Isabelle took him firmly by the shoulders. “Thank you, Rory.” She looked at the rest of the dazed party. “It’s only two o’clock. The judge adjoined the trial until tomorrow morning so there’s time to decide what’s to be done.” Sir Douglas sadly shook his head, but she ordered, “We all need nourishment, so eat.”
Grateful someone had taken command, they obeyed, devouring the food. Ned put a slice of chicken into Elly’s hand. She ate without tasting. He kept handing her food and she kept eating it. Ten minutes later, all the plates were empty. Everyone felt bloated, but better for the fuel. Grateful for any employment, Rory stacked the dishes back into the baskets. Sir Douglas looked ashen as he dozed in his chair. Sir William leaned his elbows on the table, his shoulder raised high with tension. Katherine and Isabelle busied themselves serving tea and cakes. Ned was afraid to take his eyes off Elly, sitting motionless, as if in a trance. A vein pulsed in her temple.
Looking around the table, Jeremy used his beautifully modulated theatrical voice to ask the dreaded question. “All right, Sir Douglas, what’s to be done?”
Elly whimpered, squeezed her eyes shut then forced them wide open. “I’m sorry, Katherine, I don’t want to spoil the makeup.”
“Go ahead.” Katherine flopped into a chair. “No one else will see you today.”
Like the breaking of a dam, Elly’s head dropped onto her arm and she quietly sobbed.
Isabelle gently pulled her up. “But, you mustn’t mess your sleeve. It was hard enough to sneak even one suit into that prison.” She handed the girl a serviette. “Cry into that.”
Elly buried her face in the linen square.
Jeremy again took the initiative. “Sir Douglas, what’s … to … be … done?”
The old man raised his eyebrows. “We need another barrister.”
The obvious answer made everyone groan.
Jeremy continued, “How long will it take to prepare someone?”
“A couple of days, but we don’t even have one day. Tomorrow morning at 10 o’clock, I have to ask for a postponement. All the bribing in the world won’t get us another court date before the end of summer.”
“That’s months.” Elly sprang to her feet. Ned reached for her hand and she frantically pulled away. “I’ll die.” She backed away from the table. “I’d rather die than stay in that …” Everyone held their breath. Her eyes darted liked a caged animal. “Matron will find an excuse to force a tube down my throat, I’m sure of it. She enjoys hurting me. I have bruises on my arms and back. I’m always cold and damp. In time I’m sure to become ill. There’s a constant stench from refuse and disinfectant. I’d be mad already if it weren’t for Rory and Ned. After Ned leaves, I’m alone in the dark. When it rains, water runs in the window. When it’s dry, it’s silent as a tomb. Since I’ve no idea of the time, I feel like I’ve been buried alive.” She shook her head. “Rory and Ned can’t give up their whole lives playing nursemaid to me.”
“I can.” Absolute love shone in Rory’s pale blue eyes.
“You would, and I’d never let you. If I’m convicted, I’ll ask them to hang me.”
“Elly!” Katherine was horrified.
Tears of rage flooded the girl’s eyes. “Better that, than staying for years in a dungeon with no heat or light, wearing a hood over my face, sewing sixteen hours a day by smoky lamplight, and dying slowly from blood poisoning if I prick my finger.”
Sir William was outraged. “Who’s been telling you those stories?”
“Matron. Every day.”
Isabelle clutched her husband’s hand, “She’s only trying to frighten you. It can’t be true.” She looked to Sir Douglas. “Can it?”
“Yes. I’m afraid it can.” The old man’s matter-a-fact tone was chilling.
Katherine threw up her arms. “So, what’s to be done?”
Jeremy reached a hand across the table. “Sir Douglas. You have one of the finest legal minds in Britain.”
He scowled. “Pity the body won’t support the mind. I’m bloody useless.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment. Were you totally satisfied with Andrew’s Milligan’s performance this morning?”
Sir Douglas nodded. “He was very good.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No, I was not ‘totally satisfied’.” He slammed his hand on the table. “That reckless prank with the name Johnson …” He clenched his jaw. “I tried to prompt him with a precedent and the arrogant sod ignored me.”
“So, even he was not perfect.” Jeremy’s focus swung to the other side of the table. “I dare say Miss Fielding would not ignore you.”
“What?” Sir Douglas was appalled.
Jeremy’s body tensed. He nervously tapped his fingertips on the table. “I know it is mad for a prisoner to defend himself … herself … but with no barrister available, what choice is there?”
Sir Douglas clutched his chest. “You’re mad.” He looked at Elly, staring back with frightened eyes. “I wouldn’t even be allowed to prompt her. When a prisoner gives up counsel, he gives it up altogether.”
Pictures flew through Jeremy’s mind. “How many witnesses do you still have to call?”
“Just you and Sam Smelling, wherever he is.”
Jeremy nodded. “If Sam’s expected tomorrow, he’ll be here.”
Sir Douglas shook his head. “Then there’s Dennison. Milligan got enough information for our purpose, but Johnson will crucify him at cross-examination. We’ll need a strong redirect.”
Elly sat very straight. “Sir Douglas, would they let me defend myself?”
He stared in disbelief. “Tomorrow morning, if you say you’ve dismissed your counsel, the judge will have no choice but to let you defend yourself.” He shook his head. “Elly dear, it’s mad for a man to try such a thing. I’ve never heard of a woman doing it. You have the jury’s sympathy, now. Do this and they’ll hate you, every one.”
“But if I tell them why. If I tell them what it’s like in prison. If I tell them about the matron … the woman who died from force feeding …”
“The judge may not let you say anything.” His breathing was slow and painful. “He may simply berate your effrontery and order you to call your witnesses.”
Jeremy’s mind raced. “If you gave us both lines, and gave Elly questions for Sam … If she’s not allowed to explain her situation, perhaps I could slip it into my narrative.”
Sir Douglas sat back, pale, and perspiring. “To my experience, such a thing has never been done.” Fearing he would pass out, Isabelle wiped his face with a towel and loosened his tie.
Elly was frightened, but eager. “But it could be done. Mr O’Connell can do anything.”
Sir Douglas threw up his hands. “Perhaps he can.” He looked at Jeremy, intense, imposingly handsome. “You may be the finest orator in the land. Perhaps you can do it. If not …” He shuddered.
“If not?” Jeremy’s eyes bore into the old man. “If I fail?”
Sir Douglas lay back gasping. “If I see things are going really badly …”
The suspense sent Ned to his feet. “What then? Could you stop it?”
“Yes … No.” Sir Douglas squeezed his throbbing left arm. “Not without calling Miss Roundtree incompetent and risking her being sent to Bedlam, which is where we all belong for even considering this lunatic scheme.”
“Shouldn’t this be my decision?” Standing tall, Elly spoke with an authority they had not heard before. She slowly faced each person in turn. “I know you all care for me. I love all of you, more than I can say.” She addressed Sir Douglas. “Because of your concern, you wish to be careful, but tomorrow morning, if you ask for a postponement, I shall be taken back to Holloway … to that cell, to that matron, for weeks, maybe months. When I’m brought out again for trial, I will assuredly be ready for Bedlam. I will have lost my looks and be even less able to control my deportment. I will certainly lack in any of the charm Mr Milligan considers so vital in winning over the jury. Plea
se, Sir Douglas, because of the affection you feel for me, I beg you to let me try.”
He shook his head. “Dear child, you can’t possibly do this alone.”
Jeremy squeezed Sir Douglas’s arm. “Mr Brown can prompt her, with signals from you.”
Sir Douglas sighed sadly. “Brown is brilliant on paper. He’s a jelly under fire.”
“Then …” Jeremy sat up slowly, “… it will have to be Mr Cookingham.” He pointed to Rory. “If you sat a row behind Elly, with Sir Douglas a row back, to the side …” he pointed to the old barrister, “the two of you could work out signals, like …” he touched his chin, “Stop!” He scratched his nose, “Ask more!” He raised his chin, “Change the line of questioning.”
The colour drained from Rory’s face. “You’re mad.”
Sir Douglas’s eyes shone. “Perhaps he is … and perhaps not. We may have no choice.”
Visualising from an altered state, Jeremy relaxed back into a chair. “We can do this.”
Sir Douglas’s face calmed. His breathing slowed. “Mr Cookingham, before you fled my university, you absorbed a good deal of knowledge. Let us see how much.”
“Bloody hell! Sir!” Rory was on his feet. “I’m not a barrister.”
“Neither is Elly or Mr O’Connell, but between the three of you … Elly dear,” he held out a hand and she quickly stepped to take it, “… I respect what you say. I believe you know yourself, and the peril further imprisonment imposes. Milligan stated the same this morning. I believe that’s why he pushed himself and delayed seeing a physician.” He looked at Rory. “Mr Cookingham, when you came to me, at the start of Anthony Roundtree’s trial, you said that you wished to be of help. None of us could have imagined how much help you will actually be.”
Rory clenched his fists. “Sir, I cannot …”
“Like it or not, laddie, if you want her to survive, you will have to prompt her.” He pointed a finger. “You were years ahead of your class at Oxford. The work you’ve done for me, these past weeks, was as good as any professional.”
“That was research.” He threw up his hands in dismay.
“That was knowledge of the law.”
Elly sat very straight. “Rory, if Sir Douglas trusts you, I certainly do.”
“Darling, I can’t be responsible. What if I tell you to do the wrong thing?”
“Please!” She lunged across the room and clutched his shoulders. “If you don’t try, they’ll put me back in prison. Please!” She shook him. “You must try.”
He hugged her, then pushed her away. His heart pounded. “Sir Douglas, do you really think I can do this?”
The old man looked somehow younger, bright and alert. “I think we have to try.”
Elly wiped away excited tears.
Chapter Thirteen
Jeremy pulled chairs in front of him, suggesting a witness box. “I’m next on the stand.”
Sir Douglas beckoned with a crooked finger. Rory took a notepad and pencil from his briefcase. He, Elly and Jeremy pulled chairs close, as Sir Douglas began a slow, comprehensive lecture on the law. The others sat in strained silence.
The wall clock struck 4 o’clock as Frederick Brown entered the room. He looked very tired. “Myra Milligan’s arrived. She’s quite beside herself, poor lady. Two of their children are ill and now Andrew. He’s in terrible pain, but the doctor says he’s doing well. He’ll be given more morphine later, so he can sleep.” He looked at the odd arrangement of chairs. “What’s this then?”
Sir Douglas tried to sound nonchalant. “We’re preparing for tomorrow.”
“You’re requesting a postponement, surely.”
“A postponement would send Miss Roundtree back to Holloway and threaten her sanity. She has convinced us that the safer route will be to proceed with the trial, and allow her to defend herself.”
Brown’s mouth dropped open. Everyone else was silent. Remembering his other mission, the solicitor hung up his coat. “If I may speak to Miss Roundtree and Sir William, privately, for just a moment?”
Everyone but Sir William looked surprised as Elly gratefully followed Brown into a corner. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out the last will and testament of Elisa Roundtree, aka Elly Fielding, leaving her entire fortune to Rory Cookingham, aka Rory Cook. He handed Elly his fountain pen and she signed both of her names. Sir William signed in the space allotted for her guardian.
Jeremy checked his watch and made some silent calculations. “Katie, I’ll stay here. You have a rest and go on to the theatre.”
“Yes, of course.” Although she had anticipated this, Katherine looked uneasy. She glanced at the wall clock, the hands pushing past five o’clock. Having been up very early and living through the stressful day, she was worn out. “Jerry, you still might …”
He shook his head. A wry chuckle escaped his lips. “My understudy will be thrilled.”
Katherine returned his knowing look. “Yes, he will.” She gave her husband a long kiss, stroked his cheek, and turned to Isabelle. “Darling, you’re knackered.”
Isabelle nodded wearily. “I must get my feet up. These children need a rest.” Ned helped his sister to stand. She opened her arms. “Elly, darling.”
“Thank you for being here.” Elly hugged Isabelle and Sir William. He draped his wife in a long cloak that covered her swollen belly.
Katherine swept across the room. “Good luck, darling girl!” She gave Elly a hug. “I’ll be back tomorrow early, to fix your face and hair. Sir Douglas, will her pink suit do?”
He shook his head. “Has she anything plain and dark, but still stylish?”
Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “No, but she will by tomorrow morning. My dressmakers will work overnight. They’ve done it before.”
The three left the room. Ned stood, waving his arms. “Please, is there anything I can do?”
Sir Douglas looked over his spectacles. “Miss Roundtree is supposed to be taken back to Holloway, tonight. Bribe whoever you must to let her stay here. After that, we’ll need food and strong coffee. We have a difficult night ahead.”
“Consider it done.” Thrilled to be of use, Ned sped from the room.
Jeremy joined Rory and Elly, taking notes and listening to Sir Douglas’s detailed instructions. It was after six o’clock when Rory pushed his chair across the room, away from the barrister. Elly stood a few feet in front of Rory, facing Jeremy in his makeshift witness box. Her heart pounded, but she appeared relaxed and confident. When she spoke, her voice was beautifully resonant, like a fine stage actress.
“Mr O’Connell, will you please tell the court how you first came to know Miss Elisa Roundtree."
****
That night, Jeremy O’Connell broke one of his cardinal rules. He allowed a competent understudy to go on in his place.
Owen Richards arrived at the theatre expecting to play Malcolm, his usual role. Tall and muscular, he loped through the stage door and pulled up to the callboard like a racehorse, ready at the gate. After he signed in, stage-manager Eddy Edwards caught his arm.
“Got a lady in the stalls tonight?”
Owen smirked. “I do actually, what’s it to you?”
“She’ll be impressed you’re playing Macbeth.”
“Right!” Pulling away, he hurried past.
Eddy called after him, “I’m serious. There’s a muddle with Elly’s trial.”
Owen stopped and turned around.
“The barrister took sick and Elly’s being primed to defend herself. O’Connell’s stayed to coach ’er. You’re going on as Macbeth.”
“With Katherine?”
It was Eddy’s turn to smirk. “Your dream come true.”
Owen bounded backstage to Katherine’s dressing room. She was at her dressing table, winding her long blonde hair tight around her head, preparing it to fit under Lady Macbeth’s red wig. She smiled as his striking reflection, black hair framing olive skin. Kneeling at her side, he pulled her hands off her hair so it fell wildly over he
r shoulders. Only slightly annoyed, she allowed him to put his arms around her waist and bury his head in her bosom.
He inhaled her perfume. “I’ve missed you, terribly.” He waited for a response, then braved a look up. She smiled indulgently. Humiliated, he pulled away. “You haven’t missed me at all.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not.”
“No, I’m not.” She smiled sadly and ran her fingers through his thick, wavy hair.
Hiding his burning cheeks, he stood, turned away, and leaned on the frame of her open door. “I can’t believe O’Connell’s letting me go on.”
“A girl’s life is more important than one night in the theatre, even for Jeremy O’Connell.”
****
At nine o’clock the next morning, Judge Reynolds gleefully leapt for the brass telephone ringing on the polished mahogany desk in his luxurious chambers. “Rodney?” Leaning back, he swung one leg onto the desk. “Delighted you called back, old boy, delighted. I’ve got a free day, thought we could take in a round of golf. …Um … Yes, it’s that Fielding girl, the actress, you remember, The Tempest? … had almost no clothes on?” He laughed loudly, then lurched as a knock sounded on the door. “Hold on, Rodney.” He shouted, “Yes! Come in!”
A page entered with the judge’s freshly sponged and pressed red robe.
“All right lad, hang it up.”
The page hurried to a wardrobe, hung up the robe, hurried out and closed the door behind him.
The judge returned the earpiece to his ear. “Hear about Milligan? Bugger burst his appendix right there in my court. Damn cheek, if you ask me!” He laughed at his joke. “Um? Yes, the girl’s a beauty. Damn shame. Too few pretty women in the world and this one has money. She won’t be pretty after a few years underground. Damn shame. How’s that? … Of course she’s guilty. Don’t blame her, really. By all accounts her intended was a rotter. Deserved what he got. Wish she could have gotten away with it. Like to see her on stage again.”
Beauty's Doom: The final instalment of the romantic Victorian mystery (His Majesty's Theatre Book 4) Page 15