Closing the distance between them, she ran a finger down the side of his sweat-covered face and whispered, “Yes—and if you don’t tell me what I want to know, the Dodger will rip you limb from limb. With pleasure.”
Critch raised his eyes to heaven, his hands balling into fists. Brit sensed their captive’s tension and slanted his knife across the cords of Critch’s throat. Olivia waited, unmoving, praying he hadn’t heard of Jack’s arrest.
Finally, Critch met her gaze, a kind of defeat written in his eyes. “I … I … don’t know for certain, but … but Monks has a safe box at Tellson’s Bank … where he keeps all ’is valuables.” He sealed his lips and Archie gave him a poke between the ribs.
Critch glanced down and saw the blood blooming on his shirt. His next words rushed out in a jumble. “He goes on Tuesdays and … and sometimes Thursdays to make ’is deposits. Tha’s all I know. I swear it!”
Tellson’s was right around the corner, which would explain why Monks had been seen in the area. Satisfied that Critch was telling the truth, Olivia gave him a hard pat on the cheek. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to give Dodger your regards.” Then, she slammed her fist into his gut. Air whooshed out of his lungs as he doubled over, and Olivia smashed her knee into his nose with a crack, dropping him to the ground. “That’s for hurting Brit, you bloody blighter.”
Olivia gave the signal and they all sprinted for the street.
The following afternoon, Olivia’s fingers drummed against her thigh in time with a troubadour whose steps triggered a bang on his drum as he tooted on a trumpet and strummed a tiny harp strapped to his side. She watched Archie fall in behind him as he rounded a corner. The one-man musician’s pockets were prime for picking.
It was after four o’clock, the sun had sunk behind the buildings, creating long shadows, and Monks had yet to make an appearance.
Not for the first time, Olivia wished for the comfort and security of having Brom by her side, but she couldn’t risk Monks recognizing the dog. Clearly, he’d been watching her activity for weeks. With that in mind, she’d borrowed a suit of her uncle’s clothes and disguised herself as a gentleman of leisure. She’d only had to make slight alterations to the suit, since he’d become so thin. But the shoes were a different matter. Her feet were sweating something awful in the layers of hose and socks she’d donned in order to keep his shoes from slipping from her heels. As a final touch, she’d used her kohl pencil to thicken her eyebrows and enhance her fake beard and mustache.
Giving her paper a flick, Olivia folded it and tucked it under her arm as she stood. She strolled with wide, confident steps and shoulders back down the aisle of vendors and paused at a bakery cart, reminding herself to peruse the selections slowly. Toffs had all the time in the world.
But hers was running out. Jack would hang in the morning. The thought fired into her soul like a cannon blast.
With every blink of her eyes, memories flashed: that first night, grown-up and so handsome she couldn’t help but stare; his hands caressing her face as he kissed her until she didn’t know her own name; the earnest promise in his gaze as he swore he’d do anything to help her; the boy with the ragged top hat and too big coat; the warrior who’d protected her with only an umbrella and his fists. This man reveled in the true, unguarded person she’d never been with anyone else. She loved him beyond reason. And deep in her soul, she knew he felt the same.
As she looked over the loaves and pastries, fear boiled inside of her. A stark terror that told her they would never find Monks in time. That pictured Jack, back straight, chin up, walking to the gallows. A noose tightening around his neck, until her own heart exploded inside her chest.
Heat built in her head until she had to hide behind the baker’s canopy to press her fingers against her eyes. Jack burned so bright and beautiful, no one could hope to own him. But … If I could have just one more chance, I’ll make sure he never doubts how much he is loved.
“The bank’ll close up in less than an hour. What if he don’t show?” Brit’s words jolted her out of her morose thoughts. Time to put on her mask. She swallowed the madness boiling inside of her and selected a sack of day-old sticky buns, then moved to the next stall, positioning herself so she could see the bank across the street. She handed Brit the sack of bread and answered with a confidence she didn’t feel, “He’ll show.” He has to.
Just then, there was a break in the traffic, and Olivia spotted a tall man with a blond ponytail entering the bank. “That’s him.”
Thank you, God.
Squaring her shoulders, she strode across the street and darted through a group of young women selling flowers, narrowly remembering to tip her hat.
With a deep breath, she entered the bank. The interior was bright, every surface polished and sterile. Monks stood at the counter with his back to her. She couldn’t hear what he said, but he pulled a key from his pocket as the clerk plunked a heavy-looking box in front of him. She strode forward and stood behind him as if waiting for her turn. She’d never entered a bank in her life, so she had no sense of what the procedure might be, but she had to get a look inside that box.
Monks unlocked the safe and took a wad of pound notes and a small sack of coins from his pocket. Olivia stepped closer, trying to see over his shoulder. But he was taller than she by half a head and his broad back blocked her view.
“May I help you with something, sir?”
Olivia only just kept herself from starting as the man behind the counter directed his question toward her. She stepped back and jerked her eyes to the slate board that listed the bank’s rates and services. “One moment, please,” she grumbled with an off-putting frown.
After a few seconds had passed, she clasped her shaking hands behind her back and sidled up to the counter right next to Monks. “I need information on acquiring a safe box.”
“What size, sir?”
Olivia glanced back at the rate chart, but in her jittery state the words and numbers read like gibberish. Under the guise of assessing its size, she pointed her chin toward the box Monks sifted through and allowed her gaze to linger.
Monks shot a glare at the clerk. “Is there somewhere more private I might go?”
There!
Monks snapped the box closed, but not before Olivia spied a distinctive glitter. Shoved into the far corner of the safe, as if they were of no consequence, rested a very familiar pair of amethyst-and-diamond earbobs.
Unexpected tears closed Olivia’s throat as Fran’s beautiful face filled her mind. She swallowed hard and turned back to the clerk. “I’ve changed my mind. Thank you.” She tipped her hat, turned, and rushed out the door.
When she reached the street, she leaned back against the wall and reined in her emotion. The bell on the door clanged and Monks strode into the street. She knew what she had to do.
Olivia fell into step behind him and nodded to Archie, who was loitering against a nearby windowsill.
“Two loaves for a shilling!” the baker called from across the street. “A bag o’ sweet buns for a crown!”
Monks stopped and glanced over his shoulder at the vendor. Olivia kept walking past him, but when he jogged across the street, she turned and followed. Brit stood leaning against a wall near the cart. Olivia met his eyes, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Please, sir, do ye have any buns for a starvin’ orphan?” It was Archie, begging with his hat in his hands.
Monks picked up two loaves and fished in his pocket. “I’ll take these.”
Olivia’s eyes darted back to Brit. They couldn’t let Monks leave. Archie kept up his tirade, getting on his knees. “Please, sir.”
“Get up, boy. I ain’t got nothing for a street rat,” the baker barked.
Monks tried to shove the shilling into the baker’s hand, just as Brit unlatched the end of the cart, spilling bread and rolls all over the street. Kids swarmed like insects from the walls, converging on the windfall. The baker yelled and attempted to swat them away. In the co
nfusion, Olivia stepped up to Monks, dipped her hand into his pocket, and extracted the key.
Her half brother whirled, gripped her throat, and slammed her against a wall. “What’d you take, you greedy little toff?” he spit through clenched teeth, his face a hairbreadth from hers. “I saw ye in the bank eyeballin’ my safe.”
Olivia couldn’t breathe or speak. Her brother’s yellow eyes, paler than hers but still a similar tone, bore into her face. Would he see the resemblance too? Recognize her for who she was?
He squeezed her throat tighter. “I said, whot did you take?”
Olivia moved her mouth, but nothing came out. Digging blindly in her trouser pocket, she produced the key. He gave her another slam against the bricks, then released her and grabbed the key. “You’re lucky there are so many witnesses, or this would be the last thing you ever did.”
With a final shove, her brother glanced around and then stalked away.
Her pulse pounding so hard she could feel it in the tips of her fingers, Olivia turned and rushed down the street, every muscle in her body straining to run. When she finally rounded the corner, and looked behind her, Monks was nowhere in sight. Jogging forward, she hailed the nearest hackney. “I need to reach the Old Bailey courthouse, posthaste!”
The driver nodded and Olivia hoisted herself into the buggy. A moment later, when the carriage lurched into traffic, she fell back against the seat and pulled the tiny key from her jacket pocket. Thank God, Brit had thought to give her a fake. He’d done his research and created a similar key fob out of sturdy paper. By the time Monks noticed the switch, she would be long gone.
Twenty agonizing minutes later, Olivia slammed through the double doors of the courthouse. She dashed past the reception desk and toward the stairs.
“Sir! You can’t go up there unescorted!”
Olivia heard the clerk shout for the guard, but she wasn’t about to stop now. She couldn’t take the chance that the judge would leave for the night—if he was in his office at all. She hit the stairs at a sprint.
“Halt this instant!”
The guard’s boots pounded on the steps behind her, but Olivia just ran faster. Leaping up the last two stairs, she darted around the corner, room 211 in her sight.
“Sir, you must stop!”
Not on your bloody life.
As she reached Judge Perkins’s office, she didn’t slow, but crashed against the door and stumbled inside. The judge sprang from his seat. Olivia turned and threw the lock behind her.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Olivia bent over and sucked in air, her lungs burning like fire.
The guard slammed into the locked door, vibrating the opaque glass.
“Your Honor.” Olivia reached for her hat, but it was long gone. “It’s me.” She drew in another breath, tugging the wig and net off her head. “Olivia Brownlow.”
“What in all that’s holy—” The outrage on his face rivaled a drawing she’d once seen of Zeus.
“Sir, I … have the evidence to vindicate Jack MacCarron.”
The guard gave the door a mighty kick, the frame splintering in response. Judge Perkins rushed around his desk and unbolted the lock. The guard flew into the room, tripping forward, and only stopped when he hit the back of a chair.
Olivia met Judge Perkins’s annoyed gaze, pleading with her eyes. “Please, sir, hear me out.”
The judge shifted his attention to the panting guard. “There’s no threat here, as you can see.” He swept his hand toward Olivia. “You’re dismissed.”
Olivia let out a slow breath and ran her fingers through the tangled strands of her hair. The guard shot her a withering glare before exiting the room.
Judge Perkins stared at her thoughtfully for several seconds before gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Miss Brownlow. But be warned, this better be legitimate, or you could find yourself in contempt.”
Olivia perched on the edge of a hardwood seat, her leg muscles quivering like jam.
The judge sat and removed his own wig, revealing thin spikes of reddish-gray hair. “Well, let’s hear it.”
In a deluge of words, Olivia explained how she’d followed Monks to Tellson’s and what she’d seen inside his safe box.
The judge leaned forward. “How can you be sure these earrings were Miss Lancaster’s?”
“Your Honor, they were her favorites. She wore them at least once a week.” Olivia had to swallow before she could continue. “The ones I saw in Monks’s safe had square amethysts and rose-cut diamonds. They were identical to Fran’s. The very same ones I saw her wearing at the Grimwig Ball.”
The judge sat unmoving, his face an impassive mask. Olivia waited, butterflies the size of crows rioting in her stomach.
“If we can prove that your half brother is in possession of your cousin’s jewels, the case against Mr. MacCarron will be thrown out.” The judge tapped a finger against his chin. “But a warrant to break into a personal box at Tellson’s could take time.”
Olivia pulled the safe key from her pocket and held it out with a grin. “That’s precisely why I alleviated Monks of this when he was otherwise occupied.”
Judge Perkins stared at the key dangling from her fingers and then shook his head, his lips curling into his red muttonchops. “I’ll pretend as if I did not hear that last bit.”
Olivia stood and handed the key to the judge, lifting her chin in challenge. “The tag says it’s for box number 160. Surely, a man of your great esteem could get the bank to reopen tonight.”
Jack hunched on the edge of his cot, his elbows on his knees, hands supporting his aching head. Although he couldn’t see outside, he sensed that the sun would be up soon. He tried to pray for his soul, but he didn’t know if he had one. Everything inside him felt hollow, his heart cracked open like an empty safe. Olivia hadn’t even come to see him. Perhaps he’d misinterpreted her feelings for him. Likely she’d already reconciled with that git, Grimwig, and they were planning their wedding.
He should’ve been happy for her, but he couldn’t help wishing he hadn’t returned the Grimwigs’ precious emeralds before turning himself in. When he’d dropped the anonymous package in the post, it had felt like the right thing to do. One final act of good. And he had to admit, once she married into the family, those jewels would look lovely against Olivia’s honeyed skin.
Heck, she looked good enough to eat with a ratty wig on her head and soot smeared on her face. Jack sighed, the visual bringing back all the emotion he’d locked away. If he could have kissed her lips one last time, he would feel absolved from everything he’d done wrong in his short but eventful life. He pushed the heels of his hands into his burning eyes. “I’m sorry, God. If I had another chance, I’d do it all so much differently.”
“Well then, today’s yer lucky day, isn’t it?”
Jack jerked upright as the key rattled in the lock and a guard opened the door with a screech. A wig-free Judge Perkins, what was left of his reddish hair sticking out in disarray all over his head, stood in the open doorway. “Took half the night and one very angry bank owner, but you’re free to go, Mr. MacCarron.”
Jack rose, his legs trembling beneath him.
“I try to run a just court, so when someone confesses to a crime they did not commit, I’m bound by the law to find the truth.”
Jack stood rooted to the spot. “And what would the truth be in this case?”
“That a heinous criminal plotted to frame his own sister for murder, in order to claim her inheritance for himself.” The judge paused and ran a hand over his sparse strands of hair, meeting Jack’s eyes. “And it would seem one extremely noble individual sacrificed himself to save an innocent young woman.”
Jack couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Was he dreaming?
“If you don’t mind, Mr. MacCarron, I’d like to spend an hour or two in my bed this night.” The judge swept his hand in an ushering motion.
Without a backward glance, Jack rushed from his
cell. “How did you know, sir? That it wasn’t me?”
Judge Perkins clapped Jack on the shoulder as they walked through the maze of dank prison corridors. “Let’s just say you’re in love with one tenacious little lady.”
“Olivia,” Jack said under his breath.
The judge chuckled as they emerged into the darkened administrative wing. “Miss Brownlow’s methods may be a bit unconventional, but I can’t deny that they are effective. She appeared in my office this afternoon dressed as a gentleman.” The judge shook his head with an incredulous laugh. “She was right, though. That Monks character had Miss Lancaster’s missing earbobs, and a copy of a will that gave him motive for framing his sister. All of it was stashed in a personal safe that Miss Brownlow discovered and brought to my attention.”
Jack walked in stunned silence. The realization that she hadn’t abandoned him, but had been working to free him, sparked a warmth inside his chest that seemed to grow larger by the second.
They rounded a corner, entering the prison lobby and the judge continued, “A warrant has been issued for Monks’s arrest. With all the evidence against him, it should be an open-and-shut case.”
They reached the front door and Judge Perkins extended his hand. “Godspeed to you, Mr. MacCarron. I hope you don’t take offense when I say I hope to never see you again.”
Jack shook the judge’s hand with a wide smile. “No worries, Your Honor. I have a very good reason to stick to the straight and narrow.”
Walking out of Newgate, Jack stared up at a sky bursting with stars. He breathed in the fragrance of London—rot and coal smoke laced with a bit of clean frost—and knew he meant every word he’d just said. He wouldn’t so much as lift a lost coin from the gutter. After hearing everything Olivia had done to save him, he would never dare jeopardize her faith by falling back into his old ways.
Jack set off down the street at a jog. He had a lot to do before he could rest. His past life as a thief may be over, but one of his biggest heists loomed before him—to win the prize of one brave, beautiful girl’s heart.
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