“Watch her,” she ordered. She walked towards the bed, smacking the footboard hard. Pub jumped awake, rousing Charcoal, who had previously been asleep in his arms. “Get up.” Charcoal and Pub looked sleepily around the room. Charcoal pulled the covers up around her and swallowed nervously. She might as well have killed herself last night.

“Mrs. Ro-” she started, but she was cut off by a steely glare. She looked helplessly at Pub. He was wrapping a blanket around himself, and started to rise from the bed.

“Pub, do you have anything to say?” Margarita’s voice floated softly from the doorway. Charcoal jerked with surprise--she sounded heartbroken. Pub looked over at her, his mouth a straight line.

“Yes, actually I do,” he replied, standing away from the bed. He looked at Charcoal, huddled and cold, and looked back at Margarita. Charcoal saw hesitation in his eyes, and could understand where it came from. He was about to lose a fiancée, his high position, good reputation, everything important to him.

“I…” he looked around the room a moment. “I can only say that what happened last night was undoubtedly unwanted. I never at any time told Camille…well, I didn’t want this to happen.” Charcoal’s heart flew into her throat. He had just blamed, so to speak, it all on her.

“Pub…?” she said softly.

“Quiet!” Margarita said angrily, glaring at her. Pub swallowed nervously. “Continue, please.”

“Well…uh, I was sick yesterday…and,” he looked at Charcoal’s hurt eyes and forced himself to continue, “I had a few too many glasses of brandy for my cold. I dozed off in the chair and Camille came home to find me asleep. She woke me up and brought me upstairs. To my room. I was too drunk to do anything, and I couldn’t stop her… I’m sorry.” He lowered his eyes to the ground. Margarita stood, motionless. She shifted her eyes to look at Charcoal.

“That’s not true!” Charcoal protested, her voice shrill and loud. All heads turned to her, and she was once again silenced. She paid no attention however, and continued, “And I have proof. Pub was in love with me! He wrote me love letters and gave me presents.” Pub looked shocked and looked at Mrs. Rockwelth.

“She’s…lying, of course,” he said quietly. Charcoal gathered up the blankets around her.

“I can prove it!” she said again, trying madly to convince them.

“That’s quite enough out of you!” Mrs. Rockwelth reprimanded. “Maybelle, get Camille’s clothing and take her to her room. I will be down shortly. Mr. Fader…I am deeply sorry that Camille has been so…vile.” She turned on her heel, bringing her daughter with her.

“Oh, mother,” Margarita moaned. “My own Pub, gone for another girl--a servant!” There was a loud crack as Mrs. Rockwelth slapped Margarita’s cheek.

“You foolish girl! No one need know this ever happened. We will fire Camille and send her to prison. A child’s prison because she’s so young. You will marry Pub as planned and everything will be all right. Now quiet up and put on a good face for the guests.”

Margarita wiped her tear-stained face. She followed her mother back down the stairs.

“Call the constable,” Mrs. Rockwelth said to the butler. “Tell him we have a criminal.”

Charcoal lay on her hard cot, staring at the ceiling. She glanced out of the window. Past the cold, hard bars it was night. She hadn’t stood a chance against Rockwelth. Pub had betrayed her, Grey was right. All the drawings she had saved in the bottom of her bureau were burned, along with the letters from Pub. If anyone found them before they were shoved into the fire, they hadn’t said anything.

She rolled over onto her side, listening to the usual sounds of the prison she was in. No, they had told her right away it wasn’t a prison, but a rehabilitation house, a House of Refuge, from which came the name. It was only her third night there, but it felt like an eternity…

“You’re still awake?”

The always-muffled sound of the boy in the cell next to her drifted past.

“Yeah,” she responded shortly. He was quiet for a little while, thinking maybe. She hadn’t really introduced herself to him, but every once and a while he would comment on something. Charcoal flopped over onto her stomach.

“You’re the only girl in a single cell,” the boy said suddenly. Charcoal raised her head.

“So?”

“So you must’ve done something pretty bad to someone pretty high up,” he responded quickly. She heard him sit up. Charcoal frowned, and automatically started to wipe away tears that weren’t there.

“My boss found me in bed with her fiancée,” Charcoal spat out angrily.

“Ouch. So you got thrown in here, eh? Special treatment and all… How long?”

“Two months. They were just mad at me, furious really, so they told the police I tried to steal somethin’ from them. Or, I don’t know…I wasn’t there to discuss it.” Charcoal was sitting up with her knees against her chest. She leaned back against the cold wall, and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” the boy confessed. “I mean, I know why I’m here, in this cell instead of with the other boys, but I don’t know why I should even be in this…whatever you want to call it. All I did was wait around for my brother to finish up selling papers, and some cop went up to me and put handcuffs on me.”

Charcoal stared at the darkness. “You didn’t fight back?” she asked.

“Nah,” he said. “I had a pretty high fever. All I could do was sit down. I had a hard time keeping from passing out.” There was silence before Charcoal registered what he had said.

“Your brother sells papers?” she asked. “In Lower Manhattan?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Charcoal smiled slightly. “You know Jack Kelly?”

There was a raucous snort from the other side of the wall. “Who doesn’t?” he asked, the laughter evident in his voice. “Him and my brother were friends. Ben Walsh--know ‘im?”

“Sorry,” Charcoal said. Silence again.

“Hey, but if you’re a friend of Jack’s, then he’ll come ta bust you out. He always does it for his friends,” the boy said, talking brightly.

Charcoal looked out the window. “I think it’ll take a while before Jack decides to come after me.” She heard the boy get off his cot and go to the door of his cell.

“Then you can at least enjoy the benefits,” he told her. “Hey! Whistler, you there?” He waited, silent, for a few moments. There was a jingle of metal from down at the other end. Charcoal rose to investigate, and found herself staring into the eyes of a very lively young man. She saw the boy’s hands outside of the slats in his door motion the boy in the hall. “Whistler, we have another friend of Jack’s among the ranks.” Charcoal watched the boy smile at her.

“Well then,” he said. “Anything you want, dollface, and you can just gimme a call. Any friend of Jack’s is a friend of mine.”

Charcoal smiled. “Actually…I could use a couple pieces of charcoal to draw with, if you don’t mind.” He looked surprised for a moment, but his smile quickly returned.

“Drawing charcoal, got it,” he affirmed. Charcoal smiled brightly and thanked him. “No problem, sweet ’art. Listen, I can pick a lock in five seconds, so I’m always roamin’ around at night. Just give a call, or,” and he winked, “a whistle and I’ll be there in a jiff. Now then, anthin’ else you might need? A pair of shoes? A mirror? Somethin’ to comb out that bird’s nest on yer head? No? Well, I guess I should be gettin.’ Do you need anythin’ Greg?” Charcoal heard the boy say no, and Whistler nodded. “See ya around, doll.” He waved good-bye to them as he sauntered back the way he came.

“Your name’s Greg?” Charcoal asked when Whistler had disappeared from view.

“Yeah,” he responded. “Gregory William Walsh. So why’d you need drawing charcoal?”

Charcoal settled back onto the couch. “I draw. It’s a hobby.”

“Well,” the boy replied knowingly, “if the warden finds it, you’ll lose it. I hope you’re good at hiding.”

“If the warden finds it, who cares? I can just get more from Whistler. Charcoal doesn’t cost too much, you know.” Charcoal leaned back on her cot, her arms folded behind her head. There was a long stretch of quiet and Charcoal closed her eyes, in hopes of regaining some long-lost sleep.

“So you never told me your name,” Greg said suddenly. Charcoal opened her eyes, and grinned.

“My name? Why, Charcoal of course.”

“Oh Lord…what the hell is this?”

Charcoal sleepily looked around her cell. It was early morning, and there were three guards staring inside. She glanced around, trying to refrain from a smile. Without any paper, she hadn’t had anything to draw on with the charcoal Whistler gave her, so she drew on the walls. Charcoal thought all the drawings looked beautiful, but apparently the guards disagreed.

She saw the steely face of the warden peer in to look. “What seems to be the…I see. You know, young lady,” he said, stepping into the cell, “we have very clear rules here. I thought I told you that you weren’t to draw while you were in my custody. But perhaps you didn’t hear me. Perhaps you will need someone to,” he slid his eyes towards one of the guard, “pound it into you.” He smiled slightly, and walked back out of the cell.

Charcoal swallowed nervously. The guards stepped closer to her, wearing matching grins.

Charcoal looked up at her bare ceiling, trying to concentrate on breathing. She wasn’t sure what had happened to her--she passed put after a little while. But anyway, it hurt to breathe and there was something wrong with one of her arms. She couldn’t move it.

“How are ya?” Greg asked through the concrete partition. “You had us worried--being stuck in the infirmary for so long.”

“Greg?” Charcoal’s voice sounded hoarse even to her. “How long have I been in prison?”

There was a pause.

“One week and two days,” he replied after a moment. Charcoal closed her eyes. One week and two days. She had missed the draw off, then. And Pub’s marriage, if that ever happened.

“Jack stopped by to see ya, by the way,” Greg continued. “I told him you got hurt and wouldn’t be able to come out for a little while.”

“Oh.” Then they knew where she was. And she had nothing to do but wait until she felt good enough to start drawing again. She still had charcoal--hidden away behind the loose brick on the outside of her cell window. All she needed know was a place to draw…

“Uh, hey, I want to see Char-er, Camille Suthy.”

“Hold on.”

Charcoal heard voices from outside her window and hopped off the bed. Someone was coming to visit her? There were footsteps from down the hall, a lot of footsteps, actually.

“Here she is.”

Charcoal heard someone twist a key in her door and it finally swung open. Charcoal walked to the door of her cell. When it finally swung open, she saw Hercules, Sketch, and Cap standing in front of her. The guard left after briefly saying how much time they had, and Hercules stepped into the cell.

“Why didn’t you tell us your name was Camille?” she demanded. Charcoal shrugged, and sat back down on her cot. “And what on earth happened to you?”

Charcoal glanced down at her bandages. They had somewhat healed in the week and half since she left the infirmary and went back to her cell, but they were still looking pretty bad. “Someone brought me some charcoal to draw with, and the guards had to tell me they don’t enjoy art.” She grinned, despite the pained looks on the other girls’ faces. “Anyway, it looks a lot worse than it really is.”

“When Jack told us that you were hurt, we tried to get in right away,” Cap said, moving closer. She ignored Sketch, who stayed by the door with her arm wrapped around her bag. “It took us a little while to build up a story and convince them we weren’t going to bust you out.”

“Wait,” Hercules said. “Who gave you charcoal?”

Charcoal shrugged. “He said his name is Whistler. He’s a friend of Jack’s.”

Cap rolled her eyes. “Everyone’s a friend of Jack’s. It’s just in his nature.” Hercules walked over to Charcoal and sat down next to her.

“I suppose we should talk about why you’re in here when you actually leave,” she said, lowering her voice so the others could just barely hear. “When are you leaving anyway?”

Charcoal shrugged, then winced from pain. “It was supposed to be 2 months. I’ve been in here for about 2 and a half weeks, but usually they add on months for punishment, so I don’t know when I’m leaving.”

Hercules smiled lightly. “Well, we’ll keep an eye out for you.” Charcoal smiled back, then tilted her head to look at Sketch.

“You won, I guess,” she said. Sketch jumped, but nodded slowly, displaying the black sketchbook Charcoal had dreamed about.

“When you never showed, Kloppman said I was the winner,” Sketch responded. “You don’t have to pay me anything,” she added, with a glance at Charcoal’s gauzy wounds. Charcoal, noticing her pity, looked at her with a frown.

“What did you draw on?” Hercules asked slowly. “I mean, you said you drew stuff, but you didn’t have anywhere to draw.” Charcoal grinned, and motioned towards the walls with her eyes. Hercules stared at her for a minute, then started laughing. “No wonder they were mad,” she said, grinning. Charcoal shrugged and smiled.

“But that must have been a while ago,” Cap reasoned. “How’re you managing living without drawing?”

“Oh, I’m still drawing,” Charcoal replied, a twisted smile on her face. All three of her visitors wore equal expressions of confusion. She pointed up at the ceiling. “See?”

They all turned their faces to the roof of her cell. Instead of plain gray stone, Charcoal had drawn pictures and sketches, nearly covering the entire wall. It was beautiful. Sketch’s jaw dropped slightly, and she gripped the sketchbook even tighter. Finally, after a moment of silence, she brought her eyes to met Charcoal’s.

“Here,” she said, pushing the book in Charcoal’s hands. “You won.”

Charcoal took a deep breath of air. After three and a half months, she was free. It almost seemed as if the world was waiting for her, holding onto summer for a few extra days just so she could enjoy them. She stared down the end of the road for a minute, thinking about where she should go. She didn’t want to crawl back to Grey, and getting her old job would be absolutely out of the question. She picked a direction and began walking, her bag with her extra dress, hairbrush, and sketchbook slung over her shoulder.

It only took her a minute to figure out where she wanted to go. She sped up, but only slightly. Finally, she vaulted the stairs to the building.

“Afternoon Charcoal,” Kloppman said, smiling "We got an extra bunk waiting upstairs."