by Merry Farmer
“Oh dear,” Havers said. He slunk back to his chair and collapsed into it, defeat weighing him down.
“You may go,” the magistrate said. His eyes were fixed on Connie now. “Owings, please tell me you are going to call that girl to the stand.”
“I am, your honor. The defense calls Constance Hoag.”
Lawrence expected Connie to shrink and shiver. She’d been in such a state when he had finally talked to her in the carriage house of Morningside Landing that he wasn’t sure she had the courage to testify. It had taken the better part of five days for her to speak to anyone but her siblings, let alone to be convinced that she was safe and that Hoag couldn’t get to her again. Even that morning, she had looked as though she might pass out at the faintest breath of wind. But one look from Matty, one confident nod, and she walked on her own power up to the witness stand.
Lawrence took a seat on the end of the bench where Bobbo and Hoag sat, morbidly transfixed with the sight unfolding in front of them. As Constance took her oaths to tell the truth, Lawrence gestured to Bobbo.
Bobbo blinked. He peeked at Hoag, and when he was certain that Hoag’s attention was captivated elsewhere, he inched down the bench toward Lawrence.
“Please tell the magistrate who you are,” Owings told Connie in a kind voice.
“Constance Hoag,” Connie answered, barely above a whisper.
“Constance, I’ll make this as easy on you as I can. What did you see the night of April 30th?”
“M-Mama and Matty were rowing,” she admitted, “but only because Ma wanted to…wanted to let Dad do bad things to her. Said it was Matty’s turn to take it for a while.”
“I never tried to touch none of them,” Hoag shouted. He’d wedged himself all the way back into the corner of the bench by the wall and appeared to be trying to scramble up the wall to get away.
“Mr. Hoag, you will be silent while the witness testifies,” the magistrate said, his brown now knit in a deep frown. “Go on, Miss Hoag.”
Connie swallowed. “Then Dad…he threatened to do those things to me. That’s when Mama started shouting at him, and she threatened him with a knife. He…he hit her, hit Matty when she tried to defend Ma. Knocked Matty over. He pushed Mama over too. She dropped the knife. Dad tried to strangle her, then he got the knife.” Her voice rose quickly to a pained squeak. “Ma tried to fight back a little, and so did Matty, but it was too late. Dad had the knife, and he stabbed her and stabbed her, over and over. I screamed.”
Lawrence’s heart went out to Connie, but there would be time to show her sympathy later. Bobbo had made his way almost all the way down the bench to him. “You see what I’m seeing?” he whispered to Bobbo.
“Dad got up and he went after Matty,” Connie went on. “Tried to lift her skirt up and…” She stopped and swallowed hard.
Bobbo shook in his boots by Lawrence’s side. “You know Hoag’s not going to get out of this mess, don’t you?” Lawrence told him.
Bobbo made a strangled noise, then said. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t see anything either.”
“But you heard it, didn’t you.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Bobbo said, but Lawrence could see it was a lie.
“You remember that little talk we had about being an accessory to murder?”
At the front of the room, Connie was saying, “Matty pushed back, struggling to get him off of her, and he landed against the stove.”
“Well,” Lawrence continued his whispered conversation with Bobbo. “Now’s the time to stand up and change what you said, while the trial is still going. You know I’ve got friends. Friends who could see you on your way to Australia or Canada. Far away from here. You could start a new life, take on a new identity. But first, you tell the magistrate there what you know.”
“He did it!” Bobbo leapt to his feet, throwing out an arm to Hoag so fast that Lawrence was pushed out of the row and hopped across to the other side of the aisle.
The proceedings at the front of the room stopped, and everyone turned to Bobbo. Tears were streaming down both Connie and Matty’s faces, but they were overtaken by gaping surprise.
“He did it,” Bobbo repeated. “He told me he did. I heard the screaming, heard Phil telling him to stop. He’s guilty as sin, I tell you. I had nothing to do with it.”
“What?” Hoag bellowed. He was shaken out of his fear long enough to growl, then to lunge at Bobbo, but he was at the far end of the row, and Bobbo was able to escape before Hoag came close.
The bailiffs—who until now had been waiting, bored, in the corners of the room, jumped up to grab and subdue Hoag. It took two of them and one of the guards that had been hired to watch the children to wrestle him to submission. By the time they had him in hand, the magistrate was banging his gavel on the desk.
“Order,” he shouted. “Order in this courtroom. This is a disgrace.”
It took several more minutes of him shouting, Bobbo trying to flee and being held back, and Havers moaning in his chair before the courtroom was brought to order. By that point, the magistrate had stood and glared at one and all.
“This trial has taken a turn for the highly unusual. In light of this evidence, I am requesting that the barristers inform me if they will be calling any other witnesses.”
“No, your honor,” Owings replied, the calmest person in the room.
“No,” Havers said with a sigh.
“Havers, would you like to question Miss Hoag?” the magistrate asked.
“There doesn’t seem to be any point now, does there,” Havers replied.
“Good.” The magistrate nodded. “I will now retire to deliberate on this matter and to check a few items of precedence. I understand it is unusual, but no one, and I mean no one,” he glanced around the room, meeting Hoag’s eyes, Matty’s, Lawrence’s, even Bobbo’s and the barristers’, “is to leave this room. Bailiffs, I am charging you with the task of keeping one and all right where they are until I get back. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the bailiffs, including those who were not part of the scuffle with Hoag, replied.
The magistrate nodded one final time. “I will return with my verdict shortly.”
Lawrence watched the man go. For once, he didn’t mind his sneer of disgust at all. For the first time in months, he was filled with the confidence that Matty would finally be found completely innocent.
Marshall
“Wasn’t that simply lovely,” Mrs. Crimpley gushed to a group of wedding guests as they stood around sipping champagne. “I know some think it unseemly for such a fuss to be made when it is a second marriage for both parties, but dear Lady Charlotte and sweet Mr. Fretwell look so becoming together.”
“Yes,” Marshall answered, not out of any conviction, but because he knew it was required of him.
He stood straighter and scanned the clusters of brightly-dressed men and women spread out on the lawn of Huntingdon Hall, searching for Alexandra. How could he have been such a fool to kiss her earlier? Kiss her! Right there, in plain view of anyone who happened to be traipsing through the garden. No wonder she was hiding from him now. He craned his neck in search of her.
There were scads of people around, but none of them Alexandra. Servants wandered from group to group, offering flutes of champagne and chilled fruit or cakes. All except Lady E.’s maid, Polly, who stood, stalwart, by her mistress’s side.
“Yes, well,” Lady E. brushed off Mrs. Crimpley’s comment, her nose tilted up. “Second marriages are all well and good, but I wouldn’t count out another marriage in the Dyson family before too very long.”
When Mrs. Crimpley and the mayor, Mrs. Brockhurst, and the other guests assembled in the circle Marshall had somehow found himself in hummed with interest, Lady E. preened.
“Is there more to your association with Mr. Throckmorton than I previously suspected?” Mayor Crimpley asked. “Only, I thought he was getting rather cozy with that lovely dark-haired, blue-eyed maid of his,” he added to the gentleman st
anding to his right, nudging him with an elbow.
Lady E.’s graceful smile fell flat for a moment. “She is employed by him,” she said, hitting each syllable hard. “That is all. Jason and I have a much more intimate connection.”
Marshall had to take a long drink from his champagne flute to hide his smirk. He wasn’t sure whether Lady E. was fooling herself or if she was simply protecting herself in advance of future rumors.
Jason had told Marshall all about the unholy deal Lady E. had presented to him. He’d deemed it necessary to let Marshall in on what had been laid on the table, seeing as it greatly affected their combined ability to fight the High Court to win his girls back. Marshall was shocked to his core that a lady would suggest the kind of marriage that Lady E. had suggested to Jason. He was even more shocked that Jason was genuinely considering it, and that Flossie would so much as entertain the idea.
But then, there was a reason Jason had risen from the same obscurity that Marshall had been born into, clawed his way up the ranks of the business world, and become a man of wealth and power. Jason had unending reserves of will-power and the boldness to pursue even the most non-traditional paths to get what he wanted. Nothing made Jason flinch. There was a lesson to be learned there.
That thought struck Marshall’s heart as he finally spotted Alexandra chatting with a group of neighbors halfway across the lawn. His chest constricted and the champagne he’d consumed suddenly went to his head. Alexandra was beyond beautiful today. The soft green of her dress accented her eyes. He loved it when she fixed her hair in the style that all the ladies found so popular these days and was charmed that she would decorate that style with simple, fresh flowers and not the gaudy bits of jewels and ribbons that some women used. Her skin was somehow flawless in the afternoon light, but all the same, she looked miserable. The urge to kiss her again, to hold her and trace the lines of her body with his hands, to make love to her with his whole heart, was still there.
“No, I can assure you that within a short period of time, my father will have a joyous announcement to make,” Lady E. finished whatever blather she’d gone on with as Marshall’s thoughts drifted.
Marshall twisted toward Alexandra and was about to walk off when Mrs. Crimpley stopped him with, “Dr. Pycroft, you are friends with Mr. Throckmorton. Do you know anything about this?”
Caught out, Marshall was forced to shift back to the circle and put on a benign smile.
“I may know something about it,” he said. There was no point in denying. All of Brynthwaite knew that he and Jason—and Lawrence too—shared their business with each other.
The ladies in the circle perked up. Lady E. graced Marshall with a smile that implied she would reward him if he played his part well. Lord help Jason if she intended to keep those looks up.
“What do you know?” Mrs. Brockhurst leaned toward him, like a girl of twelve about to hear a secret shared amongst friends.
Marshall cleared his throat, clutched his champagne flute tighter. Across the lawn, Alexandra glanced up and spotted him. Their eyes met. She sent him a sympathetic smile, as if they were both prisoners, then tilted her head ever so slightly to the stodgy old couple she was stuck speaking to. The gesture of solidarity caused a burst of sunlight in Marshall’s chest, and he could not repress the smile of delight that came to his lips.
“I am quite certain that my good friend Jason is about to make a decision which will increase his happiness immeasurably,” he said. There. Let Lady E. and the rest of them make of that what they may.
“Oh, how lovely,” Mrs. Crimpley clapped her hands and pressed them to her chest. “What a grand affair it will be.”
“After all,” Mrs. Brockhurst added, “He is rich and she is beautiful. A match made in heaven.”
Lady E. laughed at their observations, glowing with the praise and the attention. Her maid’s smile seemed much more forced, however.
Marshall stole another glance at Alexandra. Her smile was tight as she nodded at whatever the older couple was saying. More like than not, they were finding some new and unique way to insult and torture her. He couldn’t let her face that alone.
“If you will excuse me,” Marshall said, interrupting some bit of drivel that Mrs. Crimpley had gone on with.
Without waiting for anyone to give him his leave, he walked away from the group, heading across the lawn. Alexandra noticed him coming, and her smile softened to something genuine.
“Sir Terrance, Lady Moira, allow me to introduce you to my friend and fellow physician, Dr. Marshall Pycroft,” Alexandra said, holding her arm out to draw him into the circle.
“Ah? Another doctor?” the old man said, squinting hard at Marshall.
“Dr. Pycroft, these are my mother’s cousins, Sir Terrance Oreland and his wife, Lady Moira,” Alexandra made the introduction well.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Marshall said, taking the older man’s thin, papery hand.
“I was just telling little Alex here that her turn will be next,” Sir Terrance said. “Then she won’t have to worry about working or doctoring anymore.”
“Indeed,” Marshall answered. One peek at the pinch around Alexandra’s eyes and mouth told him a rescue was in order. “In fact,” he began again, putting on a serious frown, “I have need of your assistance, Dr. Dyson. Your uncle has asked for you regarding his gout.”
“Ugh.” Lady Moira made a face. “I cannot abide gout. I do wish our contemporaries would stop being afflicted with it. I am excessively tired of discussing the topic.”
Marshall and Alexandra exchanged a look. They were both forced to quickly glance away to stop themselves from bursting into laughter.
“If you would, Dr. Dyson.” Marshall offered his arm to Alexandra.
“Yes, please.” Alexandra rested her gloved hand inside of his elbow. “Do lead on, Dr. Pycroft.”
“Please excuse us.” Marshall nodded to the elderly pair, then whisked Alexandra off toward the garden.
“Thank heavens you came,” Alexandra breathed, allowing herself to laugh at last once they were well clear of the clusters of people on the lawn. “I don’t think I could have stood to find myself involved in yet another conversation with well-meaning friends and relations assuring me that my turn is coming.”
Marshall laughed with her, but a catch formed in his throat. Her turn. To marry. The heat of longing and the prickle of the question that he couldn’t bring himself to ask a fortnight ago, the question he hadn’t stopped thinking about since then, made him unsteady.
The garden was far less crowded than the lawn, though a few couples or smaller groups walked its neatly-lined paths. The late summer blooms filled the green with color and the air with perfume. It was both structured and idyllic at the same time. The perfect spot for a marriage proposal, if only he had the courage. Every fiber of his being urged him to speak up, for her sake, for his sake, for love.
“The girls would love this garden,” Marshall sighed at length, one strain of tension being replaced by another as, once again, he gave up.
“Have you heard anything at all from them?” Alexandra asked, squeezing his arm tighter.
He peeked sideways at her, cheeks red. As magnificent as it was to walk calmly along with her in such a setting, the constant urge to say something, to speak out, to lay his heart on the line as Jason had for Flossie, as Lawrence had for Matty, gnawed at him.
“Believe it or not, I had a letter from Mary,” he answered, dodging his feelings yet again.
“Truly?” Alex blinked with both surprise and delight.
Marshall nodded. “She is unhappy. Terribly so. She said that she would have a maid sneak it off to post for her, and I suppose she succeeded.”
“How very clever of her.”
“Yes, well, that was nearly ten days ago, and she said she would write every day. I rather suspect the maid in question was caught. I only wish I could seek her out and employ her, for I’m certain Danforth would dismiss her without a reference if she was indee
d caught.”
“They sound like awful people,” Alexandra growled.
How he loved her ferocity. It would take an army to hold her down.
It had taken an army. Her family. But he couldn’t let them win any more than he could let his girls go to the Danforths without a fight.
As they reached the corner of the garden where a large fountain bubbled merrily in the sunlight, Marshall brought the two of them to a stop. His breath came in short, rapid bursts, and his heart hammered against his ribs as though it wanted to break free and run away. He forced himself to face Alexandra all the same.
“The girls aren’t happy,” he said. “You’re not happy.”
“It’s hardly the same thing.” Alexandra lowered her eyes, her cheeks pink in the sunlight.
“I hate seeing the women in my life so miserable. I wish there was something I could do about it.” They were not the words he felt he should be saying. Why was one simple question so hard?
“But you’re doing all that you can.” Alexandra glanced up, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder.
Her touch shot straight to his heart, but it also froze him to stone. “I should do more,” he said. “I look around at everything that is happening to…to you, and I know that I can help, but….”
“You do so much simply by offering your support.” She smiled, letting her hand slip down his arm to take his hand.
If ever the stars had aligned and the timing was just right, it was now. “I could do more,” he said.
“I don’t see how.” Alexandra’s gaze dropped to their joined hands.
Good God, man, if you do not propose to this woman right now, you are a fool and a coward, he scolded himself.
He took a deep breath, squeezing her hand. “Alexandra, I’ve given this a lot of thought. It seems to me that there is an ideal solution to all of the problems that face us, one that has been staring straight at us all along,” he rushed out, stumbling over his words as he did.
“Oh?” Alexandra met his eyes with eager curiosity.
“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “Will you—”