Olivia Twist(80)

Her breathing calmed as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

This was not over. She was not a bloody princess waiting for someone else to save the day. As her blasted brother was about to find out. She swiped at her useless tears and put her feet down.

It was time to stand up.



Olivia ran through the double doors of the courthouse behind Christopher March. She prayed they would make it in time. If it hadn’t been for Uncle Brownlow’s attorney, Mr. Appleton, they never would have known Jack’s trial had been moved up to today.

Topher’s testimony was their last hope. It was flimsy at best, but even with the Hill Orphans’ help and Olivia flaunting herself around the streets of London as bait for the last week, Monks had not come out of hiding. And while Mr. Appleton had discovered a stash of her father’s papers, all he’d found thus far were boxes of invention blueprints and patent paperwork.

The man behind the reception counter greeted them with a sharp tone. “May I assist you?”

“We need to see Judge Perkins right away, sir,” Olivia answered. “’Tis a matter of life and death.”

The man pressed his lips together and glanced down at his desk with a shake of his head. “It always is.”

Olivia checked the urge to climb over the counter and shake the information out of the pompous clerk. She calmed herself by counting the ticks of the clock on the wall behind him.

One, two, three, four . . .

The man ran his finger along what looked to be a schedule.

Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen . . .

Olivia bounced on the balls of her feet. When she got to twenty, she cleared her throat, loudly.

The man lifted his head with a glare. “The judge is in chambers, miss.” He gestured to a uniformed constable Olivia hadn’t noticed until that moment. “Jones, escort these people to room two eleven.”

As they followed Jones’s steady gate up a flight of stairs and down an endless hallway, Olivia longed to push past him and run. Topher must have seen her impatience, because he placed a restraining hand on her shoulder and met her eyes with a warning. Olivia took a deep breath and clenched her teeth. She could crawl faster than this git was walking!

Finally, they reached room 211 and Jones knocked, poking his head in to announce them.

Olivia rushed past the guard, speaking before she was fully into the room. “Judge Perkins, we have evidence that could exonerate Jack MacCarron.”

The man sat behind a wide desk wearing the ceremonial white wig, frizzy ringlets draping over his robed shoulders, along with a decidedly uninviting expression on his face.

Topher removed his hat and clutched it in front of him. “Sir, I’m Christopher March, Jack’s . . . er . . . cousin.”

Olivia cringed as the lie stuttered out of Topher’s mouth. She prayed the judge wouldn’t see through him and throw them both out on their behinds.

“Your Honor, I was with Jack MacCarron the night of the murder.” When the judge didn’t speak, Topher continued. “I witnessed him conversing with Francesca Lancaster at the Grimwigs’ ball.”

The judge’s face shifted, his brows hitching into his wig.

Topher barreled on. “Immediately after I saw him speak with Miss Lancaster, we left the ball together and took a rented hackney to March House.”

This was the sketchy part, because although Topher did return to March House in order to stash the Grimwig emeralds, Jack never went into the house with him. From what she could gather, he’d gone straight to Turnbull Road to find Brit.

“Why did you rent a hackney?” Judge Perkins asked in a bored tone, scratching his shaggy, auburn muttonchops.

“My aunt, Lois March, was still at the party. I left early because I wasn’t feeling well.”

Olivia’s heart pounded into the silence that followed.

The judge pierced Topher with dark, beady eyes. “Did Mr. MacCarron stay at March House after you returned?” Olivia felt Topher stiffen beside her. “I . . . I believe so, sir . . . er . . . Your Honor.”

“Did you not see him after your return?” The judge’s voice was so deep, it reverberated inside Olivia’s already aching head.

Topher glanced down at the hat he was ringing in his hands. “’Tis a large house, Your Honor.” He looked up, his expression earnest. “But I know Jack did not commit this crime.”

Judge Perkins, his face like a slate wiped clean, sat back in his chair. “That is of no consequence. MacCarron has already stood trial and been judged guilty.”

Olivia swayed on her feet, Topher’s fingers digging into her arm the only thing keeping the darkness at bay.

“With all respect, Your Honor, I was unable to testify because I did not know the trial had moved. Surely you can take my account into consideration.”

Olivia stared at the judge, willing him to have a heart and praying harder than she’d ever prayed in her life that he would change his mind. He set his arms on the desk, folded his hands, and fixed his gaze on his linked fingers. Olivia’s limbs shook uncontrollably. She gripped the back of a chair, effectively propping herself up lest her knees should fail her.

The judge frowned, deep grooves bracketing either side of his thin lips. “I would not have considered the testimony of a relative, in any case.” His eyes shifted to Olivia. “Mr. MacCarron was transferred to Newgate after his sentencing. I’ll grant you a visitation before the execution.”