Page 87 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
“Wait.” On unsteady legs, she crossed the room, tugging on the diamond ring he’d placed on her finger three weeks before. Knowing she would never recover from this, she held it out to him. “Take this. I have no need for it.” She backed up and turned to the two detectives. “I am ready to go, now.”
They took her to Scotland Yard where they asked her a number of questions, filled out numerous forms and told her since there was still another train to Melbourne Station that day, she would not be sent to Newgate, but instead be returned there.
She nodded when they told her. She should be happy she wasn’t going to Newgate, but truth be known, she didn’t really care. She was numb. The man who’d said he loved her, and wanted to make a life with her, thought she was a jewel thief. After all they’d been to each other, and everything they’d been through together, he didn’t believe her.
After two hours of watching the activity in Scotland Yard, she was approached by a slender man in his mid-forties. He had a full beard that he tugged on as he spoke to her. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Pennyworth. I am Officer Kline, and I will accompany you to Melbourne Station.”
She nodded.
“Have you had luncheon?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No. But I’m not hungry.”
He viewed her with sympathy, his eyes running over her expensive gown, the small roses in her hair, and the misery on her face. “Well, then, we should probably head over to the train station. I prefer not to handcuff you, if you promise not to run away.” He grinned.
“I’ve nowhere to go.” She stood and allowed him to grasp her elbow and head out of the building. Almost as if to mirror her change in mood, the day was no longer sunny, and low hanging clouds had moved in. She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
“Did you have a coat with you?” the police officer wanted to know.
“No.” She began to laugh, trying hard not to become hysterical. “This is my wedding gown.” She held out the sides of the garment. “It is lovely, is it not?”
Officer Kline viewed her with furrowed brows, probably thinking she was losing her mind. Ah, if only she could lose her mind. Then maybe her heart wouldn’t be shattered into pieces that Mr. Elliot Baker had stomped on.
* * *
Two days passedas Charlotte sat in a cell in the Melbourne Station jail. No one had spoken to her or told her what was happening. She’d been sent two meals each day and had turned back more than half.
Most of the time she’d spent curled up on the small cot. The cell reeked of smells she did not wish to identify. It was cold and damp, and she had to share the space with a family of mice. Since she did not even have the energy to cry, tears leaked from her eyes, dropping like a steady rain on her beautiful silk wedding gown.
She never should have allowed Elliot to get close to her. Hadn’t she learned from Lord Barton that men could not be trusted, and from Gabriel’s foolish and needless death that men could not be counted on? When would she learn to only rely on herself?
“Mrs. Pennyworth.” The man who brought her meals stood at the front of her cell. “You have a visitor.”
For a moment her heart lifted, and she thought Elliot had come after her. She wiped her cheeks and sat up. “Who is the visitor?”
“Lord Barton wishes to speak with you.”
“Lord Barton?” If only she had enough moisture in her mouth, she would spit out his name. “I do not wish to speak with him.”
The jailer inserted a key in the cell. “I’m afraid you have no choice, Mrs. Pennyworth. Since he is the one who has charged you with the theft, he can request an audience with you.”
“And I have no right to deny him?”
The door creaked open. “No.”
She sat on the cot and crossed her arms. “I refuse to leave.”
The man sighed. “Please, Mrs. Pennyworth. Lord Barton has a great deal of influence, and if he wishes to speak with you, he will not be deterred.”
Didn’t she know that? Hisgreat deal of influencehad gotten her into this situation to begin with. The man practically owned Melbourne Station. There were very few residents who did not owe him for one reason or another.
She would hear what he had to say, and then she would turn her back on him, and demand to be brought back to her cell. She uncrossed her arms and stood. “Fine. I will see him.”
The man looked relieved and smiled. She pulled her skirts close to her body to avoid touching him and swept past him. She turned to him and waved her hand, her head held high like the queen. “Lead the way.”
She followed him down the dank corridor into a room that wasn’t much better than the cell she had just left. Lord Barton sat on a chair, leaning back against the wall. When she entered, he jumped up from his chair, walked toward her and held out his arms. “Charlotte, my dear. How very wonderful to see you!”
