The Treasure of Netherstrand

Chapter 45

Sebastian didn't follow the officers and Hannover nor did he lead Timothy back to bed. He escorted the child downstairs to the kitchen with the same air he might have used while showing a guest to their room. There, he stoked the dying coals in the range and had a small pot of tea brewing soon enough.

The steaming cup of tea helped calm Timothy's excited nerves. After a few long sips, he looked up at the butler with teary eyes. "What'll 'appen to Mr. Bently?" he asked.

"He will be imprisoned until the day of his trial, unless he has the means to pay his bail." Sebastian answered coolly. "Then his fate will be decided by the judge and jury. Most likely, he will be shipped to the colonies in Australia and forced to work in penal servitude for the rest of his life."

"What's that mean?"

"It means that he will live like a slave in chains and disgrace," the man answered without pity.

Tim sighed, and a tear dripped into his tea. "Poor Mr. Bently," he sniffled.

"Poor? I fail to see anything poor about him. He will receive what he deserves; what he has gained by his fraudulent lifestyle."

"But he is poor," Timothy insisted. "He's poor 'cause he don't 'ave God. An' wivout God, he don't got nuffin'."

Mr. Lory stared at the child. Like everyone else, he was slightly impressed and slightly baffled by the little boy's words. He wondered where the lad had learned such things. And suddenly, he wanted to know who this strange orphan was.

"Timothy, where do you come from?" he asked, sitting down at the table across from Tim.

"I dunno, sir."

"You must know something. Where did you live before you came here? What was it like?"

"It was a big, bustlin' place, sir. Bigger than this one, I fink! I rode a train t' get away from it ya see, an' it took an awful long time afore I come 'ere."

"You rode a train? How? Did someone pay for your ticket? Was someone accompanying you?" Sebastian asked.

Tim blushed in guilt. "Will ya be angry, sir? Ya see, I didn't know much 'bout Jesus back then. An' I didn't fink it was so very bad t' steal onto a train wivout payin' first. I slipped in ahind of a big ol' lady an' hid in a bunch o' luggage. When we got t' the station, the man what asked for tickets was awful angry wiv me. He would'a 'ad me sent t' the police, but the nice ol' chap couldn't do it. Instead, he showed me the way to a church, an' it was rainin' so 'ard, I was glad t' get inside. I hid in there wivout bein' seen 'cause I didn't want nobody t' find me right then. I was runnin' away, an' I was afraid they'd send me back t' the workhouse. But I 'eard so many nice fings in the church that day that I started goin' every Sunday like the man at the train station 'ad told me to! I don't fink nobody would send me back t' the workhouse now, d'you, sir? I can work an' do a whole lot o' fings to 'elp people."

"Workhouse? Who sent you to the workhouse, lad?" Sebastian asked.

"I dunno that I was sent there or not. It seemed t' me I'd always been in the workhouse..." The little boy paused and thought hard, straining his mind to find a recollection further back in time. The longer he thought, the more a vague memory wanted to come back to him. But it was so misty and old that he couldn't recall it. "Anyhow, they tried t' teach me 'ow t' read an' write an' a few other fings. But I s'pect I weren't very good at it 'cause the folk there were awful mean t' me. T'other lads weren't nice neither. They made fun o' me, they did! So I run away."