A Hidden Queen

Chapter 7

Clinton Carter tenderly bangs his head against the stone wall, pinching his lips into a tight thin line. He sat in the dark confines of the prison, no better off than he was the evening before. The dampness crept into his bones, draining his energy and leaving him with only his thoughts to run.

What has he done? He thinks bitterly, throwing a small pebble across the floor. He had successfully prevented Josephine's own swing from the gallows, giving her a second chance in life, but what life would that exactly be? He knew all too well how Josephine was, her stubborn personality would see her in more trouble than he could imagine. She would buck against everyone and everything until her last dying breath. How would Fredrick react to such hospitality? Would he mistreat her, figuring she was no different from her father, a man that he utterly hated and despised?

Clinton twists his mouth sourly, glaring daggers at the stone walls that entrapped him. In a swift movement, he flings his wooden watering cup across the cramped space. The wood explodes, splintering, as the water splashed back into his face. He rushes to his feet, pacing in angered annoyance. Five years! He grunts harshly. It took merely five years for Joe, nothing more than a kid, to lose both her parents. And then he has the audacity to throw her to a shark. What kind of father are you? He spat, punching the slippery stone.

A painful grunt slips past his lips as he cradles his hand against his thighs. He glances down at the awkward angles of his middle and ring fingers, knowing full well they were broken in several places. He attempts to shake the pain out of his hands, forcing it to go numb. He pauses, squinting his eyes against the rising sun filtering through the barred window. He rests his head against his arm, staring at the morning sun. It barely rose above the waterline, casting a beautiful array of oranges and yellows against the rolling waves.

"The bloody hell! Hey, you cannot be down here!"

Clinton glances over his shoulder as the guard's graveled angered words bellow through the moist air. He barely has time to react before a streak of black and red comes flying by, the guard hot on the heels.

"Get your bloody hands off of me!"

Deep brown eyes widen rushing Clinton to the bars and gripping them tightly, "Josephine!"

"Dad!"

"Shut up!" The guard commands, smacking his rifle against the bars. "I am not sure who you think you are little girl, but you have no business being down here."

"I have every right to be here. Now let go of me!" Joe commands, digging her untrimmed fingernails into his wrist.

"Ow! You little brat!" The guard shouts, raising his hand.

"I do hope you are not about to strike a child, private." Smithen growls, stepping in front of the guard to loom over the stringy young man. "I will have you unhand my granddaughter if you please, sir."

"I am sorry Governor Smithen." He tentatively licks his lips before straightening his back. "But she cannot be down here."

"I think you will find she can. She is here under my supervision and as agreed upon by Admiral Hawthorne. So, I once again ask you to release my granddaughter."

"But sir!"

"Private." Smithen cuts off coldly. "You will take your hands off her and you will let this young woman see her father before he is hanged or else I will see to it that you do nothing more than clean the barracks latrines for the rest of your career. Do I make myself clear?"

The private swallows hard, releasing his hold, "Yes sir. I understand."

Josephine yanks her arm out of his vice-like grip. She glares at the boy for a second before directing it squarely on Smithen. The old man quirks a questioning eyebrow upwards, earning himself a far deeper scowl from the spirited young woman. Clinton snorts, he knew that look all too well from both parties. Smithen sighs heavily, fluttering his eyes close in restrained patience.