Reunited with His Long-Lost Cinderella

by Laura Martin

  Ben walked alongside the magistrate, the brawny enforcers keeping a few paces behind, but looking ready to pounce if Ben as much as put one foot wrong.

  ‘Is this your address?’ Mr Poole asked as they stopped outside the building that contained his humble set of rooms.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Shall we go up together?’ Mr Poole suggested reasonably.

  Ben used his key in the door and allowed the magistrate to ascend the stairs first, before he followed, closely trailed by the silent guards.

  Inside Ben’s rooms looked just as he’d left them a few hours earlier to go to his boxing club. At first sight nothing had been disturbed and for a moment he was filled with a hopeful relief that Lord Pottersdown hadn’t managed to actually plant anything to back up his story of theft.

  ‘Do you mind?’ Mr Poole asked, motioning to the rooms.

  Ben shook his head. The question was just a courtesy from a polite man. Whatever his answer the magistrate would still search his rooms, still pull the clothes from the wardrobe and throw over the bedclothes. That was his job and responsibility.

  While the other men searched Ben sat in his chair and watched. He cursed himself time and time again for goading Francesca’s father, for poking him like a sleeping bear with the threat of losing his London home. It had been unnecessary and indulgent and now had sparked a chain of events that Ben had very little control over. He just hoped Francesca was safe and could come to his aid as soon as possible.

  If they believe her, the little voice in his head said. Quickly he tried to silence it. Francesca was a grown woman now, a respected member of society, not a ten-year-old girl. The magistrate would have to believe her.

  ‘Could you tell me what these are, sir?’ the magistrate asked, holding up a bag in one hand, a bound stack of books in the other.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ben said slowly. They weren’t his and they certainly hadn’t come with the rooms.

  ‘Lord Pottersdown reported three very valuable books missing alongside some assorted items from the house.’

  ‘He’s run out of jewellery to plant,’ Ben murmured. It was a sorry state if all you could find to plant in a man’s house was a few books and a couple of almost worthless trinkets. ‘I did not take these items,’ he said louder, for the benefit of the magistrate.

  ‘How do you explain them coming to be in your rooms?’

  ‘Perhaps my fiancée left them behind,’ Ben said, trying not to let the frustration become apparent in his voice.

  ‘Take him to the cells’ Mr Poole instructed one of the men who’d accompanied them. ‘I want to go and talk to Lady Somersham and see if we can get this mess sorted.’

  * * *

  The cell was dank and filthy and smelled of urine and decay. He wasn’t the only one in it, two huddled figures sat in one corner, whispering softly to one another. Another man was closer to Ben, his broad face suspicious and nervous.

  ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ Ben said as he settled with his back against the wall. ‘Lovely day to be spending in prison.’

  Three sets of eyes regarded him, trying to work out if he was a threat or someone to be exploited.

  The damp walls, repulsive smells and less than salubrious company took him back the early days of his incarceration. He’d been kept in the county gaol cell until he’d been convicted, which hadn’t been too bad, but after that he’d spent nearly two years incarcerated on a hulk ship moored on the Thames, awaiting transportation. It had been one of the grimmest periods of his life and he refused to go back there.

  He had to believe Francesca would come through for him, that she would confirm her father’s nefarious plan to wrongfully accuse Ben again and he would be released. Still, it sat heavily on him that once again he was having to rely on someone else to get him out.

  For a moment he closed his eyes and thought of his father. He’d be devastated by the news that Ben had been arrested again, but no doubt he would come and fight for his son. Ben knew he was blessed to have a family as supportive as his and, sitting in the darkness, he knew he could never leave them behind again. Once this was over he would start making plans for a new life with Francesca, but he would also see if he could incorporate his family into that life too.

  ‘What did you do?’ the suspicious man asked, sidling closer.

  ‘Nothing,’ Ben answered with a grimace. ‘I’m innocent, of course.’

  The man laughed, a cackle that turned into a cough. ‘Aren’t we all?’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Francesca slumped down against the door and felt the tears begin to flow. Until now she’d refused to cry, wanting to instead conserve her energy for more useful pursuits. She’d been determined to escape and had spent the last six hours clawing at the door, the window, the skirting, anything that might allow her to be out of this awful room and find her way to the man she loved.

  There was a pit of dread in her stomach. She knew her father had something awful planned for Ben and she knew that, when faced with the word of a viscount or the word of a convicted criminal, the law would always side with her father. Even if it was obvious he was a lying scoundrel. It was just the way the world worked.

  Despite her very best efforts, and with cracked and bleeding fingers, she just hadn’t been able to find a way out. The house might be needing a coat or two of paint, but it was irritatingly well built.

  Francesca wiped the tears from her cheeks and listened at the door. Her best hope was to wait until Felicity came home from her shopping trip with her friends and then shout as loud as she could and hope her sister could let her out before their father stopped her.

  There was nothing, no sounds downstairs, no footfalls coming up towards her. Just a silent house.

  Wishing she had never come home, she pictured Ben’s face, heard him whisper the reassurances she needed to hear. One day soon this would be over and they would be together again, ready to start their new life together.

  Francesca turned back to the door and started pulling at the lock again, trying to work her fingers underneath it. In the hours she’d been in here it had only budged a very small amount, but she would keep going until she came up with another plan. For a moment she paused, pressing her ear to the door and wondering if she heard voices downstairs somewhere, but the noises were too faint. Deciding she had nothing to lose, she shouted anyway.

  ‘Help,’ she screamed as loudly as she could. ‘Help me.’ She repeated it a few more times before falling silent to listen. The walls and doors were thick, but surely if someone was there they would hear her screams.

  Francesca waited for a minute, then tried again, hearing her voice cracking as she screamed and shouted, this time pounding on the door with both her fists.

  ‘Help me. Let me out.’

  Again she waited and listened, but the house was completely still and silent. Feeling the tears spill on to her cheeks once more, Francesca turned back to the lock.

  She was still in shock, unable to believe her father had treated her so poorly. She’d known he was a selfish and small-minded man, but until now she’d always made excuses for his cruel deeds, telling herself he’d done things out of desperation or only when his judgement was clouded by alcohol. Now she could see him for what he really was—a cruel and vindictive man only interested in self-preservation. She felt embarrassed by how she’d made excuses for him over the years, even by how she hadn’t acknowledged properly the heinous way he’d treated Ben all those years ago.

  ‘I’m sorry, my love,’ she said, knowing that now the scales had truly fallen from her eyes. Never again would she put her father above the man she loved, or above anyone else for that matter. He deserved everything that happened to him, for no doubt the weight of his debts would come crashing down very soon. All she needed to do was make sure she and her sister weren’t present when that happened.

  Sparing a thoug
ht for her mother, Francesca felt the sadness mount. Although they lived in the same house and had done ever since the death of Francesca’s husband, she’d seen her mother only a handful of times. Instead of being a source of wisdom and affection, her mother hid away in her bedroom, unwilling to engage in the world, standing by while her daughters struggled.

  Still, she didn’t know what her mother had endured over the years. Perhaps the self-imposed isolation was her only way of dealing with it.

  Deciding that no matter what happened she would do her very best to get as far away from this house and her cruel father as possible, Francesca renewed her efforts to escape. Ben needed her and it was time to put him first. It was time to stop worrying about how society would judge her for her actions and do whatever it took to save the man she loved.

  * * *

  Ben sat across a rickety wooden table and looked the magistrate in the eye. Something was wrong. Right about now Francesca should be here, explaining the connection between them and clearing his name. Instead there was just the magistrate and two well-built men who looked as though they were hoping for trouble.

  ‘I am charging you with theft,’ Mr Poole said as soon as he’d made himself comfortable. ‘You will appear in court within the next two weeks.’

  Ben shook his head, his vision momentarily going blurry. There was a tightness in his chest and a momentary feeling of helplessness.

  It only lasted a few seconds, then he rallied. He wasn’t a boy this time, wasn’t an innocent who could be pushed around and manipulated by the powerful men.

  ‘Have you spoken to my fiancée?’ he asked.

  ‘Lady Somersham?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He expected the magistrate to shake his head, to make some excuse about not being able to find her. That was the only explanation for this turn of events.

  ‘Lady Somersham denied any connection between the two of you. She informed me that you had been childhood friends before your conviction for theft eighteen years ago and, since returning to England, had persisted in making a nuisance of yourself.’

  ‘No,’ Ben whispered, feeling as though he’d been punched in the gut. ‘That’s not possible.’

  ‘It seems you have been spinning quite a fantasy, Mr Crawford. You almost had me believing you.’

  Ben barely heard the magistrate’s words—his blood was pounding in his ears and a grey mist descended over his vision. It just wasn’t possible. They were setting him up. He didn’t know if the magistrate was working with Lord Pottersdown or if Francesca’s father had found a way to deceive him, but he knew Francesca would never betray him, not like this. She’d fought for him when she was just ten years old, she would fight for him now.

  ‘No,’ he said again. ‘No, no, no, no, no.’ Each utterance was a little louder than the last until he was shouting the word. One of the men the magistrate had brought with him pushed Ben back into his seat roughly, before he’d even realised he was standing.

  ‘I shall see you at your trial,’ Mr Poole said, exiting the room quickly now he’d said all he had to say.

  Ben barely felt the rough hands that pulled him to his feet and dragged him back to the filthy cell. He didn’t hear the rasping of the key in the lock or the receding footfalls of the guards. All he could think about was Francesca’s beautiful face, how she sounded when she laughed, the unruly mass of hair as it cascaded down her back.

  He wanted to hold her, to feel her in his arms one more time, to smell the sweet honey scent of her hair and to feel the softness of her skin under his fingers.

  * * *

  ‘Ben.’ Fitzgerald’s familiar voice roused him from the fitful sleep he’d sunk into. Through the small grate on the door he saw his friend and wondered how much he’d had to bribe the guards to let him in.

  The sound of the key in the lock lifted Ben’s spirits momentarily, but when Fitzgerald stepped in, rather than the guard to let Ben out, the hope dissipated pretty quickly. He was alternating between wild despair and forced optimism, but right now he knew he needed to get a grip on himself and take control of the situation.

  ‘It’s not looking good,’ Fitzgerald murmured as he embraced his friend. ‘We might need to get you out of here another way.’

  ‘I’m worried about Francesca,’ Ben said, pacing backwards and forward.

  ‘You need to worry about yourself.’

  Ben gave a dismissive wave of his hand. It was true things weren’t looking good for him, but he was a survivor. One way or another he would get out of here and be a free man again.

  Fitzgerald fell silent for a few minutes. ‘I haven’t been able to find her,’ he said slowly. ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

  ‘The magistrate says he’s spoken to her, that she’s confirmed her father’s story.’

  ‘But you don’t believe him.’

  ‘Francesca would never betray me.’

  ‘Then her father has probably locked her away somewhere,’ Fitzgerald said. ‘The magistrate will not be reasoned with. He says he has the testimony of Lord Pottersdown and Lady Somersham and they both confirm that you’ve been loitering and making threats. So either the magistrate is crooked, or has been tricked by the Viscount.’

  Ben shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘The items found in your rooms would not be enough to convict you alone,’ Fitzgerald said, ‘but with a statement from Lord Pottersdown I think it will convince a judge.’

  ‘And the fair and unbiased justice system steals another ten years of my life.’

  Fitzgerald cleared his throat and Ben registered the unease in his friend’s eyes.

  ‘The noose?’ Ben asked, involuntarily touching his neck.

  ‘Perhaps. It is a second offence and no doubt Lord Pottersdown would be calling for the harshest punishment. You know the importance of connections in a case like this. The magistrate will probably roll over and do whatever the Viscount asks.’

  ‘That old bastard took eight years of my life, he’s not going to get the rest of it.’

  ‘I won’t let that happen,’ Fitzgerald said grimly. ‘There are a couple of guards susceptible to a bribe. If we move fast, I think we could have you out of here tonight and on a ship for France at first light.’

  ‘My cellmates inform me they don’t check the cells between midnight and dawn,’ Ben said.

  ‘Then that will be the best time to move. Be ready.’

  ‘I can’t go without Francesca,’ Ben said. He wouldn’t leave her behind, wouldn’t get on that ship without the woman he loved.

  ‘You might have to,’ Fitzgerald said grimly. ‘I can always find her and send her on at a later date, but you will have people at your heels. You know how they don’t like to lose a prisoner.’

  ‘I can’t go without her,’ Ben repeated. He was imagining the worst, of Francesca scared and alone, locked in a dark room thinking that everyone had forgotten her. Once before he’d been forced to leave her in England—he wouldn’t do it again.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ben said, embracing Fitzgerald.

  ‘We’ll get you out of here. In a couple of years’ time we’ll be sitting on the veranda at home laughing about this.’

  Ben wasn’t so sure. He had no doubt he would escape. The guards were underpaid and slow and Fitzgerald was a cunning man with a deep purse. Perhaps in a few years, once he and Francesca had managed to establish a life for themselves in Australia, he would feel less anger and hatred towards the man who was trying to steal his life for the second time, but he wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Keep your head down until tonight,’ Fitzgerald said, banging on the door of the cell to let the guard know he was done.

  As the heavy door closed behind his friend Ben slumped against the wall. He’d be leaving England once again as a criminal, even though neither time had he done anything wrong. On
ly on this occasion he’d also be an outlaw, a wanted man, no longer welcome in the country where his family resided.

  It would devastate his father and Ben felt a new surge of anger at the thought of once again being wrenched away.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A soft noise from outside the door made Francesca sit up. She pressed her eye against the keyhole to see if it was someone who might help her in her attempt to escape or if it were her father. She’d been locked in the room for over eight hours and outside it was already dark. Perhaps her father had come to his senses and would let her out, let her leave to check Ben wasn’t harmed by whatever scheme her father had planned.

  ‘Felicity,’ Francesca almost sobbed as her sister opened the door.

  ‘Shh,’ her sister warned, indicating the stairs. ‘I had to wait for Father to fall asleep to get the key, but he’s only dozing so keep quiet.’

  Francesca embraced her sister.

  ‘You need to go,’ Felicity said, her face screwed up with worry. ‘I’m not sure entirely what happened earlier, but Father had one of the maids dressed up and impersonating you to some man who’d called round. I only returned home when he was leaving, but it seemed very strange.’

  ‘Impersonating me?’ Francesca asked, wondering if her father had gone completely mad finally.

  ‘I got the impression he was a magistrate,’ Felicity said.

  Understanding began to dawn. Although she didn’t know the details of what her father had planned for Ben, she realised she’d been locked away so she couldn’t let the truth out to the magistrate when he came calling. Her father’s word would not be disputed and once again it would be enough to condemn Ben.

  ‘Thank you,’ Francesca said, giving her sister one last hug before she turned and hurried to the stairs.

  ‘Good luck,’ Felicity whispered.

  Francesca dashed downstairs, grabbed her cloak, quietly opened the door and ran out into the street. She had a small amount of money on her, enough to find an empty hackney carriage and instruct the coachman to take her to Ben’s lodgings. Throughout the journey she felt a mixture of nerves and anger. She didn’t know what she would find, if anything, when she got there, but she had the feeling it wasn’t going to be anything good. Her father had surpassed himself this time in his attempts to ruin as many people’s lives as possible.