Due to the standing of the accused’s families and the amount of public interest in this particular case, Darius knew he would get longer than usual to mount a defence. He wondered if Lord Jackson was responsible for whipping up the hoi polloi, hoping that it would benefit the defence. Darius suppressed a chuckle. Nothing would surprise him about that wily old statesman’s activities.
Darius glanced up at the gallery. The first people he saw were Pallister and his son, resplendent in all their finery, sitting at one end of the front row, looking insufferably confident. Lord Pallister inclined his head in Darius’s direction, an indolent smile, presumably intended to unsettle him, playing about his lips. Unfortunately it did unsettle Darius because it left him with the uncomfortable feeling that he’d overlooked something important—that Pallister knew something he didn’t.
“Don’t let him get to you,” he muttered. “There is absolutely nothing more he can do to hurt you now.”
Darius looked straight through the pair as though they didn’t exist. His eyes travelled further along the front row, stopping when they reached Hal and Rob, with Flick seated between them. This time he did acknowledge their greeting, wishing with all his heart that he could save Flick from this sordid arena, knowing better than to even try. His feisty wife-to-be liked nothing better than being in the thick of things. Her bright eyes, alight with interest, confirmed at least that much. Truth to tell, her spirited determination to be unconventional was one of the many things he adored about her. Not that he would ever tell her so. Flick required little encouragement to flaunt the rules.
Darius frowned when he realized that the Forsters could only move from their seats by passing in front of the men he looked upon as his enemies. He didn’t like the idea of Pallister having control of the spectators’ gallery by virtue of having the best seat. He shook off the feeling of foreboding this generated, adjuring himself not to allow nerves to get the better of him.
He continued to scan the rows of spectators, acknowledging a few acquaintances as he did so. The fathers of the accused sat side by side, grim-faced. They’d obviously put aside their very public differences to unite in the support of their sons. There was no sign of Lord Peters, which surprised Darius. He would have thought that he’d be there to support Edward Armstrong.
Darius’s eyes moved on, looking for Lord Jackson, not surprised when he couldn’t find him. Of course he wouldn’t show his hand by attending the trial. Darius tried to decide whom out of the gentlemen present might be his eyes and ears. He had no way of knowing but was absolutely certain that someone was there with the sole purpose of recounting the proceedings to Jackson, Chapter and verse.
Woodard, the prosecutor, arrived looking disconcertingly confident. He nodded to Darius, who returned the greeting. Why wouldn’t he look confident? He had the judge, Pallister and public opinion on his side. For something to do with his hands, Darius straightened his papers on the semi-circular mahogany table from which he and Woodard would both make their arguments. The clerks seated behind them sharpened their pens and chatted among themselves. The jury, far less accustomed to the courthouse, looked nervous and didn’t seem to have much to say to one another.
When the prisoners were brought up from the cells beneath the courthouse there was a momentary lull in the noise level. People strained their necks to get a good look at them, and then the burst of dozens of conversations resumed at an increased level. Darius smiled at the pair. They looked pale and afraid but at least they were dressed well and held themselves tall, just as Darius had told them to, implying that they had absolutely nothing to fear.
The judge entered from the back of the court and everyone stood. His gaze roved round the packed courtroom, his expression sour. He gave an almost imperceptible nod as his gaze rested momentarily on Lord Pallister. Far from being discouraged by this outward sign of prejudice, Darius felt an inexplicable sense of calm envelop him. His nerves left him as he mentally rose to the challenge, anxious to get things moving. He was here to do what he did best and save two innocent young men’s lives.eH He was fighting not just against opposing counsel but against a biased judge and one of the most powerful men in the land who had, most likely, already bribed witnesses and jury alike.
But Darius wasn’t without a few tricks of his own up his sleeve. He also had the added incentive of winning the hand of the woman he loved more than life itself.
Few men had greater motivation to succeed than Darius Grantley.
“Are you ready to proceed, Mr. Grantley?” the judge asked. “Or do you have further familial problems that necessitate a delay?”
Darius stood up to his full height and inclined his head.
“If your lordship pleases,” he said, grasping the lapels of his robe. “The defence is entirely ready.”
The judge sniffed. “Clerk, read the charges,” he said.
Chapter Eighteen
“He looks very stately.” Flick peered down at Darius, her heart fluttering with nerves. “How can he be so calm when so much is riding on the outcome?”
“He’s done it a few times before,” Rob told her.
“Not like this, he hasn’t.”
“You may proceed, Mr. Woodard,” the judge said, making it sound like he was granting some sort of royal favour. Flick thought he was far too full of his own self-importance and had taken him in immediate dislike.
Woodard rose, adjusted his robes and inclined his head respectfully. “I am obliged to your lordship.”
He then proceeded to make a damning opening statement against the accused. As Flick listened, she became increasingly discouraged. She had anticipated shouted accusations and finger-pointing. Instead the prosecutor was mildly spoken and methodical, describing the accused as indolent young men from privileged backgrounds whose search for diversions had got out of hand. Flick thought his cool oratory was far more effective than the heated declamation she had expected.
“He’s trying to deflect the argument he believes Darius will make,” Hal said in an aside to Rob.
And he was doing it very skilfully. By the time Woodard finished speaking, he had almost convinced Flick of Cuthbert’s and Baker’s guilt, and she knew very well that they were innocent. She glanced at Darius to see how he was reacting to Woodard’s reasoned argument and was astonished to see that he looked perfectly composed. He had leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, and didn’t give the impression that he was even listening to his adversary.
“How can he be so relaxed?” Flick asked peevishly. “Woodard is hurting him and he doesn’t seem to care.”
“Shush.” Hal patted her hand. “Darius will get his opportunity.”
Woodard kept his statement short and to the point. Flick suspected that the judge, who appeared to lack patience, would have intervened had it been otherwise.
“Call your first witness, Mr. Woodard,” the judge said.
“With your lordship’s permission I call William Baldwin.”
A well-dressed person of below average height made his way to the witness box. Flick didn’t know his name but could tell that in spite of being able to afford the services of a decent tailor, he was no gentleman. Probably a well-to-do Cit.
“He doesn’t look comfortable being here,” Rob said.
Woodard quickly established that Baldwin had been the last victim of the highway robberies.
“He was the first one to complain and give a description of the robbers,” Hal told her quietly. “All the others miraculously remembered the same things about them after that.”
“Lord Pallister’s work,” Flick said, screwing up her features in disgust.
“Do you remember anything about the attack?” Woodard asked his witness.
“I remember every terrifying second,” the man said, shrewd eyes bulging with indignation. “I feared for my life when those blaggards drew a pistol.” He pointed an accusatory finger at the dock. “And I’m not afraid to admit it.”
“I’m sure he isn’t,” Hal muttered. “
Especially if he’s been well recompensed by Pallister to do so.”
Woodard’s questioning of the witness revealed that Baldwin had been relieved of his pocketbook, his watch and a signet ring of significant sentimental value.
“Were you able to describe the attackers to the magistrates after your ordeal?” Woodard asked.
“Indeed I could not. The dastardly cowards wore masks but I know it was them two in the dock because they spoke to one another by name.”
“Was there anything else that distinguished them?”
“No, I...”
Flick thought the man’s testimony had sounded contrived up until that point. It now seemed that he’d forgotten something he was supposed to have added.
“Anything at all.”
“Let me think. Ah yes, now I remember.” He flashed a triumphant smile. “I could see their murderous eyes. One of them had eyes that were vivid blue.”
Flick’s heart sank. Baker had deep blue eyes. She glanced at Darius, who appeared totally unperturbed by this latest revelation.
Woodard sat down and Darius rose in a leisurely manner to cross-examine. Baldwin eyed him with extreme suspicion but Darius’s easy questions appeared to set him at his ease.
“You told the court that you heard my clients address one another by name,” he said, still acting as though he was Baldwin’s friend and ally.
“Yes, indeed. Several times.”
“Really.” Darius raised his brows as though Baldwin had said something quite remarkable. “You couldn’t have mistaken the names?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Did they speak with educated voices?”
“Oh aye, they were gentlemen all right.”
“Educated gentlemen who had the foresight to cover their faces but addressed one another by name?” Darius frowned. “Does that strike you as the type of behaviour educated men determined not to be captured would adopt?”
Baldwin ran a finger round the inside of his cravat. “People do daft things in stressful situations.”
“Or do them deliberately to place suspicion on others.”
“Mr. Grantley!” The judge banged his gravel. “Confine yourself to questioning the witness and keep your opinions to yourself.”
“I crave the court’s pardon,” Darius said soberly. “I don’t know what came over me.”
As he turned away from the judge, Flick thought she saw him struggling to suppress a smile. He returned his attention to the witness before she could be sure.
“He’s very good, isn’t he?” she said to Hal, her bosom swelling with vicarious pride.
“You’re biased,” Hal said good-naturedly.
Flick wrinkled her nose at her impossible brother and returned her attention to the proceedings.
“I assume you have good eyesight, Mr. Baldwin,” Darius said amiably, having established that Baldwin was travelling alone in a hired carriage, returning to the capital after discharging business commitments in Bristol.
“I don’t require spectacles, sir, if that’s what you mean.”
“Not precisely. I have some difficulty with your testimony, you see,” Darius said, looking genuinely perplexed, “and hope that you can rectify that situation.”
“If I can.”
“You saw the colour of your attacker’s eyes, you say.”
“That I did. Clear as day.”
“But that’s precisely my point. The attack took place at twilight and it was raining. You were afraid for your life and yet you noticed the colour of one of the attacker’s eyes?” Darius shook his head. “I commend you on your powers of observation. You must have maintained a very cool head in a life-threatening situation.”
Baldwin preened. “I thought it my civic duty to remember as much as I could.”
“Quite.” Darius allowed a few seconds to pass before speaking again. “Just to demonstrate your powers of observation for the court, perhaps you’d care to take a good look at the accused and tell me which, if either of them, has blue eyes.”
“Well, I...” Baldwin’s gaze fixed on Pallister.
“You won’t find the accused in the public gallery.”
Flick wanted to applaud. “Pallister obviously forgot to tell him which man has the blue eyes,” she said in an aside to Rob.
Rob chuckled. “So it would appear. Well done, Darius!”
“They’re too far away,” Baldwin said, seemingly pleased to have thought of that. “The robbers were a whole lot closer.”
“How close?”
“To about the table behind you.”
Darius turned to his clerk. “Stand up, Phillips, if you would.” Darius’s clerk did so. “Now then, Mr. Baldwin, is that about the distance?”
“Aye, I would say so.”
“And the lighting in here is perfectly good. Far better than it would have been on the rainy night when you were attacked and feared for your life?”
Baldwin nodded with obvious reluctance, looking less and less comfortable. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“You suppose so. Then I suppose you will have no difficulty in telling the court the colour of this man’s eyes,” Darius said, waving a hand theatrically towards Phillips.
It felt to Flick as though the courtroom held its collective breath as everyone waited to see if he could oblige. Perspiration peppered Baldwin’s brow as he squinted at Phillips. He removed a handkerchief from his inside pocket and swiped it across his forehead.
“He’s half blind,” Flick whispered.
“Well, Mr. Baldwin, we’re waiting,” Darius said amiably.
“Brown,” he said. “The man’s got brown eyes.”
“Alas, not even close,” Darius told him. “My clerk is blessed with grey eyes.”
Baldwin shuffled his feet and said nothing.
“What else did you, with your keen powers of observation, notice about the robbers?” Darius asked.
Baldwin shook his head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Well, did they mount the attack on foot?”
“Of course not. They were mounted on fine-looking horses.”
Hal sat a little straighter.
“What is it?” Flick whispered.
“Not sure, but I think this is the crux of Darius’s defence. He told me there was something everyone else seemed to have overlooked.”
“You appear to me to be the type of gentleman who knows his horseflesh,” Darius remarked, returning to his role as Baldwin’s best friend.
Baldwin puffed out his chest, placing strain on the buttons of his waistcoat as it struggled to contain his girth. “I flatter myself that I have a good enough eye for that sort of thing. I enjoy a visit to Tattersall’s along with the best of ’em.”
“I dare say you do.” Darius’s tone was friendly as he treated Baldwin as an equal. “What do you remember about the horses ridden by the robbers?”
“Well, one was a flea-bitten grey and the other was a bay. A fine beast, if rather bad-tempered, I remember that much. It tried to take a lump out of my arm when the robber rode up close to take my valuables.” Baldwin threw back his head, as though anxious to demonstrate his knowledge. “If you asked me to name the breed I’d say it was a Trakehner.”
“Trakehner!” Flick gripped Hal’s arm. “Then it had to have been Nathbone after all.”
“Not necessarily.”
“I saw one in the sale ring not long ago and recognized the rectangular build associated with that breed,” Baldwin said. “There’s no mistaking it.”
Flick nudged Hal and indicated Pallister with her eyes. Up until that moment he’d appeared perfectly composed. Now he was scowling.
“You are indeed an expert, Mr. Baldwin.”
“What’s all this to do with anything?” the judge asked irascibly. “Get on with it, Mr. Grantley.”
“Just a few more questions, m’lord.”
“Oh, very well.”
“Any other distinguishing features that you recall regarding the Trakehner?”
> “Well, I...” Baldwin furled his brow, seeming to Flick as though he genuinely wished to help. “Actually, now you come to mention it, there was something.”
A loud noise from the public gallery disrupted proceedings. The judge looked up, opened his mouth to berate the culprit, saw it was Lord Pallister who had dropped his cane and closed his mouth again.
“That was deliberate,” Flick said. “Why did he do it?”
“It looks as though Darius has struck a nerve,” Hal said.
Flick’s attention remained focused on Baldwin. If Pallister’s diversion had been intended to attract the witness’s attention, it failed. He appeared to enjoy demonstrating his knowledge of horseflesh and didn’t glance up to see what the commotion was about.
“You were about to tell the court what features stand out in your mind regarding the horse ridden by your attacker, other than it being a bad-tempered creature,” Darius reminded Baldwin.
“It was bad-tempered and difficult to control. I remember thinking that the rider must be pretty accomplished to hold it in check as well as he did. It was accident prone as well. It had a long scar down the side of its neck. Saw it plain as anything.”
“As plainly as you saw the colour of your attacker’s eyes?” Woodard asked, half rising from his seat.
“Is my learned friend questioning the testimony of his own witness?” Darius enquired.
Woodard resumed his seat to the accompaniment of amused chuckles.
“Is that what Darius wanted Baldwin to say?” Flick asked, perching precariously on the edge of her chair as she leaned forward to feast her eyes on her heart’s desire. “About the horse’s scar, I mean.”
“I reckon so,” Rob said, patting her hand.
Beguiling the Barrister Page 22