Chapter 12 #2
“They always made a treasure map,” Annabelle informed her.
“And it would be found years later by a brave, handsome captain who would take the treasure home to his beautiful, sick wife, thinking now that they were rich he could buy her the medicine she needed to save her life.” She tossed the poker to Simon, then raised the back of her hand to her forehead and swooned theatrically against the cushions.
“Except it’s too late,” she continued, her voice breathy and fragile.
“He returns home to find her dying, and all he can do is give her a final kiss before she closes her eyes and fades away, leaving him alone to mourn her forever with a chest of riches and a broken heart.” She sighed and closed her eyes, her hands prettily clasped over her chest. “I think that would be a wonderful part for me to play—don’t you? ” she demanded, bolting upright again.
“’Tis a fairy yarn if ever I heard one,” sniffed Doreen, shaking her head as she entered the room. “More like the rogue would be off the next day wastin’ his fortune on gambling, fancy drink, and low women.”
“Hush now, Doreen, ye mustn’t fill the duckies’ wee heads with such twaddle,” chided Eunice. “Here, sweetlings, have a biscuit.”
Jack eyed Haydon suspiciously as the children flocked around Eunice. He had seen him drop his leather valise near the front door. “Are you goin’ somewhere?”
“Yes.”
“Where?” chirped Jamie, excited by the prospect.
Haydon hesitated. He did not want to lie to them.
But there was risk to revealing the truth.
If Constable Drummond grew suspicious of his absence before Genevieve declared her husband dead, he might decide to pay a visit and question the children about the whereabouts of their supposed stepfather.
One of them might accidentally divulge that Haydon had planned to return to Inverness.
“I am taking the coach to Edinburgh.” That part was true, at least. “I have some matters to attend to there.”
Jack arched a skeptical brow. “When will you return?”
“I’m not certain.”
“You mean you’re not returning.” His tone was flat.
Simon regarded Haydon in shock. “You’re leaving us?” He sounded wounded.
“Don’t you like it here?” demanded Jamie, his mouth rimmed with sugary crumbs.
A helpless feeling began to seep over Haydon. He didn’t want to leave. But he had no choice. How could he possibly make them understand?
“There was a problem in Glasgow. Someone there recognized me. It is too dangerous for me to stay here any longer.”
“But Glasgow is so far away,” protested Charlotte, her small face pale. Haydon sensed that of all the children, she was the one who would suffer his absence the most. “No one from Glasgow ever comes here.”
“Charlotte is right,” said Annabelle. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”
“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple,” Haydon replied.
He seated himself beside Charlotte and wrapped his arm around her, holding her close as he tried to make the children understand.
“The person who recognized me is certain to tell other people about it, and he will mention the fact that I was with Genevieve at the time. The authorities will come here to question her. If they find me here, living under the guise of being Genevieve’s husband and your stepfather, they may arrest her as well. ”
A glint of fear crept across their faces. He cursed himself. He did not want to frighten them. But he wanted them to understand that he wasn’t leaving because he wanted to, but because he had no choice.
“From the moment I arrived here, that has always been a risk. For a while it was a risk we were willing to take, because I had to regain my strength and be well enough to travel. Now that I have healed, it is a risk I can no longer justify. It is time for me to go.”
The children regarded him in dejected silence.
It was obvious that they were well versed in abandonment.
They had each suffered many betrayals during the course of their short lives.
First by the parents who created them, then by the families who were unable or unwilling to care for them, and finally by a social system that viewed them as little more than refuse that should be locked away in prison and reformatory schools so that the rest of society could be spared the sight of their misery.
The only person who had been relentlessly steadfast and true and faithful to them from the moment she came into their lives was Genevieve.
“Are you going to come back to us?” ventured Jamie.
Haydon hesitated. He wanted to say yes. But the children had suffered enough false hope and feeble promises in their lives. He would make no assurances that he could not keep.
A sudden pounding at the door prevented him from answering.
Oliver cocked a white brow at Haydon. “Shall I answer it?”
Haydon’s mind began to race. He didn’t think anyone could have heard Rodney’s story, made the connection that Maxwell Blake was in fact the marquess of Redmond, and traveled all the way from Glasgow to Inveraray to inform the authorities here.
It was within the realm of possibility, but given the time constraints and travel involved, it seemed extremely unlikely.
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Give an old man a minute,” Oliver snapped as the banging on the door continued. He shuffled over and opened it a little, grumbling irritably, “What in the name of all the saints can be so important that ye feel ye should be breakin’ down my—”
“We’re here for the marquess,” snarled an enormous, heavyset police officer with a greasy hank of gray hair leaking out from under his hat. The tarnished buttons of his uniform looked as if they were about to blast from his coat with his next breath of air.
“We know he’s in here,” added the stocky police constable next to him. He was an ugly brute, with a battered, flat nose and flared nostrils that made him resemble a pig.
“Let us in and there’ll be no trouble.” This dubious assurance came from a skinny young constable with a rat’s nest of red hair and a profusion of pimples dotting his pale complexion.
“I dinna ken what ye’re blatherin’ about.” Oliver idly scratched his head as he blocked their entrance with his scrawny frame. “There’s no marquess here. Ye lads must have the wrong—”
“Move aside, ye bloody old fool!” The bear-framed officer heaved his shoulder into the door, sending poor Oliver reeling backward as the constables stormed into the house.
“Oliver!” cried Doreen, watching in horror as he crashed into the hall table and fell to the floor. Blood began to trickle down his forehead.
“Goddamn bastard!” raged Jack. He flew at the beefy policeman and attacked him with his fists.
“Jack—no!” shouted Haydon, bolting forward. “Stop!”
Jack landed a powerful blow squarely in the constable’s face before the remaining two officers grabbed him by his shoulders and tore him away. The lad responded by sinking his teeth deep into the wrist of the one with the pig face.
“Help!” the constable squealed, whacking Jack on the shoulders as he tried to disengage his mangled wrist. “Ewan—help!”
“Get off him!” The pimply constable grabbed Jack by his hair and roughly jerked his head back. Once he had pulled him off, he wrenched Jack’s arms behind his back. “Are ye all right, Harry?”
“Christ, the pissing little turd bit me like a wild animal!”
“How about you, George?”
“That wee shit broke my nose!” George raged.
“I’m going to rip his goddamn ballocks off!” Harry drew back his fist to pound Jack in the face.
“Take your hands off him,” commanded Haydon savagely, “or I’ll smash your friend’s skull like a ripe melon.”
Slowly, everyone turned to see Haydon standing in the center of the hallway, brandishing directly over George’s head the brass poker that Annabelle had wielded during her swordplay.
“Let the lad go,” Haydon ordered curtly. “Now.”
The two constables holding Jack regarded each other uncertainly.
“For Christ’s sake, do as he says!” shouted George, who was cradling his profusely bleeding nose, and had no particular desire to be bleeding from his head as well.
“We’ll let him go,” Harry relented, “if ye drop yer weapon.”
“It’s useless tryin’ to escape,” Ewan added, sensing Haydon’s hesitation. “All of Inveraray knows who ye really are, yer lordship,” he drawled sarcastically. “Ye canna get away.”
Haydon felt his grip on his primitive weapon tighten. It’s over, he realized, not quite able to accept it.
“Don’t do it!” Jack was squirming wildly against his captors. “Just go!”
Haydon looked at the frightened faces of the children, who were clearly traumatized by the display of brutality they had just witnessed. All but Jack, who had not yet spent enough time away from the savagery of the streets to be intimidated by it.
No more, Haydon thought, staring with heartbreaking fondness at Jamie, Annabelle, Grace, Simon, and sweet little Charlotte. I cannot put them through any more.
“I will have your word,” he began in a low, steady voice, “that if I go with you willingly, you will leave the others here unharmed.”
“No!” Jack pleaded. “Don’t do it!”
“Fine,” snapped George, whose hands were now dripping with the blood still pouring from his nose. “Drop yer weapon, and we’ll just leave—with you.”
Haydon felt the smooth brass rod in his palm grow warm. He had no choice, he realized grimly. He would have died rather than see harm come to any of his family. He savored the bittersweet taste of near-freedom barely a moment longer.
And then he dropped the poker.
“Got ye,” snarled Harry, pouncing on him like a tiger on its prey. “Come on, Ewan, put the manacles on his wrists so he can’t try anything.”
The pimply youth gave Jack’s arms a final painful wrench before he shoved him forward. Jack cast him a look of pure loathing, then went and knelt down before Oliver.
“Are you all right?” he demanded anxiously, dabbing at Oliver’s bloodied forehead with his sleeve.