“Aw, it ain’t nothing. It’s like I said, if not for this bloke, I wouldn’t be ’ere. Now, I got myself a right good job ’ere and a family at ’ome. One little ’un and one more on the way.” He gestured with a jerk of his head. “That’s the door over there. Just follow me.”
They walked through a courtyard, passing bedraggled children at their games, chatting women at their needlework, and harried men at their pacing. Entering the prison, they climbed the stairs to the gallery like mourners in a slow procession. All the while, she was still haunted by the images in her mind of Raven as a boy, locked in a cabinet filled with rats. Tears collected in the back of her throat, stinging the corners of her eyes.
He expelled a resigned breath and bent his head to whisper, “Put it out of your mind. Don’t let it become part of you, too.”
She wobbled her head in a nod and swallowed, glad he couldn’t see her eyes.
Once they reached the upper gallery, she was able to focus on her surroundings. They moved through the narrow corridor, passing rooms on either side. Many doors were open, revealing lavishly furnished interiors with every luxury a man could want—canopied beds, brimming bookshelves, desks, tables and chairs.
Bill-Jack muttered that those were special acquaintances of the warden, indicating with a sly slide of his thumb over his fingers that monetary compensation was involved.
Reaching the last room at the end of the hall, Mr. Rollins gave a curt knock on an oaken door with substantial black iron hinges. He slid a metal plate to the side, allowing the faint gray light from the room within to slip through the exposed grille. “Yev got visitors, Mr. P.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned the key in the lock. Jane stood in the doorway, waiting for the familiar sight of her uncle to appear.
Instead, an old man with a haggard face and sloped shoulders slowly stepped forward. He was pale and thin, aside from a paunch that pushed at the buttons of his camel waistcoat. His hair was a disheveled combination of brown and gray, and his green cutaway had a frayed hem.
His blue eyes raked over her and Raven with marked distrust.
Too unprepared for this alteration in him, Jane belatedly realized that she’d forgotten to remove her veil. She did so in that instant and tentatively stepped forward. “Good morning, uncle.”
“Jane,” he said flatly, his disapproving tone startling her even more.
An uncomfortable laugh tittered out of her and she felt Raven’s arm at her elbow. “Are you not glad to see me?”
Her uncle began to mill anxiously around the room, straightening an upended cup that sat on a desk of cluttered papers. This was not as elaborately furnished as those others, but sparse and void of warmth. While he possessed a bucket of coal for the fireplace, there were only two pieces in the grate. His bed was little more than a straw pallet elevated no more than six inches from the floor. He had a rug, but it sat beneath a trunk, which lay open to reveal the disorder of clothes and books within. And yet, she knew her father paid handsomely for his upkeep, as well as a steady allowance to assist in paying off his debts. So, where was all the money being spent?
Surely a man who’d been in prison for a number of years would have wanted to make his room a home of sorts. Wouldn’t he?
“You shouldn’t have come. Think of your parents. If my brother were to find out . . .” He cast a cursory glance to Raven. “And who is this?”
“This is Raven. We are hoping you may have some information regarding his family. Do you recall tutoring a French woman to learn English?”
He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture before walking toward the window set high in the stone wall. “I’ve tutored many. It would be impossible to recall one without having my ledgers to consult.”
“I hope you will forgive me, uncle, but I’ve looked through your ledgers. At least, the ones that are in the trunks you keep at our house. However, the dates we’re interested in are from the latter part of the year 1799, and I noticed that there aren’t any ledgers from that time.”
The instant the words were out, Jane felt Raven’s intense scrutiny on her profile. She realized that she hadn’t pointed out this fact to Raven on the day they’d found the letter, but hoped he didn’t suspect her of withholding anything vital. After they’d discovered the image on the wax seal, all else had faded into unimportance.
Until now, when every detail seemed crucial to proving his identity.
Looking up at him, she saw that his brow was furrowed in contemplation, yet he offered her a quick nod of understanding.
She turned her attention back to her uncle. “I was hoping that you might have those ledgers here with—”
“No, I most certainly don’t,” he said before she could finish, his voice increasing in volume and agitation. “And why would I? It has been so many years since I’ve been part of that world. Most of it is lost to me. It will be many more years to come before I’ve paid all the . . . debts I owe.”
“What about the name Northcott?” Raven asked, surprising her. “Ring any bells?”
“It does not,” Uncle John responded hastily, without even pausing long enough to draw in a single breath or bat an eyelash. His left hand started to twitch, tooth-bitten fingernails snagging against the side of his trousers. “You never should have brought her here. My niece is the firstborn daughter of a viscount. She has responsibilities to her family and a reputation to uphold in society. She cannot gallivant around in a debtor’s prison. I don’t know who you think you are but it is clear that you must cease your involvement with my niece at once.”
Raven bowed stiffly without another word, then took a discreet step back. But Jane stayed by his side, curling her arm around his. “Uncle, he does not deserve your scorn. It was all my doing.”
“Jane, you know you are expected to marry well, to increase the wealth of the family, to set an example for those who follow. Whatever I have done to sully the family, you and your siblings must undo. It is imperative. Therefore, you cannot waste time dallying with derelicts,” he said, flicking a contemptuous glance to Raven.
She stiffened, taking umbrage. “You have no cause to speak to him so harshly. You know nothing about—”
“Go!” her uncle yelled, his color rising. Then suddenly, he came forward, advancing with threatening shooing motions, flinging his arms. “Go now.”
She stumbled back, but Raven held her securely, guiding her safely past the threshold the instant before the door slammed shut, the echo reverberating through the corridor.
Jane was stunned. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand his extreme agitation, as well as his instant dislike of Raven. It made no sense. And whyever would he call him a derelict, of all things?
Making one more attempt to gain something worthwhile from this hapless visit, she lifted her face toward the iron grille. “Uncle, if you remember anything about the Northcott family and your time with them, will you please write to me?”
“I will not recall the name,” he shouted, adamant. “Now begone with you and do as I say. Take care that you abandon this newfound acquaintance of yours. It will come to no good.”
That was the last glimpse she had of her beloved uncle. And with it, the last hope she had of discovering any information that might lead to proving Raven’s identity seemed to fade, as well. What could they do now?