30 000 views! Hooray! Thank you everyone for your reviews, I can't reply personally today, I thought it was better just to get this chapter out because everyone sounds horribly shocked. I promise this is an adventure NOT a tragedy. kwak

Chapter thirty-six

The constable lets him stew for twenty-four hours. He can't hold Gilbert any longer than that without charging him. And while he is would like to – the lad did leap onto his back – he knows he won't. Not with his father pacing the porch of the two room station house. John Blythe looks like a man who could snap his truncheon in two.

Consequently, he makes himself scarce when the Glen's one cell is unlocked. Gilbert stands up expecting the constable's leering face, to find the door swinging open and the station house empty. He wanders tentatively into the office, one hand stuffed in his pocket the other held under his arm. His wrist hurts, and his side, which makes him walk in a limp. When he sees his father it is hard to know which one starts blubbing first.

'What have they done to you, oh my boy, this ain't right…' John wraps his arms around him tightly, he feels Gilbert flinch but he doesn't care. He has to hold him, has to have his son within his own protection. The bumps and bruises can wait.

'When did you get here, how did you know?' Gilbert mumbles against his father's shoulder.

John wipes his eyes on the back of his shirtsleeve. 'Uncle David wired me last night, said to come straight away. Hell's teeth,' he says hoarsely, 'the journey was worse than the ride back to your mother last Christmas. I knew if I didn't get to you in time you'd set after Anne the moment you were released.'

At the mention of her name Gilbert's eyes go wide and a shiver bores through to his bones. 'Where is she, have they released her yet, has anyone been to see her?'

John shakes his head. He had been waiting for this question, and has no idea how Gilbert will take the news. Still he had to be told, and the sooner the better, the last day must have passed like a century for him.

'She's been taken to Charlottetown. They don't have a place for women prisoners here. They put her on a train under escort last night.'

'We have to go, we have to go right now –' Gilbert pushes past his father and shuffles to the door.

John yanks him back, and if it hurts him good. The boy needed to snap out of his panic and start thinking with his head.

'You better let me go…' Gilbert mutters.

'Or what?' John says. 'For pities sake, Gilbert, you should see yourself. You think the Charlottetown police will let you get within fifty feet of Anne? THINK!'

'I can't think –'

'And that is why you're not ready. You're not ready to be her husband, and you are surely not ready to be a father –'

'She needs me!' Gilbert yells at him.

'And what can you give her, just what do you propose to do? You have no idea, do you? Well I'm telling you, Gilbert, a father makes sure he knows what he's doing, because a father has more to consider than just himself –'

'I suppose that's why you came here? So you could rub it in – that I failed her when she needed me – I failed her, Pa – I failed her!'

He has pulled free of his father now, though in truth it is John that let him go, let him rage, let him cry and kick every chair and waste basket in the vicinity till the anger burns itself out.

Gilbert falls against the wall of the office, weeping brokenly as he slides to the floor. 'I don't know what to do, Pa, help me, help me please…'

There aren't words to describe what it does to a father to see his own boy, bruised and bleeding at the hands of another, fall to the ground and break. All John wants to do is hunt down the constable and offer him the chance of an equal fight. Not that he would take it, the weasel. He hopes Adam's boy doesn't turn out like this. Bitterness will do that, but John has no time for bitterness when his son is crying at his feet, begging for his help.

He swallows down a sob of his own and extends his great square hand. 'Now you're thinking like a man. Get to your feet, son, we're leaving.'

According to John a man is a man when he knows his place in the world; when he knows what he can do for himself, and when he needs the skills of someone else. And right now Gilbert needs a hand: David to patch him up, and his lawyer chum to get Anne out of this fix. John is nervous about this last one. He knows from Gilbert's letters about the lawyer who wrote up the contract with Eggers. He also knows his name. It was common enough; John told himself it was almost certainly not the same fellow – until Gilbert mentioned his interest in botany.

John is put of out his misery fairly quickly. Paul Irving has already been summoned to Acacia House, and greets him in the parlour. He was unnaturally beautiful the first time John met him, and cuts a clean-cut, stylish figure today.

Gilbert is directed to David's study to be cleaned up and bound, and only hears the end of their conversation, when Mr Irving asks after Rowena. John Blythe isn't much of a talker, but he goes so unnaturally quiet Gilbert feels it is up to him to respond.

'My mother is well, sir, thank you for asking.' He frowns then, and just as quickly wishes he hadn't, his eyebrow is bruised and sore. 'Sorry, I – I know this might sound strange, Mr Irving, but –'

'You're going to ask me if I knew her. Yes I did, we grew up together as children, before my family moved away.'

'Primula villosa?'

'I b-beg your pardon?' Paul stammers, looking sideways at John.

'The Alpine plant, the hairy primula. You planted it, on the hillside of the Sunrise Garden. My mother said you would return when it bloomed. Look –'

Gilbert digs into his satchel. He had left it in the parlour yesterday, which went to show how ruffled David and Jen were; on any other night it would have been scrubbed clean and returned to his room. He brings out his notebook, thumbing through the pages till he finds the copy of the drawing he made. Suddenly he starts to laugh – a short dry, Ha! – and Paul and John who had been wary of each other, find common ground as they puzzle over the beaten boy.

'Son, are you feeling dizzy?' John says, worriedly.

'It is blooming, look! May made the flower bloom!'

The two men study the page he is pointing at, a smudgy ink study covered in dried up purple spit.

'Rowena remembered,' Paul says fondly. 'Well in that case, I shall do all I can to help.'

As if he wasn't going to do that anyway. He waives his fee for the same reason, though Jen and David are eager to pay for all and any costs that might incur in order to bring Anne and May back. Jen in particular is heartsick over what has happened and blames herself for Anne being charged.

'Dear boy, forgive me. I am a foolish old woman who wanted May for herself. I said some spiteful things to the detective, and I know Miss Hackthorne did too. I wish to God I could take it back, I wish I could have gone in her place. I'm so angry knowing May is still out there and the confounded police have the wrong person.'

'And you are certain it is not Miss Hackthorne?' Gilbert says curtly.

'Miss Hackthorne never left her father's house. Her family, her neighbours, can all attest she never went further than the gate since she left here.'

'Then who did this?' Gilbert says.

Paul shakes his head.

John clears his throat. 'Let's get going. Gilbert, get your things. Uncle has loaned us his driver and coach.'

They arrive in Charlottetown just after midnight; Paul takes them to his house. A stately cream stone building smothered in ivy, with windows six feet tall. Gilbert would have whistled in appreciation had his lip not been so fat. John clicks his tongue. There are gorgeous works in oils and water-colours all over the walls, and photographs of London Bridge, Victoria Falls, las Lajas, the Sphinx, the Matterhorn. No wife however. No children. This makes John's mood even worse.

Not until he is about to fall asleep does Gilbert dare ask his father why he suddenly seems so glum. The situation isn't hopeless. Mr Irving is optimistic about obtaining Anne's release; in as little as eight hours she might be in his arms again. Pa was right, he did need help. And now that Gilbert has it he feels strong again. It doesn't make sense to see his father so sullen, what is it that he knows?

He climbs into bed in a nightshirt that he never wears, and punches at the pillow. There is so much goose-down in it, his fist barely makes a dent. His father lies next to him, his tired face creased with a frown. This is his second day travelling and he is longing for some sleep.

'You know Mr Irving, don't you, Pa? Did you know him as a boy?'

John tugs at the quilt. 'He was younger than me, same age as your mother. They used to be very close.'

Gilbert swears his father sounds jealous. He wants to ask if him why, but he is also nursing enough bruises right now, so he says, 'That was years back.'

'Wasn't that long since I saw him,' John retorts. 'Ten years, as I recall –'

'Ten years ago you and I went to Alberta. Are you saying Mr Irving came back then?'

'He did,' John answers, and is silent for a time. His giant of a father seems shrunken, smaller, or perhaps it is just the overstuffed quilt. 'Paul read about Lottie in the papers, wanted to see if your Ma was all right. I knew what he wanted though. He wanted my wife.'

'They were children when they made that promise.'

'That's what I told him. I said he wasn't to try and see her, that she was lost in a world of grief and his coming would only confuse matters. So he left. I saw him off myself... And felt wrong about it ever since.'

'Wrong?' Ignoring his sore ribs Gilbert rolls closer; he has never heard his father admit he was wrong about anything. John, it seems feel the same way, because it all comes out in a rush, as if this had been building inside him for years; truly Gilbert has never heard his Pa utter so many words in a row.

'Ro always had a soft spot for him, wondered what he'd made of himself. Then a week after Lottie's funeral he turned up, this educated gentleman and handsome as a thirty dollar pony. I couldn't help think she might have been happier with him, 'specially back then. I couldn't get near her, she had wrapped herself in grief so thick, nothing I said or did could get through. The thought of Paul Irving making Ro smile... I couldn't bear it, not when I was about to leave. So I made him leave, and now I come here to his big ol' house with no wife, no children in it and I can't help feel ashamed. Maybe he's still pining for her... maybe he could have made your Ma smile. And I made him stay away because I wanted to be her rock and no one else –'

'But Pa –'

'Don't talk me out of what I know, Gil. I know who I am and I raised you just the same. I know you want to be the one to rush the gates and save Anne. But you can't, you just can't.'

The pillow takes another punch, then Gilbert falls back on it, and stares hard at the ceiling. There are white plaster cherubs and ribbons and leaves, and he thinks of the house he had promised Anne.

'I vowed to protect her when I can't even protect myself. Do you think – tomorrow, if we manage to get Anne released – do you think she will forgive me?'

John chuckles, and tugs the quilt up to his chin. 'Sometimes Gilbert, I wonder how you won all those prizes and whatnot. You sure do say the dumbest things. If Anne Shirley's not beating the door down to get to you it's because she already kicked it in.'

In the morning the Blythes wake to the sound of two people arguing. One of them, the woman Paul later describes as his secretary, demanding to know where Paul disappeared to, and why he didn't come home again until the following night! Gilbert is already in a foul mood, his body aches and he finds it hard to get comfortable with his wrist in a sling. To be woken so rudely makes him yank his massive pillow over his head.

His father, however, is in very high spirits. He has been to the washroom and shaved and bathed and looks years younger than yesterday.

'Up you get, slug-a-bed! Big day for you, today!'

Gilbert rolls out slowly and starts stuffing his nightshirt into his trousers.

'Oh no you don't. Put on a shirt and tie, like me.'

Only now does Gilbert notice his father is dressed in his Sunday best, down to his fob watch glowing softly in the light peeping in through the curtains.

'You look a real gent,' Gilbert says, yawning and scratching his beard.

'Well I want to look nice for your mother when I go back today.'

Gilbert shrugs and seeks out the bathroom. Paul said there were two on this floor, one for his clients (his office was downstairs) and one for his guests. One guest in particular looked like she had been staying for a while. Her robe, her slippers, her hairpins and her long red ribbons lie in various corners of the room. A beautiful young woman appears now, the same young woman who had been quarrelling earlier, who makes his apologies, retrieves her ribbons and leaves the room. So that's why John was grinning just now. Paul Irving wasn't lonely at all.

'I am sorry about Miss West,' Paul says, as they make their way to Charlottetown police station, 'she had no idea you were there.'

'Ro's just the same,' John blurts, unthinkingly, 'Doesn't like me inviting people over without asking her first.'

'Well yes, quite,' Paul agrees, and fixes his top hat to his head. 'Please remain here, Mr Blythe,' he says next. 'Gilbert you stay here, too.'

'Oh, he's not going anywhere, are you Gilbert?'

Gilbert nods, then as soon as Paul disappears around the corner, opens the carriage door.

'What are you doing, have you learned nothing? We need Mr Irving for this, do you want to see Anne again or not?'

Gilbert wriggles in his seat, his knee jiggling up and down. His Pa was back to being right and that has to bode well. In a matter of minutes Anne could be free. He does not let himself think on the other possibility. Even Paul thinks the police will release her, especially now Gilbert has told him about Claudine and Sark. Not only can they be called in as witnesses, Paul also suspects they led to her arrest. If Anne had mentioned that they were with her on the hill, and Gilbert had not, the detective would have known someone was lying. And as Miss Hackthorne only saw Anne running into the woods, and the doctor and his wife took some pains to describe her violent tendencies, Anne became the obvious suspect.

Paul appears half an hour later, ducking his head inside the coach and removing his tall black hat.

'Success. The police have dropped the charge now they know there are other witnesses besides Gilbert who can attest to her whereabouts when May went missing. Miss Shirley has been conditionally released – '

'Where is she?'

'She is being escorted to The Star and the Unicorn, at your uncle's behest. He knew she would be in need of rest and refreshment after such an ordeal – though I must say, Gilbert, she's a lively one. Congratulations, I know you'll be relieved. Do you wish me to transport you both to the hotel?'

John shakes his head. 'Not me, though I won't say no to a ride to the station.'

'I am at your service. Excuse me gentlemen, I have some papers to sign. But I did want to tell you first.'

The hat goes on and he returns inside.

'You're not coming with me?' Gilbert says. He realises he had counted on this, he needed his father; to get a message to Sark, to help him find May, and simply to keep his feet on the ground.

'The farm can't wait son, and I know you won't be leaving any time soon, not when you hear this.' John pulls out a crumpled note and places it in Gilbert's hand. 'That's from your Ma, she told me to give this to you the moment I saw you, but I thought it better to choose the right time.'

'What is it, Pa, you're worrying me?'

'I don't think you'll worry when you hear it, I think everything will come clear. It's about Davy Rossi, your Ma now believes she made a mistake. After examining him the other day she had one of her revelations. Maybe this'll surprise you, or maybe it won't. But she is sure Davy is May's father.'

...

* "as handsome as a thirty dollar pony" from a story by O. Henry

So there you go! I said a while back no one is infallible, and when I said that I was thinking of Ro. Hope no one is groaning and eye rolling, that would suck. But tell me anyway, it helps me become a better writer. Love kwak.