The Prisoner (14 page)

Genevieve managed a wan smile.

Haydon escorted his guest to the door, then returned to the drawing room and closed the doors.

Genevieve stared vacantly at the hem of her skirt against the threadbare carpet. Her gown was a brown, ugly fabric that she had never liked, and the hem was badly worn. She had already turned it up once to prolong her use of it. There was not enough length remaining to enable her to turn it up again.

“I had no choice.”

Haydon said nothing.

“For a while I was able to manage if I was very careful,” she continued, somehow feeling the need to explain. “I had no income, and my father had neglected to leave me any money to manage the house or pay the mortgage. I suppose he thought that perhaps I would rent it out or simply sell it after I was married to Charles. I'm certain he thought of it merely as an investment, nothing more. He never dreamed that Charles would break our betrothal.”

You are lucky he broke it,
Haydon found himself thinking.
He would have tried to destroy you, and you were too fine to be sentenced to a life lived beneath the heel of that peacock's polished boot.
“And so you kept increasing the debt against the house to survive,” he surmised soberly.

She nodded. “At first I thought I might sell it and move to a place that was cheaper. Mortgaging the house further seemed like I was just taking an advance on money that I would have when I sold it, and the debt would be paid.”

It was a reasonable enough plan, Haydon realized. Anyone in the same position might have done the same. “Why didn't you sell it?”

She traced her finger along the armrest, feeling where the threads were about to split apart and expose the stuffing inside. She could remember curling upon that very sofa as a small child, tucked safely beneath her mother's slender arm as they studied books together. Then the sofa had been new and expensive, and she'd had to be careful to not let her pretty embroidered shoes touch the fabric, or let anything spill upon it.

“I was all alone—except for Jamie, of course. My father had just been killed in a riding accident. My mother had died after a lengthy illness when I was twelve, and my father made the mistake of marrying my stepmother barely six months afterward, before he had a chance to delve beneath the congenial facade she so artfully presented. My stepmother was outraged that I had dared to take my father's bastard son in as my own, so she left, taking what little remained of my father's money with her. She had gone through quite a lot of it during their marriage. Charles had broken our engagement and proceeded to tell everyone in Inveraray that I had gone soft in the head. And people began to turn away from me.” She paused for a moment, watching her finger draw swirls upon the shabby, faded fabric. If she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the fragrance of her mother, a light, fresh scent of citrus and roses. “This house was the only home I had ever known. I didn't want to leave it.”

Of course you didn't,
Haydon thought, infuriated by the impossible situation she had been put in.
You were like an abandoned child, and you wanted at least the comfort and familiarity of your own home.

“Later, of course, I started bringing home other children from the jail, and I needed the space the house provided. Mr. Humphries was kind enough to grant me agreeable terms, and to not mind if I paid late or even missed a payment or two entirely. Every few months I would sell some artwork or a piece of silver or some other thing that we didn't really need, and that would keep us for a while. And of course I painted portraits of other people's children. That didn't pay much, but it helped.”

“But it was never enough,” surmised Haydon.

She shook her head. “The children always needed new shoes, boots, gowns, coats, books, paper. We have always tried to make do with what we have and pass things down from one child to another, but some things just have to be purchased. Then there's all the food we eat, and a hundred other little things, like candles, lamp oil, firewood, and blankets—”

“I'm sure you did what you felt was necessary, Genevieve,” interrupted Haydon. He did not mean to be abrupt, but they had a serious problem and he was impatient to devise a plan for dealing with it. “No one can fault you for the care you have provided for the children, or for how well you have managed on very little. But it was reckless and unprofessional of Mr. Humphries to extend you the terms he did, knowing that you could not possibly make regular payments, or ever get caught up.”

“He was just being nice to me.” Genevieve was taken aback by his brusqueness. “If not for Mr. Humphries, I might have been put on the street.”

“And by being so nice, he has now put you in an extremely precarious position. The bank wants its money, and it is determined to get it by whatever means necessary. For the moment, Mr. Humphries believes he can get it from me, and I don't intend to enlighten him on that point. In my life as Lord Redmond, I am a man of some means, although through an abundant measure of my own stupidity, I have managed to throw much of it away.” He raked his hand through his hair in frustration. “I have enough funds to take care of your debts, Genevieve. Unfortunately, given my current situation, it is impossible for me to access them.”

Genevieve looked at him in amazement. Did he honestly believe she would accept money from him? “I don't expect you or anyone else to pay my debts,” she told him flatly.

“Had I the money available, I would not give you any choice in the matter,” Haydon retaliated. “But since I cannot provide the funds, we must think of someone who can. Have you any other relatives who might be willing to come to your aid?”

“No.”

Haydon frowned. “No one at all? Perhaps an uncle or a cousin—a relative of your father's?”

She shook her head. “My father's family was small—he had just one brother, who died a few years before he did. My mother had no brothers or sisters, and none of my grandparents are living.”

“What about your stepmother?”

“I would never ask her for anything, and she would never agree to help me.” Her voice was steeped in bitterness. “She was a selfish, evil woman who despised me from the day my father married her. After they were wed, she withdrew the affection she had lavished upon him during their courtship, leading him to seek companionship elsewhere. She told me I should have left Jamie in the prison to die the night I brought him home. I have no doubt that she would take great pleasure in the knowledge that I am in this position, and have no interest whatsoever in trying to help me out of it.”

Haydon considered this in silence. The only other choice was obvious, but somehow he could not bring himself to make the suggestion.

You're being a fool,
he told himself angrily.
He has lots of money and it's clear he still has feelings for her.
Swallowing his distaste for the only remaining option, he forced himself to say, “Then you must ask Charles for a loan.”

She stiffened. “Absolutely not. Charles has gone to great pains to constantly inform me that I can't possibly manage to care for these children on my own. When I took Jamie in, he was horrible. He told me he wasn't about to raise some whore's bastard, regardless of who his father was. Then he forbade me from keeping him.
Forbade me.
” Her hands gripped the armrest. “I told Charles I had no intention of giving up my brother. He became enraged, and told me to choose between him and the baby I was holding in my arms. And I did.”

Haydon said nothing. It was easy to despise Charles for being selfish, stupid, and cowardly. Easy to condemn him for his overbearing, narrow-minded stance, and to think that he did not deserve a beautiful, rare, and determined woman like Genevieve.

What was difficult was admitting what he himself would have done eight years earlier, had he been presented with the same situation.

Self-loathing filled him. In many ways, he realized miserably, he and Charles were not so different.

“If you went to Charles and asked him, do you think he would lend you the money?” Haydon persisted.

“No. He'd only take enormous satisfaction in the idea that he had been right.”

“Charles wouldn't want to see you and the children put on the street,” he argued. “If you asked him for help, I believe he would give it to you.”

“You don't know him as I do,” Genevieve replied. “Charles would derive great satisfaction from seeing me lose my home and forced to give up my children to orphanages or workhouses. Such a devastating outcome would soothe his pride over my public rejection of him, and reinforce the presumption amongst everyone in Inveraray that I have been a complete fool.”

“You don't know that—”

“Your concern is appreciated, Lord Redmond,” Genevieve interrupted. “But this is my problem and I shall deal with it as I think best.”

“And what do you propose to do?”

“I shall find something to sell.”

Haydon swept his gaze over the heavily worn furniture and the two inconsequential paintings that decorated the otherwise naked walls. “It doesn't appear that you have much left of any value.”

“I still have a few things,” Genevieve assured him defensively.

“Enough to come up with four hundred and forty pounds by eleven o'clock tomorrow morning?”

“No. But Mr. Humphries said I had thirty days, and I'm certain the bank will give me more time.”

“Mr. Humphries expects me to pay the total of your arrears tomorrow. Moreover, more time for what?” he demanded. “More time to miss yet another mortgage payment and have your debts pile even higher?”

“More time to consider my situation and find a way to address it,” Genevieve retorted. “I will sell some things. That will appease the bank somewhat while I find a way to repay the outstanding debt.”

Haydon shook his head. “The Royal Bank of Scotland isn't run by your adoring little friend, Mr. Humphries. All they care about is getting their money. If they say they will take proceedings against you to sell the house in thirty days, then that is what they will do. Your home will be swiftly sold for a fraction of its value, the money collected will go to pay off your debts, and you and your children will be on the street. In the meantime, the bank has emptied your account, which means at this very moment you don't have the means to buy so much as a pint of milk or an egg.”

“Thank you for clarifying my situation for me, Lord Redmond,” said Genevieve tautly, rising to her feet. “I believe you have enough concerns of your own at present, without having to trouble yourself over my situation as well. Tomorrow I shall meet with Mr. Humphries at eleven o'clock, and explain to him that I need more time. I shall say that my husband's funds are currently tied up in investments, and cannot be accessed for a week or two. That should give me enough time to sell a few things and accumulate enough money to keep the bank at bay for a while.”

Haydon was unconvinced. Even if Genevieve came up with the money to satisfy the immediate outstanding debt, there was still the matter of the monthly payments which she was clearly unable to honor, and beyond that, the money needed for daily household expenses. Although he could understand her desire to help all the lost waifs and stray elders she had taken in, at some point she should have realized she lacked the means to support so many people. But then, her generous spirit was at the heart of her. If not for her singular determination to help others, he would not be standing here arguing before her in her drawing room, almost healed and, for the moment, safe.

“I will go with you,” he told her.

“That isn't necessary.”

“Yes, it is.” He found her stubbornness profoundly irritating. “People believe you are a married woman, Genevieve, and as such, whether you like it or not, your debts are now my responsibility as far as the rest of the world is concerned. We will meet with Mr. Humphries together, and convince him that we have the funds, but they are not immediately available. Let us hope that we are able to obtain an extension of a week or more. And then,” he finished, glancing in frustration at the nearly bare walls, “we had best hope that you find diamonds hidden in the frames of these paintings.”

 

…A
ND THEN LORD REDMOND SAID THE BANK WAS
going to keep all the money from selling the house, and we would all be on the street.”

Jamie, Annabelle, Grace, and Charlotte stared at Simon in horror, their faces like a row of little pale moons against the darkness of the boys' bedroom.

“Genevieve won't let that happen,” said Jamie, trying to feign greater assurance than he actually felt. “She'll find a way to pay the bank its money.”

“She can't, because the bank stole all her money,” Simon countered. “Lord Redmond said we don't even have enough to buy an egg.”

“Oh my.” Grace's eyes grew wide with anxiety. “What are we going to do?”

“We are going to starve to death,” Annabelle declared matter-of-factly. “We shall grow weak and tired and gradually waste away, and when we finally die we shall be so small, they will place all of us in one simple, pine coffin, and then they shall lay us to rest forever in an unmarked grave, because Genevieve will not be able to afford a proper gravestone. Instead she will plant a scarlet rosebush on it, and she will come every day and water it with her tears, and every year there will be six lovely roses blooming for her, one for each of us.” She hugged her knees to her chest and sighed rapturously.

“Don't count me in that coffin.” Jack was stretched out upon his bed with his hands laced behind his head. “I'm not stayin' around here to starve.”

Jamie looked at him in surprise. “You're not?”

“I'm leavin' tomorrow. Never planned to stay this long anyway.”

“But where will you go?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Glasgow, maybe. There's plenty of quid to be made there.”