Chapter 6
Keats regained his senses, shivering intensely. He felt someone pull a blanket up on his chest. Was this what it was like to be dead?
His hand fumbled for his neck, but only found his collar open. There was no soreness or abrasion. No rope.
I’m dreaming.
“Keats?”
Blinking open his eyes, he found himself in the cell, Alastair watching him intently. “Ah, that’s better,” his friend remarked, his face filling with relief. “I have sent for some tea.”
“I have been asleep, haven’t I? They will come for me soon.” Come to take to me to my death.
“Only when they have everything resolved.”
I dreamt it all. It hasn’t happened yet. Keats’ shivering returned.
“Easy there. You’re fine, just a nasty shock.”
“What?”
“The new evidence has thrown the city into turmoil. So many questions are being asked,” Alastair explained.
“What?” Then he remembered Wescomb saying something about witnesses. “What has happened?”
The doctor placed a hand on Keats’ shoulder, smiling broadly. “Flaherty came forward on your behalf.”
“Flaherty?” he exclaimed, struggling to a sitting position over Alastair’s protests. “Why?”
“It is a very strange tale,” the doctor replied. “Lie back and I’ll tell you all of it.”
Keats complied, allowing his friend to reposition the blanket. He stared at the ceiling as Alastair’s voice filled the cell, recounting the remarkable events of the previous evening. It was a fight not to interrupt.
In the middle of the tale, a cup of tea was delivered. After Alastair added a dose of something from a flask he had in his jacket pocket, Keats pulled himself into a sitting position and took the proffered cup. The liquid shook along with his hands.
“Sip it slowly. It has a fair amount of brandy in it,” the doctor advised.
“Go on. I must hear the rest of it.” He worked on the strong brew as Alastair finished the story.
“Then you have all of my possessions from that night,” he surmised.
“Everything but your notebook. That is still missing.”
Keats could only shake his head. “I still don’t believe it.”
“Frankly, they had little choice. Somehow, Jacynda succeeded in speaking with the Prince of Wales and made an impassioned plea on your behalf.”
Keats’ mouth dropped open. “How did she do that?”
“I did not ask. His Royal Highness sent his own man to Home Office and to the Prime Minister early this morning to express his gravest concern that justice be served. It was only then that things came to fruition.”
“Then why did they take me to the scaffold?” Keats asked, baffled.
“We did not receive notice until the very last moment, my friend,” Alastair explained, his eyes radiating sympathy. “Lord Wescomb and I were detained by the crowd and had just arrived at the prison when the word came.” He sighed deeply. “It was a near thing.”
Keats forced a wan smile. “I was as prepared as a man can be for the end. Now, if they uphold the verdict, I don’t know how I will cope.”
“You must trust that they will not. There is much debate on this issue. I gather the matter will be heard by the Lord Chief Justice himself, so there will be no question of partiality.”
Keats snorted. “Partiality? My trial was rammed ahead, as was my appointment with Mr. Berry. I would hate to think what would have happened if I’d received special treatment.”
He knew he sounded bitter. What man wouldn’t be?
Alastair rose. “You’re regaining your temper. That is a good sign. I apologize, but I must go. I’m to testify at Effington’s inquest this afternoon.”
“Full day you have there, my friend,” Keats remarked sourly. “Hanging in the morning, inquest in the afternoon.”
“I shall return this evening,” Alastair continued, apparently knowing it was best not to argue. “Please rest. You’ve had a tremendous shock. It would be very unfortunate if your health collapsed because of this.”
Keats clutched the cup in his hands, knuckles whitening.
As the cell door opened, he called out, “Alastair?” His friend turned. “Thank you for all you’ve done.”
A heartfelt smile was the reply.
~??~??~??~
The argument began the moment they left the prison and headed toward Victoria Embankment.
“I’m not a complete neophyte,” Morrisey insisted. “I conducted considerable research before I left.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you know nothing,” Cynda replied.
“That’s a bit arrogant, don’t you think? You were in the same boat a few months ago and I gave you the benefit of the doubt.”
“That’s not the point,” she retorted. “It’s an entirely different ball game here, and you need to remember that.”
“Really,” he said dryly. He gestured toward an omnibus as it crawled past them. “I never would have guessed.”
Tired of his attitude, she started planning ahead. “Since you’re here, we need to get you a room at the hotel.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“Harder than you think. It’s tourist season. If they don’t have a spare, then we’ll have to room together. If anyone asks, you’re my brother. I’m registered as a Miss, so they’ll find it odd if I suddenly conjure up a husband,” she said, mentally checking off obstacles. The hotel would have to come up with a cot. No way would they share a bed.
“Then what?” he asked.
“Then you get some sleep.” While I figure out what to do with you.
The front desk clerk rewarded them with a dubious expression. No doubt enterprising unmarried couples had tried this tactic before.
“We do not have a spare room and to allow…your sibling…into yours is not our usual arrangement,” the clerk commented. He wasn’t the nice one she’d met when she’d checked in.
“I am aware of the issues of propriety, sir, and what effect it might have upon the other patrons of your fine establishment,” Morrisey spoke up. “However, it is an unusual situation. I need a place to stay.”
“It is very important, sir. I had no notion he was coming to London. There is a sudden illness in the family,” Cynda said, playing the sympathy card. “If you could provide a cot for him in the sitting room, that would be an immense help to us.”
“An illness?”
“We have a member of the family who has taken a turn for the worse,” Morrisey explained. It wasn’t quite correct, but taken to the extreme, it could easily mean Keats.
“Oh, I understand,” the clerk said, suddenly becoming more solicitous. “I do hope all resolves for the best.”
“So do we,” Cynda responded demurely. “Thank you.”
“A cot is easily arranged. I shall fetch a second key for you, Mr. Lassiter.”
“I appreciate your assistance, sir,” Morrisey replied.
Cynda mentally let loose a sigh of relief. Whether he liked being called by her last name or not, at least that problem was solved.
For the moment, anyway.
Her new roommate had barely enough time to put down his suitcase when she demanded, “So why are you here?”
The look she received was pure disappointment. “You’re not happy to see me?”
Cynda settled on the couch, unsure of what to say. He sat as well, stretching his arms overhead. There was a faint pop of vertebrae. The disappointed expression didn’t change.
“Look, I’d be happy to show you around if this wasn’t a giant mess,” she explained.
“That’s the only reason you don’t want me here?” he asked tersely.
“No.” She met his gaze straight on. “I owe you. You kept me safe while I healed. That means everything to me. I don’t want to let you down. I couldn’t handle losing another…”
He held his breath and then slowly let it out. “This wasn’t done on a lark. I had no choice. TPB came calling with a warrant for my arrest. Fortunately, Klein knew about it ahead of time, so we laid plans right after you left. Looks like I’m here for the duration.”
For the duration? She shook her head. “That’s not an option. You don’t know anything about—”
“If I go back, I’m in a cell, and I won’t be able to help you at all.”
“What keeps them from shutting down the company?”
“I temporarily transferred control to Alegria.”
“Who?” Then it clicked. “Chris’ mom?”
“Yes. My sister is enough removed from all the politics that they don’t dare do anything to her. So at present, the company has gained a respite of sorts.”
Got to give the guy one thing: he’s a brilliant strategist.
“I let Klein know about your off-time excursion the night Chris died.”
Cynda looked down at her hands. Her mind replayed the sound of the body splashing into the river. She forced herself not to shudder.
“That had to be very hard for you,” Morrisey said softly.
When she looked up, she saw that expression in his eyes again. Like he was lost. He always had it when he talked about Chris. “At least we know Copeland was involved, and that leads right back to TPB.”
A nod. “How did Harter look that night?”
“Tired. He was way bitchy.”
“He can get that way.”
“Did he ever say anything to you about…” Her mind blanked. She fished for the pendant and looked at the last few files she’d accessed. “Adelaide Winston. I told him she was one of the Twenty, and he got all weird on me.”