Dante and Vergil just sat with her. None of them spoke. She spent the minutes wondering how Julian was faring, picturing the horrors of prison. She kept biting back the questions that it would pain her brothers to have to answer.
The door of the library opened and a white-haired gentleman let himself in. It was Mr. Rumford, Glasbury’s solicitor.
“I am wondering if there is anything that you require of me, madame. If not, I will return to town.” He spoke in a clipped tone, as if he struggled to hide his dislike of having to address her.
“Have you arranged for all the servants to stay on at the various properties?”
“It is all dealt with. I have also informed those who received bequests of their legacies, and made arrangements for any bills to come to me for payment, if that is satisfactory to you.”
She really did not care. Mr. Rumford was well respected. She was sure he would manage everything wonderfully.
“I assume the heir has been contacted,” Laclere said.
“I wrote to the nephew. Since he is in Jamaica, I expect it will be some time before he learns of the sad event. There may be some delay in his return as well. The estates there are in a bit of a turmoil, as adjustments are made to the emancipation of the slaves. Until he arrives back, of course, the countess has full use of the properties.”
If she is so bold, his voice seemed to imply.
Mr. Rumford took his leave.
“His tone bordered on impertinent, no matter how correct his words,” Dante muttered.
“He does not know me at all, Dante. I think I met him once before. He also assumes I am responsible, if not actually an accomplice.”
“That will pass,” Laclere said. “It is the kind of gossip that grows old fast.”
That was not true. She might not be the first topic of the day for long, but she would be tainted forever. The little place she had carved for herself in society would shrink even more, she did not doubt.
None of that was of account now. All that mattered was the man sitting in a fetid prison cell.
“I want to see Julian when we return to London,” she said. “Bribe whom you must, but get me in there.”
•••
In the hour before dawn, Pen entered Newgate Prison in the company of Charlotte and Mr. Knightridge.
“The warden has the discretion to permit this,” Knightridge said.
Evidently that discretion could be influenced by gifts and considerations. Pen wondered what this had cost Laclere.
“Usually such visits are only permitted just prior to execution,” Knightridge continued.
“You sound as if you do not think my sister should be allowed to see him,” Charlotte said.
Despite the gauze of her black veil and the vague light of the torches, Pen recognized her sister’s expression of pique. But then Charlotte’s tone had conveyed it well enough.
“I have seen innocent men hang after being denied the comfort of friends and family, madame. I do not regret your sister’s privilege. I merely am aware it is unfair.”
“Then put your efforts into reform, sir. My sister is distraught enough and does not need your lectures.”
“It was not a lecture. Only an observation.”
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to respond.
Pen placed a restraining hand on her arm. “It seems that the two of you never have a civil exchange. Whether it was an observation or a lecture, Mr. Knightridge, I do not mind. I am grateful that you have arranged this.”
Charlotte’s mouth closed firmly but her eyes continued sparking.
He led them through a dreary reception room, to an old heavy door, and into a dark office.
The man inside merely nodded when he saw them. Mr.
Knightridge introduced him as the prison’s assistant warden.
The warden left. The minutes dragged slowly. Pen had noticed how her emotions were distorting time. Some hours flashed by, but others stretched forever. The ones during the nights seemed never to end.
“He may appear changed when you see him,” Knightridge said. “He has been in prison six days now, and it affects a man quickly.”
Charlotte took her hand to comfort her. Pen let her, but she found more comfort in her own heart. Her desolation had cleared somewhat these last days. Beneath the horrible foreboding, growing through the sickening fear, a new emotion had emerged. Anger.
The warden led in his prisoner. Charlotte’s breath caught. Pen barely hid her own shock.
Julian was in chains.
He stood tall and proud, exuding the same reserve he showed at parties. He had been shaved, no doubt another privilege bought with a sly coin. He acted as if he did not notice how the shackles impeded his walk and restricted his arms.
“Leave us,” Knightridge said to the warden.
“I don’t think as how—”
“The prisoner is restrained, the women are widows of peers, and I am a gentleman. You can have no concerns. Leave.”
The warden left, but not happily.
Once the door closed, Julian turned to Pen. “You should not have come.”
“Mr. Knightridge sees no danger in my visiting you.”
“That is true, Hampton. I think that the countess’s devotion to a friend will be well received by society. How callous if she simply ignored you now.”
“It may be misinterpreted,” Julian said. “I told you to do nothing that might—”
“Is a solicitor going to tutor me on criminal trials now? Mind your wills and entailments, and let me tend to saving your neck.”
“I trust that you do not intend to save his neck by risking my sister’s,” Charlotte said.
Mr. Knightridge sighed with strained forbearance, as if suddenly reminded that a certain nuisance existed from which he could not be spared. “My dear baroness, you agreed that if I permitted you to join your sister, you would not interfere. In the future I will request that Lady Laclere be her companion.”
“You did not permit anything, sir. I remind you that—”
“Please, Charlotte. Upbraid him when we leave if you must, but do not waste what little time I have with Julian in this manner,” Pen said. “If this visit is misunderstood or misinterpreted, I do not care, Julian. If some think it implies I am an accomplice, so be it. When I am allowed to see you during this ordeal, I will do so.”
With a smug expression of victory that did nothing to extinguish Charlotte’s fire, Mr. Knightridge went to the door. “Madame, if you will join me, perhaps we can permit the countess a few moments alone with Mr. Hampton. I am sure that I can intimidate the warden for a short while.”
His glance as he left warned it would be very short indeed. As soon as the door closed, Pen went to Julian and embraced him.
“Do not scold. Do not. Just let me hold you.”
He could not embrace her back, but he pressed a kiss to her head. “I am too grateful to scold.”
“You are not chained all the time, are you? I could not bear it if—”
“The assistant warden fears a dramatic escape, so he put them on me when he brought me here.”
That was a relief. She did not want to picture him shackled day and night.
“I know you did not do this, Julian. I wish you had not created this deception.”
“There is no deception. Every bit of evidence they have is true. I created nothing.”
“Then you must deny it.”
“I have. They think they have enough, however.”
Yes, they did. That was all that would matter. Content they had their killer, they would not look further. Wasn’t that what had happened with her? Julian had saved her simply by giving them someone else to take her place.
“Julian, you did not do this. And I did not do this. But someone did.”
“I doubt that you and I are the only ones who knew what he was, Pen. There may have been dozens of people who wanted him dead.”
Dozens who wanted it, but not dozens who could do it.
<
br /> The anger that had been growing formed into a cold determination in her heart.
Somewhere a man was sleeping in his bed while Julian languished in prison. The real murderer walked the streets freely, secure that another would take his place on the gallows.
She embraced Julian tighter, soaking in the human warmth that would have to sustain her for days. Her contentment did not only come from hearing his heart beat and feeling him breathe, however. A very calm and firm resolve had claimed her.
She knew what she had to do. It was time for her to be the one to lift sword and shield.
chapter 25
I am asking all of you to help me,” Pen said.
She sat in her drawing room, wearing the dull black gown required by her mourning. She had finally returned to her own house the day before, after leaving Julian.
Her dearest friends circled her.
“Tell us what is required,” Sophia said. “We are at your command.”
“It is not a pleasant duty, I am afraid. You may choose to refuse.”
“I doubt that,” Fleur said.
“If you do refuse, I will understand. The earl is gone, after all. He cannot defend himself. I only consider this because of Julian.”
“He could not defend such things even if he lived, so stop being so kind,” Charlotte said. She alone already knew the purpose of the meeting.
Pen had discussed it with her yesterday once they were alone. Charlotte’s reaction had been extreme, loud, and full of the kind of language a lady was never supposed to utter.
“I think it would help Julian if it were known why I left Glasbury. Mr. Knightridge agrees,” Pen explained. “When ladies intimate they would like the particulars, perhaps all of you should satisfy them. Especially you, Sophia. The very best ears visit you.”
“If a duchess’s gossip can help you, I will fill those ears. Just tell me what to say.”
That was the hard part. It had helped to practice with Charlotte. Still, describing those terrible experiences, admitting her cowardice about Cleo, would be hard. Her heart shrank from the idea of the whole world knowing.
These were her friends, however. She had no need to worry about their reaction. And if it would help Julian—
“I learned within the first year of my marriage that Glasbury had expectations of a wife that were not normal or honorable.”
She told them what she meant. She revealed more than she had ever told Julian. For fifteen minutes she gave words to memories that could still make her cringe.
Fleur’s mouth fell open by the third sentence and never closed again. Sophia appeared in shock and Diane close to tears. Biancas expression turned to stone.
She did not have to spell out her suspicions about Cleo s death. She could see them jump to the same conclusions as soon as they heard about it. Bianca noted aloud how that death matched the timing of the earl’s attempts to make her return.
Charlotte noted their reactions with furious satisfaction. “It is a wonder you did not kill him, Pen.”
Bianca tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the rose damask cloth covering the sofa where she sat. “If this is known, there will be many who think Julian should have killed him, too. I assume Mr. Knightridge anticipates that.”
“I think he does,” Pen said.
“So there will be two trials. One in the courtroom, and one in London’s drawing rooms and coffee shops,” Fleur said. “My own experience is that the latter can influence the former.”
“Was it Mr. Knightridge’s idea to reveal this, Pen?” Diane asked. “If so, he is quite brilliant in comprehending the ways of the world.”
“It was Pen’s own idea,” Charl said. “And Knightridge’s brilliance is much shadowed by his arrogance, if you ask me.”
Bianca chuckled. “And if anyone doesn’t ask, you will tell them anyway.”
“Will you do it?” Pen asked. “Can you? It is so sordid and dreadful that—”
“Of course we can,” Bianca said. “Each in her own way. Not all of the particulars need to be given. Imaginations will fill in the gaps. I daresay there are those who suspected his tastes in such things, and who will now remember their misgivings. Discretion will be thrown to the winds, especially among the men when they are alone.”
Pen gazed down at her hands. “I am not without my own misgivings, I will confess.”
“You sacrificed yourself to discretion for years, dear friend,” Diane said. “You protected his reputation during his life, at great cost to yourself. After what you have said about that child he misused, I for one do not care if his name is ruined now.”
“We are going to do this whether you give permission or not,” Charl said. “I certainly am.”
“Chin high, Pen.”
Laclere muttered the reminder as he handed her out of the coach in Hyde Park.
She smoothed the black bombazine over her petticoats and stiffened her spine. Already heads were turning in her direction. A carriage slowed as it passed so its occupants could stare.
Dante offered her his arm. Laclere flanked her other side. The light wind fluttered the ribbons of her bonnet around her face as they strolled.
It had been only two days since she met with her friends, but she suspected that many of the people who noticed her arrival in the park had already heard about her marriage.
Her brothers obviously had. She could tell they knew. Savage fires burned in their eyes whenever Glasbury was mentioned.
“I have been the topic of gossip before, of course,” she said. “It is a bit different to be outright notorious, but not too disconcerting.”
Dante patted her arm. “This is hardest the first time, darling. But you cannot hide, and must brave it out. It is the only way.”
She had never intended on hiding. If her brothers had not come for her today, she would have sent for them.
“Adrian has ridden to Blackburn,” Laclere said. “Sophia told him about that abduction. He intends to see if he can bring Jones back to London.”
“I doubt Mr. Jones will admit to killing Cleo.”
“In the least, Adrian will clarify that it was you who was abducted, at the earl’s command.”
“That may only convince the judge that Julian had more cause to kill Glasbury,” Pen said.
“We will let Knightridge decide whether or how to use it. I fear the judge may already have sufficient cause to condemn Julian. If it can be cast as defense of a woman imperiled, it may be worth the risk.”
“Will you be going to the trial, Pen?” Dante asked.
The schedule had been posted. Julian would be tried in two days. Time had become distorted again, this time running fast, with frightening speed. Running out.
“Of course I am going. It is too late to pretend he is not my lover. We will face this together.”
Crowds milled in the streets outside the Old Bailey. Hawkers congregated to profit from the trial’s notoriety.
As Dante’s carriage rolled to a stop, a boy rushed up to offer a broadside containing a lurid description of the crime. Dante’s reaction was so icy that the child blushed and ran off to find other customers.
Pen stepped out. Dante’s carriage had not been recognized, but her mourning attire drew attention. The crowd jelled into one mass that began closing on them.
“Quickly, Pen.” Dante took her arm and hurried her into the building.
The courtroom was packed. Her arrival in the gallery caused a great stir. The gaping faces struck her as so many challenges. On impulse, she reached up and folded the veil back from her face.
“They all know who I am,” she said to Dante. “This veil is ridiculous. Let them look and enjoy the entertainment for all it is worth.”
Dante had sent servants ahead to save seats. He squeezed Pen through the crowd and got her to them. Soon other bodies were leaving and being replaced around her. Laclere came with Bianca and Fleur, and the St. Johns and Charlotte followed.
A new commotion drew attention away from their group. Pen
turned. A little aisle formed, and a short woman of regal stature walked along it, wearing a stunning apple green dress, a yellow shawl, and a flamboyant hat with two huge plumes.
The Duchess of Everdon had come, and was making sure everyone knew it.
Sophia took a place right next to Pen and smiled impishly. “Do you think the wags will report that I am overdressed for a trial?”
“Of course not. Your taste is always above reproach.”
Sophia’s smile indicated she knew her taste was not celebrated. “I thought I would give them a good show. The hat will also make it easier for Julian to find us. Before Adrian went to Blackburn, he told me to be sure to sit beside you today.”
The true show was that a duchess had come at all. The glaring eyes and buzzing whispers had not touched Pen’s composure, but the kindness of her friends now did.
“I doubt the accused has ever had such impressive supporters,” Pen said.
“I think there have been a few cases of treason where we were surpassed,” Sophia said. “It appears they are preparing to begin his trial.” She took Pen’s hand. “Courage, now.”
Pen had to admit that Mr. Knightridge made an impressive counsel. With his commanding height and spotless wig and gown, he made the judge appear shrunken and old. With cool wit and insinuating tones, he questioned the witnesses in ways that entertained the crowd and also revealed ambiguities in their information.
Julian proved unhelpful to his own case. His reserve looked arrogant today, even cold. His lack of emotion as he gave his story had mouths pursing.
Pen’s heart broke as she watched him holding onto his dignity despite being an animal on display. She imagined what a torture it must be for him to be pilloried in this public arena. He did not even proclaim his innocence very forcefully.
She knew why. He did not want them looking elsewhere. He did not want them turning back to her.
He had noticed her as soon as he entered, but he never looked at her after that. She sat through it all, face stoic but heart bleeding. She watched the evidence laid down against him, and felt him slipping from her embrace forever.
The Romantic Page 25