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“What will you do now?”
“I don’t know, but it does mean that I have options,” she said as they exited the building, “and that is a wonderful feeling.”
Sitting in astench far worse than he had ever imagined, Oliver rested his back against the sticky wall, wondering when he would finally be set free from this abysmal pit. Fat black rats scurried through the iron bars with their long, hairless tails trailing behind on the cold ground.
Follett kicked at one of the rats as it came closer to his right boot. “Why are there so many rats?” he asked indignantly.
Glancing up at the small opening that constituted as a window in the cramped cell, Oliver replied, “They come and go as they please through the windows.”
“Why don’t they put glass in the openings?” Haskett huffed.
Oliver shrugged. “I suppose they don’t care about prisoners being uncomfortable.”
“They should,” Follett remarked.
With a shake of his head, Oliver asked, “Pray tell, why is that?”
“We pay taxes,” Follett said.
“You also broke the law,” Oliver pointed out.
Follett frowned. “I did no such thing,” he declared. “I merely attended a meeting—”
Speaking over him, Oliver finished his thought for him. “That had radical ties.”
“I hadn’t realized that.”
“Oh, why didn’t you say something before now?” Oliver mocked. “I suppose the judge will let you off because you unwittingly went to a radical meeting where a violent protest was being planned.”
Follett’s frown deepened. “You are being rather churlish.”
“I suppose it has something to do with the fact that I spent the night in a jail cell with you,” Oliver stated.
Haskett rose from his seat and went to look out the window. “When do you suppose we will get out of here?”
“It could be hours or days,” Oliver said. “It all depends on when the magistrate is willing to hear our case.”
“But we told them who we were when we arrived,” Haskett remarked. “Our case will take precedence over other cases, won’t it?”
“I am not entirely sure,” Oliver replied. “I did bribe the guard with a few coins to give us a private cell.”
Follett took his hand and rubbed it along the back of his neck. “That is nice, but I would rather be sleeping on my feather mattress than a cold, hard floor.”
“As would I,” Haskett said. “Do you suppose they will bring us breakfast soon? I find myself rather hungry.”
Oliver pressed his lips together, not wanting to dignify Haskett’s question with a response. A peculiar odor of unwashed bodies hung in the air, making him decisively not hungry. He couldn’t imagine how filthy he was, and he had only been here overnight.
He brought his leg up and rested his arm on it. A long soak was in his future when he arrived home. More importantly, he wondered how he was going to make this up to Emmeline. He had promised her that he would return home and accompany her to her late father’s solicitor. Furthermore, he remembered that it was her birthday, and he had yet to purchase her a gift.
Blazes! It was rather difficult to keep promises when he was an agent. He never quite knew what to expect.
The sound of a door creaking open could be heard in the distance followed by booted footsteps. Glancing towards the sound, he saw a guard approaching his cell with keys jingling in his hand.
The guard stopped outside of the cell. “Lord Oliver,” he said as he unlocked the door, “you are free to go.”
Follet jumped up to his feet. “What about me?”
The guard gave him an unimpressed look. “Who are you again?”
