Chapter Three

After the first week went by without the usual Thursday visit, Lugg found that the flicker of doubt he had had was already starting to wane.

The other inmates, both friends and casual acquaintances, did rib him some about how his weekly visits with "his little Lordship" had stopped, but Lugg never had a problem with putting a stop to any amusement that was being taken at his expense. After only a couple of days, the jokes died down and not one word was spoken about Campion around Lugg.

Unfortunately, Lugg found it harder than they did to put that strange, but affable young man out of his mind. He had met all sorts of people over the years due to his profession, but none of them were quite like Campion. And not just because of his eccentricities or privileged background either. There was something compassionate and wise hidden behind his youth and purposeful inanity. Lugg was certain that most people missed it. Campion's façade was quite convincing after all.

The fact was, Lugg had been drawn to Campion. In his rare reflective moments, he even imagined that the two of them might share some small spark of a kindred spirit.

It was disheartening to think that he could have been so wrong.

Another week dragged by with no visit and no word about Campion. By this point, Lugg started to convince himself that he had been a sucker. Even worse, it hadn't been some clever con artist who had played him.

He had conned himself. Plain and simple.

Of course, it wasn't too hard for Lugg to rationalize why he had allowed himself to be fooled. Part of it was because of the visits themselves. There was nothing pleasant about being in Parkhurst. Basic necessities like food or shelter were as shoddy and inadequate as possible while still giving the inmates a chance to survive even if they wouldn't really be living. There was also the repetitive, brutal labor and the casual abuse from the guards or some of the other inmates if one wasn't careful.

Campion's visits with their silly conversations, relaxed friendliness, and overall cheer were a respite from that bleak existence. They gave Lugg something to look forward to, something else to think about whenever the realities of Parkhurst began to chip away at his spirit.

It wasn't until they were gone that Lugg finally understood why he should not have allowed himself to become acclimated to them. He had been a fool.

Although, he wasn't sure if he would have done anything different even if he had known what was coming.

A third week passed by with no word. By this point, Lugg had stopped thinking in terms of when he might see Campion again or even if he would. Campion had been a brief, odd interlude in his past which he was determined to not spend any more time dwelling on. He needed to keep his wits and endurance about him if he was going to survive Parkhurst with his dignity intact.

As a result, Lugg allowed his mind and outward demeanor to dull again. He still made sure to keep his standing among the other inmates, but he also stopped paying attention to the passing of time. Days and nights became a blur, shielding him from the grinding routine that was attempting to crush him. For Lugg, there was only a moment by moment existence now.

The only remnant of feeling that stubbornly refused to fade was a worry that the end of Campion's visits had not entirely been by choice. Lugg knew that Campion liked to get involved with dangerous activities. He had seen that for himself on the very first day they met. What if the young man had done something foolish…or rather, more foolish than usual…and had gotten himself seriously hurt? Or worse.

Whenever his thoughts moved in that direction, Lugg felt an ache inside him. Even if Campion had become bored and had moved on, the fact remained that he had been kind and was also an exceptional young man. One who the world would be poorer without even if it didn't realize it. Thus, the thought of anything bad happening to Campion was still something that could fill Lugg with dread.

However, Lugg was still pragmatic enough to know that there was nothing he could do while he was imprisoned here. Even getting any information about what could have happened to Campion would be no easy feat. So Lugg made sure to keep his ears open and did his best to push these worries to the very back of his mind. He was determined to not let himself get emotionally invested in Campion's fate, no matter how it unfolded.

Most of the time, Lugg succeeded at this. He also did his best to not think too much about the nights when he didn't.

Lugg had worked so hard at banishing any thought of Campion from his mind that, one month after his last visit, he didn't think anything of it when the guard ordered him from his cell at the usual Thursday time. It wasn't until he realized he was walking toward the visitor's room that something stirred inside him. Something lighter than he had felt in weeks.

That happy feeling was completed when he walked in, had his handcuffs removed and took in the sight of Campion sitting in his usual chair. Campion beamed up at him, the usual two tea cups sitting on the table.

"Hello Lugg," Campion said with a touch more seriousness than usual. "It's good to see you again. I'm sorry I wasn't able to bring you a sandwich this time. Jackdaw snatched it as I was getting ready. You know, they are quite tricky birds. They could even teach an expert like you a thing or two."

Lugg was sure that his shock was obvious on his face, but at that moment he couldn't care about that. He was completely dumbfounded over seeing Campion again.

However, that shock soon gave way to concern as he got a closer look at the young man sitting across from him. There was a stark, purple bruise near one cheekbone and an ugly cut barely concealed by a sloppy bandage over the other one. A thick, angry line of red was on Campion's lower lip with another weal near his jaw line. The stiff way Campion was holding himself in the chair told Lugg that there were probably other injuries he couldn't see.

"Lumme!" he gasped. "Wot 'appened to you?"

"Oh, just an unfriendly disagreement between adversaries," Campion said. He tried waving a hand casually, but ended up hissing in pain. "Thankfully, I got off far better than they did."

Lugg started to sink down onto his chair when a thin red line on Campion's face caught his attention.

"Blimey…yer bleedin…."

Campion blinked, his expression one of mild confusion. He put a finger to his face and seemed surprised when he found a splotch of blood after drawing it away.

Meanwhile, Lugg's worry had grown intolerable and it overcame his awareness of where he was. He got out his chair and marched purposely toward Campion so he could get a closer look at the wound.

The response to this act was instantaneous. The guard, Cuttlebert again, bolted forward and landed a sharp blow to Lugg's outstretched arm before Lugg had a chance to touch Campion. He let out a grunt of pain while Campion popped out of his chair, his own aches and pains seemingly forgotten.

"There was no cause for that," Campion said, the cold, commanding tone back in his voice. The guard withered under Campion's stony gaze, but remained defiant.

"He was trying to get at you," Cuttlebert said as he herded Lugg back to his chair. "And besides, prisoners are not allowed on that side of the table."

Campion removed his glasses, and even Lugg flinched at the severe look in his eyes.

"Striking him was unnecessary," Campion continued. "And in the future, you will allow me to deal with any breaches of protocol. Is that understood?"

Cuttlebert clearly wanted to protest further, but instead, he meekly nodded and stepped back to his usual place in the room. Then Campion turned back toward Lugg with his usual congenial expression back on his face.

"This mother hen routine of yours might cause us problems," he said. "You do realize that?"

"That's right, laugh, but yer still bleedin'," Lugg scowled, rubbing his forearm. "That crocus who worked on you wasn't worth a thing."

"You're not wrong," Campion sighed. "It was rather a patch job, but unfortunately, I didn't have many options at the time. I don't suppose the prison medic is around?"

"Not until tomorrow," Cuttlebert chimed in, still unable to look Campion in the eye.

"Out making much more agreeable house calls, I imagine," Campion said. He gave Lugg a lopsided smile. "I don't suppose you have another idea."

It had taken a lot of skillful persuasion, but a short while later, Campion was seated on a stool on Lugg's side of the table while Lugg stood in front of him, dabbing iodine onto his face.

Lugg worked silently, removing the hastily placed bandages, re-cleaning the wounds and then carefully applying fresh bandages and sticking plaster. He also tended to the cut on Campion's lip which clearly had received no attention before and tried to soothe the bruises with cold water and towels from the infirmary. Campion remained quiet while Lugg worked, only wincing once in a while.

As he finished, Lugg contemplated how different Campion looked without his glasses or the vacuous expression he favored. Even though he didn't know anything about Campion's aristocratic background, Lugg could swear he could see the nobility that was his birthright in his face. There was a quiet dignity and courage that was etched into every feature. It was extremely rare for Lugg to attach any respect to someone due to their station in life, but something about Campion stirred a sense of pride in him.

To Lugg, Campion embodied the finest qualities of the gentleman class, making it even more stunning that Campion willfully chose to not enjoy all the advantages that came with his position.

Once Lugg had finished, Campion stood up and ran a hand over his face.

"That does feel better," he said, grinning. "You have a talent for this."

"You pick up things in my line of work," Lugg shrugged, sitting down.

Campion put his glasses back on and moved back to his side of the table. "I'm grateful for that." He looked over at Lugg's tea cup, his face falling. "Oh...I'm sure your cocoa is quite cold by now."

"And he hasn't got time for it anyway," Cuttlebert said with a sneer. "He should have been back in his cell a few minutes ago."

Campion's eyes were apologetic behind his spectacles, but Lugg dismissed his concern with a shrug before holding out his wrists to be cuffed.

"You jus' try and stay out of trouble, cock," he said, unable to completely hide behind his gruffness anymore. "I don' want my work wasted the minute you walk out the door."

Campion rose from his chair with a wide smile. "I'll put a crumpet by your cup next time. Until then, little Albert shall miss his kindly burglar."

Lugg made a show of rolling his eyes and headed toward the corridor leading to his cell. It was easy to ignore the harder than necessary jab Cuttlebert gave him as he walked. All he could focus on was the implied promise that Campion would return next week.

Mainly because, Lugg was now certain that he would.

The next couple of months continued the same way. Campion showed up with his tea, Lugg's cocoa and the usual round of conversation. Once in a while, Campion had to skip a week due to business, but Lugg no longer saw it as a potential brush off. The only concern he had during these absences was for Campion's safety.

Eventually almost eight months had passed since that first visit Campion made to Parkhurst. He had become a routine oddity among the guards and even some of the prisoners which didn't stand out to them anymore. Thus, no one bothered to question his presence or the privileges Lugg enjoyed.

Once in a while, one of Lugg's friends would ask him about this arrangement, but Lugg always brushed their inquiries aside and bluntly changed the subject. The truth was, he didn't know how to explain this strange and yet genuine friendship that had developed. It simply was a part of his life now the same way the prison routines were. If not more so because while Lugg had his mind set on a future where he stayed out of Parkhurst, he now thought of Campion's presence in his life as something stable and enduring.

At that time, a particularly bitter winter fell upon England. Living conditions at Partkhurst were never even remotely comfortable, thus the cold from this winter took an even harder toll on the inmates than usual, including Lugg.

Making matters worse, Cuttlebert had not forgotten the slights given to him. He couldn't take action against someone like Campion with his connections to upper class society and the police. However, he had a much easier target with Lugg, a repeat offender who was subject to the regulations, official or not, of Parkhurst.

Consequently, it was easy for Cuttlebert to arrange to have Lugg moved to a colder, danker cell. To have him work just a bit longer outside when the weather was bad. To make sure he got more of the dregs from the kitchen during mealtimes. Cuttlebert was careful to ensure that he worked within the rules so he couldn't be held responsible or reprimanded for his actions. Nor could any of this be easily traced back to him.

Lugg endured the mistreatment without complaint. He suspected Cuttlebert was responsible, but was aware that his ability to retaliate was severely limited. Besides, any incident from him could lead to a loss of privileges including being able to have visitors, a risk he was not willing to take.

Instead, Lugg relied on his strong will and robust constitution to get by. He did his best to adjust to the cold, hunger, and bone-deep weariness with the patience and determination of water over stone. He ignored aching muscles and the breathless chill with the same lugubrious approach he took to most of his life anyway.

However, even Lugg's endurance had its limits, and eventually, he began to break down. It started with a cough, one that came from deep in his lungs. Soon, tiredness followed, sapping his strength and making his hard labor tasks as much of an act of will as it was physical effort.

Unfortunately, this collapse began while Campion had to postpone his usual visit for a week so no one took special note of how sick Lugg was becoming. No one other than his friends among the inmates who had as little of a voice as he did.

By the time Campion had shown up for another visit, the illness had rendered Lugg unable to get out of bed when Cuttlebert showed up to escort him out of his cell. Not from a lack of trying, of course. Lugg spent a full minute struggling to overcome the fever and constant shivers so he could rise to his feet. But every time he sat up, his head swam and another coughing fit would start.

"Not coming then?" Cuttlebert snickered. "Fine. I'll be sure to let his Lordship know that you're not interested."

The guard laughed again as Lugg coughed and put one last effort into getting up. However, all he was able to accomplish was falling to the floor and just barely getting back into bed. Anger smoldered in his dark eyes as he watched Cuttlebert close the door and leave.

Soon, Lugg couldn't concentrate on his anger or his regret over missing his usual appointment. All of his energy was spent struggling to breathe while his chest ached with congestion. The fever blazed hotter, blurring his vision and his reason until he slipped out of consciousness.

Some time later, Lugg awoke to the sound of voices around him. Curiosity inspired him to open bleary eyes to see if he could figure out who they belonged to. Waves obstructed his vision, but Lugg was almost certain that he was no longer in his cell. He blinked slowly as he tried to decipher what one of the voices was saying.

"…severe case of pneumonia…not sure if he will…I will do what I can…."

Lugg squinted, pushing his foggy mind to focus. He saw a man with a dark suit and silver hair who he did not recognize. That was the one who had been talking. Then he spotted the warden standing next him. There was a nervous expression on his face which made no sense to Lugg at the moment.

Then, he felt a presence beside him and looked over to see a familiar lanky figure with owlish eyes sitting next to him. The eyes were unusually somber, and Lugg wondered why. Suddenly, the figure drew closer and Lugg felt the gentle pressure of a hand on his arm.

"You'll be all right," the figure said quietly.

Lugg let his eyes slip shut again, somehow reassured that he would be all right after all.

Time passed in a series of flashes for Lugg after that. There was light and darkness, people coming and going, but none of it felt connected in any way.

Lugg had no idea how long he drifted in and out of consciousness. When he finally regained his senses, he was surprised find that he had several days of beard growth and was no longer in his cell. However, his thoughts were still somewhat fuzzy so it took him almost a full minute to realize that he was in the prison infirmary.

"I see you are awake now. I thought you might be. I suspected that the fever would break last night."

Lugg glanced over to see the man with the silver hair and dark suit standing in the doorway.

"Ooo are you? Yer not the prison doc."

"That I'm not," the man nodded as he walked into the room. "I'm Sir Jasper Pentherose. Or Doctor Pentherose, if you prefer. And I am here at the request of a friend. Now, I would like to examine you."

The doctor said down next to Lugg and checked his vitals while Lugg silently watched him. His mind was full of questions, but he was unsure of how receptive Pentherose would be to his asking them.

"You've pulled through quite well," Pentherose said when he finished. "I don't mind telling you, it was touch and go for a couple days there."

"'Ow long have I been 'ere?" Lugg asked with a light cough.

"This would be…yes, ten days now," the doctor answered. "You are fortunate that we were able to begin treatment when we did. Although, I have seen many men who were in the state you were in die before it could work. You must have an iron constitution, Mr. Lugg."

Lugg sat and stared, bewildered by what had happened. However, the short time he had spent awake and talking had already sapped his small reserve of energy, and he sank back down in his bed.

The doctor gathered his things and stood. "I'm afraid you will have to remain here for at least another week. The worst is over now, but a relapse is still possible. We must be cautious."

"But ooo sent you?" Lugg asked, his mind still unable truly connect his thoughts together.

Pentherose smiled and pulled something out of his pocket, holding it out to Lugg. Lugg held up his palm and peered at the pair of tiny white flowers that Pentherose placed there.

"Silene Latifolia," Pentherose explained. "Very difficult to find at this time of year outside of a few private flower collections. They are more commonly known as White Campion. And now, I must bid you good day. I shall return in a couple of days."

Pentherose left while Lugg continued staring at the flowers in his hand, an unexpected wetness stuck in his eyes.

Four days later, Lugg woke up from a light doze to the sound of humming next to him. He opened his eyes with a start when he looked over to see Campion sitting on a chair next to the bed.

"Hullo!" Campion said with a toothy grin. "Sleeping Beauty awakes."

Lugg scowled at him as he shifted to a sitting position. "Wot are you doin,' sneakin' up on people like that?"

"Hardly sneaking," Campion replied. "Didn't you hear me humming?"

"Wot are you doin' 'ere?" Lugg said, ignoring his question.

Campion looked hurt. "It's Thursday. Time for little Albert to visit his favorite burglar."

"Ex-burglar," Lugg corrected wearily. "I've 'ad my fill of Parkhurst this go 'round. I'm not comin' back."

"Ah, turning over a new leaf," Campion nodded. "Well that's the thing to do these days. A Bright New Future Or Your Money Back. Any thoughts about what you'll turn your leaf to?"

"A few," Lugg shrugged.

Campion leaned forward in his chair. "You know, there's a lot of that going around these days. Changing careers, I mean. Even here in Parkhurst. Why, just the other day, I heard about a prison guard who was very dissatisfied with his occupation. Ended up leaving his job and moving to the countryside to work in a mill. Or something like that. I'm afraid I didn't catch the whole story."

It didn't take long for Lugg to piece together what Campion was telling him, and it took every bit of restraint he had to limit himself to a small, satisfied smirk.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't able to bring cocoa this week," Campion continued. "I had a beastly enough time just arranging this visit. They are remarkably narrow-minded about having visitors in the infirmary."

Lugg nodded silently to show that he was listening. Hours spent lying in bed had given him plenty of time to think. All that contemplation eventually led him to two decisions. One of which he decided to act on now.

"Cock…you still want to know why I 'elped that rozzer on the roof?"

Campion blinked in surprise and nodded eagerly. Lugg sighed and fixed his gaze on the wall across from him.

"I knew it weren't personal," he said. "'Im chasing me. 'E was jus' doin' 'is job. And I'd bin caught fair and square. Sure, I wanted to get away. Parkhurst ain't a place anyone wants to go to, but…."

Lugg paused and pursed his lips. He glanced over to see Campion listening attentively.

"When I saw 'im fall over the edge, I thought, 'e don' deserve to croak jus' 'cause 'e was doin' 'is job. I'd seen 'im walkin' 'is beat and knew 'e was jus' an everyday bloke like me. So I 'elped 'im. I knew it'd get me in 'ere, but…I wouldn't never felt right about it if I'd let 'im fall. And even now…I'd prolly do the same thing again if I 'ad to."

Lugg let out another long sigh once he was finished. He looked at Campion again to see the young man studying him with an intense stare. Inwardly, Lugg squirmed under that gaze until Campion's face broke into one the happiest smiles he had ever given him.

"Thank you, Lugg," Campion said with complete sincerity.

Lugg squinted at him. It was clear that Campion believed him this time, but he wasn't sure why that should make Campion so pleased. A moment later, a guard appeared to escort Campion from the infirmary.

"Good luck with your leaf," Campion said as he left. "I'll be sure to read every installment of what you do with it in the trade papers."

A week and a half later, Lugg was released from the infirmary and returned to the general population of the prison. At the first meal time he was able to attend, Lugg decided to act on the other decision he had made.

He tracked down a friend he had made while he was still working in Bristol. A small time pick pocket named Davy Evans who also had had several long stretches of legitimate work in the past.

"Well Maggers, this is an occasion," Evans said as they sat down to eat together. "You coming to me for a favor. Though, I suppose I owe you one. Maybe a dozen of them. Anyway, what can I do you for?"

Lugg took a deep breath. He knew that this decision would represent a major change in his life, and he was still unsure about how it would work out. Still, all of these months spent at Parkhurst and the extraordinary turns of fate he had experienced seemed to lead him toward the path he was about to take.

"I know you've done this sort of thing and know all about it," Lugg said. "And I need you to teach me all that you know." Lugg leaned forward, his face completely earnest.

"I need you to teach me 'ow to be a gentleman's gent."