Olivia Twist(81)

Execution? Olivia’s vision dimmed. She could almost hear the bang of a gavel as this one man sealed Jack’s fate. She wanted to scream and rip her hair out like a madwoman. Or better yet, scream and rip his hair out. But instead, she took several cleansing breaths and channeled Jack’s deadly calm in a crisis.

“It wasn’t Jack, it was my half brother, Edward Leeford, who killed my cousin.” The words rushed out of Olivia.

“Ah.” Judge Perkins leaned back and pressed the tips of his fingers together in a point. “You must be Olivia Brownlow, the girl they originally arrested for Francesca Lancaster’s murder.”

“Yes, Your Honor. My brother goes by Monks—he is a street lord. He framed me so that he could collect the inheritance our father purportedly left to me.”

The judge bolted into a perfectly straight posture. “Where is this will? And why has it not appeared in my court?”

Olivia let go of the chair and folded her hands in front of her to disguise their shaking. “I do not have it, sir. In fact, I’ve never seen it. It would seem Monks . . . I mean, my brother, Edward, has a copy.”

“And how does this vindicate Jack MacCarron?” Judge Perkins asked, his lips pressing together.

“Jack confessed to the murder only to protect me, Your Honor.” Olivia’s voice trembled with emotion, and the tears she’d held back squeezed her throat.

“Why would he do such a thing?”

“To protect the one he loves, sir,” Topher declared, and wrapped an arm around Olivia’s shoulders.

The judge’s face was no longer passive; in fact, his mouth hung open slightly, his eyes soft and distant. After a moment, he snapped his jaw shut and ordered, “Find the last will and testament of your father and bring it to me—”

“Oh, thank yo—”

“And then”—the judge cut off Olivia’s gush of gratitude with a wave of his hand—“we will see about declaring a mistrial. That does not clear Mr. MacCarron of charges, you understand. The hanging is set a week from Friday, but if I can see a copy of this will, his execution will be delayed pending further investigation.”

“Yes, sir!” Topher and Olivia said in unison.

Olivia wished she could take a moment to weep, or scream, but there was no time to lose.





CHAPTER 24


Olivia tugged down her cap to shield her eyes from the setting sun and leaned a shoulder against the wall, pretending to study her nails—which she had bitten to the quick. After a week of searching, they’d finally caught a break; Brit had spotted one of his kidnappers ducking into a pub near Temple Bar and one of the other boys had seen a man fitting her half brother’s description nearby. So, Olivia and a few of the orphans were casing the area night and day.

Unfortunately, that meant a lot of idle waiting, which left nothing much to do but ponder and reminisce. Olivia grinned at her nubby nails as a distant memory surfaced. Her second night with Dodger and Fagin’s gang, a boy had taken one of her socks and flung it into the fire. It had been her only pair. Dodger had found her crying in the corner, her icy-cold toes curled against the hardwood. He’d draped his arm around her shoulders and said, “Buck up, mate. Second rule of the streets—never lose control.” And he’d tossed her a sock with a wink and a grin. Later, she’d noticed the boy who’d burned her sock was missing one of his own.

Jack’s execution was set for the day after tomorrow, at dawn. Olivia’s knees nearly buckled under the weight of her fear. She pushed it away and pressed her shoulder harder into the rough brick wall. Only at night, when she was alone in her room, did she allow herself to indulge in her grief. Her dreams were haunted by his tormented expression growing smaller and smaller as the paddy wagon took her away, the strong lines of his beautiful face crumpling, his brilliant blue eyes shining with tears. Jack had always been protective of her, but could Topher and her uncle be right? Did he love her?

Olivia shifted, changing her angle, constantly scanning the street. She couldn’t bear the thought of Jack locked in a dark, airless cell, but the visitation pass Judge Perkins had given her sat unused on her nightstand. She’d been waiting until she could bring some speck of hope with her; the good news that they’d found the will or some evidence against Monks. Olivia pushed out a ragged sigh. Tomorrow, she would go, if only to thank him and say goodbye.

The swish and whisper of an approaching street sweeper pulled Olivia back to the task at hand. She pushed off the wall, shoved a hand in her pocket, and ambled over to a vendor selling books and newspapers. She purchased a rag, and then perched on a stone windowsill directly across from the entrance to Nemo’s Pub. Flicking open the paper, her eyes focused just over the top of the pages. Brit had said the man who’d abducted him was tall and wore a gold hoop in his left ear and a blue knit cap over his bald head.

Olivia turned the page with a crinkle and snap. An unsolved murder headline caught her attention and reminded her of what she’d learned the night before. Mr. Appleton had called in a favor and received a copy of Francesca’s autopsy report. As difficult as it had been, Olivia had read every word, twice. Fran had been killed by a single bullet to the chest, but the thing that interested Olivia the most was the list of items found with the body. Not only had the amethyst necklace been missing, but the matching earbobs as well. Olivia suppressed a shiver and pushed aside memories of the vision she’d had in prison, knowing now it had been nothing more than a dream, or perhaps her subconscious mind’s way of telling her the jewelry could be a clue to finding the truth. But the valuable earrings were still unaccounted for, and Olivia was willing to bet her greedy half brother had taken them.