whatever ‘e’d earn as a boxer.’
Evelyne, clutching the contract, was led through the jail to the visiting room. This time the prison officers were cordial and called her ‘ma’am’. Freedom was brought into the small room in handcuffs, but he had bathed and shaved. His hair was shining, and was braided down his neck. He sat, head bowed, opposite her, and the officer told Evelyne quietly that she could stay as long as she wanted.
One officer was left on duty inside the room, as usual, and another outside the door, but this time the room was not locked.
‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Freedom? You know how much trouble I’ve been to, and Sir Charles, you can’t say no, you must be out of your mind.’
Freedom looked down at his hands and pursed his lips. Evelyne leaned over and whispered that no one was concerned about anyone else, nothing had been mentioned about anyone else’s involvement, no names. All they were interested in was his innocence or guilt.
‘You are innocent, I know it, I can stand up and prove it in Willie’s case, but you’ll have to say where you were on the days when the other lads were killed.’
Freedom shifted his weight but still he would not
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look up and meet her eyes. He remained silent, infuriating Evelyne.
‘Sir Charles Wheeler’s no ordinary man, he can help you in your boxing, all you’ve got to do is sign this contract an’ he’ll make you a contender.’. Having misunderstood what Ed Meadows had said, Evelyne had no idea what ‘contender’ meant. Freedom smiled, still with his head down, his eyes averted.
‘You sign this and he’ll take all the court costs out of what he’s agreed to pay you. It’s a chance for you, you can’t throw it away.’
Still he said nothing, and she tried cajoling and various other approaches.
‘Do you not want to box, is that it?’
Freedom lifted his head and stared at her, then turned to face the prison officer. ‘Aye, I want that, I just don’t want no one else to be involved.’
She knew he was thinking of Rawnie and Jesse, and she couldn’t believe it. Her temper got the better of her. ‘You are a fool, you know that, a stubborn fool, I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath on you!’ ‘
‘And I don’t know why, you tell me, I don’t know why I deserve this, no one has ever fought for me before, why you, what do you want?’
‘Because you’re innocent, that’s why, I’d do it for any man who was about to hang when I knew he shouldn’t.’
She laid out the contract and read down the detailed, neatly typed pages. She turned it over, Sir Charles was guaranteeing Freedom a wage, and a fair one as far as she could see.
‘Is there something here you don’t agree with, is it too long a contract, is that it?’
Freedom rubbed his head, glanced at the attentive
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prison officer and then said in a barely audible voice, ‘I can’t read, I don’t read.’
Evelyne could see his embarrassment, and she got up to ask the officer if she could move her chair round the table to discuss the contract with the prisoner.
They sat close and she whispered each clause of the contract, her finger tracing the lines. He sat, head bent, staring intently at the pages.
‘He promises to give you accommodation at his estate outside London for the time you will be training until the time you desire to find your own establishment. These costs will be deducted from your wages together with the costs this case will incur. He also wants you to have a suit ordered for the trial, and …’ Evelyne looked at him, his face close enough for her to touch. He was not paying any attention to the contract but looking at her closely, scrutinizing her face. She turned back to the papers, blushed, coughed, and started again.
‘Clause four, this one down here, says you will be contracted to Sir Charles for five years, after that time you will be free either to renew your contract with him or not, as you choose. This contract is valid for all parts of the world.’ As she turned the page her hand brushed against his, and he moved his handcuffed wrists further way.
‘He, Sir Charles, that is, has the right to bring all contractual obligations here assigned to termination at any date he so wishes.’
She opened her bag, and the officer moved a step into the room. She held up a pen, then looked at Freedom. ‘You going to sign it? You have to, it’s the only chance you have, and I think it’s a pretty fair deal.’ Freedom nodded, and with her hand guiding his he signed his initials, ‘F.S.’
Evelyne promptly folded the contract and slipped it
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into her handbag. Freedom looked at her with a strange expression, then he looked away and kept his voice low as he said, ‘You gimme your word they’ll not try to bring in my friends.’
Evelyne snapped her bag shut and nodded her head. ‘You have my word, and I want yours that you’ll give Sir Charles any information not concerning your friends that’ll help you, will you promise me that?’
Freedom promised, and she gave the officer a look to let him know the meeting was over. She went to walk straight out, but then she stopped, bent her head towards Freedom and lightly kissed his cheek. It was a friendly gesture, there was nothing sexual and no intention of it being so. As the door closed behind her she turned back and saw him through the small window. He held his handcuffed hands over his face, and he seemed defeated.
When Freedom took his hands away from his face the tears were wet on his cheeks. He was crying, without a tremor, without a sound. His dark eyes blinked, and with one gesture the tears were gone, and he rose and lifted his hands to the officer. He was ready to be returned to the cells.
***
Sir Charles Wheeler brought Ed sharply down to earth. The fact that Freedom had signed their contract was no reason for celebration. They still had to prove the boy innocent and that was not going to be easy. He turned to Evelyne, checking his watch, and told her that they had a meeting with the lawyers in one hour. He didn’t exactly dismiss Evelyne, but he told her he had things to do, and Dewhurst hovered at the door to usher her out. ‘Have you the finances to remain here, Miss Jones? As I recall, you had only booked in for three days. The
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case could take a considerable time to get to court and you are the star witness.’
Evelyne was in a bit of a dilemma. Basically, she did have the money, but that would mean dipping into her precious legacy, and she had always taken great pains not to touch it unless absolutely necessary. But if she said she didn’t have it, would Sir Charles pay for her room, or would she be moved elsewhere?
Sir Charles took her silence to mean she did not have enough money, and with hardly a pause for breath he turned to Dewhurst and gave instructions to have Miss Jones’ account at the hotel given to him. He did not even wait for her to thank him, but strode into the study with Ed at his heels.
Evelyne wanted to dance along the corridor, she could still stay here, and for free. She could have as many baths as she liked, as many cream cakes, and all paid for by Sir Charles.
***
The lawyer’s office was dark, wood-panelled and lined with books. One whole wall was taken up with yellowing documents. The desk was claw-footed and covered in more of the same thick, yellowing documents. Smethurst swept into the room wearing his gown, having come directly from the court. His domed head was framed by a strange fringe of orange hair sprouting out at the sides, but the thickness of his eyebrows made up for the lack of hair on the top of his head. Mr Smethurst was a junior partner, but Evelyne decided that if he was a junior then the senior partners must all be really ancient.
Smethurst, Humphrey George, Esquire, had a booming voice, and his flabby hand gripped Sir Charles’ in a pulverizing handshake. ‘Charlie, well, Charlie, sit down,
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sit down old chap, you must be Miss Jones, seat, take a pew all of you, be back in a tick.’
They could hear his booming voice as he called for someone named Ethel to get the kettle on the boil for tea. He returned quickly, minus the gown and pulling on a Harris tweed jacket, almost the colour of his hair. His baggy trousers and heavy brogues were covered in mud. His Old Harrovian tie had worked its way around to the back of his neck, and the collar of his crumpled shirt stuck up. He and Sir Charles had been at school together.
