Freeing Ebony

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

It had been a day and a night before Bill Seaver appeared before Henry in his cell. Henry was sure the man was allowing Henry to sweat. The confines of a jail cell were much different to the stateroom he was used to at Ethridge. He had a sudden resurgence of respect for Alice, after all, she had endured much more than thirty – six hours in prison.

The portly man stood before him with crossed arms. His cheek and right eye were dark purple with the bruise that had formed where Henry had hit him. It looked awfully painful. Henry still maintained he deserved it though he’d never solved his problems with violence. He was an educated man and should have solved any misunderstanding with words. Women turned sensible men into irrational beings. He didn’t mind it though, he’d spend many a night in prison if it meant defending her honour.

Bill cleared his throat, indicating his displeased mood. “Warwick said you had a little proposal,” he grunted.

Henry had since learned that the lawman’s name was Warwick Turner. He had been married for fifteen years and had seven children. He’d married a Scandinavian woman named Anna and she drove him completely insane. He’d learned many other little facts about Mr Turner’s life. He was quite the talker once he got going.

“Yes,” Henry replied emotionlessly. “Mr Turner,” he said, alerting the lawman at his desk. “My effects, if you please.”

Mr Turner sniffed and cleaned his face from the sandwich he’d brought for lunch from his face. “Yes, yes,” he mumbled before opening a drawer in his desk. He pulled out Henry’s money pouch and the contents from his pockets including his pocket watch. He carried them over to the cell and handed them to Henry.

Henry loosened the draw strings on his money pouch and pulled out five pounds from inside. “I am to understand that any disagreement we have had will be forgotten,” Henry said, holding out the money from between the bars.

Bill merely nodded before snatching the money from Henry’s hands. He pocketed it quickly and tapped it a few times as if to check that it was still there. “You said you were here on behalf of Ebony,” he murmured. “Was that true?”

“Yes,” Henry replied. “I’m to find Celeste for her. You are quite sure she is in the north?”

“I told you so, didn’t I?” Bill sneered. “Is she really singing?” he asked, getting back to his point. “She was quite good as a girl.” He sounded a little regretful. Perhaps Henry’s strike had knocked some sense into him. Henry would never believe him a fit parent, but he could hope that he might feel some sort of paternal love for his children.

‘Good’ was not an appropriate adjective. She was much more that ‘good’. “Yes,” he answered. “She is singing on stage in London. Her magnificent soprano is the talk of the town.” Her soprano and her beauty.

“I s’pose she got what she wanted then.” He sighed. “To get out of here. Her mother would have been proud.” There was a look of tenderness on his bruised face that let Henry know that Bill truly did care for his late wife. “Let him out, Warwick,” he instructed.

Mr Turner came over to the cell with a set of iron keys and unlocked the door, allowing Henry to exit.

“I hope you find Celeste. Ebony always loved her best.” With that Bill took his leave and exited the jail.

Mr Turner returned Henry’s belongings to him. Henry refilled his pockets. “I wish you luck, Mr Alcott, on your endeavour. I hope never to see you under these circumstances again.” The two men shook hands and Henry was free to go.