Olivia Twist(84)

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 confusion, 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.”