Papa leaned on the mantel over the fire, his back to her, and rested his head on his forearm. ‘I’m only here because he allowed me one small mercy—to say goodbye.’
The words were muffled, or mumbled. Serena wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Was that him in their parlour—Edward King? ‘Goodbye?’
Her father did not speak for a long while and she wondered if she had mistaken him. Again, the questions crowded in her mind, competing with the crackle and spit of the fire in the grate.
‘He is taking me to the magistrate tonight.’ Papa raised sad eyes to meet hers. ‘His charges will likely keep me in prison for several months.’
‘No! But, Papa. We need you here. Who will provide for us?’ Serena searched her mind for solutions. ‘I might be able to obtain work, but surely it will not be enough. Julianne and Rachel are still so young …’
Papa’s shoulders fell. ‘There is no other way. I have tried to reason with Mr King, but he is unbending.’
Desperation gripped Serena’s heart. Without Papa, they would be destitute within a very short time. All their dreams and hopes, gone. Why, oh, why did he have to steal from Edward King, of all people?
She thought back over her nineteen years. Papa had always been good to them. He had always provided for them and loved them. Even in those months of desperate grief after Mama died, his love for them hadn’t wavered. Papa was a good man and had done his best. And having made this one, small mistake, he now faced the cruellest of fates. Did he not deserve grace? Did not everyone need grace in their life? It was a pity that Edward King did not offer that mercy to her father. But if Mr King couldn’t, perhaps she could.
‘You said Mr King has a large house?
Papa lifted his head in a sluggish nod. ‘But—’
‘I have an idea.’ Serena squeezed his hand as she moved to leave the room. This must be done now, or she might lose her nerve.
She stormed into the parlour, pinning her eyes on the stranger whose very presence meant upheaval. Without waiting for the man to turn from where he stood, facing the mantel, she launched at him.
‘How can you be so merciless as to take a man from his family like this? Do you have no heart?’
With one arm leaning on the mantel, he only half-turned towards her, showing a stern profile against the firelight.
‘My heart has naught to do with it. Your father broke the law, and violation of the law leads to consequences.’
‘His ship was stranded! Have you no compassion? Can you offer no grace?’
He turned fully then, a deep frown marring what would otherwise be rather appealing features.
‘I am here, am I not? I might have taken him straight to the authorities, leaving you to wonder what became of your father.’
His casual dismissal drove Serena to angry tears. ‘It should be you who is put in prison. You are a monster.’
‘Serena, what is happening?’ Rachel appeared at the doorway, colour draining from her face, Julianne hovering at her shoulder.
Narrowing her eyes at Mr King, she answered, ‘This gentleman,’ she ground out as though the word was poison on her tongue, ‘is taking our father away to prison.’
Their gasps shook her from her rage and she turned to face them. ‘I am sorry, my dears. I ought not to have scared you so. But it is true. Papa must go to gaol, it seems.’
‘But, what are we to do?’
Her sister’s plaintive wail shook Serena to her core. She couldn’t let this happen.
Papa shuffled into the parlour behind them, his head still hung low.
‘It is time to go.’ Mr King straightened from the fireplace and walked toward Papa, taking him by the arm.
‘No!’ Serena dropped to her knees and blindly clutched at his sleeve. ‘Please don’t take him. I beg of you.’
Julianne and Rachel’s cries increased.
Mr King looked at her hand on his coat as though it were a slug and shook her loose. ‘Your begging changes nothing. He committed a crime and must be punished.’
Serena scrambled to her feet and grabbed at his sleeve again. ‘No. Please. Take me instead.’
Silence swelled to fill the room, punctuated only by the odd sniffle from her sisters and a log shifting in the grate.
‘What?’ Several voices questioned in unison.
Serena gazed at each in turn, at last landing on Mr King. She swallowed ‘Papa … Papa says you have a large house. Surely you need a maid somewhere. I will work off my father’s debt, for however many months he should be imprisoned. Just let him go in peace.’
‘Serena, no.’
Mr King raised a hand to silence Papa’s protest, but kept his eyes on her.
‘You would do that? You would take his place?’ For a moment the frown was gone, replaced by an indefinable expression.
‘If it means he can remain here with my sisters, then yes.’
Edward King stared at her again, his gaze only briefly shifting to her father before settling on her face. ‘Let it be done.’
2
Sunday 10th April, 1842
Today began like any other day. From my bed, I could see the giant fig through the glass doors of my balcony. All day long it called to me, its branches beckoning like bony fingers, but I could not summon the strength to shift my feet from beneath the blankets. Why does my quilt seem weighed with lead? It presses on me with the heaviness of sleep.
But the sleep never lasts long enough to bring true rest. Too soon I was gazing at the relentless fig again. Why did I never cut it down? Now it torments me day and night.
I admire its mighty limbs. Would those branches hold my weight? I daresay they might.
The fig tree’s long arms beckon in the moonlight. It is an embrace I must consider.
3
Serena woke on a sofa in a strange room. She struggled to
