbed Genevieve, “and the ones that the court provides for those who are unable to pay fully expect the children they are defending to go to jail. They imprison eight-year-olds for taking an unripe apple to fill their bellies, or a pair of old stockings to warm their raw, blistered feet. And then they send them to reformatory school, where they are forced to work and are starved and beaten and only learn more about violence and stealing. But no one cares about their fate, as long as they are not sullying the streets and threatening the precious welfare of fine, upstanding citizens like Lord and Lady Struthers.” Her tone was bitterly scornful.
“It is not the same with Charlotte,” Haydon argued. “She has a fine home and a mother who loves and cares for her—and there is also the matter of her injured leg. Surely the judge will demonstrate compassion, and realize that it is far better for Charlotte to return here than to go to jail.”
“Sheriff Trotter is due to preside over the court that day, and he has sentenced Charlotte once before,” Genevieve informed him.
“She was only ten, and had been arrested with her father for stealing. The drunken brute used to force her to hobble about and lift her skirts to show her crippled leg and beg people for money. And while they shook their heads in false sympathy and crowded round with cruel fascination, her father would slither in and out amongst them, picking their pockets.”
“Where is her father now?”
“He was sentenced to four years in prison, which he is serving in Perth. And for the crime of being a victim of his greed and violence, Charlotte was sentenced to forty days in prison, to be followed by three years in a reformatory school.” Her voice was ragged as she finished, “How can we expect compassion from a sheriff who could be so cruel?”
Haydon said nothing. He was appalled that any judge could impose such a harsh sentence on a girl who was so obviously at the mercy of an abusive father.
On the other hand, perhaps Sheriff Trotter had genuinely believed that he was doing the best thing for the girl.
At least in prison and reformatory school she would have a roof over her head and three meals a day, however meager and unpalatable they might be.
“But you took Charlotte before she was sent away,” he surmised.
She nodded. “Over the years I have worked out an arrangement with Governor Thomson, and the court has always agreed to it. He lets me know when there is a child in his prison who has no parents or family willing to intervene on their behalf. Providing the child is not guilty of a violent crime, he has permitted me to assume custody.”
Haydon thought of how anxious Governor Thomson had been for Genevieve to take Jack out of prison. “And what benefit does Governor Thomson extract from this arrangement?”
“I pay him a fee for his trouble.”
“You mean a bribe.”
She sighed. “I suppose you could call it that. I sign an agreement assuming full responsibility for the child for the remainder of his or her sentence. The document stipulates that if the child breaks the law or runs away while under my care, our arrangement is void and the child must be returned to the jail to serve the full extent of their original sentence. Governor Thomson said that was why he and Constable Drummond couldn’t release Charlotte.
He fears there will be a public outcry, because everyone knows Charlotte has violated the terms of our agreement. ”
“More likely he fears that there would be an investigation and someone might find out that he has been, in effect, selling these children to you,” reflected Haydon.
“Either way, Charlotte is shivering upon a hard wooden bed tonight, and there is nothing I can do to save her.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “I have failed her,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“No, Genevieve, you have not.” He laid his hands upon her slender shoulders, forcing her to look at him.
“From the moment you retrieved her from the prison you have provided her with a warm home and decent food and a loving family. You may not realize it, but by doing so, you have armed Charlotte with something she did not have before, and that is hope. You have also shown by your own example that women can be strong, courageous, and persevering, which will help her to endure the next few days.”
“But what about the next few years? Charlotte cannot endure the hardships and cruelties she will be made to suffer in reformatory school—”
“Tonight you were unsuccessful in your pleas to have her released, but the matter is far from finished,” Haydon vowed.
“If we cannot afford a decent lawyer, then we can at least assist the one the court gives us in the preparation of Charlotte’s defense.
We will show the court that until this incident, Charlotte has been the very model of gentleness and lawful behavior.
While we have to be careful not to implicate our other children, I will argue that Charlotte’s role in this incident was in actuality very small, and that this is a matter best resolved by her parents.
I will also argue that society will not be served by sending her to prison, which will cost public money and compromise any hope for her future, and therefore the wisest judgment would be for her to be returned to her home, where she will be shown the error of her ways and disciplined accordingly. ”
Genevieve regarded him through a veil of tears. “You cannot accompany me to the court, Haydon—someone might recognize you there.”
“I will take that chance,” Haydon told her flatly.
“As your new husband and Charlotte’s stepfather, the court may be willing to listen to me—out of perverse curiosity to hear what I have to say, if nothing else.
Because I was charged with murder, I was tried before the larger Circuit Court, which I understand meets here but twice a year.
While some members of the local Sheriff Court may have attended those proceedings, I can assure you that between my beatings, my illness, my prison uniform, and my unkempt state, I looked very different from the man who now appears before you.
Also, I did not speak in my defense, at the suggestion of my lawyer, who felt that I was more likely to antagonize the jury than elicit any sympathy from them.
Therefore, there is little danger that anyone present will have heard me speak. ”
“But—”
“The matter is settled, Genevieve.” Haydon was adamant. “I have no intention of permitting anyone to jail Charlotte, and no intention of letting you go down to that courthouse alone. We will deal with this matter together, and we will see that Charlotte is brought home safely. Is that understood?”
His face was harshly cut in the flickering firelight, a rough sculpting of shadows and light.
The lines between his dark brows were deep, as were those creasing his forehead and webbing the skin beneath his eyes.
There was pain there, and a rawness of emotion that surprised her, for although she had sensed that Haydon had grown fond of Charlotte, she would not have expected him to be so agonized over a child he had only known for over a week.
As she stared at him, she suddenly sensed that he was reacting to something that had happened long before he had ever come to Inveraray.
Something that had wounded him deeply. There was so much about him Genevieve didn’t know, yet in that hushed, firelit moment she felt she knew him better than he perhaps even understood himself.
It made her want to lay her hand against his cheek and feel the heat of him beneath her palm, to trail her fingers along the dark bristle shadowing his jaw, to lean close and feel his warm breath upon her skin, just as she had during those long nights when he had solely belonged to her.
Unable to restrain herself, she leaned into him and pressed her mouth to his.