Olivia Twist(78)

The seclusion in her cell was a blessing and a curse. She didn’t have to fear that someone might harm her in her sleep, but another human, any other human, would reassure her that she wasn’t utterly alone in the world. That she hadn’t been forgotten.

Bread, gruel, and a tin cup of rust-tinged water were shoved into the room at regular intervals. But with no windows, or a watch to mark the passage of time, she couldn’t tell if she’d been locked up for hours or weeks.

A scuttle of claws on cement and the trace scent of rotting meat announced the arrival of her near-constant companions. The sound tormented her. Just like in the workhouse, when those vicious, disgusting scavengers with their tiny claws and razor teeth had slithered out of the cracks in the walls to nibble ears or icy toes, drawing blood and cries of pain.

Goose bumps prickled over her flesh as she jerked her feet off the floor and hugged her legs to her chest. Rocking back and forth, she fervently wished they would bring her another candle. The vacant blackness on top of the isolation was too much to bear.

Sharp nails clinked against metal as the rat searched her dinner tray for any crumbs she may have left behind. Snuffling noises led to a hiss; another creature joining the hunt. The clicking of miniature talons and snapping of needle teeth combined with a hollow reverberation as the empty tin cup rolled across the stone floor.

Olivia buried her face in her knees, focusing on the familiar scent of home that still clung to her trousers. Her eyes burned, but she was too desiccated to cry. She attempted to swallow and draw moisture into her mouth, but instead it felt like she’d digested a handful of dried thorns, her tongue swollen like a puffy cluster of cotton. The first time they’d given her the lead-flavored water, she’d taken a sip and spat it across the room. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

The sounds of the rodents faded as they moved on to more fertile pastures. Olivia’s eyes drifted shut and she began to mutter snippets of prayer. “Help me, Lord. Comfort my uncle, protect him. Aid Jack in his quest to find the real murderer. Please take Frannie’s soul into heaven . . .” Grief knotted in her chest. It just couldn’t be true. She’d spoken with Fran right before she left the ball. She’d been as vibrant and beautiful and annoying as ever. She simply could not be gone. There had to be some mistake.

Soon, she drifted into dreams.

“Olivia . . . Olivia . . .”

Waves of radiance and the lovely scent of roses and lilacs washed over her. She recognized that distinct fragrance, and as her eyes adjusted she observed the source. But seeing it defied belief. Swathed in layers of fluid lavender silk, her dark hair flowing down her back in perfect ringlets, stood a slightly translucent version of her cousin. “Francesca?”

“Who else do you think could magically appear in this dank cesspit? Yes, it’s me.”

With slow, careful movements, lest she wake from this sweet dream, Olivia unfolded her limbs and sat on the edge of her cot. “Frannie, what happened to you? Are you really . . .” Olivia swallowed the knot in her throat and whispered, “Dead?”

“Of course I’m dead, silly. I don’t recall having the ability to enter your dreams in life.” She laughed at her own joke as she fingered one of her diamond-and-amethyst earbobs, and Olivia knew it must truly be Fran . . . but Fran was dead.

Olivia began to shake as she repeated, “It’s only a dream, it’s only a dream.”

“Don’t be scared, Livie.” Francesca leaned closer, and Olivia could see the gold flecks in her dark eyes. “I’m here to reassure you that I’m happy and that you will be too. But I need your help.”

Olivia mustered her courage. “How? How can I help you when I’m locked in here? They think I killed you, Fran!”

The ethereal Francesca straightened and waved a hand in dismissal, her red lips twisting in disgust. “I know. Scotland Yard couldn’t find the truth if it slapped them in the face. But you know.” Fran pointed one perfectly shaped fingernail in Olivia’s direction.

Olivia staggered to her feet, wishing with all her heart she could take her cousin’s hand and hug her tight. “Fran, I don’t know who killed you or why, but if I ever get out of here, I won’t rest until I see justice done.” Olivia’s hands balled into fists at her sides. “I swear it!”

A slow, beautiful smile spread across Francesca’s face and she began to fade.

Olivia stepped forward. “Frannie, don’t go!”

“Miss Brownlow.”

Olivia jerked awake. “Frannie . . .” she whispered, covering her eyes against a single blinding flame.

“Miss Brownlow, you’re free to go. The bloke that did the murder turned ’imself in.”



Olivia walked into the watery sunshine and lifted her face, soaking in the bittersweet rays of freedom. Fran would never again feel the glorious sun on her skin or smell the crisp winter wind or snuggle into a fur-lined cloak. Somehow it felt wrong to enjoy these simple pleasures.

Violet’s hand slipped into hers and Olivia met her sorrowful green gaze. Seeing the cousin who had been the other part of their threesome was a stark reminder of what they had both lost. It was hard to believe Francesca was really gone, especially after Olivia’s lifelike dream. She expected Fran to flounce down the walk at any moment, reminding her that her incarceration had damaged her reputation beyond repair. Perhaps they hadn’t been the best of friends, but Frannie had accepted Olivia despite her shady past, and had challenged her like no one else dared.