“What is it you want?” he asked stiffly. “If you’re here begging, we can’t help you.” He paused a moment. “Well, if it’s food you want, and you’re hungry, go around to the back door. There may be something they can give you there.”
“I …I …I’m not begging,” stammered Robin. “I’ve come to talk to this person.” He handed the man, clearly the butler, the slip of paper from his pocket.
“Step inside then,” the butler said, his face expressionless. “I’ll go see if Mr. Highcrofft is able to see you.”
Robin stepped into a great, high-ceilinged entry hall, its two sparkling crystal chandeliers lighting up a grand, curved stairway rising up one side, two tall mirrors, and at least four large oil paintings framed in elegant, carved gold frames. This was a room that did nothing toward making Robin feel more comfortable. It was well that he had but a few moments to stand there quaking before Mr. Highcrofft appeared from the drawing room. But this was not the Mr. Highcrofft Robin expected to see!
Oh, this man had a family resemblance to the other. There was no denying it. But although he did indeed have a black beard, his face was somewhat thinner. And his eyes! They were a bright blue, with a gentle, kindly look to them. These were not the eyes Robin had seen before.
“You may go now, Fletcher. I’ll take it from here,” he said. Then he looked down at Robin. “Who is it who sent you, young man?”
“Mr. Hawker Doak,” replied Robin.
“Then this is a mistake,” was the quick reply. “I don’t know the man, but my cousin Franklin Highcrofft does business with him. Mr. Doak must have made a mistake with this. I’m Mr. Highcrofft, all right, but Mr. Jonathan Highcrofft as is written on this slip. I don’t know how he got this name and address. Do you?”
Robin shook his head. “All I know is he said he only wanted to see the man whose name is on the slip, and no other. And he told me to give you this.” Robin pulled out the locket and handed it to Mr. Highcrofft.
Mr. Highcrofft’s face paled when he saw it. He opened the locket, staring silently at the pictures in it. “Where did Mr. Doak get this?” he asked.
“I …I don’t know,” stammered Robin.
“Is the man your father?” asked Mr. Highcrofft.
“No, my step-papa,” replied Robin. “But he’s been in a fight, and he’s dying. He wants you to come as quickly as you can.”
“Wait here …what is your name, young man?” asked Mr. Highcrofft.
“It’s Robin,” he replied.
“Well, wait here, Robin. I shall be right back. Fletcher!” Mr. Highcrofft shouted as strode back into the drawing room. “Have the carriage brought round to the front door. And very quickly, if you please. Very quickly.”
Only minutes later, Robin was back in a carriage, listening once again to horses’ hooves drumming, hooves carrying him back to where Hawker Doak lay dying in his bed. Perhaps already gone, for all Robin knew. And the man beside him, Mr. Highcrofft, might have been thinking the same thing. His hands were tightly clenched and his face grimly set.
“Are you sure, Robin, you know nothing about where this locket came from?” Mr. Highcrofft pulled himself up from deep thought to ask.
“No, sir,” said Robin. “I …I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right,” Mr. Highcrofft in a kindly voice. “I’m sure if you knew anything, you’d tell me.”
After that, he retreated back into his deep thoughts, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.
As soon as they arrived at their destination, Mr. Highcrofft ordered his carriage to wait, and he ran with Robin to the apartment.
“Is he …is he …?” Robin asked when they entered Hawker’s room.
“Still with us,” replied Quill.
“But fading fast,” added Maggot. “Good thing you’re back.”
Upon hearing their voices, Hawker opened his eyes. “You brought Mr. Highcrofft with you, Robin?” he gasped. “Have him come by the bed. Quill and Maggot, I’d be pleased if you’d step out of the room whilst I talk private with these two.”
As the two men left, Robin approached the bed with Mr. Highcrofft. He could see the locket tightly clutched in Mr. Highcrofft’s hand.
“Mr. Highcrofft,” Hawker said, his voice now so weak they had to lean down to hear him, “I’m doin’ what I’m doin’ because I’m dyin’ and want to make things right with my Maker before I go. I’ve been a bad man, Mr. Highcrofft. Been terrible to this boy and to his ma. Ain’t that right, son?”
“It doesn’t matter now, Hawker,” Robin said, not knowing why his eyes should suddenly fill with tears on hearing this man who had indeed treated him so cruelly now call him “son.” “What I remember is how you got me that good cake. Remember?”
Hawker tried to smile. “It was good, and it was nice eatin’ it together. But it’s to Mr. Highcrofft I got a terrible confession to make. You got the locket, did you, Mr. Highcrofft?”
“I have it,” he replied, holding it out in his hand. “But where did you get it, man?”
“Stole it from your wife’s room in the hospital when she was havin’ her baby,” replied
