Authors: Danielle
McCrory chuckled, shaking his head. He looked so pleased at the ribbing, Gabriel felt compelled to keep it up after Buckland veered away.
“Is that why you took all a poor man’s Pall Malls? Your girl smokes ’em out of a long black holder?”
“I never said that.” McCrory’s gaze flicked up to meet Gabriel’s.
“Too much of a lady for the filthy habit?”
“No. I never said Pat was a girl. Everyone’s assumed it.” McCrory began to redden. “It’s been easy to get away with, easier than I ever dreamed. We bought an old duplex and cut a door in the center wall. Our neighbors think nothing of us.”
The pleasure in McCrory’s eyes left Gabriel uncharacteristically at a loss for words. About to clap the other man on the back and send him on his way, Gabriel suddenly realized why McCrory had confided him. Out of all the men in Wentworth, Gabriel was the only one McCrory could talk to about Pat. And he was bursting at the seams to tell someone.
Over the next two weeks Gabriel learned everything there was to know about Patrick Horton, including his favorite foods, his tendency to snore and his rising prominence in the War Office. This last bit interested Gabriel most of all, though he forced himself to wait a day before showing McCrory the op-ed article about convicts joining the war effort.
Tucking the newspaper under his arm, McCrory promised to ask Pat about it that very evening. Next day, he greeted Gabriel with a shake of the head.
“Pat says it’s all politics. Never happen. And to be honest, I think it’s a terrible idea.” McCrory looked apologetic. “Most of these blighters aren’t like you, Gabe. They’d be shot for desertion or banged up all over again for insubordination. Sorry. Do you want out so bad that you’d let the PM ship you away as cannon fodder?”
“Not me. Joey. He’s a fully qualified doctor. Surely the Army could use one?”
McCrory sighed. “No offense, but Cooper was convicted for killing two of his patients. Not sure even the Army wants a doctor like that. Hell, I think they’d rather have a master carpenter.”
Much later that night, as Joey lay in his arms, Gabriel floated the notion for the first time. The other man’s swift, contemptuous dismissal astonished him.
“Bill’s right. Getting shipped off to die is worse than serving my time here. Wentworth is lovely – no bullets, no bombs and no country that wadded me up and tossed me in the rubbish bin expecting me to die for her. Besides,” Joey lifted himself to stare into Gabriel’s face. “We’d be separated forever. Why would I choose that?”
“I know it’s a gamble. But keep your head down, finish your tour and you can start over. Go home to Julia, give her another baby, live your goddamn life.”
“And forget you even exist?” Joey’s gray eyes were sharp in the torch’s muted glow. “You have a martyr complex, you know that?”
“’Course I do. I’m Catholic,” Gabriel laughed. He kissed Joey until the other man smiled. “I know you don’t like to think on the future. But see reason. If you serve your full sentence, by the time you’re out, Julia will be too old to give you more children. You’ll be so out of practice as a physician, it might be impossible to take up again. And you and I will still be separated forever. You won’t even be able to send me love letters without the censors cutting them to ribbons.”
“Gabe. You’re a persuasive devil. But you’ll never win this one.” Joey settled back into Gabriel’s arms with a yawn. “The only way I’ll leave Wentworth early is if you do, too.”
* * *
A
t first Rebecca was energized by the possibility. One of her solicitor friends had it on good authority that if Winston Churchill became prime minister in the next election, MI6 and at least two other government agencies would be combined to fight the Axis on unconventional terms.
“This isn’t a scheme to round up cannon fodder for the front lines,” Rebecca said. “MI6 is only interested in people with special skills. An Oxford-educated physician certainly fits the bill. But there’s no reason they shouldn’t consider you, too. This Office of Special Operations, or whatever they finally call it, will need engineers, plumbers and carpenters, too. It isn’t just a brain trust.”
“Thanks for that,” Gabriel said dryly. But inside he was light as a feather. That night he and Joey stayed up most of the night, whispering and laughing softly like boys on a sleepover as they planned what they would do after the war.
“No,” Gabriel said firmly. “I’ll not have you divorce the poor woman on account of me.”
“I never said divorce. Julia and I can live apart. There’s a fine old English tradition of remaining married on paper whilst buggering off for greener pastures, old chap,” Joey said, putting on the posh tones that always amused Gabriel. “We’ll take a flat in the city, tell everyone we’re brothers. I’ll work on my Irish brogue. I already have Jay-sus down pat.”
Over the next three weeks the plans grew more detailed. The flat became a duplex, à la McCrory and Pat. Gabriel would construct a passage between the two living spaces. The bedroom on his side would be for show; the bedroom on Joey’s side would be theirs. The idea of making love or even just sleeping whenever he fancied it was particularly tantalizing. As was the notion of using his skills however he wished, not just for construction but for his own pleasure.
“A master carpenter is an artisan, too,” he told Joey. “I can carve us a bedstead. A highboy. A sideboard for our kitchen.”
“Kitchen?” Joey looked worried. “One of us will have to learn to cook.”
They regarded each other, each turning the unfamiliar notion over in his head.
“We’ll bring in a woman for that,” Gabriel said at last.
“She’ll know all our business.”
“Aye, and she’ll not give a damn if we pay a good wage. Will it be hard for you to find work as a doctor?”
“I don’t know. Worst case, I can join a charity. I shan’t be idle, that’s for certain. And in my spare time,” Joey smiled, “I’ll work in our garden.”
But when Gabriel next met Rebecca Eisenberg, it wasn’t in the visitors’ room. It was an official meeting in her capacity as his solicitor. She put on a brave smile, rising to take both his hands, but the moment Gabriel looked in her eyes he knew the news wasn’t good.
“You can’t tell me they don’t need physicians,” he gasped, too amazed to be angry. “They’ll let a man like Joey rot rather than win this war?”
“Actually – Dr. Cooper has already been accepted. If he agrees to work for the War Office until the war ends or until he’s deemed unfit for service, his sentence will be commuted. He’ll even be eligible for a pension.”
Gabriel laughed. “Why – that’s wonderful. Perfect!”
“They considered you, too, Gabriel. But after they read the transcripts from your trial …” Rebecca broke off, shaking her head.
Gabriel was surprised at his own disappointment. He hadn’t really believed it. Surely he’d just played along with Joey, building castles in the air as yet another way to tempt the other man into understanding just what was being offered. Still, for the first time Gabriel suffered a stab of fear. What would his life in Wentworth be like without Joey?
Gabriel swallowed the thought. God knew there’d been times in his life when he’d lost his way. But when he recognized the right path he’d take it, and the cost be damned.
“Of course they won’t have me. I’m a double murderer, no matter what you got the Crown to call it.”
Rebecca sighed. “No. It was the psychiatrist’s testimony. The same testimony that saved your life. That, along with your family medical history.”
Gabriel winced, waving Rebecca into silence. Everyone knew madness ran on his mother’s side. He’d admitted as much to Joey, though he’d left out the particulars – the cousins who’d heard voices, the aunt who’d strangled her own babe, believing it possessed of the devil. But to hear a learned man state plainly from the witness box that Gabriel had suffered a psychotic break – that when he committed the murders, he’d been unable to distinguish right from wrong, or reality from fantasy – still hurt even ten years later. The psychiatrist, a white-haired man in a pinstriped suit, had explained that several factors, including Gabriel’s inability to flee afterward, to explain why he’d erupted or even recognize his brother Joseph, proved he’d been insane at the time. Or, since the Crown did not recognize temporary insanity, “possessed by irresistible impulse.”
Rebecca Eisenberg and her cronies had nodded in sympathy. So had the foreman of the jury. But Gabriel, sickened by his diagnosis, had prayed the court would declare him a wicked man and put him to death.
“I’m sorry, Gabriel.” Rebecca’s tone was as firm and direct as ever, but her large brown eyes were soft.
“No need to be sorry. You’ve given me wonderful news. And what you’ve done for Joey – it’s a star in your heavenly crown, I promise. Far better than saving my neck.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Rebecca sighed. But she tried to look happy all the same.
* * *
J
oey took the news just as Gabriel feared. He refused to go. He wasn’t interested in the particulars, didn’t care about the commuted sentence, the pension, the fact he’d be no ordinary soldier but a specialist attached to the War Office.
“I won’t leave you,” Joey said, eyes gleaming precisely as they had when he’d refused to lie, even under threat of the lash. “Think how much the system has changed since you were convicted. By the time I’m ready for release, the Crown might be willing to parole you. Permit some kind of work release. Allow me to visit you, at least, without all these goddamn foolish rules.”
“Fine. And Julia? Lily? No husband or father needed for either, is that so?”
Joey shook his head. “I helped Julia. I’ll give Lily whatever I can. But I won’t cut my throat because another man needs blood. You matter most to me, Gabe. I couldn’t sleep at night knowing I’d left you behind.”
Gabriel, realizing Joey was immoveable on the subject, wrote Rebecca and asked her to stall the War Office a little longer. The direct approach had failed. If he wanted Joey to take this opportunity, he’d need a more persuasive argument.
* * *
T
he declaration of war changed daily life throughout London. Even at Wentworth, Governor Sanderson’s best-laid plans were threatened. Facing the Home Office’s edict – any building materials not utilized by April 1, 1940, must be turned back over to the war effort – Governor Sanderson declared that the renovation of A-block would proceed at triple speed. Joey was removed from his customary garden detail to assist with the work, which now stretched over three daily shifts instead of two. Governor Sanderson, it was noted, hated the Nazis as much as any Englishman. But he hated the rats and rising damp in A-block a good deal more.
Gabriel knew Joey wasn’t overjoyed with his changed duties, but given the nationwide concern over food stores, Wentworth’s own “victory garden” was due for expansion. Joey had drawn up the plans with Mr. Cranston’s enthusiastic approval. Once A-block was finished, Joey would surely find himself back in the sunshine again.
Though accustomed to sustained physical labor, Gabriel wasn’t used to working from noon ’til nine. Having Joey within sight was also a sweet distraction. Finally, the addition of E-block, including one-eyed Paulie, made even simple bricklaying tedious. Bitter about being compelled to work through what had always been their common time, the E-block men tested the tempers of the guards, the F-block inmates and one another.
Using his blond gorilla arms to hook crates onto steel S-hooks, Paulie hauled up crates with a rope-and-pulley rigging. The roof was still off, the night sky boundless above them, moonless with a smattering of stars. But the men on the half-completed south wall received exactly three crates of materials before Paulie, pleading exhaustion, started bawling for another break. The guards, Buckland and a new man called York, equally resentful of their unpaid extra hours, called a bonus break for everyone. York went off in search of coffee while Buckland bummed a smoke off Gabriel.