Chapter 8

The next night, Jules Verne and Harris rode in a carriage to Kingston's estate for dinner. The trial would be tonight, right after. Harris looked at his companion carefully with trepidation and no small amount of fear. He swallowed both and turned back to gaze at the countryside, considering his situation.

The young foreigner beside him, whom he had befriended so readily, was part of the investigation he had feared would come after the O'Donnell massacre. He had been completely taken in by his act and now found himself in an awful spot. He would have to help Drummond escape tonight, turning against the men he had known and worked with most of his professional life. With a sinking heart, he knew where that would get him.

I will become an outcast. After the dust settles, I will have to pack and leave the district, if not all of Ireland. Where will I go? How will I manage when I get there?

The Englishwoman and the other crown officer had made it clear what the alternative would be. They would implicate him if not in the massacre itself, but in collusion with the sham trial to convict David of highway robbery.

This will not only end my career–it will put me in prison. Sullen and broken, he fought back angry tears at the unfairness of it all. I am too old to go to prison and far too old to be pulling up stakes.

In the end, Harris had but one choice; he would do as ordered. He would side with the Crown; but he did not have to like the way it had all come about.

Being taken in by such an innocent-looking youth… He glanced over at Jules. He could only hope cooperation would keep him from getting hung when the final shoe fell.

The carriage dropped them off at the front door, where Kingston greeted them. The two men greeted their host warmly, then were led into the study where the rest of the guests were gathering.

Jules Verne found himself as nervous as his companion for different reasons. He greeted this room full of conspirators, seeing wolves in their own den. The two of them had to get away from them to do their part before the trial started. Verne had to find an excuse to make his way to the kitchen wine cellar door and then let Rebecca in. They now had to get to the basement, get the prisoners, and leave the house. Their waiting horses weren't close at hand. There would be a considerable hike before they could gain any speed. Then there would surely be a mad dash to the coast with these bloodthirsty hounds on our heels.

Jules shuddered.

The escape to the coast where the Aurora was waiting would be the part he dreaded the most. Verne knew he was only a fair horseman. He had never been on a horse's saddle until he met Fogg. After a six-hour race across the countryside, he will never want to see a saddle again.


Dinner was served promptly. Verne and Mr. Harris were set at different ends of the table. The conversation was subdued, as all present considered the trial to come. Verne excused himself from the table after the second course. No one questioned his leave-taking, as one did not bring up calls of nature at the table. Jules headed toward the kitchens and down the cellar stairs without the servant's taking much notice. The outer access to the wine cellar was found quickly and opened.

Rebecca, dressed in her fighting suit, scurried in, and helped him close the two heavy doors as soundlessly as possible.

"Which way?" she said.

Jules motioned down the hall and to the right. Rebecca moved on cat feet as she scurried along. She looked around each corner before moving deeper into the cellars and was surprised no one was guarding the area.

Jules didn't follow her. He headed back to the foot of the stairs to wait. Harris was expected to follow him after a five-minute pause. Together, they would lock the men upstairs into the dining room before starting a small fire to keep the household busy as they escaped.

Rebecca found the expected home guard she had been looking for. Around the fourth corner in the cellar hall, he was slumped over on a chair, looking bored. The door behind him was the prison. Just sashaying up to the man in her fighting suit wouldn't do at all. Something less sensational was called for. She turned back to get Jules to approach the guard for her.

Jules took Rebecca's instructions on their way back and headed down the hall toward the guard as if he had every right to be there. "I have been sent to make sure the prisoner is ready," Verne told the big Irishman guarding the door. The middle-aged bald man stood and looked down at Jules with disinterest. He was twice Jules's size and clearly uninterested in his instructions or unexpected appearance.

"Well, ye had better have been sent with a key," he said. "I ain't got it."

"You don't?" Jules said, startled. He walked past the guard, forcing the big man to turn to follow his movements. "And I came all the way down here without even questioning…"

Jules did not have to keep up the pretense for long. Rebecca came down the hall and dropped the man with a well-placed wack to the back of the head. The guard hit the floor soundlessly as he and Rebecca guided him down.

It took Rebecca all of five seconds to pick the lock. When the door was opened, Rebecca and Jules found both cousins sitting in straw chained to the walls.

"I told you she would come," Phileas said to David.

Phileas slowly stood to greet his liberators. He was dirty and still stiff from his beating. The bruises on his face were not as swollen now as they had been this morning, but they had turned dark purple and painful. David, in contrast, appeared in good condition, although just as dirty. He looked quite happy to have been proven wrong about the resourcefulness of his pretty cousin.

Rebecca took another few moments each to unchain the men. Just as Phileas's chains fell away, Harris appeared in the doorway.

"What took you so long?" Verne said.

"They were about to send Marshall down to get Drummond." Harris said. "I made them wait until I found you so we could all come down together. They will start looking for us any minute." He was already wringing his hands, looking over his shoulder down the hall.

David looked on, assessing his old friend's usefulness, and put the man out of his misery. "Then they had better find you," David said, and stepped forward. When he was standing face to face with Harris, his fast right cold-cocked him. He hit the floor like a sack of flour.

"What did you do that for?" Verne said.

"He will be more helpful as a victim of our escape," David said. "Harris is the only direct informant I have in the city courthouse. If he is compromised, we won't know what the others do in response to our escape. Leave him here."

There was no time to argue. Verne grabbed the lantern from the cellar prison and followed the Foggs out of the house, starting a fire in the laundry on the way out.