All the blood drained to Henry’s feet, leaving him cold as a winter wind. Fury. Fear. Confusion. There were too many things to sort through to stop this. He spun to Juliet, horrified, then sickened even further as he took in the trembling of her fingers as she pressed them to her mouth. Tears shone in her eyes, yet did not spill, for she was ever the strong pillar … lovely in her fierceness, heartbreaking in her vulnerability.
A slight moan came from the sofa, pulling his attention to Charity. His sister. His own flesh and blood. There was no denying she had been poisoned.
The constable stepped closer, his voice low but firm. “Mr. Russell, God willing your sister will recover. But deliberate or accidental, the law requires that I secure the person most immediately connected to the act. The sooner I have Miss Finch in my custody, the sooner we may learn the truth—and ensure no further danger comes to your family.” He paused, then added with quiet finality, “And if you hinder me, sir, I will be obliged to consider such action as obstructing a constable in the course of his duty—a charge I would sorely regret bringing against you.”
Henry gritted his teeth until his jaw cracked. Though it killed him in every possible manner, he had no choice but to step aside—and he did so without a backwards glance at Juliet, for if he did, it would surely break him.
“Very well, sir.” The words barely made it past his closed throat. “Do as you must.”
Chapter 20
Betrayed. Again. By another man she loved. How was such a nightmare to be borne? Juliet curled into a ball on the wooden cot, trying hard not breathe in the stench of sweat and blood woven into the thin blanket pulled up to her shoulders. Not that it did much good. The threadbare piece of wool was more a memory of a blanket than any real guardian against the chill of the damp cell. And the reek of this place! It would take a blistering bath to rid her skin of it …ifshe ever had the chance to bathe again.
A sob choked past her lips. What was to become of her?
“Quit yer cryin’ and get some sleep!” the woman on the other side of the wall barked. “Don’t do ye no good, nor none o’ the rest of us.”
“Caw! Leave her be,” a man’s voice rumbled in the darkness. “Fine lady like ’er ain’t accustomed to sleepin’ where rats play in the dark.”
Another man hooted. “Ain’t no rats hereabouts, Jackie. They’d starve a’fore their chompers could graze any flesh off yer skinny bones.”
“Better scrawny than stinkin’ like a mule’s backside,” Jackie shot back.
“Everyone shut yer gobs!” her neighbour shouted. “All this racket is keepin’ me from me beauty sleep.”
“Beauty? Hah! That’s a howler.” Jackie whooped, his coarse laughter harsh on Juliet’s ears. “T’aint no amount o’ shut-eye that’ll fix what God din’t finish on yer face.”
“Keep it up, Jackie, and I’ll come over there and finish what the Almighty started with yer rotten teeth!”
A crude curse ripped out of the man. “I’d like to see ye try, luv.”
Enough!
Juliet sat straight up on her cot, covering her ears with her palms. “Stop squabbling! Is it not bad enough in here without quarreling amongst yourselves?”
Everyone chuckled then, loud enough to be heard past her stopped-up ears.
“Well, well.” The bass words were muffled. “Looks like Queenie got her a spine after all.”
“Aye, luv. Day or two more and ye’ll be snappin’ like the rest o’ us.”
She sank back to the cot, the wobbly legs creaking, trying hard not to lose her composure once again. Her eyes already stung from so much crying. It seemed anger kept desperation at bay, so better to hold on to her irritation at her gaol mates than give in to tears. Like the woman next to her had said, it didn’t do any good anyway. Weeping wouldn’t unlock her cell door or clear her name of the taint of poisoning Charity.
She scrunched her eyes closed, trying to pretend she was beneath the cozy counterpane of her bed at Bedford Manor. But no. All she saw on the inside of her lids was Henry, his mouth pressed tight, his left eye twitching, fear and shock and other emotions crossing his face so swiftly she could hardly name them. In the end, though, doubt had reigned.
Right before he’d turned his back on her and told the constable to do as he must.
She’d fought that man’s grip like a rabbit caught in one of her snares, kicking, wriggling, screeching of her innocence. If she lay on her other side, she would yet feel the pain in her bruised bicep. But that didn’t hurt nearly as much as Henry’s betrayal. Did he honestly think she had poisoned his sister? Had she not tenderly cared for Charity during her illness? Stood side by side with him in trying to free the woman of her tormentor?
Had she not kissed his lips with all the passion he’d stirred within her?
She turned her face to the wall, ashamed she’d thought that kiss had meant something to him. For all his pretty words, clearly it had not, for how quickly he’d tossed her aside.
Worse than that, though, was the death knell to her hope. How stupid she’d been to think he had seen her at her worst—a lady fallen from status, a poacher, a nobody—and believe that he’d accepted her for who she was … determined, capable, trustworthy. She gritted her teeth. No. He’d chosen to doubt her instead of trust. Ahh, yes, she could understand his loyalty to his sister, but to think of her as someone who would willfully poison her?
And if Henry couldn’t believe her, who on God’s green earth would? There was Aunt Margaret, of course, but the word of a poor widow would carry no weight in court.
Chill seeped into her bones, and she shivered. She would end up like her father, godforsaken in these walls of doom and despair.
