Protection (9 page)

“Did you flee?” Joey wondered what he would have done in Gabriel’s place. He couldn’t imagine lifting a finger to his mum. But she was gentle, easy and utterly his. It wasn’t true that he’d lost every remnant of his former life. His mum would wait faithfully for his release as long as her health held out.

“Flee?” Gabriel blinked at Joey as if returning from someplace far away.

“Do a runner? Hide?”

“No. Never occurred to me. Next thing I remember, I was sitting at the kitchen table. My little brother Joseph came in – twenty years old if he was a day but never missed a meal at home – and called the constable. At the trial he gave evidence against me.” Gabriel shrugged. “’Twas the right thing to do. The only thing.

“The Met charged me with double murder. But Maureen offered to testify for me. Told the whole story, every bit of it, though she knew she’d never be able to hold up her head in the old neighborhood again. The abortionist was arrested. Maureen, too. Forced to submit to a medical exam.” Gabriel sighed again. “You know I meant to protect her. But all I did was shame her, shame myself and destroy our family. If I’d asked her, she would have rather pretended it never happened. Instead she was named in the papers, just like me. That’s how Rebecca Eisenberg got involved.”

“Rebecca Eisenberg?” Joey didn’t recognize the name.

“Social reformer. Prison reformer. Women’s rights reformer,” Gabriel added with both eyebrows raised, as if daring Joey to mock her. “Rebecca found a solicitor and got Maureen off straightaway. She even tried to help the mad old bat who did the abortion, but that was a lost cause. There were too many other complaints, too many women coming forward, maimed for life. Then Rebecca took my case, entirely on Maureen’s word, before ever meeting me. You know the type? Doesn’t believe any man should hang, no matter what he’s done. Has a million and one arguments – Jesus, Buddha, Paddy down t’pub, any authority you can think of. And she engaged a barrister who defended me on the grounds of ‘irresistible impulse.’”

“I’ve heard of that,” Joey said. “It doesn’t mean a man is insane. It means he was so provoked, so inflamed, he couldn’t help himself. So he would have committed the exact same crime even if a policeman had been standing at his elbow.”

“Well done.” Gabriel lit a new Pall Mall off the dog-end of the old. Joey studied Gabriel through the wreath of smoke, tempted to reach across the table and touch the other man’s hand.

Not because what he did to me doesn’t matter.
Even in his lowest moments, Joey didn’t value himself so little. But because in this place where he’d lost so much, where nearly every comfort had been taken away, he alone had the power to forgive Gabriel. And with the realization of his power came the sweet, painful temptation to use it.

“So. I was spared from the noose, as you see,” Gabriel continued dryly. “I’d been prepared to die. Confess, be shriven, and go. Suddenly I was looking at the rest of my life as a prisoner without hope of parole. I was so angry I could have strangled Rebecca,” he added, grinning. “She came to see me as soon as permitted. I walked into the visiting room ready to tell her just what I thought of her – her and all the do-gooders who stuck me here for eternity, or near as makes no difference, to think on what I’d done. Then I saw her.”

Joey couldn’t read Gabriel’s expression. “You mean – she was pretty?”

“Thirty-five or forty. A spinster. Dressed like a blind man picked her clothes. Hatchet face and big brown cow eyes,” Gabriel smiled fondly. “Do you know, Rebecca earned a law degree? Top marks, but couldn’t find anywhere to practice, being a woman. Earned a doctorate in sociology, too, what do you think of that?
 
And there I was, with my primary school education, feeling superior to her because she was homely. But ignorance pushed me to do the right thing. I swallowed my bile and thanked her humbly. And she said saving a man from a meaningless death was its own reward.”

“Do you still hear from her?”

“Sure and I do.” Gabriel winked as if discussing an old girlfriend. “We correspond, don’t you know? Discuss books and what not. She visits me twice a year. Closest thing to a wife I’ll ever have.”

“What happened to Maureen?”

“Took the veil. Joined the Benedictines as Sister Mary Michael. Says she’s found true peace with God. Writes me every Christmas and Easter to say she loves me and prays for my soul.” Gabriel stopped, looking across the table to meet Joey’s gaze. He opened his mouth to say more, then closed it, plainly unable to get the words out.

“Gabe,” Joey put his hand on the other man’s. “Last night felt good. Not just getting off. After. Why did you pull away?”

Gabriel’s eyes dropped. Shifting the Pall Mall to his mouth, he placed his other hand atop Joey’s, his two hands enclosing Joey’s slightly smaller one. “Forgive me.”

Torchlight flashed into the cell. Buckland, who’d pulled night duty for the month, pretended not to notice as they hastily pulled apart.

“For Chrissake, MacKenna, Cooper, what’re you doing? Holding a séance? Trying to make contact with a dead witness since all the live ones say you’re guilty?”

Joey, shaken by the interruption, didn’t know what to say, but Gabriel chuckled. Maintaining close relations with guards like McCrory and Buckland served him well.

“Just woke up to find Cooper sick over the bucket. Fancy a visit to the infirmary yet?” Gabriel turned to Joey.

“No. I’m better. Back to meals and work detail tomorrow, I promise.”

“Good man.” Approaching the bars, Buckland lowered his voice. “MacKenna. Cranston showed me the restoration you did on his sideboard. Bang-up job.”

“Re-hung the doors. Carved in some flourishes. Sanded it down and slapped on a coat of varnish.” Gabriel shrugged with perfectly false modesty.

“Well, you know my Bettie’s expecting,” Buckland said. “The cradle her mum gave us is wooden, older than Queen Victoria and twice as ugly. If I brought it round, could you fix it up? Not necessarily during common time. I might be able to shift your work detail.”

“Of course.”

Buckland grinned. “What’ll it cost?”

Gabriel held up his cigarette. “You know.”

“Doesn’t anyone sleep in this joint?” a man called from further down F-block, prompting Buckland to move along at last.

“You restored furniture for Cranston? Is that how you got me transferred to the gardens?” Joey asked.

“Didn’t have much choice. Cranston doesn’t gamble, doesn’t smoke and doesn’t fancy my pretty face.” Gabriel rose. “Best get back to our bunks.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Joey changed into his pajamas and climbed into the top bunk. Part of him was frustrated that Buckland had interrupted them; part of him was relieved. The moment had been taken from them before he could decide how to respond.

Julia’s letter was gone from his mind. Joey fell asleep thinking of Gabriel’s hands enclosing his, and all the ways he might have answered.

* * *

N
ext evening, Joey plowed through his supper, rambling about his ideas to improve the vegetable garden’s output. Gabriel only sat and smoked, tray of food untouched. Even his cigarette seemed to bring him little pleasure.

“What is it?” Joey asked.

“Nothing. My dinner went down bad, is all. Had a bellyache ever since.”

“There’s bicarbonate in the infirmary.”

Gabriel held up his left hand with its missing little finger. “I’d prefer to keep all the rest of my parts, thank you.”

Joey, who’d heard the story three times from Lonnie, understood Gabriel’s reluctance to put himself back at Dr. Royal’s mercy. But when Gabriel was no better the next morning, and still worse by the third evening, Joey said, “You can’t go on this way. Your fever must be pushing a hundred. You could die if you aren’t looked after.”

“No man ever died from a bad sandwich.”

“Sure they have. Botulism. Besides, it could be something else. Is all the pain on your right side?”

Gabriel nodded, flinching away when Joey tried to touch him there. He was pale, forehead damp with sweat.

Joey frowned. “Gabe, it could be your appendix.”

“Meaning what?”