And by the time he left Halstead Hall, he almost believed it.
Chapter Ten
Minerva could scarcely contain her excitement at being in the Old Bailey. She was going to see a real murder trial! It appeared there were some advantages to being the pretend fiancée of a barrister.
“It’s much smaller than I thought it would be,” Maria said beside her.
Maria had been the one to talk Oliver into letting them go. He was putty in his wife’s hands, as he had been practically since the day he’d met her. Minerva loved that her sister-in-law could always get around Oliver—it was about time some woman took him in hand, since none of the rest of them had any luck with that.
Oliver had even acquiesced to letting Freddy be their protector. Freddy had been unable to talk his own wife into coming, since Jane was afraid there’d be discussions of blood and gore. Jane was a bit squeamish.
“It’s surprisingly well lit,” Minerva pointed out. “Four chandeliers, of all things.” She turned to the clerk sitting to her right on the bench, who’d met them in front and announced he would sit with them during the trial. “Why is there a mirror above the defendant’s box?”
The chubby-cheeked Mr. Jenks, who mopped his damp brow frequently with a handkerchief, leaned close. “It’s to reflect light from those windows onto the accused, my lady, so the jury can see how he reacts to testimony.”
Fascinating! She drew out the notebook she’d brought along and jotted down his explanation. This was definitely going into a book.
Members of the jury filled the seats in the box below them, and Mr. Jenks explained that the same jury decided several cases. He expected this particular trial to be over by midafternoon, but sometimes as many as fifteen trials were held in one day.
That was probably why more than one judge now filed into the room, followed by several barristers, all dressed in black gowns and powdered wigs and looking terribly important.
“There’s Mr. Masters!” Maria whispered. “Isn’t he handsome in his gown and wig?”
Freddy, who sat on the other side of Maria, snorted. “Can’t believe he’s not ashamed to be seen in it. Someone should tell him and those other fellows that wigs are out of fashion these days. Wouldn’t be caught dead in one myself.” Freddy tended to be obsessive about looking sharp.
“Actually, the English have worn powdered wigs in the courtroom for centuries,” Minerva explained. “Think of it as tradition more than fashion.”
And Giles did look good in his, though it was hard to reconcile his solemn expression with the teasing Giles she knew. He didn’t even glance their way as he took his seat at the barristers’ table with the other attorneys.
A man in his late thirties was brought into the room from a passage connected to Newgate prison, where he’d been awaiting trial for the past five months.
“That’s Mr. Wallace Lancaster,” Mr. Jenkins said as the man went to stand in the defendant’s box. “He’s a wealthy cotton merchant accused of murdering his wife. She was found floating in the River Lea last winter on a day when he was away from his home in Ware. The coroner asserts that she was killed the day before and thrown into the river by the defendant, with whom she’d quarreled.”
“Do you think the coroner is right?” Minerva asked.
“We hope to prove that he’s not. If anyone can do so, it’s Mr. Masters.”
The clear awe in his voice gave her pause. “I take it that you like your employer.”
“Oh, yes, my lady. I’ve learned a great deal from him over the years.” He puffed out his chest. “He says he’ll take me with him when he becomes a King’s Counsel.”
Minerva gaped at him.
“King’s Counsel?” Maria leaned forward to ask. “What’s that?”
“It’s the barristers who prosecute important cases for the Crown,” Minerva said. She couldn’t believe that Giles, of all people . . . “What makes you think that Mr. Masters will become a K.C.?” she asked Mr. Jenkins.
“Because he’s already being considered. He wins far more cases than he loses, and that hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
She sat back against the bench to stare down at where Giles was reviewing a notebook. Good Lord, a K.C. It was the most prestigious position a barrister could attain without becoming a judge or someone high in His Majesty’s government, like attorney general or solicitor general.
She’d had no idea Giles had risen so far in his profession. No wonder he got angry when she called him a scapegrace.
No wonder he didn’t want her writing about him in her books.
A shiver wracked her. He had much to lose if people learned about his stealing. She should have realized it before, and this made it even clearer.
The court was called to order, jolting her from her uncomfortable thoughts, and she forced herself to pay attention. As the trial commenced, she began taking notes fast and furiously.
First on the witness stand was the coroner. He explained why he believed Mrs. Lancaster had been murdered and thrown into the water. There’d been no water in her lungs, and there was bruising about her neck. As the prosecuting attorney, Mr. Pitney, sat down, Giles rose to cross-examine the coroner.
“Tell me, sir, what education do you have that qualifies you as a coroner?” His voice held an edge she’d rarely heard.
“I’m a surgeon by trade.”
“And how many cases of drowning have you examined in your years as coroner?”
The man colored. “Three, sir.”
“Three,” Giles repeated, his voice condescending. “I suppose you read the important works about your profession?”
The coroner began to fidget. “I try to, sir.”
“Are you familiar with Elements of Jurisprudence by Mr. Theodric Beck?”
“No, sir.”
“Can’t blame him for that,” Freddy whispered to Maria. “It sounds as tedious as that play your husband took us to, the one where the chap droned on forever about whether to be or not. ‘Be what?’ I ask you. Made no sense to me.”
“Hush, Freddy,” Maria whispered. “We can discuss Hamlet later.”
Minerva bit back a smile. Thank heavens the courtroom was rather noisy. Nobody down on the floor could probably hear Freddy’s ramblings.
Giles strode up to the witness box and fixed his gaze on the coroner. “Mr. Beck asserts in his book, based on his knowledge of experiments performed by several men of science, that a person may drown and still not have water in the lungs.”
The coroner wrung his hat in his hands. “I had not heard of it, sir. But the bruises around her neck were pronounced.”
“And was Mrs. Lancaster wearing anything when she was found?”
“Yes, sir. She was fully clothed and wore a cloak.”
“So isn’t it possible that the ties of her cloak could have tightened around her neck as the current tossed her body about?”
“I suppose, but I don’t think—”
“Thank you, that will be all.”
As the coroner left the witness stand, Maria leaned across Minerva to ask the clerk, “That book he’s talking about—does it really say all that about drowning?”
“There’s an entire chapter on how often drowning is misinterpreted by coroners. Experiments have been performed on animals, and cases examined where people were seen to drown, yet had no water in their lungs afterward. A lack of water in the lungs is no absolute indicator. And bruising is common in cases of drowning, especially in a river where people are fighting a current or their bodies can knock against rocks.”
A pretty young woman named Miss Tuttle was called to the stand next. According to Mr. Jenks, she was a close friend of Mrs. Lancaster’s. After she was sworn in, Mr. Pitney asked her for her testimony. She said that she had last seen Mrs. Lancaster the night before her death, and the woman had mentioned quarreling with her husband. When Miss Tuttle had heard the next day that Mrs. Lancaster was dead, possibly by her husband’s hand, she’d remembered their conversation and told the authori
ties of it.
Minerva watched Giles the entire time the woman was speaking. He wore a steely look that gave her shivers. Miss Tuttle squirmed beneath it.
When it came time to cross-examine, Giles rose in a leisurely manner that belied his cold expression. He walked in front of the witness box, paused, walked back to refer to his notes again, then faced her with a tight smile.
“You say that you were a close friend of the deceased.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how long had you known her?”
“About seven years, sir.”
“Did she often walk over that footbridge near Ware?”
“Yes. Her mother lived on the other side.”
“Could she swim?”
“No, sir.”
Freddy snorted. “Damned foolish of her, then, to be walking over a footbridge.”
“Shh!” Minerva didn’t want to miss a word of Giles’s cross-examination.
Giles paced before the witness box. “How was the weather that day in Ware?”
Miss Tuttle cast him a nervous glance. “It was cold.”
“Did the footbridge have ice on it?”
“It might have. I-I’m not sure.”
“So Mrs. Lancaster could easily have slipped off the bridge into the river.”
Miss Tuttle glanced to the prosecutor, who lifted an eyebrow at her. “I suppose.”
Giles paused. “Where were you when you heard of the drowning?”
Miss Tuttle blinked. Clearly she wasn’t expecting that question. “I was at the market in Ware.”
“Is it true that upon hearing of it, you said to the woman selling you fish that you couldn’t believe it, because you had just spoken to Mrs. Lancaster that morning?”
When the young woman paled, Minerva pursed her lips. Very interesting.
“I . . . I don’t recall saying that, but—”
“If you like, I can call the fishmonger to the stand. You may have noticed her waiting in the witness room.”
Miss Tuttle chewed on her lower lip. “No need to call her. I remember now. But I must have confused the previous day with that one.”
“Do you make a habit of mixing up your days?” Giles persisted.
“I was very upset to hear of my friend’s death.”
“Upset enough to lie about what she said to you the night before, which was supposedly the last time you saw her?”
“Certainly not!”
He stared hard at her, then returned to his notes. “Please tell the court about your relationship with the defendant’s brother, Mr. Andrew Lancaster.”
“Oho,” Freddy said, “now he’s got her. There’s some treachery afoot here.”
“Freddy!” Minerva and Maria hissed in unison.
With a roll of his eyes, Freddy crossed his arms over his chest.
Miss Tuttle didn’t speak for several moments. A frightened look crossed her face. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”
Giles arched an eyebrow. “So you haven’t been meeting him late at night in his cobbler’s shop?”
“He’s betrothed to another lady!”
“I am well aware of that. Answer the question, if you please.”
She drew herself up with great indignation. “I’m a good girl, I’ll have you know! I take care of my parents, and I—”
“That isn’t what I asked, Miss Tuttle. I asked if you’ve been meeting him at his cobbler’s shop late at night. And remember that you’re under oath.”
Her lower lip trembled, but she didn’t speak.
“If you like, I can put the younger Mr. Lancaster on the stand to confirm whether the two of you have been meeting.”
Mr. Pitney groaned and barked a terse command to his clerk, who began frantically leafing through papers.
“Mr. Andrew Lancaster is a friend of mine, yes,” Miss Tuttle said stiffly.
“Is your friendship of a romantic nature?” Giles asked.
When Miss Tuttle looked panicked, Mr. Pitney rose to address the judge. “My lord, I fail to see what significance this has to the case at hand.”
“I am coming to that, my lord,” Giles said.
“Then get on with it, Mr. Masters,” the judge said.
“Please answer the question, Miss Tuttle. Are you and Mr. Andrew Lancaster romantically involved? I have two witnesses who are willing to testify that they saw him kissing you outside the cobbler’s shop one night.”
She slumped in the witness box. “Yes. Mr. Lancaster and I are romantically involved.”
The courtroom was very quiet now. Everyone hung on Miss Tuttle’s words.
Minerva felt a little sorry for her. Giles was being rather ruthless for no reason that she could see. Then again, it was his job to get at the truth.
“And is Mr. Lancaster’s fiancée wealthy?” Giles asked.
“I wouldn’t know, sir.”
“But it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that she has a dowry of several thousand pounds, would it?”
“No,” Miss Tuttle said wearily.
A low murmur began in the courtroom all around them.
“And if the defendant is found guilty of murder, do you know who will come into his fortune?” Giles asked.
Miss Tuttle hesitated.
“Come now, madam, it should be fairly obvious who that would be, since the defendant has no children.”
Mr. Pitney leaped to his feet. “My lord, as Mr. Masters knows perfectly well, the law states—”
“Sit down, sir,” the judge ordered. “I wish to hear Miss Tuttle’s answer.”
“I repeat my question, Miss Tuttle,” Giles said. “If the defendant dies, who will inherit his fortune?”
“Answer the question, Miss Tuttle,” the judge said.
She glanced from the judge to Mr. Pitney, then said in a small voice, “Mr. Andrew Lancaster, sir.”
“So you might see it as convenient if the defendant is hanged as a result of your false testimony. Then his brother would inherit his wealth and wouldn’t have to marry for money. Andrew Lancaster could marry you instead of his rich fiancée.”
“My lord!” Mr. Pitney interjected again. “Mr. Masters is deliberately misleading the witness!”
“And doing it rather effectively,” the judge drawled.
“If my lord will permit me,” Giles put in, “I would now be happy to explain the situation to Miss Tuttle.”
“Oh, please do,” the judge said drily. “I wait with bated breath to hear it.”
The prosecutor released a pained sigh.
“Miss Tuttle, the fact is that convicted felons forfeit their property to the Crown,” Giles said in a hard voice. “So if the defendant is found guilty of murdering his wife and is hanged, his brother gets nothing. And he will lose any chance of ever inheriting money from the defendant.”
The blood drained from Miss Tuttle’s face. How clever of Giles to figure out that she didn’t know the law, for otherwise she would have had no motive for lying about Mr. Lancaster’s behavior.
“So you may wish to reconsider your testimony,” Giles told her, “remembering that lying to the court is called perjury and is a crime for which you can be prosecuted.”
“Lord bless me,” she muttered, her eyes huge.
“So I must ask you, Miss Tuttle,” Giles went on, “and I advise you to answer honestly this time. When did you last see Mrs. Lancaster alive?”
The whole courtroom held its breath.
Miss Tuttle glanced to Mr. Pitney, but he now watched her with the same cold look as Giles.
She gripped the front of the witness box. “I saw her the morning of the day she drowned. I paid her a call to bring her a gown I’d borrowed.”
The spectators’ section erupted into cries of outrage, which had to be squelched by a command from the judge.
Giles stood there perfectly calm, waiting until the noise died, then said in his controlled tone, “So it would be impossible for the defendant to have killed his wife, since he was out of town, would it not?”
>
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you have any part in her drowning?” Giles asked.
“No!” Glancing around at the unforgiving faces in the courtroom, she admitted, “I just . . . well, when the coroner said it wasn’t a drowning and Mr. Lancaster had to have murdered her, I thought . . . They did argue sometimes.”
“I daresay many couples argue,” Giles retorted. “But that doesn’t make it acceptable for you to imply that an innocent man committed murder, just so that you might gain a husband.”
A look of pure chagrin crossed her face. “No, sir.”
He flashed her a thin smile. “Thank you for telling the truth at last, Miss Tuttle. That will be all.”
The rest of the trial was mercifully quick. Andrew Lancaster was brought to the stand to confirm that he’d been romantically entangled with Miss Tuttle, though he swore he’d had no idea of her plan to effect a marriage with him by getting his brother hanged. The defendant was then allowed to protest his innocence, which had more weight now that Giles had shown it to be the truth.
In Mr. Pitney’s closing summary, he tried to hang his case on the word of the coroner alone and to assert that Miss Tuttle had been bullied by Mr. Masters into contradicting her earlier testimony, but it was no use. Giles had proved his case. And the jury confirmed it by coming back in a scant few minutes with an acquittal.
The crowd cheered, as did they. Seeing innocence prevail gave Minerva a decided thrill, especially because it was Giles who’d brought it about. How strange that she should even care if it was him. Hadn’t she fortified her heart against him better than that?
Giles and Mr. Lancaster walked out the door together, while Mr. Jenks brought Maria, Freddy, and Minerva out the side door to meet them in the hall. Mr. Lancaster was understandably ecstatic. He thanked Giles over and over for gaining him his freedom, then left with his brother to return to his home in Ware.
Before they could speak to Giles, Mr. Pitney came out, walked up to him, and held out his hand. When Giles shook it, he said, “I’m looking forward to the day when you are on our side of the table as a K.C.”
How to Woo a Reluctant Lady Page 13