The Stolen Diadem of a Castaway Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

  “And maybe a good sermon on showing the mercy a’ God would be better before he hears us!” Cooke added, smiling hopefully.

  In the end, Beatrix was persuaded. She felt useless just pacing the darkened barn, but she had to admit that Pencot’s logic was sound. As she fumed, her mind returned to Callum again and again, no matter how much she tried to push him from her thoughts.

  “I shall not cry over that which I never had,” she decided silently. “I’ve learned that a great many men are prone to bouts of waxing poetic when the romantic mood strikes them, but then bearing only a cold shoulder when they realize their own folly. Callum is no different, and I am but another young lady whose heart was ill-used for a time.”

  Before too much of the day had passed, the three of them heard the church bells rings in the tower overhead. Pencot declared it to be safe to venture out and see to their errand. They readied in silence then left their horses in the barn for safekeeping. Heading in search of the constable, Beatrix made note of their steps in case they had to flee in a hurry.

  “Pencot, look!” Beatrix cried softly as they entered the town square. She stifled a cry with a hand pressed to her mouth, and the older man’s hand instantly went to her elbow to hold her up.

  “It does naw mean anything,” he said, trying to sound unconcerned as he stared at the gallows that was still in the midst of being erected. “Perhaps the judge had a good deal of cases to address, and ‘tis meant for some other convict.”

  Beatrix smiled gratefully at his attempt at being optimistic, but she shook her head. “No, the woman at the church… she knew why we were here. That structure is for my father, I know it! We must hurry!”

  “Take care, child!” Pencot said, soothing her fear. “They would naw do such a thing on a Sunday. We will find this judge in plenty o’ time to intervene.”

  They continued to walk along, hesitant to inquire for help for fear of showing their identities. The sound of hoofbeats behind them made Beatrix turn, and she narrowly pulled Pencot and Cooke out of the way of a looming open carriage.

  They stepped back as it passed, a driver and three passengers, but Beatrix nearly cried out in a mixture of horror and joy.

  “I know that man! Both of them!” she cried. “Hurry, we must follow!”

  Beatrix took off at a steady run, and her two companions raced to follow suit. Pencot came up beside her to gasp, “What is the matter?”

  “That man! He is Lord Bellton’s friend, and that is his father with him! Surely they are going to speak to the judge!”

  “How can you be certain, Lady Beatrix?” Pencot asked, catching her elbow and pulling her to a stop so that he might pant for great gulps of air.

  “Because the older man…” she said, fighting for breath herself, “… he shot Lord Bellton, not Father! And I’m sure he intends to give testimony to the contrary! We must hurry!”

  It was no small feat to run after the speeding carriage, but Beatrix was determined not to allow it to fade from her sight. More than once she’d had to duck down a narrow alleyway in order to emerge on another street to keep a close eye on it. Thankfully, she saw the driver halt the vehicle some good distance ahead and two of the men step down.

  “Come, I see them! We must hurry!” she called again. Cooke was none the worse for the wear of their hasty footrace, but Pencot clutched at his chest and waved them on.

  “I cannot! Go without me, I’ll catch up to ya when I’m able!” he panted, coughing slightly as a great breath of air hit his lungs.

  Beatrix hesitated, but Pencot waved her on. She turned and followed Cooke the rest of the way, looking back once or twice to ensure that the older man was still behind them.

  “Lady Beatrix?” a man called out as she reached the doorway to the meeting house. “What… what are you doing here?”

  Beatrix turned and stared in horror. “Lord Bellton? What is going on, why are you here and in your condition?”

  “Oh, don’t mind me. I’ve never felt… better,” he wheezed, coughing slightly. The strain of speaking was almost too much. “I had… I had to come.”

  Beatrix reached over the side of the carriage and felt his skin. “You’re ice cold! What were you thinking, getting out of bed and coming all this way? Cooke, ask about for a physician at once!”

  The other man turned to run for help, but Callum shook his head. “No!” he called out feebly. “There’s time enough later, I had to come. Please, I know… that you must hate me. But I have to do what’s right.”

  “Shhhh, I don’t hate you,” she said, wondering herself if that was close to a lie.

  “Well you should,” Callum said. “Please, I have… no right to ask. But can you help me inside?”

  “No, you must stay put! You’re gravely injured!” she protested.

  “I must. I have to… speak for your father.” Callum’s head fell back against the seat but he implored her with his eyes. “Please.”

  Beatrix battled with what to do, then finally nodded. “All right. It would have been a waste to put yourself in this sort of danger and not accomplish something useful from it. Come on.”

  She opened the carriage door and held out her arms for the Marquess to lean on. He pitched forward, narrowly catching himself on the side of the carriage before crashing onto Beatrix. She stumbled only slightly under his weight but managed to put his feet down firmly on the street. Ducking her head under his good arm, she let him lean on her as they walked into the meeting house.

  “What is this?” Peter asked just as the judge entered the room. “Callum, you’re too weak! You mustn’t!”

  “I have to,” Callum argued.

  “Would someone please explain what this is all about?” the judge demanded. He still wore a napkin at his neck, his shirt sleeves showing as he wore no coat.

  “We have an urgent matter involving your prisoner, Your Honor,” Peter began. “It is a matter of an innocent man who was wrongly accused of a crime that, well, that hasn’t even happened, as Lord Bellton is clearly not dead… at least not yet.”

  “Impossible!” the judge said gruffly. “The notorious criminal known as Prince Aaron stood before the court and I heard the evidence against him. It was written in Franklin Grain, Earl of Weavington’s own hand.”

  “And I am here to attest that the evidence you read was falsified,” Peter continued. Beatrix gasped, and Peter added, “I have not only brought two witnesses with firsthand knowledge of the crime, but I have brought the Earl himself to retract his claim.”

  The judge turned several shades of pink before settling on an angry, unnatural red. He ripped the napkin from the front of his shirt and threw it aside before roaring, “Am I to believe that my court was subjected to perjury? Bring the prisoner to me at once!”

  A constable who’d been waiting close to the door scurried away while the judge began to pace angrily. Beatrix helped Callum into a nearby chair and motioned for his friend.

  “How long do you suppose this shall take?” she asked. “I’ve sent someone to find a physician, but I fear the journey here was his undoing.”

  Peter frowned, looking down at Callum. “Are you up for speaking to the judge?”

  He only nodded, but the Earl of Weavington saw a chance to disrupt his son’s plans. “Your Honor, we have established that there was no murder, though I’m not certain that won’t change if we do not remove Lord Bellton immediately. You have heard that I was mistaken in my letter, as I was merely too hasty with my assessment.”

  “No, Father,” Peter said, turning to the judge and pointing a finger back at the Earl. “He’s also left out the part about who fired the deadly shot to begin with. It was not Prince Aaron, but rather himself!”

  “What?” the judge demanded. “Why would you attempt to place blame on someone else?”

  “I can answer that,” Lord Bellton said, raising his hand weakly. “Prince Aaron was attempting to tell his daughter some sort of tale involving her upbringing… the Earl… moved to prevent him sever
al times.”

  “Well? What is this story about the young lady?” the judge asked, but no one moved to speak. “I order you to tell me at once!”

  “I can tell you,” Prince Aaron called from the doorway.

  “Father!” Beatrix cried, rushing to him only to be prevented by the constable. Her father held up his hands to show her his shackles, looking at her with utter sadness.

  “Then be quick about it,” the judge ordered. “I shall have the truth of this matter immediately.”

  “Your Honor, this is most unusual,” the Earl said nervously. “There is no cause to take the word of a known criminal.”

  “Oh really? I should think you were the only known criminal in the room but a moment ago,” Peter said, looking at his father with a sneer. “Your Honor, I say let Prince Aaron speak his peace once and for all.”

  “Agreed. The prisoner will explain!”

  “It is a horrible tale, good sir,” Prince Aaron began, “and seeing as how I’m already in much trouble up to me neck, I should like to not have my part in this new story added to my charges?”

  “I can take that under advisement,” the judge said, nodding thoughtfully. “Assuming that your part in this other criminal endeavor proved beneficial.”

  “Aye, that it has, judge. One and twenty years ago it was, I was hired as a mercenary to commit a most horrible crime,” Prince Aaron said, looking to his daughter with remorse. “The Earl there paid me in gold to kidnap and kill an infant girl.”

  All eyes turned on the Earl, who sat stone-faced and silent. The judge stared in disgust, waiting for Weavington to dispute the thief’s account. But he did not.

  “I was not that sort of man, judge,” Prince Aaron continued. “Aye, I was a common thief, but I was no murderer, certainly not of one so young and innocent in the world. But my wife—”

  The old thief’s words caught in his throat at the confession, words he had never shared with anyone living or dead. Speaking them now for all to hear, for his daughter to hear, brought him to tears for the first time in ages.

  “My wife was ill. She had delivered a child too soon, one that never even breathed its first breath of air. We’d had no money for a midwife, only a neighbor woman to help her through it. When she learned that the babe had not lived, she was prepared to die as well.” Prince Aaron looked down and raised both of his shackled hands to wipe at a tear. “I would never have entertained the notion if not out of desperation. With the money the Earl offered, I could afford a physician for her.”

  “But you killed a mere child?” the judge whispered in abhorrence.

  “No, Your Honor! I did not! I sought to steal the child as I was told, only I could not bring myself to harm her. Instead, I brought the infant home with me. In my own grief, I thought I could convince my wife that our child had lived, that she needed to be strong for our daughter.” Ignoring all others, Prince Aaron openly wept as he turned to Beatrix and said, “And I have loved you as my own daughter all these years.”

  Chapter 29

  Beatrix felt faint, and for a moment she wondered if she might embarrass herself by actually having a spell. She searched the faces around the room for any sign of understanding, but all she saw were looks of sympathetic horror or confusion. Save one face, that is, that of the Earl who looked at her with pure revulsion.

  “Daughter, please speak to me,” her father implored softly, tears still running in rivulets down his weathered face. “Say something.”

  “Daughter? You cannot mean me,” she said slowly. “You are… you are not my father.”

  Her words wounded Prince Aaron in a way that was felt by all those present. The light went out of his eyes briefly, but he soon recovered his senses.

  “But I am,” he protested. “I am your father, I raised you as my own. You and I were thrown together through terrible circumstances. Remember, please… if I had not acted thus, the Earl would have simply found another to take my place and finish the deed. Yes, I was selfish, but I was saving you as well.”

  Beatrix nodded, looking thoughtful. “I suppose that is true, and I owe you some measure of debt for saving my life. But… but I had parents. I had a mother who lived.”

  She turned her sorrow to anger and whirled around to face the Earl. “Who was she? Who was the woman that you hated so much that you would see her child ripped from her arms?”

  “You know not of which you speak,” the Earl hissed. “You cannot possibly comprehend.”

  “Well I should like to know,” the judge snapped. “And I dare suggest your answer be both forthcoming and well-prepared, as your freedom depends upon it.”

  The Earl cast an angry glance around the room, reserving the most venomous look for his son. Finally, he said through gritted teeth, “My sister.”

  “What? Lady Miriam, my own aunt?” Peter demanded. “Why, who could ever wish such ill will on a woman so dear! Father or not, you are a monster!”

  “I had to do it!” the Earl shouted. “Her husband was the monster, and she would never have agreed to leave his home if her mewling brat were still there. He held the very thought of the child over her head from the moment she knew she was carrying his spawn, threatening to send her away and never permit her to lay eyes on her own child if she did not comply with his every whim.”

  The judge looked to Prince Aaron, who only shrugged. “He did not tell me the particulars, only that it must be done. I was desperate, and so did not question him further.”

  Beatrix’s mind still raced. “But is she—is my mother still alive then?”

  “What? Oh yes, quite,” the Earl said, sniffing dismissively. “Her husband ended up dying some years later from a disease the likes of which he caught in a house of ill repute.”

  Peter covered his embarrassment with a fit of coughing, turning aside to mutter, “That was information you never deigned to share with me. I thought he was killed in war.”

  “So I’m to believe that you’re not a kidnapper,” the judge said, pointing to Aaron, “but you’re the scoundrel who ordered it to be so,” he continued, pointing at Weavington. “What is your part in all this?” he asked Lord Bellton.

  “I’m only here as a witness,” the Marquess answered weakly. “The Earl there shot me when I dove in front of his pistol. He intended… to shoot Mr. Risewell to prevent him from… from telling this to his daughter.”

  Prince Aaron looked at Lord Bellton gratefully for both his testimony and his use of the word “daughter.” Beatrix, though, looked unconvinced for now.

  “Your Honor, what is to be done about all this?” Peter asked, turning to the judge.

  “I… I don’t know, to be honest,” the man said. “The charge of murder and its sentence of hanging no longer applies, I can see that. But there is still the matter of the thief’s many crimes over the years, and the Earl’s confession that he paid someone to commit a heinous act.”

  “I should think, Your Honor,” Peter said patiently, “that Mr. Risewell’s emotional confession—as well as his swift action in preventing the death of the young Beatrix, as he explained—should suffice to erase his part in the crime, don’t you?”

  “What? Erase his part in it and allow him to go unpunished? I’m afraid that’s not how the law works,” the judge replied, shaking his head.

  “Ah, but the law does reward those who prevent a greater crime. By taking the infant, Mr. Risewell prevented her eventual death at the hands of the next villain that my father attempted to hire. Surely his good deed far outweighs any nefarious part he played.”

  “Hmmm, that may be so,” the judge acknowledged.

  “And is his crime of being a thief truly so awful when you consider that he only did so to provide for a child of noble birth, one who had—through no fault of her own—been taken from her family and cast out into wretched poverty?”

  “That may be greatly stretching the point,” the judge said, looking pointedly at Peter and smirking in a knowing way. “The law is unbreakable, but it is certainly g
iven to bending when the circumstances allow it. Moreover, as I have none of the actual evidence before me of Prince Aaron’s years of thieving, then I shall not hold him on those charges either. You are free to go, Mr. Risewell, and I do strongly urge you to change your ways at once!”

  Despite her earlier misgivings, Beatrix threw her arms around her father, failing to wait for the constable to unlock the manacles about his wrists.

  “I’m sorry I doubted you,” she said tearfully, looking up at her father’s face. “I know you thought that you were doing the right thing, and I could never have asked for a better father!”

  “And what about me?” Peter asked, pointedly ignoring the scene behind him as the constable placed his own father in chains and led him away. “Do you not have a word for your dear cousin?”