In the Barrister's Chambers

by Tina Gabrielle

  Sweet Lord, did he know she had been with Jack? She would die of humiliation. Schooling her expression was much more difficult now, and she stirred uneasily in her chair.

  “Go see Randolph. Tell him it’s over between you, but have Jack Harding take you and have Janet accompany you as a proper chaperone.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek. “Thank you for understanding.”

  Lyndale squeezed her hand. “If Randolph’s well enough to travel, Jack must convince him to turn himself in to Bow Street.”

  Evelyn opened the bedroom door with foreboding. Her eyes immediately went to the four-poster.

  A portly middle-aged man was bent over the bed, stethoscope in hand, listening to Randolph’s breathing.

  The doctor straightened as she approached and pushed his spectacles farther up the bridge of his nose. “I’m Dr. Astor. Mr. Harding sent me.”

  “Yes, Doctor. Thank you for coming. How is Mr. Sheldon?”

  “Three cracked ribs and a mild concussion. He should cease taking the laudanum. There can be dangerous side effects from the drug after trauma to the head.”

  She nodded, and couldn’t help but wonder what favor the respectable-looking doctor owed Jack to convince him to attend a murder suspect.

  “Mr. Harding is waiting for you downstairs,” she said.

  The doctor left and the door closed behind him.

  Evelyn walked to the side of the bed. Randolph’s pupils were back to normal size, his face a healthy color. She sighed, relieved he was no longer drugged.

  Randolph’s gaze roved and appraised her, and he reached for her hand. “Evelyn, what would I do without you?”

  A cold knot formed inside her, and she paused to catch her breath. “I’m glad you are feeling better, but there is something I must tell you. I no longer wish to marry.”

  “So last night wasn’t a nightmare! You meant what you said. Is it because I’m accused of Bess Whitfield’s murder?”

  “No. I’ve betrayed our trust. I’ve had an affair.”

  “An affair! With who?” He released her hand and struggled to sit.

  “It doesn’t matter now, Randolph. What matters is you deserve better. I’m certain you will meet another woman someday. Despite everything, I won’t abandon you, and will do everything in my power to see you through your troubles. My dearest hope is that we can remain friends.”

  “Friends! After you behaved like a strumpet?”

  He threw the words at her like stones, and she flinched as if he had struck her.

  “I trust Mr. Harding will still act as my barrister,” Randolph said.

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Then tell him that I’m ready to surrender to the authorities. Leave now, Evelyn.”

  “Randolph.” She reached out, tears in her eyes, but he pulled away.

  “Leave, please!”

  By the time Evelyn came down the stairs, the doctor had departed and Jack was pacing back and forth on the floral-patterned carpet. Simon was nowhere to be seen, and Janet was waiting in the carriage.

  “I spoke with Dr. Astor. Randolph suffered a concussion,” she told Jack.

  “I know. I spoke to the doctor on his way out. He assured me Randolph will be fine and is able to travel,” Jack said. “Tell me what else happened.”

  “I broke off our engagement.”

  “Evie, love, you were never officially engaged. There was no reading of the banns and you never had Lord Lyndale’s consent.”

  “Don’t mock me, Jack.”

  “I apologize. It was not my intention to do so. What did you tell Randolph?”

  “That my feelings for him have changed. That I wish to maintain our friendship.”

  “And?”

  “That I had an indiscretion. I never named you, of course. But he spurned my friendship nonetheless. I doubt he’ll ever speak to me again.”

  “He may not have whether or not you confessed to an affair. I’ve never known of a man and woman to remain close friends after one has broken off a relationship and the other continues to have romantic feelings.”

  “Randolph agreed to surrender to the authorities, and he wants you by his side as his barrister.”

  Jack nodded. “I’ve contacted a Bow Street constable who is a friend and owes me a favor. He will return with Randolph and hold him in custody for as long as he possibly can before escorting him to Newgate so that we can finish our investigation. He cannot hold him for too long as Randolph’s trial will have to start. But he has connections and will ensure Randolph is treated well in prison.”

  “Does everyone owe you a favor?”

  He grinned. “It comes with the profession.”

  “I doubt that, Jack. What will we do if we can’t find the killer?”

  “We’re close, Evie. Even if we never find the blasted diary, I can argue that others, such as Newland and Hamilton, had more motive than Randolph. In any case, Randolph cannot stay in hiding forever. He has to surrender.”

  “But doesn’t he appear guilty by running and hiding from the authorities?”

  “Yes, but I will do everything in my power to explain his actions. Meanwhile we must look into all our leads.” He took her arm and steered her toward the door. “Come, Evie. We need to leave. I don’t want you present when the constable arrives.”

  They stepped outside, and sunlight momentarily blinded her. The street appeared completely different in the daylight hours. Jack’s carriage and driver waited; the matching team of bays stood obediently, their sleek muscles gleaming beneath the late-afternoon sun.

  Evelyn looked up at Jack. His dark, curling hair, the elegant ridge of his cheekbones and his green-flecked eyes, combined with his firm command and competence, made her instinctive response to him so powerful. She could no longer deny that the warm friendship she felt for Randolph had never compared to the sizzling passion that she experienced every time she set eyes on Jack.

  I love him. And when this is all over, he will leave.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “For what?”

  “For arranging for Dr. Astor to see Randolph, for the constable to bring him in, and most of all, for not abandoning Randolph despite our . . . our indiscretion.”

  The smile in his eyes contained a sensuous flame. “We need to speak of the future, but now is not the time and place.”

  Chapter 35

  “Lady Georgina Stanford waits in the parlor,” Mrs. Smith said.

  Evelyn had just returned from Shoreditch when the housekeeper informed her of Georgina’s surprise visit.

  “Is anything amiss?” she asked Mrs. Smith.

  “I don’t believe so. Lady Georgina said you were expecting her.”

  Expecting her? Evelyn couldn’t recall sending a note. The last time she had seen Georgina was outside a Bond Street tea shop. Georgina had invited Evelyn to her country home and Evelyn had declined, unable to stomach the thought of sleeping under the same roof as Georgina’s father, Viscount Hamilton.

  Evelyn handed her cloak to Hodges. “Please bring tea,” she instructed Mrs. Smith, and then made her way to the parlor.

  Georgina sat in a chair gazing out the window. She spun around when Evelyn entered.

  “Thank goodness!” Georgina cried as she rushed to meet Evelyn and embraced her. Her thick chestnut hair was pulled back, revealing a pale face and hazel eyes. Evelyn always knew Georgina as quick to smile, but today her expression could only be described as one of anxiety and apprehension.

  “Georgina, what has happened?” Evelyn asked.

  “You will think me terribly weak after I tell you.”

  “Nonsense.” Evelyn guided Georgina to a settee and she sat beside her. “Tell me everything.”

  “I fear I must marry Lucas Crawford and quickly.”

  “What are you talking about? I thought you decided against marrying Lucas?”

  “There’s been an unfortunate change of circumstances. I’ve discovered my family is in debt and sorely in need
of money,” Georgina said.

  “Money? But your father is Maxwell Stanford, Viscount Hamilton. Surely your family must have resources.”

  “My father has been behaving strangely for quite some time. My mother and I have only recently discovered he has been zealously gambling. Our country estate in Somersetshire, the Berkeley Square mansion, and our other properties have all been encumbered. Mother didn’t realize the full extent of the damage until her diamond necklace, an heirloom from her great-aunt, was missing. That’s when my father confessed he sold it to pay off one of his debts. He even admitted to taking the jewels from her other pieces and having the stones replaced with paste.”

  “I’m so sorry, Georgina. But what does this have to do with you marrying Lucas?”

  “Lucas Crawford is the son of the Earl of Haverston. His family has a fortune. Mama believes the way out of our predicament is for me to marry Lucas before he learns of our financial troubles.”

  “Oh, dear,” Evelyn said.

  Unspoken pain was alive and glowing in Georgina’s eyes. “I apologize for burdening you and stopping by without notice, but I desperately need a friend to talk to, and my suffragist acquaintances would be horrified. The idea of marrying for money, of bartering my body, is not a novel notion among the ton, but they would judge me for my weakness nonetheless.”

  There was a soft knock on the door, and Mrs. Smith entered with a tea tray. Evelyn waited until the maid departed before embracing Georgina.

  “Oh, darling. There is nothing wrong with saving your family. What your father has done is wrong, not the sacrifice you are prepared to make to save your family. Do you know what started Hamilton’s bout of gambling?”

  “He’s had mistresses for years. I’ve known this since I was a child. My mother knew as well, although she has never mentioned it to me or led Father to believe that she has been aware of his lovers. I have since come to the conclusion that his unfaithfulness was acceptable to her so long as he kept it private. But his last lover had irked her like none of the others.”

  Evelyn held her breath. “Who was she?”

  Georgina looked down at her hands. “Her name was Bess Whitfield.”

  Evelyn kept her features deceptively composed. “Bess Whitfield? The famous, murdered actress?”

  “Yes. It was no secret that his mistress had numerous lovers. I think my father grew jealous and there was an incident when gossip came back to my mother. Mother’s status in the ton means everything to her, and she refused to tolerate the slightest humiliation. My parents had a terrible row over Bess Whitfield one night. I couldn’t help but overhear.”

  “What did your father do?”

  “After she was murdered, Father started acting strangely. He always enjoyed gambling and his clubs, but never before had he been reckless with his spending habits. After her death, he changed. His moods have been unpredictable, dark. He’s been drinking too much. Some nights I was afraid to approach him.”

  “Do you believe he would harm you or your mother?”

  Evelyn knew she was asking an inappropriate question, but if there existed any chance Georgina or Viscountess Hamilton were in danger, she would reveal the truth to her friend. Any man desperate enough to pry up floorboards and search for Bess Whitfield’s diary after her death could be capable of violence.

  Evelyn often wondered what Viscount Hamilton would have done had he caught them fleeing Bess’s home that fateful day.

  Had he been armed? Would he have shot them? Georgina shook her head. “No, I don’t fear physical harm from my father, only his temper. When he is roused, he rants and yells at any unfortunate soul that crosses his path.”

  “What will you do about Lucas Crawford?”

  “I’ve resigned myself to marriage. At least he’s young and not unattractive. I’ve never found him repulsive or distasteful, but I thought to choose my own spouse.”

  “How does he feel?”

  “I do believe he’s infatuated with me. He sends flowers daily and notes requesting strolls in Hyde Park.”

  Georgina was beautiful and poised, and Evelyn could understand why Lucas was drawn to her. “Perhaps you should accept his invitation and get to know each other. Hyde Park is stunning this time of year.”

  “I shall take your advice,” Georgina said.

  Evelyn leaned close, her eyes piercing the distance between them. “But should you find you still do not wish to marry Lucas after a time, then please return to me. My mother left me a small inheritance and I will give you every last shilling. It will not be enough to cover all the debts, but I’m certain my father would offer his assistance. You could travel to France with your mother.”

  A tear rolled down Georgina’s cheek. “I could never take your money, but you are a true friend for offering.”

  A note arrived the following morning.

  Evie,

  Please come to my home around one o’clock. I have made a vital discovery. And do bring your maid as chaperone.

  Just like Jack, he hadn’t bothered to sign the note. Evelyn and Janet took a carriage to Jack’s home on St. James Street—a prestigious address for a wealthy bachelor’s home. They passed the popular male establishments, Brooks’s, Boodle’s, and White’s. Despite the early-afternoon hour, two well-dressed men stumbled out of Boodle’s. One slapped the other heartily on the back, and they both rocked with the laughter of drunken revelers.

  The driver lowered the step and they alighted. She had never seen Jack’s home before, and she was full of curiosity about his living arrangements. Lifting her skirts, she made her way to his town house, her inquisitiveness growing with each step.

  They reached the porch and Evelyn lifted the heavy brass knocker.

  The door swung open, and a butler with a solemn expression looked down at them.

  “Lady Evelyn Darlington to see Mr. Harding.”

  The butler’s expression changed, and he nodded in welcome. “He’s been expecting you, my lady.” He opened the door wide and stepped aside. “I will inform Mr. Harding at once.”

  Evelyn and Janet stepped inside and handed their cloaks to the butler. Evelyn’s eyes were drawn to the beautiful Italian marble in the vestibule. They followed the butler to the formal drawing room where he asked them to wait, and Evelyn noted the fine rosewood furniture and Brussels carpet. Several paintings from sporting artists George Stubbs and John Wootton hung on the walls and displayed the majestic lines of thoroughbred horses. It was clear that Jack Harding was quite successful in his chosen profession, and he lived in elegant luxury.

  Moments later the door opened and Jack strode into the room. He looked strikingly handsome with an exquisitely tailored dark blue jacket and trousers. His eyes, normally brilliantly intelligent, held a gleam of eagerness that she found compelling and exciting.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” Jack said.

  Evelyn stood. “Your note mentioned a discovery. What is it, Jack?”

  “If you would but follow me, I will explain.” Jack looked at Janet. “Perhaps your maid would prefer some refreshment here while we speak?”

  It was a statement more than a question. Janet blinked nervously and looked to Evelyn.

  “Yes, Janet, do stay here. Legal nuances would bore you, and we will be back shortly.”

  Evelyn followed Jack from the room. She assumed he would take her to his library, but they passed room after room—a conservatory, the library, a billiard room—until they stood in the doorway of the kitchen. It was after nuncheon, and no servants were present.

  “Where are we going?”

  He grinned. “Trust me. This is something you want to see.”

  She followed him into the kitchen, and he stopped before a long worktable and a water pump.

  He studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “Before I begin, I want to apologize for not believing you and not trusting your instinct.”

  “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “Randolph’s innocence.”

  Her head swirled
with doubts. What was he up to?

  Jack reached for a large sponge, roughly a foot square, and a butcher’s knife and placed them on the table. Opening a cupboard, he retrieved a jar containing a thick, crimson liquid.

  “What on earth is that?”

  “Pig’s blood from the butcher. I experimented early this morning and sent you the note afterward.”

  “What experiment?”

  “Watch and see.”

  Jack removed his jacket, and his white cotton shirt molded to his broad shoulders. She had no idea what he was about to do, but her pulse quickened.

  He opened the jar and poured the pig’s blood over the sponge. She wrinkled her nose at the metallic scent as it was quickly absorbed by the once-dry sponge.

  “Step back, Evie. I don’t want to ruin your gown.”

  Curious and bewildered, she obliged.

  Jack picked up the long blade and repeatedly and viciously stabbed the sponge. Blood splattered everywhere—over the worktable, the water pump, the walls, his face and hands, and most of all, his shirt, turning the white fabric into a gory display.

  She stood there, blank and amazed.

  Jack threw down the knife and turned to her, eagerness flashing in his eyes. “What did I just prove?”

  At once she knew what he was after. “The bloody shirt!” she cried out.

  He jerked his head to the corner of the kitchen. “Randolph’s shirt is lying on the second table. Would you be kind enough to retrieve it?”

  She rushed to the corner, retrieved the shirt, and held it up for their view. Bess Whitfield’s blood stained the white cotton of the entire right sleeve and underarm a deep maroon. There was no blood splatter. The opposite sleeve and most of the shirtfront remained white.

  “Randolph claimed he arrived after Bess already lay dead. He held her in his arms. If he was the true killer, this shirt would be covered with blood splatter,” she said.