seven
THE HARD WOODEN bench at the police station hurt Keith’s back. He was sick of that place, especially since he’d been separated from Violante. Last night, after he and Paul had come here, the officers hadn’t let them go until that morning, and now Keith was once again at the police station. He wasn’t sure for how long he’d been sitting there, but his legs had grown numb, and an ache pounded in his head. A detective had interrogated him for hours, asking each question at least ten times. Then anonymous constables had asked him arbitrary questions about everything regarding Sharpe Manor. After that, they’d ordered him to sit in the lobby and not leave while the officers celebrated the huge success of their anti-anarchist operation.
He didn’t feel any sense of triumph. People had died that day because of his actions. There was nothing to celebrate or be grateful for. He certainly didn’t feel like a hero.
Yes, the attack had been foiled, the gunpowder and weapons had been confiscated, and Sir Howard, his family, and his guests were still alive. But Mr. Sharpe…Keith rubbed his chest where a different type of ache throbbed.
Mr. Sharpe had been shot dead after he’d barricaded himself in the barn with other Fenians. Paul and his mother were nowhere to be seen. Keith suspected they’d left with the stolen money, never to return. Even Violante had vanished. He’d lost sight of her when the police had snatched everyone in the manor and along the road to the town. Rowdy constables had stuffed Keith and other men in a cramped waggon. Violante and the housemaids had been shoved into a different coach. Not even the stableboys had been spared from being locked up in an interrogation room for hours.
He didn’t care about being interrogated, but he had to see Violante. He stopped a passing constable. “I need to see Miss Violante Sharpe. Where is she?”
The copper shrugged and left.
“Excuse me…” He tried to stop another officer who ignored him.
“Please.” He blocked the path of yet another officer. “I must see Miss Violante Sharpe. Where is she?”
The man pointed to the other side of the hall. “I have no idea. Take a look at the cell?—”
“The cell? Was she arrested?”
“I don’t know, but we locked a few people up in case we need to question them further and to prevent them from leaving. If she isn’t there, I have no idea where she might be.”
Keith made his way through the crowd of uniformed men and civilians. The journalists fought among themselves to interview the superintendent, who conceitedly talked about his excellent detective skills in understanding where an attack would take place. Yes, right. If it hadn’t been for Keith and Paul, there would be a crater where Sir Howard’s manor was.
Relatives of the arrested people yelled and threatened the officers. Someone cried in a corner. A man bumped into him. He had to shove people aside to reach the other side of the lobby.A short staircase led to a wide corridor lined with a series of cells. They were empty for the most part, but he found Violante in the last one. She sat on a bench between two of the maids of the manor and other women he didn’t know. Her hair was dishevelled, mud stained her boots, and rips tore her dress. A bruise marred her cheek.
“Violante.” He grabbed the bars, his pulse spiking.
She raised her head, but her face remained a mask of tired lines and hopelessness.
“How are you?” It was a stupid question, but he couldn’t think of anything better to say.
“Go away, Keith.” She stared at her folded hands on her lap.
He licked his dry lips. “I’m sorry about your father.”
Fire flamed her cheeks in an instant, turning her violet eyes into a deep purple. She shot up to her feet. “Sorry? How dare you say you’re sorry? My papa is dead because of you, because of your betrayal.”
“Betrayal?” Dammit. He would take the blame for her father’s death, but he wouldn’t be considered a traitor. “What was I supposed to do? Let him carry on his plan?” Getting upset had to be contagious because he grew offended as well. “He betrayedme.”
“You should have done something, dissuaded him, forced him to renounce his plan. You should have warned me. Not call the police.” She closed her fists. “If you’d called me, talked to me, I would’ve convinced him to stop his plan. He would’ve seen reason. He would’ve listened to me. He would’ve done anything for me.”
“This is absurd. Do you think I didn’t try to persuade him? And you would have never believed me, and even if you had, he wouldn’t have changed his mind. Too many people were involved. The barrels filled with gunpowder were ready. Itwasn’t the first time he’d blown people up. Hell, for all I know, he killed my mother, too.”
“My papa is dead.” Her voice broke with pain.
“My mother is dead, too,” he said, shaking. “The Fenians killed her.”
“So it was revenge. You denounced my father because you wanted revenge.”
“I wanted justice.” He slammed a hand on the bar. “I wanted to save people.”
“Look at what a great job you did,” she said. “Papa is dead. Six other people are dead. The manor is destroyed. My family is gone. Well done. You’re a true hero.”
“Shooting at the police was your father’s choice.” He gripped the bars harder. “If he and his men had surrendered themselves, they would be alive.”
She kept staring at him with fire in her gaze. “Are you and Paul going to share? You should be proud of that, too.”
