by The Viscount
Though he would have preferred to keep it as private as possible, there was already a crowd. The witnesses against Lily were limited to fifteen, counting Beau. Then there were the six commissioners, the constable and his two enforcers. All totaled, there would be at least thirty people involved, directly or indirectly.
At Guy’s instruction, a table laden with tea, coffee and spirits stood to one side. Mrs. Prine, Lily’s housekeeper and two footmen were already dispensing refreshments to those who had arrived. The makings of a party, Guy thought as he surveyed the room.
Lily stood beside him dressed in dark blue merino with a demure lace collar at her throat. Her hair, brushed severely back from her smooth forehead, was confined by a proper morning cap of white linen and lace. How young she looked and how innocent. She had schooled her sweet face to betray no emotion, but he knew her mind must be swirling with the dire possibilities in store for her. He was no better off, though he thought he might have a bit more hope than she did.
How much wiser it would have been not to fall in love with her. He might be able to defend her better if his blood did not run so hot when she was threatened.
The strange thing for him was that these feelings had burgeoned even before he and Lily had become lovers. The emotion was so foreign to him, it had taken a while to recognize it. Now he wished he had known sooner, that he had at least told her of it. But if he confessed that he loved her now, she would only believe he was saying it to bolster her confidence for the hearing.
His gaze then fastened on her son, the brave lad standing beside them, ready to use every ounce of his power to negate what was about to happen, while fearing it would not be enough. Guy realized he loved the boy, too. This was the son he had wished for, or the closest to one that he was ever likely to have. He placed a hand on Beau’s shoulder and smiled down into the solemn blue eyes.
Guy glanced at the huge ring on Beau’s hand, a keep-sake from Guy’s long dead uncle, the former earl. Candle wax filled in nearly half the opening so the trinket fit the boy’s thumb. “Take heart, Bradshaw. We’re in this together, come what may.”
“Yes, sir,” Beau replied, “I know.”
“There are Clive and Bernadette,” Lily whispered as her former in-laws entered the room.
“I should have throttled him when I had the chance,” Guy muttered.
“I suppose it’s too late now?” Beau asked.
Lily shot the boy a look of concern. “Guy…?”
Guy cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m afraid it is.” But he would get around to it if this debacle went the wrong way. “Now we must do right by the relatives and make them welcome, eh? See that they are served personally?”
Beau nodded, still very solemn, and immediately headed over to the table where Mrs. Prine welcomed him with a sad smile. Beau shook his head at the woman and brushed past her. He made a show of stuffing a small biscuit into his mouth. When Mrs. Prine’s attention wandered back to the arriving company, Beau un-stoppered one of the decanters, poured two glasses of sherry and marched dutifully toward his uncle and grandmother. He tread carefully so as not to spill any.
“There’s a good lad,” Guy muttered to himself.
Lily frowned. “Whatever is he doing?”
“His duty,” Guy replied. “We had a talk about it while you were seeing to refreshments. It will go much better if Clive and his mother are made comfortable at the beginning. They might be more inclined to show mercy, don’t you think?”
She scoffed without changing expressions, but said nothing.
“Oh, I believe they will,” he assured her as he noted the slight nod Beau sent him from across the room. He beckoned to the boy to come back and sit with him.
At Galen’s insistent signal, the tapping of a heavy paperweight against the long table set up at the front of the room to serve as the bench, the attendees began to take their seats. He motioned Lily to one of the chairs directly in front so that she faced him, the commissioners and the constable. Clive and Bernadette came forward, as well, and took seats on the front row.
Galen rapped the paperweight again. “This hearing will come to order. I am Lord Justice Galen Jelf and will preside. The six commissioners present and Constable Frick will hear testimony in this matter and come to a decision that shall be accepted as final.” He paused, then added, “Unless the defendant later elects to pursue the matter of criminal conduct by her accuser before the King’s Bench.”
Guy heard a collective indrawn breath from those behind him. Clive Bradshaw’s mouth dropped open. Guy smiled. That provision had set up the idea that Clive’s motives were not at all altruistic.
Galen continued. “This will be a relatively informal proceeding but I will brook no interference, either with the testimony or after the decision is made. Anyone seeking to disrupt this hearing shall be summarily arrested as would occur in the courts.”
He paused again. “We are here to determine the condition and disposition of Lady Lillian Upchurch Bradshaw Bollings, Viscountess Duquesne.” He looked up from the papers in front of him and fastened his dark, penetrating gaze on Clive. “The allegation of insanity by reason of mental disease is brought against the Viscountess by Mr. Clivedon Bradshaw, the brother of her first husband, Baron Bradshaw. He seeks to have her confined to an asylum for treatment and possible cure. Is this correct, Mr. Bradshaw?”
Clive set his glass on the floor and stood. “Yes.”
Galen looked down again and shuffled the papers. “Mr. Bradshaw, please advise us why you have taken it upon yourself to act in what you term Lady Lillian’s best interests when she has a perfectly good husband who surely would have noticed if she needs help.”
A titter of laughter sounded from the back of the room, which Galen, despite his prior warning, ignored.
The wide-eyed Clive glanced down at his mother.
“We are waiting, Mr. Bradshaw, if you please,” Galen prompted.
Clive cleared his throat and stood straighter. “He—he is most likely too affected himself. After all, his father is—”
“Is not the subject of this hearing, Mr. Bradshaw. Please confine yourself to one allegation per day, if you don’t mind.”
More laughter, this time, heartier. Galen remained straight-faced. Guy tried not to smile.
“You have not answered the question, sir,” Galen admonished. “What would you hope to gain by having Lady Lillian incarcerated.”
“Hardly incarcerated, my lord. Merely confined for her own personal safety and those around her until she recovers, if she ever does.” Clive began to shift nervously from one foot to the other.
Galen nodded. “I see. Very commendable of you, I’m certain. But tell us, Mr. Bradshaw, who would then have charge of her son, the young baron, and his estate and fortune?”
Clive swallowed audibly. “Lord Duquesne, her husband, I would assume.”
“Whose marriage to her you were unaware existed when you bound her and took her to an asylum in London on the twenty-ninth of last month, is that not true?”
“No! I did no such thing, my lord. The only time I escorted the lady to an asylum was when my mother and I took her from the vicar’s house to Plympton.”
Guy had to admit, Clive’s answer rang true. However, Bernadette was wringing her handkerchief and her profile looked pinched. Could it be that she was the one who had arranged all of this? Guy watched her closely as Galen kept firing questions and Clive grew more restive by the minute.
Dr. Ephriam came next, declaring Lillian had indeed undergone periodic episodes of wild hysteria in keeping with the diagnosis of insanity.
Witness after witness was called to describe Lily’s actions, both at the soiree to which Clive had accompanied her and at the vicar’s house during the afternoon tea.
Lily would not be allowed to speak for herself, but Guy was prepared to speak for her. At last Galen called him to the fore and Guy stood.
“Lord Duquesne, as you have heard, your wife, Lady Lillian, is supposed by Mr. C
livedon Bradshaw to suffer mental disease. Have you any information that might refute that allegation?”
“I do,” Guy stated. “I believe my wife was given a substance provided to someone by Madam Andolou, the local herb woman. This particular powder, mixed with tea, has been proven to initiate visions and behavior that mimics madness.”
“And how do you know this?” Galen asked.
Guy turned to look at his father’s valet. “Because Mr. Mimms, my father’s man, has acquired this same powder for my father these last fifteen years and it has had precisely the same effect.”
The crowd began to buzz until Galen quieted them by banging the paperweight sharply on the tabletop. Silence fell.
“How can you be certain it is the same potion? And how do you know Lady Lillian received such doses to cause her odd behavior?” Galen demanded.
Guy looked around, meeting as many eyes as he could while he paused for effect. “Because, my lord, during her imprisonment at St. Mary’s Asylum after she was abducted, she overheard the guard being ordered to dispense this to her immediately before the commission arrived to judge her mental state the next day.” Guy held up the half-full vial of powder for everyone to see. “I have it on authority this is exactly the same as that which Mr. Mimms purchased regularly from Madam Andolou.”
“Simple enough to verify, I would think,” Galen said. “We shall call to witness Madam Andolou.”
“You cannot, my lord justice,” Guy said, his voice gruff. “The woman is dead. Murdered at her own home, obviously by someone wishing to keep her silent.”
The commissioners looked at one another in horror. The room fell to deadly silence. Constable Frick watched with growing interest. Guy could well understand. If not for Lily’s freedom being in peril, he would be enjoying every minute of this drama himself, but things could go so very wrong.
Again Galen silenced the mutterings. “A tragedy, to be sure. But upon what authority have you declared these substances to be similar, Lord Duquesne?”
“Not similar, my lord justice. Identical,” Guy declared. “An expert on matters of the mind and the causes of aberrant behavior, Dr. Thomas Snively from the University at Edinburgh, will confirm this if you would hear him.”
Galen held up a finger. “In a moment. First, relate how your wife received this…what would you call it? An intoxicant?”
Guy shrugged. “Yes, of sorts. She believes she was given it in a glass of sherry before her abduction.” He looked pointedly at Clive who was sweating profusely. “Poured for her by Mr. Bradshaw. The next time, it was administered to her somehow during a tea held at the vicar’s.”
“By whom?” Galen asked, though Guy knew he did so reluctantly.
“That is yet to be determined, my lord. There were many present. However, the effects were precisely the same. My wife did recover completely and is as you see her now, composed and as sane as anyone in this room. Perhaps more so than some,” he couldn’t help adding.
“Thank you, Lord Duquesne. That will be all,” Galen said dryly. “Will Dr. Thomas Snively please come forward?”
Snively rose and approached the bench.
“Is it your conclusion that the substance in the vial acquired by Lady Lillian during her abduction is the same as that administered to Earl Edgemont, the one ostensibly causing impairment of his senses?”
“It is, my lord. The consistency, odor and color are exactly the same. The bottles containing the intoxicant are similar, as well, probably purchased as a lot by whoever prepared the intoxicant.”
“So it is an intoxicant,” Galen said. “An opiate of some sort?”
“Not an opiate, but dried mushrooms of a special sort crushed to powder. These have been used for many centuries in certain pagan ceremonies to induce a peculiar state of mind. If ingested with anything but water, they are usually undetectable. Within half to three-quarters of an hour, the subject begins to hallucinate.”
“See things that do not exist?” Galen clarified in the event that some in the room did not know what it meant.
Thomas nodded. “Also ordinary things often take on strange and frightening proportions and movement. If one is prepared for the experience and welcomes it, the results can prove euphoric. If not, it can induce unbearable fear.” He sighed. “And if given in too great a dose, it can be quite lethal, as you know certain species of mushrooms are.”
“Oh, no!”
Everyone turned to the sharp outcry. Beau stood, his hands clasped over his mouth. His blue eyes wide and frightened.
Galen patiently regarded Lily’s son. “What is the matter, Beau?”
“I hope it wasn’t too much, Uncle Clive! I only meant to give you a bit in the wine to make you sleep, not kill you!” He held up the oversize poison ring, its hinged compartment open and empty. “But it was a lot.”
“My God!” Bernadette Bradshaw leaped to her feet, oversetting her chair. “What have you done, you wicked child!”
Beau shrugged, looking guilty as hell. Guy almost laughed. The boy was a natural actor. “I’m ever so sorry, Grandmother. But he gave some to my mother. I thought it would only make him sleep. He was going to say bad things about her here and I didn’t want him to.”
“Ephriam!” Bernadette cried, searching the room frantically for the older doctor. “Augustus! Come here! Hurry!”
“Hurry!” Beau echoed. “Come quick, before he dies!” Guy motioned for him to be quiet now. He had done quite enough and his contrition was slipping.
Clive promptly fainted, falling forward out of his chair. His mother dropped to her knees beside him, rolling him over, slapping his face repeatedly. “Clive! Clive! Oh, darling!” she cried hysterically. “I wish I’d never learned of the cursed stuff!” She searched wildly for Ephriam. “Augustus, come here! Hurry! You know he can’t abide this! The antidote!”
A stillness fell over the room.
Ephriam stayed in his chair, frantically shaking his head in wordless denial.
“How did you learn of the ‘cursed stuff,’ as you call it? And when?” Galen insisted, his words like cannon shot aimed at Bernadette. “And how do you know there is an antidote? Dr. Ephriam?”
“N-no! There is no known—” the doctor stuttered. “Only laudanum to calm… But he’s already—” He dropped his face to his hands.
Bernadette realized she had given herself away. Everyone was staring at her. She cast about frantically for something to say.
“Did you kill or have killed the herb woman known as Andolou?” Galen shouted, standing and pointing an accusing finger at Bernadette. “Did you stab her in the breast so deeply you broke off the knife’s hilt?”
“No! No, she tried to… She wouldn’t give… It was an accident! We struggled and…” Her eyes wildly searched for someone to believe her. But all eyes were fixed on her, disbelieving, damning. She cringed. “I only wanted to…”
“Imprison the baroness? Secure her property for yourselves?” Galen demanded loudly. “Take charge of the young baron and his holding?”
Bernadette swung his way and screeched. “My son should have it! He should have from the start, not that milksop Jon. Then she…she had that…that…” She pointed at Beau, her face a fiery red, apoplectic.
Suddenly she leaped at Lily. “You witch!” she screamed. “This is your fault! See what you’ve done!”
Lily dodged just in time to miss catching Bernadette’s full weight on top of her, but the woman snagged Lily’s sleeve and they both fell.
Guy rushed forward to separate the two, but Bernadette had clasped Lily in a bear hug as she rolled, wrestled and screamed obscenities. Lily’s arms were trapped.
Guy feared the woman would crush her. He leaned over the two, grasped Bernadette’s hair and yanked. It came off in his hand.
Dumbfounded for a second, he stared at the wiglet. Bernadette grabbed for it. Lily pulled back a fist. Guy watched as she planted Bernadette a facer old Gentleman Jack would have applauded. The older woman collapsed backward and Lily
staggered up, rubbing her fist and wincing at the pain.
Guy quickly whisked her away from the woman who was rolling on the floor, grasping her bloody nose and weeping maniacally.
The constable smiled and crooked a finger at the two heavily muscled helpers he had brought with him. They assisted Bernadette to her feet while she struggled between them. “Lady Bernadette Bradshaw, you are under arrest,” Frick announced. “Take her away.”
Bernadette was screaming to high heaven, audible even after they had exited the front door with her.
“A moment more, Constable,” Galen said, stacking the papers in front of him as he sat down again. “We still have the question of Lady Lillian’s disposal to adjudicate.”
“Send her home with her husband,” Frick advised with a negligent wave of his hand. He turned to the commissioners. “Unless one of you has a different notion.”
“And the earl? Shall you have him released, as well?” Galen persisted.
“Into the custody of Lord Duquesne, of course,” Frick said.
“Any votes of nay on either course of action?” Galen asked the commissioners. There were none. The men serving on the council sat wide-eyed, mouths slack, too shocked by events to speak. They simply shook heads in unison.
Guy already had Lily in his embrace and rested one hand on Beau’s shoulder.
“What of Uncle Clive?” the boy asked, pointing to the prone figure that had not stirred.
The beefy constable went over and picked the man up with one hand by his collar, setting him on his feet. “You have quite a few questions to answer before I lock you away.”
“I did nothing!” Clive protested, his words slurred. “I am innocent, I swear!”
“Let’s see you prove it,” Guy said with a smile.
He noted Dr. Ephriam had disappeared during Bernadette’s fracas with Lily. He wouldn’t get far. Frick would see to that.
Lily brushed back her tousled curls and knelt to hug her son. “Beau, I am so sorry about your grandmother. She is obviously—”
“Mad,” Beau finished, nodding emphatically. “I gave her the wrong sherry, I think.”