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Prologue
Ten-year-old Charles Conolly sat, staring into the fire. The flames danced and crackled before his eyes. If he closed them, their dance would penetrate the darkness that dwelt there. Eyes closed, eyes open, it didn’t matter—his father was still dead.
His feet hung out into space, as they did on every chair. He kicked them a little bit. He was frightened that the constable was there to take his mother from him, too. He’d had nightmares about it, ever since his father had been taken away. He was learning that nightmares were real. Even when he was awake, the horrible reality was still there.
Behind him, in the other room, his mother and the constable were talking in low voices. He tried to listen, closely.
“How is your son?” Constable Barnes asked. This was a trap—they pretended to be kind. Then, when a person relaxed…that was when they accused that person of something you hadn’t done.
“He’s stopped speaking, since…” his mother trailed off. She sighed. “Since the hanging. I shouldn’t have taken him, but I wanted him to see us, right before…”
Just the mention of it caused Charles to begin to shake. He’d closed his eyes, so he hadn’t seen the awful moment, or what came after. He’d heard someone, screaming. It had taken him a while before he’d realized that it was actually him.
“I have news, Ma’am,” the constable said. Charles’s small heartbeat quickened in fear. So, he was there to take Charles’s mother. His body tensed. What should he do? What could he do?
“Yes?” his mother said. Charles listened, even closer. He waited for the constable to deliver the bad news. Then, he would go in, do something to protect her.
“Another murder has occurred,” the constable began. “We were able to catch the true perpetrator. A man, who looks very much like your husband.”
“Oh, Oh God,” his mother gasped, bursting into sobs.
Charles’s stomach dropped. His small hands were tight fists at his sides. They had killed his father. He thought of his father, then—he had the same dark hair and blue eyes as Charles. Theodore Conolly had been a kind, gentle person. Someone who would have never hurt anyone. The constable kept talking.
“I’m sorry to say that your husband has been cleared of any wrongdoing in the whole affair,” the constable said. “We are…we are so sorry, Madam.”
A tear trailed down Charles’s cheek as he listened to his mother, crying in the other room. Charles stood up, then stalked angrily into the living room, where Constable Barnes was seated at the worn settee with his mother.
“You come to tell us this now?” Charles demanded. He might have been ten years old, but he had the full weight of righteous anger on his side. “You come to tell us that you hanged the wrong man?”
Charles was shaking, and he felt sick to his stomach. The constable looked at him with droopy eyes.
“I’m so very sorry—” he began.
“No, you’re not,” Charles snapped, cutting him off. “What are you going to do? Take my mother from me, too?”
“Charles!” his mother said.
He turned to his mother. She looked pale, faded, as if the life had been sucked out of her since his father’s arrest. Her cheeks were glistening with tears. “What? What is he going to do?” Charles demanded. “He’s taken Father from us! Because he made a mistake!” He turned toward Constable Barnes, who looked like he’d been slapped. “How are we supposed to live?”
“We’ve…we’ve raised some money,” Constable Barnes said. “To ensure that you are both taken care of. So that the boy can go to school.”
“Money? What good is money?” Charles snapped. “I want my father back! You took him from me!”
He glared at the constable, then turned and stormed out through the back door, letting it slam behind him. Charles stood on the back step, breathing heavily. He didn’t know what to do, or where to go. His mother would worry if he disappeared. Charles wasn’t allowed to go far. He sat down heavily on the back step.
His father, a good man, had been wrongly accused of murder. No matter how hard they had tried to convince anyone of his innocence, no one had listened. And they hadn’t been able to afford a barrister.
If only they’d had the money to afford one then. He decided in that moment, that he would become a barrister, himself. Then, he could help people like his father.
