Page 33 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

In Which Paths, Umbrellas, and Swords Cross; And Chivalrous Knights (or Perhaps an Avenging Angel) Make an Appearance…

Emmeline shivered as she followed a sour-faced prison guard through the fetid, ice-cold corridors of Newgate Prison.

In one hand she carried a wicker basket of provisions that she’d purchased at Covent Garden.

In her other hand, she held a posy of dried lavender, which she pressed to her nose.

Wedged tightly beneath one arm was her trusty Parasol Academy umbrella.

Carrying her umbrella always gave her an added sense of security whenever male prisoners hurled insults or horrid propositions her way.

While they were safely behind iron bars, it didn’t make them any less intimidating.

And one never knew what sort of prison guard one would encounter.

If they got a bit handsy, she could easily give them a poke with the Point-of-Confusion.

Or at the very least, a well-aimed smack on the knuckles.

(Both were far safer options than pulling out her sheathed ankle knife.

Getting arrested for threatening a prison guard would be too inconvenient for words.)

Emmeline was certainly grateful that her father—perhaps because of his age and the nonviolent nature of his crime—had been incarcerated in a solitary cell.

If he’d been locked up in one of the enormous group cells, he would not have fared well.

As it was, every time she saw him, he was more gray-faced and weaker than the last occasion.

But he won’t be here for much longer , she reminded herself. Newgate must be the earthly equivalent of Hades. Emmeline was surprised that there wasn’t a sign declaring, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” above the prison’s front entrance.

Obviously, there were any number of ways that Emmeline could break her father out of Newgate. If she had no qualms about breaking a multitude of Parasol Academy rules, she could simply wear her uniform and then use her leyport key to teleport her father to someplace far away.

But then he’d have to live in hiding for the rest of his days, and with all the publicity generated by the suspicious disappearance of a prisoner, the Academy would undoubtedly find out and she’d be expelled.

Her name would be mud. She’d never practice as an Academy nanny again.

She might even be arrested for effecting the escape of a prisoner.

She simply couldn’t do it.

The guard stopped outside one of the studded iron doors and grunted as he inserted the key into the lock. “There you go, miss.” He held out his hand and Emmeline dropped the required “contribution” of a few shillings into his palm. “I’ll be back in ’alf an hour.”

The door swung open, its hinges grating and the bottom edge scraping over the uneven stone floor, and then Emmeline was pushing into the dim and dank interior. As the cell door slammed shut behind her with a resounding metallic thud, Emmeline’s gaze lit on her father.

He was sitting on the edge of his narrow pallet bed, blinking as though he’d just woken up.

His graying hair and clothes were disheveled and the lines bracketing his mouth and creases around his eyes were deeply etched.

“Emmeline… is that you?” he asked in a voice as raspy as the prison door hinges.

“It is, Papa.” Emmeline deposited her things on a narrow stone bench built into the wall, the only other piece of “furniture” in the cramped chamber. As always, she would try to be cheerful, even though her heart was breaking.

As Edward Evans rose on unsteady legs, Emmeline took a few steps across the filthy floor and embraced him. “It feels like forever since I last saw you,” he said thickly.

“I know. And I’m sorry it’s been so long.

” Emmeline couldn’t hide the catch in her voice when she noticed how bony and frail her father’s frame felt beneath her gloved hands.

Heavens above, even his breathing had a weak, rattling quality.

It hadn’t been like that the last time she’d visited.

“But I’m here now,” she said, drawing back. “It’s my day off.”

“Yes. You must have greased the palm of the turnkey well enough because I got your letter. Working as a nanny for the Duke of St Lawrence, eh? I’m so happy for you, my girl.

Your mother would have been so proud.” Her father suddenly lapsed into a coughing fit.

“Sorry,” he said on a gasp, his eyes watering. “I can’t shake this awful cold.”

“Don’t be sorry,” said Emmeline, guilt slicing into her heart. She should have come sooner. She should have asked the duke if she could have a half day off every fortnight rather than a full day once a month.

She returned to the wicker basket, removed the folded blanket that covered it, then pulled out the medicinal tonic she’d purchased from an apothecary.

“Here, try some of this, Papa. It should help ease your cough,” she said as she handed him a dark brown bottle.

“And then you can have some of the bread and cheese and gammon I brought. Apples too.”

Edward Evans moved closer to the only source of light in the cell—a narrow window set high in the stone wall—and squinted at the label. “Wortley’s Chest Tonic,” he read, then emitted a short wheezy laugh. “Am I supposed to drink it or rub it on my chest?”

Emmeline gave his shoulder a light playful slap.

“Drink it, of course. The apothecary informed me that it contains a bit of laudanum. At the very least, it should help you sleep better at night. I bought a blanket as well. And some socks and a scarf. They’re all wool.

A little coarse, but hopefully they’ll keep you warm.

” She placed everything on the end of her father’s bed then returned to the basket.

“And last of all, I have a book for you. Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe.

It’s secondhand but all the pages seem to be there. ”

Her father took the novel and pressed it to his chest. “I shall enjoy every word, my dearest daughter. The days are long and dreary, and it will provide me with some much-needed entertainment.”

“Oh, Papa.” Tears welled in Emmeline’s eyes, blurring her vision.

“I promise you that I will get you out of here. The Duke of St Lawrence pays me well to look after his wards. As soon as I have sufficient funds—hopefully within a month—I’ll arrange for you to be transferred to the debtors’ prison, Giltspur Street Compter. I’ve heard it’s much nicer there.”

“Don’t cry, my Em,” said her father, his own eyes suspiciously wet. “I know that I’m thinner, and I can’t shake this cough, but there’s life in these middle-aged bones yet. And you have no idea how grateful I am for all that you’re doing. You’re a good girl. Always have been. Unlike…”

Unlike Freddy, her brother. “Has Freddy visited you lately, Papa?” asked Emmeline gently.

She knew he’d done so shortly after their father had been incarcerated.

He’d promised to revive his music hall, the Oberon, and had surmised it wouldn’t be too long before patrons began pouring in again to see all sorts of plays and melodramas and musical acts.

But that had been months ago. Emmeline had seen neither hide nor hair of Freddy since Christmastide.

Her father released a wheezy huff of laughter. “No. I imagine he’s too riddled with guilt. One would hope he’s making a go of the Oberon, considering all of the money I threw at it.”

Emmeline sighed. “I should try to see him. While I’m worried about him, I’m also angry about what happened. How it’s your business that failed. It isn’t fair.”

“It was my decision to take out that second mortgage. To invest in his dream,” said Edward. “I chose to risk my store. Obviously, in hindsight, it was foolish of me to do so. But I did have hopes Freddy could turn things around. You never know, he still might.”

“Perhaps.” Emmeline wasn’t convinced. Her brother wasn’t a bad man.

But he was undoubtedly flawed. He could be thoughtless and indolent, and Emmeline believed he was far too laissez-faire when it came to managing the Oberon.

He was far too chummy with the music hall’s staff, and Emmeline wondered if some of the Oberon’s takings had been pilfered.

It was clear that Freddy’s propensity for too much “wine, women, and song” and not enough “nose to the grindstone” had led them to this pass.

Emmeline perched on the stone bench and her father sat on his bed.

She regaled him with stories about the duke’s delightful wards and roguish raven, and before she knew it, her half hour visit was over and the prison guard was at the door.

Emmeline hugged her father goodbye. “Promise me you’ll use that tonic and wrap up warmly.

And don’t let any of the food I bought you go to waste.

Oh, and I want to hear about your favorite part of Ivanhoe when I next visit. ”

Her father’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Yes, Nanny Chase. I promise I will.”

Emmeline smiled. “Good.” It hurt her heart to leave, but at least her father appeared to be in much better spirits. “I’m going to ask the duke if I might have two half days off per month rather than one whole day. Then I can visit you fortnightly.”

“I would love that, Emmeline.” Her father’s expression was a mixture of hopeful and grave. “But only if it won’t inconvenience the duke. Don’t put your position in jeopardy. I’m not worth—”

“?’Ere, I ’aven’t got all bleedin’ day, you lot,” grumbled the guard from the doorway. “It’s time to go.”

Ignoring the guard, Emmeline said, “Of course you’re worth it, Papa. I’ll send word as soon as I know when I can see you again.” She gave her father one last quick hug, collected her umbrella and reticule, and then the guard was unceremoniously ushering her through the prison to the main entrance.