“I want your eloquence and skill to help my father, who has been so affected by prison that he is too weak to help himself. He has been wrongly accused of a crime.”
“How long has he been there?”
“At least two weeks, but perhaps a month. I only learned about it yesterday. I received a letter, from whom I do not know, telling me. Normally I receive news from him at least once a month. It has been some six weeks since I last received a letter, so I had become concerned.”
“Why did you not visit him, and see what was wrong, if the letter did not come?”
“We are somewhat estranged. There was no argument between us. He is just not by nature a warm man, and is much engaged in his own pursuits. I could not visit, because I do not know where he lives in London.”
More than somewhat estranged if you did not know where he lived. He did not say it, but she could see the reaction in his eyes.
“I went to Newgate to inquire after him. I was allowed to see him. He is in a large cell with many rough fellows. He is unwashed and unshaved and frightened. I fear he will get ill there. So many others are sick.”
“Why was he put there?”
“He would not tell me. I wonder if he even knows. If he does, he did not admit it, nor accept my offer of help. He told me to leave and not come back.”
“Miss Belvoir, I am sure you were dismayed to find your father in a cell with men unsuitable for polite society. However, if you do not know the crime with which he is accused, how can you know that he is wrongly accused? His refusal to speak of it even with you suggests the opposite.”
“My father is no criminal, sir. He is a scholar. He has taught at universities throughout the Continent and had a position as a teacher at Oxford until he married my mother. He spends all his time on his research and his books, and is more apt to argue over some debatable mathematical proof than politics. There can be no justifiable reason for him to be imprisoned, unless being an intellectual has now become a crime. A serious miscarriage of justice is about to occur.”
It poured out nonstop, the way her excitement often betrayed her. Lord Ywain just sat there, listening, exerting a presence that crowded her despite his sitting six feet away. He did not appear especially interested.
“You are sure of this?” he said.
“Positive.”
“And yet you do not even know where he lives in London.” His words did not dismiss her outright, but his expression almost did. His eyes had narrowed over his smile in a way that suggested he had heard petitions like hers from relatives many times in the past.
She felt her best chance to help her father slipping away.
“I beg you not to think his silence is an admission of guilt. He is a proud man, and I think he is too embarrassed to let me know the details and hoped I would remain ignorant and think if he disappeared he had fallen in the river, which, with his tendency to distraction, would not be unthinkable.”
“Miss Belvoir, I have known innocent people who initially took that stance with relatives. It never lasts three days in Newgate, let alone two weeks or more. The guilty, on the other hand—”
“I told him that his silence was foolhardy. That is why I am here. I was told that some people have lawyers at their trials now. I was told that you at times speak for those accused.” Slow down. Stop gushing words. “My father is incapable of defending himself, and may even be unwilling to do so. The accusations are insulting, and he is the sort to refuse to engage in the insult by refuting it.”
Lord Ywain had not moved. Those hands still rested at the end of the chair’s arms. Nice hands, as handsome as his face. His gaze had not left her, and the shifts regarding what he looked at had been subtle but unmistakable. Not only her face had been measured. She did not think she had been as closely examined in her life, let alone by a man like this one.
In a different circumstance she might be flattered, but the bawd’s words made the attention dangerous. He did not appear of a predatory nature, and a man like this hardly needed to take advantage of an accused man’s female relatives if he wanted to satisfy carnal needs. However, she was not accustomed to attracting the less despicable version of that kind of attention, so it raised some alarm and a good deal of confusion.
“You do not know the accusations, so you cannot say they are insulting,” he said.
“Any accusation of a crime would be insulting to a man like my father. If you met him you would understand what I mean. Hadrian Belvoir is the least likely criminal in the world. Truly.”
The smallest frown flexed on his brow. His attention shifted again, to the inside of his head. She ceased to exist for a long moment. He stood abruptly. “Excuse me, please. I will return momentarily.”
Then he was gone, his midnight banyan billowing behind him.
* * *
Hadrian Belvoir.
Ever since his visitor introduced herself, an indefinable something had nudged at Ives. The pokes implied he should know her, yet nothing about her was familiar.
Hadrian Belvoir. That name did more than poke.
He strode up to his private chambers, to a writing desk there where he dealt with personal letters. He pawed through a thick stack of old mail, discarding it piece by piece, frowning while he sought the letter he wanted. Finally he found it.
He flipped it open and held it near the lamp. There that name was, buried amidst a casual communication. You can expect to be asked to be Prosecutor for a Hadrian Belvoir, once his case is brought forward.
He checked the date. This had been written a month ago. No wonder the name had not been in the front of his memory. If Mr. Belvoir resided in Newgate Prison, why had this informal approach not turned into a formal one by now? It was possible his victims had hired their own prosecutor, of course, but if that were likely, this sentence would never have been written.
Whatever the situation, it was time to inform Miss Belvoir that she must look elsewhere.
He returned to the office and the bright-eyed Miss Belvoir. He had realized, while she talked and talked, that her eyes sparkled even when she did not cry. He had also calculated that if she stood she would be very tall. An idle curiosity had crossed his mind, about what it was like to take a very tall woman. His mind had pictured it, making the necessary adjustments . . .
Probably just as well if she looked elsewhere.
No sooner had he walked into the chamber than she started again. “I think you can see that a great injustice will occur if my father does not receive your help, sir. I beg you to consider accepting his case. I am prepared to pay you whatever fees you require.”
Not likely, from the looks of that dress and spencer. “Miss Belvoir, allow me to explain that I will be accepting no financial remuneration from you or anyone else for defending in this matter.”
She went still. Her lips parted in surprise. He felt bad that she was shocked at his refusal, but there was nothing else for it.
“I see.” She stroked her hands nervously over her lap. “I was told that with the Old Bailey, things are often done differently. When it comes to lawyers, that is.”
The least he could do, since his evening was already ruined, was give her some guidance in seeking another. “It does not work the way it does in the other courts, like Chancery, that is true. The hiring of lawyers for criminal cases is admittedly crude in comparison.”
“I understand completely. I was told what to expect, and that it is customary for those who argue in the Old Bailey to anticipate payment coming to them another way.”
“That is certainly true for barristers like myself.”
“My only concern is the extent and timing of such payment. Paying up front might make sense to you, since you will then know you have been paid, but I, on the other hand, will not know you in fact defended until you are committed by the trial being under way. Would the end of the first day of the trial be equitable?”
He had thought she understood how barristers were not paid directly, but apparently not. “Miss Belv
oir—”
She held up a hand. “Please, allow me to find out what I face, before I lose my nerve.” She stood and began pacing nervously. “Since we are strangers, I would appreciate if this payment were of the most basic sort. Would that be agreeable to you? I am worried I will be grievously shocked or repulsed if more adventure is sought under these circumstances. Oh, dear, you appear taken aback by that. Have I made a blunder in attempting to make that demand? I suppose, if it is absolutely necessary, I might consider a small range of alternatives of the milder variety. If you insist, that is.”
Taken aback did not do justice to his reaction. Her assumptions, now clear, stunned him. He was torn between being very amused and highly insulted.
“I suppose I should also make sure I understand what is expected, as to the amount of time involved, so I do not—”
“Miss Belvoir, I must insist you stop. As a gentleman I must, although I confess a profound curiosity as to the time involved.” He went to her, took her hand, and led her back to her chair. “When I said I would not accept financial remuneration, I did not mean I wanted other payment. Certainly not the kind I believe you have alluded to.”
“But I was told—”
“So you said. In my case, you were told wrong.” Not in every lawyer’s case, however. He pictured her trying to hire a solicitor without much money. There were those who would strike the bargain she outlined.
She looked up at him, confused. “Are you saying you will do it for free?”
“I am saying that barristers do not get paid by clients, they are engaged by solicitors who take care of such things. Barristers will be insulted if you offer to pay them like they are tradesmen.”
“So I must first find a solicitor and have him ask you. Instead of one lawyer I must hire two.”
“You must find a solicitor to investigate, but I will not be the barrister he engages to argue the case in the courtroom. I cannot be the defending lawyer. When you mentioned your father’s name, I realized I have already been approached to serve on the other side.”
“Other side?”
“Prosecutor.”
She looked away. She remained immobile and silent for a long count, while her pale face took on a very rosy hue. She shot him an accusing glance. “You might have stopped me sooner.”
“I would have if you had made your meaning clear at the outset.”
“I think you did not because in your mind you were laughing at me.”
“Miss Belvoir, laughing is the last reaction a man has when a woman offers herself with such specific and lengthy detail.”
Those lashes lowered. “You do understand I would have never said any of that if I did not believe it to be required in order to help my father.”
“Your devotion to him is laudable.”
He expected more reaction. Anger, perhaps even tears. Certainly more umbrage that he allowed her to get in so deep in describing her alternate payment.
Her forthrightness about it all fascinated him, as did her clear and passionate articulation of the terms. She had said enough, euphemistically, to suggest she was no innocent and not averse to adventure given a different circumstance.
. . . Intelligent
Uninhibited
Passionate
Accommodating . . .
No, that would never do. Pity.
She turned those eyes on him fully. She gave him a good look. He saw her mind working at something. Hesitation flickered, then resolve. “I wonder, sir. Are prosecutors ever persuaded to put forth something other than their best efforts?”
Considering the currency under discussion, it was probably the most enticing bribe he had ever been offered. “Not this one.”
“Forgive me for asking, and for insulting you, but I had to try.” She stood, which brought her close to him. Her crown reached his nose. “I am sorry to have taken your time, and at an unsuitable hour at that.”
She walked toward the door.
“I will find out about the charges,” he said. “That way you will know what you face, at least. Leave your address with my man, and I will make sure you are informed.”
She turned. “Thank you. That is very kind, coming from someone I must now see as an adversary.”
“It is the least I can do, considering all you were willing to sacrifice.”
She blushed deeply, turned on her heel, and strode out.
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His Wicked Reputation Page 31