It was as well for her peace of mind that the beautiful prisoner did not see the tall leathern-clad man and his home-spun female companion who edged into the courtroom behind her, and far better for her peace of mind that she had not heard their conversation of two days’ past when Bess had brought Harry Imogene’s ring.
“ ’Twill identify you to van Ryker,” Bess had explained urgently. “Imogene tells me he wears a similar ring.”
“And so do you now, Harry,” quipped Melisande when Bess had left and Harry was inspecting the square-cut emerald that now flashed from his little finger. Her voice harshened maliciously. “ ’Twill be something for you to remember her by, Harry—after they’ve hanged her!” She laughed. “I told you if you made up a story about van Ryker’s ship being sighted and asked for the ring, you’d get it!”
Harry’s jaw hardened. “They may not hang her, Melisande. Remember, she grew up here. She’ll have friends who’ll use their influence.”
Melisande shrugged. “And plenty of enemies too, I hear. In any event, ’tis time we left Ennor Castle, Harry. If she is not convicted, public vengeance may strike somewhere else—there may be an investigation of those at Ennor. And we wouldn’t like that, would we?”
Harry winced. “We would not,” he agreed. “Still...he cast around for some reason to stay near golden Imogene, and decided to appeal to Melisande’s greed. “If Imogene goes free, should we not seize her and ransom her? ’Twould bring us more gold than we could make in a year from wrecking.”
In the end, that was the course they agreed on. They told Bess they were off to find van Ryker. Actually they went only as far as Penzance, for if Imogene was hanged they meant to come back to St. Agnes and make plans to meet Lomax and his group in London. They’d find some new game to bring in gold.
But it was a changed pair who entered the courtroom that day. Harry was not so resplendent as usual—nor so conspicuous. He was wearing a wide-brimmed dark hat, serviceable boots, and a leathern doublet and trousers. Melisande wore indeterminate gray homespun and looked like some serving girl on holiday with a scarf tucked neatly around her golden hair.
They found seats as far away as they could from Bess Duveen and Ambrose and ducked their heads lest someone recognize them. For theirs were faces known all over England as cutpurses and cheats and they wished desperately to escape attention.
Harry’s gaze was on the woman standing in the dock. She stood proudly, facing her accusers with a level gaze. A shaft of sunlight through a broken corner of the roof beamed down upon her head, haloing its gold fierily, and striking sapphire lights from her delft blue eyes.
The barrister Allgood, with his wig slightly askew, was ponderously addressing the jury. The tale he wove was a fanciful one, for the recalcitrant accused had stonily refused to testify to such a concoction. The two men, he declared impressively, pursued by Imogene—airily he left out how she would manage to pursue them—had repaired to St. Agnes to duel. And Imogene, noble character that she was, had entreated them on her knees to desist.
“More like she told them she’d marry the winner!” came a derisive voice from the crowd and there was a ripple of laughter from the gentry in the front row and loud guffaws all around the room.
Judge Hoskins banged for order. Allgood frowned and continued. Now he held forth on her beauty—he was indeed stunned by it—even though he had known her for less than forty-eight hours he was half in love with the maddening wench.
“Look at her!" he finished raptly. “Could any man not desire her?”
As one, the courtroom turned to consider her. A soft sigh swept the crowd.
Harry dreamed with the rest. The thought that she could be his—by fair means or foul—filled the room with a dark perfume.
He was roused from his reverie by a dug-in elbow from Melisande, who was nudging him. There had been a sharp interchange between the accused and the judge. The accused was about to speak.
The courtroom was totally silent as Imogene fixed them with her blue gaze. Her voice rang out.
“I know that in this court it is useless to protest my innocence,” she said calmly. “For you have all condemned me in your hearts long ago. Not for the death of Giles Avery—of which I am innocent. No, you have not condemned me for that—you have condemned me for taking a lover.” Her voice rang out contemptuously. “It is for that I must die!”
“God, she’s magnificent,” muttered Harry. His eyes shone as he watched her. Melisande kicked at his boot to silence him.
“But none of this matters,” Imogene added bitterly. “There is another, more compelling reason why you will set me free!”
Here Judge Hoskins caught the infuriated eye of Mortimer Avery, sitting crouched in a front seat, and lifted his brows derisively as if to say with this last exhortation the young accused would surely hang herself.
Everyone held his breath, waiting for her next words.
“I am wife to the famous buccaneer Captain Ruprecht van Ryker, who loves me more than he loves his life, and I am told his ship of forty guns now stands off the coast of Cornwall.”
A murmur went through the courtroom.
From the dock, leaning forward with her weight resting on her hands on the railing before her, the glorious expanse of her bosom and the pearly tops of her breasts in full view, Imogene was speaking again, more softly, in a low deadly tone.
“Good people of Cornwall, I urge you to reconsider before you pass sentence upon me. For whether I am guilty or no, I am wife to the Caribbean’s deadliest buccaneer. And I warn you that as surely as the sun rises in the morning, van Ryker will come for me. If he finds that you have harmed me, he will level Penzance to the ground and put everyone in it to the sword! He will lay waste to the Cornish coast and ravage the Scilly Isles! Do you take in what I am saying? If you harm me, you will surely die!”
His face convulsed with rage at the temerity of the accused, Judge Hoskins brought his fist down upon the table before him with a force that shattered the inkwell and spattered those in the front seats with India ink.
“Silence, woman!” he roared. “You dare to show contempt for this court?”
“Indeed I have every contempt for it,” replied Imogene calmly. “For I have always understood that, though born in wedlock after Hoskins’s death, you were in truth Mortimer Avery’s bastard brother, and therefore uncle to the man I am accused of murdering! Guilty or no, you are bound to bring me down as a sop to your blood relations!”
The courtroom erupted into uproar, for that story, though much denied, had long been rife in Cornwall.
“And to think I had thought she would plead for her life!” marveled Ambrose.
“Oh, be quiet,” pleaded Bess in anguish. “She will soon wish she had!” After this outburst, they were sure to condemn Imogene!
“A jury of your peers will decide your guilt or innocence,” thundered Judge Hoskins, his face mottled with wrath. “I will decide your sentence.”
“And we both know what that sentence will be,” rejoined Imogene in a cold voice. She turned dramatically to the jury box. “It is to you I appeal,” she cried. “Not for my life but for yours! For I promise you that van Ryker and his buccaneers will destroy you all if you harm so much as a hair on my head! Find me innocent and he will spare Cornwall and take me away. You can forget Imogene Wells and go back to your own lives again!”
It was all very brave, thought Bess, shivering. And very foolhardy—but then Imogene had always been reckless. And very futile, for from her vantage point Bess could see clearly the furious uncompromising face of the judge.
“Silence, wench! I tell you, be silent!”
Before Judge Hoskins’s strident bellow, Imogene at last fell silent. She stood pale and waiting.
“The accused has finished her statement. The jury will deliver its verdict.”
Shaken, the jurors bent their heads together and whispered. “I have one more thing to say,” cried Imogene irrepressibly. “ ’Tis a pity I am to be judged entirely
by men. Not a woman in this courtroom but could understand my situation, how I did not know I was betrothed, how it was done behind my back—oh, that I could have had women jurors!”
Her last words were all but drowned by a roar from the judge. “If the prisoner opens her mouth again,” he howled at the bailiff, “I charge you to put a bag over her head. Has the jury reached a verdict?”
“We have, Your Honor.” A meek-faced, worried-looking fellow stumbled to his feet. “We find the accused not guilty.”
Harry gave a gasping laugh, Bess sank back with a long sigh and buried her face in her hands, Ambrose choked. Imogene stood marveling. She had not really hoped to buy back her life with her impassioned speech; that she had, dazzled her.
“What?” Judge Hoskins was on his feet. He leaned forward, “I can scarce believe my ears! How came you to such a conclusion?”
“There’s no real proof she done him in. Your Honor! Mayhap ’tis as the lass says, and she’s innocent! And beggin’ your pardon. Your Honor, but we all of us have homes here and families. And we don’t want some great crew of buccaneers to fall down on us with their cutlasses and chop us to pieces!”
“Cowards!” the judge flung at them. He mopped his forehead. From florid, he looked pale and dizzy now, as if he might have a stroke. “ ’Tis a great miscarriage of justice, but we are ruled by laws which must not be broke. Release the prisoner, bailiff.”
Through the pandemonium of the courtroom, Bess fought her way to Imogene and enclosed her friend in her arms.
“You take your reputation in your hands when you acknowledge you know me, Bess,” said Imogene shakily.
“Oh, what care I for that?” Bess hugged her. “You’re free, Imogene. Free!”
“Now we must make our move. I’ll join you later, Harry. You know what to do,” breathed Moll and scurried away as Harry edged forward through the crowd.
“Imogene.” It was barely a whisper in her ear.
Bess Duveen was trying unsuccessfully to clear a path for her. Imogene looked up into Harry’s face.
“Van Ryker isn’t coming,” he said simply.
The shock of that stopped her forward momentum. The crowd swirled about her. “How do you know?”
“No sails were sighted. I sent word—to give you hope.”
And it had worked! She gave him a crooked smile. “I must join Bess, Harry.”
“No.” His arms stayed her. “That is exactly what you must not do.” Again he leaned close to her ear. “Word’s out that the Averys have a second plan if hanging failed. They’ll descend on Ennor Castle tonight, I’ve no doubt.”
And in the Averys’ effort to kill her, sweet loyal Bess might die in the crossfire!
“You’ve something in mind, Harry?” she murmured.
He nodded. “Come with me. I’ve a boat waiting.” He took her hand.
In the crush, Bess had not noticed Harry. “Come along, Imogene,” she cried happily. “We’ll celebrate your victory!” There were black looks all about at this comment, for the terrible rumors that had been circulating had now reached staggering proportions—Imogene was being blamed for half the crimes in the county.
“Bess.” Imogene put her lips close to Bess’s ear. She knew that loyal Bess would never let her go now, she’d insist on standing by her and it would be her ruin. “I’m off to meet van Ryker,” she whispered, and Bess’s face lit up.
“He wants you back?” she breathed.
“Yes.” Imogene felt bittersweet emotions surge through her at Bess’s heartfelt joy. Bess hugged her.
“Then I wish you well, Imogene,” she cried.
“Sh-h-h, remember the Averys,” muttered Imogene. “They could still have dirty work afoot.”
She saw Bess nod as they were jostled apart. She glimpsed Bess going over to collect Ambrose, who was standing, puzzled and dismayed, beside a furious Lady Moxley. Then she melted into the crowd with Harry, and soon found herself—by Harry’s clever maneuvering—out of town and hurrying down a grassy slope toward a narrow gully that led down to the sea.
Harry was following Melisande’s plan, which was to bring Imogene along this path—but there was another plan that interested him more. Tempting as the thought of a long stay in London with Imogene, while they arranged for her ransom, might be, shucking off Moll and running away with Imogene at once was even more appealing.
“I’ve come to take you up on that notion you had, Imogene—that I should go away from here, change my life,” he said.
He was holding her hand caressingly in a light grip. Around them birds were singing. The air was salt and fresh for they were very close to the sea. Grassland went clear to the tops of the gray granite cliffs that faced the ocean. But into this low hollow in which they were going they could not see the ocean; instead, rounded grassy hills lay before them and behind them.
“That is”—he smiled that boyish winning smile of his— “if you’ll go with me, Imogene.”
Imogene looked at him. A man with a bad past. But then hadn’t she a bad past? Who was she to judge him? And hadn’t he said that he wanted to change?
“Harry,” she said softly. “Do you think you really could—change?”
There was a flicker in Harry’s eyes and he stood straighter. She was going to accept his offer! This lustrous wench was going to sail away beside him! Who cared what way they went? Straight path or crooked, it was all the same to him. Just as he’d always followed the path any of his women took, he’d be content to follow Imogene anywhere she went—indeed, to take her where she wished to go.
“For you, I could change,” he said, and now that they were down in the gully and out of sight of any who might have followed—for he was well aware that Imogene was now a celebrity of sorts and he’d had to duck around corners to escape those who would have pursued them in town—he moved to take her in his arms.
“Only you won’t, Harry,” said a hard voice behind him and Harry swung around to see Melisande standing there with a pistol aimed at his heart. “You ain’t never going to change, and you ain’t going nowhere with her. Not unless I go along!”
CHAPTER 29
Harry’s arms fell to his sides. He stared apprehensively at Melisande—and at the gun, which never wavered and which was pointed straight at his chest.
“Harry,” directed Imogene in a steady voice. “Go with Melisande. ’Tis to your best advantage.” For she knew in her heart this jealous woman with the pistol, driven but a step farther, would shoot him through the heart.
Harry knew it too. He winced as Melisande mimicked Imogene. “ ‘Go with Melisande, Harry. ’Tis to your best advantage!’ ”
“Harry loves you, Melisande,” said Imogene. She was fighting for Harry’s life.
“Does he?” Melisande’s voice rose in fury. "Does he?"
“Yes,” sighed Imogene. “I think he truly does—in his heart.” Sadly she realized that it was probably true. “Take him along with you, Melisande. So he once had a passing fancy for a girl in a blue dress—what can it possibly matter when you’re far away?”
Melisande studied Imogene from under lowering brows. For a moment she seemed to vacillate. Then, “Now that you mention the blue dress, you can take it off!” she ordered contemptuously.
Imogene’s startled gaze fled downward to her blue velvet gown. “Why?” she demanded.
“Because it’s mine,” was the insolent answer. “Harry took it away from me when—”
“Melisande!” The words were torn from Harry. “Melisande—enough!”
Melisande laughed. For the moment she seemed to be enjoying herself. “Do you think you’re the first wench I’ve had to rid Harry of?” she flung at Imogene. “There was a dishwater blond tavern maid in York, name of Emma. Harry was so tender of her, you’d have thought ’twas his first time with a wench! So I got big Logan to rape her and get her pregnant and told her Logan’d kill Harry if it came to a fight. So she kept her mouth shut, and when she was too big to ride, what do you think I done? I told
Harry we was leaving and what do you think? Harry went with us and left Emma there to rot! Take off the petticoat too,” she added sharply as Imogene, having shed her blue dress, recoiled from the story.
“Melisande.” Harry’s face was red with shame and embarrassment. “You’ve said enough.”
“Not quite!” The gun was still pointed at him steadily. “There was others too—worse stories than that I could tell you about Harry here. But maybe one’ll be enough. You know when I first decided I wanted this dress?”
“I have no idea,” said Imogene coldly. “But it’s ridiculous to claim it was ever yours!” She was standing there in her chemise with the wind blowing the light fabric about her and she felt resentful. Resentful at Harry that he didn’t do something, didn’t wrest the gun away from Melisande. Van Ryker would have! Hot shame flooded her that she had so nearly run away with this man.
Melisande saw the change in her expression and gave a scornful laugh. “Know our Harry a little better now, don’t you? Don’t like what you’re learning, do you? But I’m not through yet. How do you think Harry got that blue dress, my fine lady?”
Imogene felt cold creeping down around her. “I don’t know but I’m sure you’ll tell me,” she said crisply.
“Melisande!” The protest was torn from Harry.
“Harry got it from Lomax, and Lomax got it from a chest on board a ship he wrecked. A chest with a money chain in it. We wanted to know who owned that chest, Harry and me. And Harry thought the way to find out if it was yours was to offer you the dress and see if you noticed the brooch was missing.” She reached in her pocket and tautingly held up an object. With an indrawn breath, Imogene recognized the amethyst brooch that had once held the bodice together at the top. Her accusing gaze flew to Harry. “Then you’re one of the—”
“Wreckers,” finished Melisande for her. “Only he’s not just one of the wreckers, like you puts it. Harry and me, we run this wrecking operation, we do! ’Tis Harry and me who arranges everything, we takes the loot and gets rid of it.”
Wild Willful Love Page 40