Mystic Mountains

as he didn't prove to be the tyrant she'd expected and start to make a claim on her after the sun went down.
    "I attacked a nob with a knife," she said, swallowing a mouthful of food.
    "Ye gods!" Her owner narrowed his eyes and Thelma and Gillie sat staring at her in a peculiar way.
    "And how did that come about?" Thelma asked after a brief pause.
    "It's all right, you don't have to worry I'm going to kill you all in your beds. I don't make a habit of coming at people with knives. This so-called gent deserved all he got. It was his luck I was a rotten hand with a weapon. I was aiming below his belt, and he put his hand in the way. I almost chopped his thumb off." Isabella pushed a potato about her plate. "I suppose it was my lucky day too, for if I'd chopped off what I'd intended I'd have swung and that's for sure."
    Tiger Carstairs let out a hoot of laughter.
    "So, we don't have to lock up all the sharp implements then, miss?" he asked, turning serious.
    "I may look silly but I 'm not that daft," she retorted. "I heard on the ship about the way things are run here in the colony. I do realize I'm likely to be strung up if I don't stick to the rules."
    "Good. As long as we know where we stand." Another unreadable look passed between her master and Thelma.
    "And have you a family left behind in the old country, girl?" Thelma asked as she seated herself beside her husband.
    "Aye, me Ma and three brothers and sisters; all younger than me." Her voice dropped as she lowered her head, remembering the pain at leaving her Ma and the little o nes. She would not cry for them. The time for tears had long passed. There was naught she could do to change anything. But oh how it hurt; her fear for them and her longing to see them again was like an ache deep inside her. How were they faring without her? No doubt Jeremy would be out stealing for them now. He was fifteen, and would probably end up over here in this godforsaken country afore long. It shouldn't have done, but that thought brightened her considerably.
    "And what of your father?" Tiger asked.
    "Papa's in Newgate. Leastwise he was when I went up for trial. Put there by an English magistrate." She out-stared her new owner. "He could be dead now for all I know."
    "Were you out stealing to feed the rest of your family, then, girl?" Thelma asked.
    "Aye." Finishing her meal, she wiped the dish clean with a chunk of bread. Putting the fork down, she sat back and stared at the painting of a horse jumping a fence that graced the wall. "Trying to. And I was doing all right 'til this nob came along and ruined everything."
    "You can write to your ma if you wish, Bella," Tiger allowed, also sitting back and patting his stomach. "Thelma will give you some paper, pen and ink. You can write, can 't you?"
    "Course I can. Me ma taught us all our letters. She may have only been a housemaid, but her dad taught her and she passed it on to all of us. Papa never quite picked it up though. Still, 'tis likely he'll not be worrying about such things anymore. 'Tis a fact that not many survive Newgate." Her mouth set in a grim line.
    "Perhaps he 'll get transported, and you'll be together again." Tiger tried to inject his voice with a touch of optimism he didn't feel.
    "I doubt it."
    Tiger saw her swallow hard, saw the defeat in her eyes. The quelled fury at the injustice of the penal system rose up to enrage him again. So many honest folk were torn from their families and imprisoned and transported, often for no other reason than their desire to be spared the pangs of hunger. Memories of his own trial and banishment came back to remind him that once he'd been in the same position as she.
    Was sh e speaking the truth? Ye gods—he hoped he hadn't brought home a murderess. She'd been brought to trial for attempting to unman a member of the gentry, but she might have gotten away with murder in the past. He knew well enough how the riffraff protected its own in the hordes populating the streets of London.
    "Last we heard Papa was eaten up with fever an ' not given much chance," she muttered. Tiger hoped she wasn't a good actress and a liar. She certainly appeared to be filled with misery at her father's plight, but it could all be an act to gain sympathy.
    "Dear lord. Poor soul." Thelma sighed, and Tiger knew Isabella had succeeded in getting Thelma well and truly on her side.
    Everyone stared down at their plates in silence, until Thelma urged, "Here now, eat your apple pie," as she cut a large pie