His pupils darted, then settled. "I love you and won't ever stop. Never." He claimed her lips. His ardor was slow, the strokes to her skin tentative. His breath upon her cheek, a whisper.
But he wasn't a tentative man.
With each kiss, he stole more air. The sweetness of his love overcame her. She shut her lids and swayed with the wind of his movements, trembling within the eye of the storm and the strong arms surrounding her.
Not for one minute did she feel fragile, spent, or afraid.
Chapter Seven: The Trial of The Century
Barrington tugged on his horsehair wig making it fit more snugly at his ears. He took a quick breath and smoothed the lace bands of his collar. The sweet nosegay wafted by the clerk at the beginning of the session still freshened the air at the Old Bailey. He peered at the growing crowd in the gallery. His stomach turned, clenching as he counted. The spectator's numbers grew to hundreds.
All here to witness the Dark Walk Abductor's downfall, but the penalty would befall three: Gerald, Amora, and her babe.
A sigh forced its way out, heating his nostrils. His lungs squeezed at the wave of helplessness filling his chest.
Barrington straightened and turned to the front of the court.
Justice Burns leaned forward in his chair. The glow of the desk lamp reflected on his robes. "The jury has found you guilty of the charge of theft."
The judge's clerk appeared and put the black cloth upon Burn's head. "Make the prisoner rise."
Three hits with a baton made the man in the prisoner box stand to his full height.
The opposing counsel should go to his client and bolster him for the sentence to come. Barrington leaned over to whisper his advice when he caught sight of a vision in the gallery.
Amora led by Vicar Wilson and Mrs. Tomàs settled into a seat.
His wife left him in the attic to awaken alone. No good byes or final pleadings. She probably knew he'd attempt to talk her out of coming.
Yet, she did leave their separation paperwork laid neatly by his boots. Scrawled atop the parchment were the words, "Burn at your earliest convenience."
Which he did.
With a wave of Burn's hands, he silenced the crowd. "The defendant," the judge said, "you will be led back to jail from whence you came and stay within its walls laboring and repaying your debt for the next three years."
The gallery erupted, some hooting, others weeping. The Bow Street Runner who brought the indictment jumped up and waved.
"Who will feed m'children?" The sentenced man sobbed and clutched the iron rail of the dock.
The gaoler tugged almost in rhythm to the spectator's chanting, "Three. Three. Three."
The bailiff joined the gaoler. Each clutched a scrawny shoulder of the convict and dragged him out of the courtroom.
A hush soon covered the place again.
As the people parted, Barrington saw his petite wife again with her raven hair swept up in a neat chignon. Like a fruited cake covered in bliss icing, she was topped with a fine bisque bonnet. The scalloped neckline of her dark yellow gown accentuated the curve of her full bosom and the delicious flair of her hips. A lacy shawl draped her elegant neck and framed the gentle rounding of her abdomen. Amora. His wife and child. Would the three know a day of peace? God, allow us to find a home together, intact.
He blinked his eyes, but couldn't take his gaze from her. His heart beat a thousand times a minute. He fingered the air tracing her silhouette, circling her lips to his.
A pounding came from behind.
The reality of the court proceedings interrupted his woolgathering.
Justice Burns slammed his hand against the desk. "Bring in the next prisoner."
Hessing flopped into the seat nearest Barrington, the place the two plotted strategy and worked together on so many cases. How could his mentor conspire against him?
Father, my heart cries out to you. What am I to do?
"Don't look so grim." Hessing chuckled. "If you beat me, you'll know how good you are." His blue eyes flickered. He leaned over the table jutting out his double chin. "Remember, what I taught you. It's the stewardship of the law. There are no enemies or friends in the Old Bailey, just facts and persuasions of justice."
The older man pulled out three pieces of paper and shuffled them. "Your wife's testimony is on top."
Barrington's hands shook as he read. Finding no gory details among the circumstantial information he released a breath. Could the woman again be aiding Barrington by providing scant details?
"It was a shock to discover Mrs. Norton's connection with the case from the administrator of Bedlam." Hessing smirked at him. "If your client admits his guilt, there would be no need to call your wife to the box. I would do that for you."
"As much as I'd like to spare her any pain, my client is innocent." Barrington gritted his teeth. "I suppose we'll both have to earn this win."
With a tug on his silk robe, stomach protruding, Hessing picked up the briefs. "Wouldn't have it any other way." He trudged down to the far end of the bar for another seat."
The gaoler entered and led Gerald Miller to the stand. He looked thinner, if that was even possible. But, wore a new brown tailcoat and buff breeches. Cynthia must've bought the clothes to spruce him up.
The bailiff approached the judge and read from a long piece of parchment. "Gerald Miller is charged with the abduction and assault of Miss Sarah Calloway of London, and the abduction and assault of Mrs. Anna Tantlin of Cheapside."
A horrible rumble erupted from the crowds. One middle-aged man shouted, "Abductor!"
Another followed. "Dark Walk Abductor! He's taken more than two. Killed more too."
The whole gallery began to chant, "Abductor."
Amora patted her forehead. Could the noise or the heat be affecting her or the babe?
Barrington swatted his own brow. The Lord made him a barrister. He'd use everything in his soul to destroy the case so soundly, the woman who owned his heart, his future, wouldn't be called to testify.
Amora sat back in her chair in the first row of the gallery, closest to the barristers' desk. From here, she could count without strain the stacks of legal documents, the rolls of ribbon-tied briefs scattered along the semi-circular table, and the uneasy breaths lifting from Barrington's chest.
Poor fellow. He must be in agony about Gerald. And probably over her testimony too.
She glimpsed down upon the heavy pleats of her bodice. Barrington, the baby, they'd have to understand. She had to do this. She finally knew and trusted her own strength.
Lord Burns slurped from his gilded cup then lowered it, hitting a candelabra nearby. Moving both, he scowled. "Mr. Hessing, proceed with your questions."
"Yes, my lord." Barrington's mentor arose from his chair and stopped in front of the jurymen. "Gentlemen, I will begin with witnesses to the atrocities. Loved ones who can attest to Miller's guilt. I call Mr. John Calloway."
The older man lumbered to the witness box, swore to Almighty God to tell the whole truth, and kissed the Bible. Hessing traipsed to the front of the court. He stood a few feet from the rectangular frame holding Sarah's father. "Tell us about your daughter's abduction."
Amora blocked out the poor father's thick Irish brogue and looked at Mr. Gerald Miller. Barrington's friend looked so frail and thin. The panel hanging over his head amplified the knocking of his knees. He must be as nervous as she.
Closing her eyes, she focused on the peace of Tomàs Orchards and the sweetness of Barrington's affections. If she lost her wits, at least now she knew he still loved her and she, him. Hopefully, he'd treasure their one perfect evening if tragedy struck.
Samuel's arm brushed hers. "Are you well?"
She nodded, then slipped her fingers along his sleeve until she clasped his palm. "It's good to have my friend near."
He squeezed her hand within his. "A job I relish."
Mama's eyes were shrouded beneath the shadow of her large bonnet. Was she praying?
W
ith a pound, a fist slammed against wood. She lifted her gaze and watched Justice Burns hit his mahogany desk again.
"Quiet!" Justice Burns raised his arms, signaling to the crowd. "Who shall be tossed out through the rear today?"
This time the crowd heeded. Silence swept over the gallery and the jurymen.
The judge leaned toward the witness box. "Mr. Calloway, please continue your testimony."
The old man, Sarah's father, gripped the edge of the polished wood framing the paneled stand. "The Abductor took my girl from the Dark Walk, hit her with his hands, forced himself upon her."
Barrington's mentor rounded close. "So, it is your testimony that your daughter, Miss Sarah Calloway, was taken from your possession without your consent?"
Mr. Calloway hung his head. His straight back sagged. "Yes." His voice clogged with sobs. "Yes. The surgeon verified she'd been assaulted."
"And after this vile act was done to her, the poor maid was found babbling in a ditch near Clanfield, Hampshire, over three hours from here?"
"It is so." Mr. Calloway bent over and clutched the edge of the stand as if to keep himself upright.
Mr. Hessing spun and faced the jurymen. "Is it your testimony that Sarah Calloway was taken and abused by the alleged Abductor of Dark Walk?"
"Yes, sir. And he," Sarah's poor father pointed toward Mr. Miller. "He should die for what he's done."
The clicking of tongues and rising whispers rushed across the audience as Barrington's mentor sat and smiled like a hungry alligator.
Her husband stood, turned from his friend and gazed at her. His palm gripped the lace band of his collar as if he had forgotten what he was doing.
He turned to the witness. "My heart hurts for your daughter, for all the women affected by the Dark Walk Abductor."
Mr. Calloway looked down. "She was a good girl. She didn't deserve this."
Barrington half-pivoted. "Was? Miss Calloway is still alive, is she not?"
"Yes, what's left of her."
"Sir, describe what's left of her."
"I… Her mind is gone."
"Doesn't sound as if you've had a chat with the young woman in a while. Tell me, sir, do you make time for her concerns?"
Chuckles filled the air. Was Barrington purposely baiting the man?
The witness jerked his head up. "I work hard to protect the interests of my family. I'm not an infidel."
"An infidel?" Barrington's gaze seemed pinned to her fevered brow. "Work is never more important than family. Every man needs to know that time is well spent protecting his loved ones."
A lump lodged in her throat when he turned back to Mr. Calloway. Barrington's heart had moved so far. Mr. Calloway yanked at his sleeves. "I'm not on trial. Your troll of a client is."
Adjusting his spectacles, Barrington looked at his pile of briefs, flipping through the leaves of paper. "When your daughter was returned, did she describe what her abductor looked like?"
"No. She was too full of tears. Too grieved to talk more about it."
Putting his hands behind his back, Barrington paced closer to Miller. "Then how can you claim my client is guilty?"
Mr. Calloway stomped his foot and grunted. "I see the evil in his eyes. He's guilty."
Barrington reached up and put a hand over Gerald's face. "What color is evil?"
Sputtering an obscenity, Mr. Calloway shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe gray like yours."
A smile bloomed on Barrington's handsome face. "Before the attack, was your daughter a petite shriveled thing?"
"No, she was tall and quite fit." Mr. Calloway's voice sounded softer, filled with anguish.
Unlike Sarah, she still had her reason and a last chance at happiness. None of that could be Sarah's, not as long as she was locked away in gloomy Bedlam. There had to be something to do to restore hope for Sarah and Mr. Calloway. Amora's heart clenched, then seized on a new thought of helping those like her.
"So your daughter was tall and quite fit?" Barrington marched back to Gerald and gave him a shove.
The fellow slid to the other side of the stand and clutched the rail. A bewildered look crossed his face as his chained arm rubbed his ribs.
A roar erupted from the gallery. Even the jurymen laughed.
"Mr. Norton, stop with the antics." Justice Burns leaned upon his desk. A deep frown etched below his pointy nose.
"Sorry, my lord." Barrington lowered his voice. "So you don't think she could've fought off my client, this bag of bones? As you can see it would be quite easy to do."
The crowds snickered again.
Mr. Calloway's cheeks burned scarlet. "You tryin' to say she went willingly? My daughter is not some doxy."
Barrington pivoted back to the witness stand. "No, but that's what you thought. Is that why you didn't come forward until the charges were announced?"
"He needs to pay. Can't you see that?" Mr. Calloway cleared his throat and tugged at his flaying cravat. "I... I want the scum to pay for what he did."
"Maybe we should all be on trial. For not believing the victims until their numbers grew." Barrington sighed loud and hard.
The deep resonance of his timbre sent a shiver down Amora's spine. Was that guilt in his voice? She wanted to embrace him. When they married, he didn't know what happened to her. If she hadn't been so scared, if she'd trusted his love, things could've been so different. She shook herself. That was the past. They found each other again. They'd live their love in the light, God's light.
Barrington unfolded his arms, then tapped his index finger against his lips. "Why isn't your daughter here to accuse him directly?"
Pulling his hands to his face, Mr. Calloway sounded like lightning had stricken him. "She's locked in Bedlam! A danger to herself."
Barrington moved closer to the witness and raised his hand on the rail. "I know you are in pain. But, the description of the man your daughter described." His voice slowed, each syllable pierced her heart. Maybe the hearts of all who heard. "Sir, the thing that haunts her to this day, was it a ragged thin man or a thick horrid beast?"
Mr. Calloway looked up and turned his head to the prisoner's box. "A beast."
The crowd gasped.
Barrington had done it, gotten the man to see past his anger.
Pride swelled in her heart.
Her husband retook his seat at the barristers' table.
Mr. Hessing stood back up. "Can you trust a description from the girl? Her mind is besought with struggles."
"That would be the same as not believing her account at all." Barrington leaned forward in his chair. "Pardon, my lord justice."
The smirk on her husband's face didn't look as if he was sorry.
Justice Burns shook his head. "Proceed, Mr. Hessing."
Sarah's father leaned forward. "She told the truth. I believe her."
A grimace painted the prosecutor's face. "I'm done with this witness."
"My daughter didn't lie." Mr. Calloway stepped down from the box and stomped all the way out of the courtroom.
Mr. Hessing picked up a piece a paper then turned towards the gallery. "I call Mr. Joseph Tantlin."
Samuel squeezed Amora's hand. "Buck up, Amora. If Mr. Norton sees you flustered, the man will throttle everyone within reach."
"I will. I can't disappoint him when it's my turn."
After dispensing Tantlin's testimony as hearsay, Barrington plodded over to Miller and made his voice a whisper. "Ask the judge to release you. They've charged the wrong man."
His friend looked down at him, squinting.
"Just do it."
"Mr. Justice, sir." Miller's words sounded squeaky. "They've charged…the wrong man. Release…me?"
The crowd roared with laughter.
"My lord, what my client is saying is that all the evidence which supported his indictment is hearsay. None of the witnesses can say conclusively that Miller abducted them let alone any of the other atrocities."
Mr. Hessing leapt to his feet. "The nature of the crimes is
so despicable. The Abductor has been shrewd in selecting his victims. I--"
"I'd like to call a witness to attest that Miller could not have done this." Barrington looked into the crowd and caught Amora's stare. Nothing under the sun would make him compel his wife to the stand. "I request Miss Cynthia Miller."
Burns nodded. "Alright, bring her to the stand."
Hessing retook his seat, grimacing at Barrington.
Cynthia descended the stairs and slipped into the stand. The men in the crowd seemed to lean forward with bulging eyes, surely to ogle the viper. One clapped as if she were performing at the theatre. It was a good thing her character didn't shine through her tight gown.
With a shake of his noggin, Barrington approached. "Miss Miller, please tell the court about your brother, Gerald Miller."
"He's the kindest of men. When our father died, he took care of me and our poor mother." She gripped the rail and looked toward the jurymen. "He's the one who encouraged me to sing."
Her lips drew into a pout. Lyrics of a hymn passed out of that lying mouth. "I once was lost." Her voice continued for several stanzas.
Grace was amazing, even repeated by a forked tongue.
The judge, like almost every other fellow in the court, pressed his head closer.
Her angelic tune reverberated off the burnished paneling, and the prisoner board, making a sweet echo.
Yet, knowing the truth of this woman, Barrington's throat constricted from her sour notes. His ears burned. A smart barrister, a loyal husband should never have fallen prey to the singer's smiles. Such anguish his thoughtlessness caused Amora.
As Cynthia continued singing, Barrington again inspected the jurymen. Grins went up everywhere. Was this display enough to erase the ugliness of the charges?
He unfolded his stiff hands, easing them to his side. He couldn't let anyone see his disgust. "It is a warm picture you paint of Gerald Miller, a fine protector and mentor. Miss Miller, do you believe your brother capable of such evil?"
She gripped the dock as if to steady herself from a faint. "A thousand times no. He is the kindest, gentlest soul."
Unveiling Love: A Regency Romance (A London Regency Romantic Suspense Tale Book 4) Page 8