Master of Paradise (38 page)

“I’ve an appointment,” he said abruptly.
“I’ll return later if I can.”

Sometime later, she was startled by a key
turning in the lock. She looked up to see Mr. Ames standing in the
doorway. She sensed that a great deal of time had passed, but there
was no way to be sure.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“It’s late. Hush, you must be very quiet.
Come with me.”

When she tried to question him, he merely put
his finger to his lips and led her down the hall. They walked
stealthily through the long corridor. It was quiet and dark, so he
used a lantern to light the way. They went down a flight of stairs
and then another. Were they transferring her to the dungeon?

Finally, they came to a single door.
“Solitary confinement,” he explained, because it was the only one.
“For dangerous criminals only.”

“What’s going on, Mr. Ames?”

As he opened the door, he said, “See for
yourself.”

The door swung open with a clang. Gabrielle
stood at the threshold. He gestured her inside, but she hesitated.
“It’s not—”

“Yes,” he asserted with a stern voice. “But
hurry. There isn’t much time.”

She entered the cell and found Rodrigo
sprawled on a cot, his arms and legs chained to the wall.

He sat up, raising an arm to shield his eyes
from the lantern’s light. As he did, his chains rattled.

“Gabé,” he whispered as his eyes adjusted and
he beheld the vision of beauty standing transfixed in his
doorway.

She flew across the room and fell into his
embrace. In spite of the chains, his arms went round her like a
vise. The chains bit into her back, yet it was heaven, being in his
arms. She looked up at him, at his dear face. His lips descended on
hers in a fiercely passionate kiss.

She felt herself drowning. Nothing mattered
but this moment and the feel of his mouth moving on hers. He
plundered her with his tongue, demanding, hungry, as if willing her
always to remember this one kiss. She was vaguely aware of their
barrister’s voice warning them that they had only five minutes
together. “If I’m found out,” he said, “I shall surely be
disbarred.” She heard but didn’t notice the closing of the cell
door.

“My foolish, foolish love,” Rodrigo whispered
feverishly as his lips trailed her skin. “What have you done to
yourself?”

She clutched his head in her hands and kissed
him desperately, passionately. “I didn’t want to live without you,”
she gasped. “It was unfair of you to ask.”

“I wanted you to live for both of us.”

“None of that matters now. What matters are
the feelings we share. Rodrigo, you made me feel loved for the
first time since my mother died. You’re the only one who saw the
good in me, and helped bring it out. You’re my liberator, Rodrigo.
You freed me from the tyranny of my past. You believed in me when
no one else did. How can I tell you what you’ve done for me? I’m no
longer afraid to die.” She took his hands in hers. “Do you remember
the love we shared on the ship?”

“Every moment. Every breath. Every stroke of
your hand.”

“Oh, Rodrigo. In the midst of all the
obstacles they put between us, I never felt closer to you in my
life. Surely lovers who can transcend such physical barriers can
never really die.”

“No, never. They can imprison us, they can
hang us. But they can’t kill this union. It’s beyond their
power.”

They kissed again. Holding each other, they
could feel the seeping into their own bodies of the other’s
soul.

“But I’m still sorry I did this to you,” she
said. “You shouldn’t have trusted me after all. It was a mistake to
come here. You were right about that.”

“Hush.” He put his hand to her mouth. “It was
the right thing to do. We couldn’t have guessed how it would turn
out. The only thing I regret is that we were unable to influence
that vote, which will be taking place at the same time we hang. It
would have been such a victory.”

She suppressed a sob.

Nuzzling her, he said, “And you,
carícia?
Have you any regrets?”

“I regret not making love with you on those
damned scarlet sheets.”

He laughed. He took her hand and stroked the
back of it with his thumb. “I wish I’d known. I could have remedied
the situation so easily.”

The key turned in the lock and the smiles
dropped from their faces. She fell onto him as his arms tightened
about her. The door swung open. She lifted her face and his mouth
descended on hers in a last kiss.

Mr. Ames was holding her shoulders. “Come,
Miss Ashton-Cross, we must go.”

“I can’t,” she wept, her tears spilling on
the chains that bound her lover’s wrists.

Mr. Ames gently pulled her away. “If we’re
discovered—”

“Go, Gabé,” Rodrigo prompted. “You must be
brave.”

Halfway across the room, she turned back and
looked at him through her tears. “How can I bear to be away from
you?” she cried.

“We’ll be parted for only another day. Think
of it as a brief separation before an eternity of being together.
That’s what paradise really is, isn’t it?”

The next morning, one of Mr. Ames’s clerks
came to take her to court. When she asked where the eminent
barrister was, she was told he’d been called away on an emergency.
She doubted that. Likely he was embarrassed to see her after what
he’d done the night before. English men, for all their romantic
notions in the dark, were generally ashamed of their deeds come
morning—even their good deeds, it seemed.

A detachment of jailers led her out through
the crowd. In the afterglow of her tender visit with Rodrigo, the
hostility of the crowd came as a shock. The papers had reported the
behavior that had exiled her from the courtroom. One even ran a
woodcut of her exposed back, the frigate bird clearly visible, if
badly interpreted by the artist’s hand. Consequently, the crowd
yelled a barrage of insults. She could see their lips moving, but,
mercifully, couldn’t distinguish their words. Only one coarse
woman’s voice rose above the rest, reflecting the sentiments of the
others. “Hang the pirate whore!”

Inside, she saw her father, looking pale. He
took an impulsive step toward her, mouthing her name.
“
Gabrielle.
” How she’d longed for such a look from him all
those years of growing up lonely in his forbidding country house.
Now, when she was on the verge of the gallows, he finally gazed at
her with something akin to compassion in his eyes.

She looked away, crumbling before his pity in
a way she’d never bowed before his disregard.

They brought in Rodrigo, still fettered.
She’d been feeling weak and crestfallen, but saw a gaze of such
love in his eyes that it buoyed her with courage. In a strange way,
they’d achieved all she’d ever wanted. They were partners now,
equal before God. They would walk together hand in hand to their
destiny.

They took their seats. Hastings came in late,
looking smug. He stopped by the defense table and glared down his
nose at Rodrigo. “You’ll be interested to know the vote for the
Emancipation Bill is underway. My father has cast his block of
votes against. We should win by a fair margin. The bill has been
defeated, and so have you,
Roderick
. I just thought you’d
like to know before you hang.”

Before he left, he glanced at Gabrielle and
gave her an evil smile. “Gabby, dear, I always said your
impulsiveness would defeat you in the end. You’ve chosen the wrong
camp, my dear.”

Gabrielle glanced at Rodrigo, expecting to
see fury, but she saw instead a trust so deep that he didn’t even
blink. Turning to her half brother, she said in a composed tone,
“No, Hastings. I made the right choice.”

His obsidian eyes hardened. “Then I shall
derive the greatest pleasure from watching you hang.”

“Is the jury ready to impart its verdict?”
asked Judge Matson.

“We are, Your Honor,” answered the jury
foreman.

“Would the defendants please rise? And I will
remind you, I will tolerate no more outbursts in my court. You will
behave yourselves with the respect and dignity this bench
demands.”

On shaking legs, Gabrielle rose to her feet.
She felt a hand and looked down to see Rodrigo clasping her own. To
give her strength or take some, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter.
She held his tightly, and knew she could bear whatever was to
come.

But just as the foreman was standing to read
the verdict, the back doors banged open and Mr. Ames came bursting
through, puffing audibly. He rushed up the aisle and stopped by the
table to say to Gabrielle, “Pray for a miracle.” Then he asked
permission to approach the bench.

“My lord, we’ve new evidence to present.
Important evidence. We beg the court’s indulgence in allowing us to
do so.”

The prosecutor objected. “My lord, my
opponent knows very well that it’s too late for this. The jury has
reached its verdict.”

“But my lord,” argued Mr. Ames, panting
heavily, “this witness has the most intimate knowledge of this
case. To not hear what he has to say would be the grossest
miscarriage of justice.”

Hastings rose and went to join the barristers
at the bench. “Who is this witness?” he asked, outraged.

Mr. Ames answered softly. Hastings’s gaze
flashed back to Gabrielle. She could see the shock in them from
where she stood.

“Absolutely not!” he cried. “This is a
travesty, my lord. It cannot be allowed.”

Mr. Ames raised his voice so all could hear.
“I doubt very much the London
Times
would be happy to hear
that the only witness the defense has succeeded in bringing forth
in this case has been turned away. If this witness is not allowed
to testify, my lord, contempt or no, I intend to take my grievance
to the public.”

Judge Matson lowered his voice and addressed
Hastings, but Gabrielle still heard what he said, “I must let this
witness testify.”

Hastings glared a moment, then stormed back
to his seat.

“We’ll allow the testimony,” said the
judge.

Mr. Ames turned and gave Gabrielle an
encouraging smile. “Bailiff, if you please.”

The bailiff opened the doors and Cullen
entered the courtroom.

Cullen walked up the aisle and took his place
in the witness-box high above the court. On his way, Hastings
stopped him for a moment, frantically whispering something to him.
A threat, no doubt. Gabrielle could hardly contain the emotions
that flooded through her. How was it that her meek brother—who
couldn’t find the nerve to escape with the aid of Rodrigo’s
sword—had somehow made it out of the sultan’s palace and across the
globe? She could tell nothing about his state of mind. He looked
fit, if a little thin. But he avoided her eyes, as if ashamed to
look her in the face.

Hastings went back to the judge, as if to
reargue his case, whispering feverishly. Admiral Fulton, who’d sat
in the same front-row seat all week long, seemed to note Hastings’s
unusual influence over the judge and said something to his
aide.

As Hastings finally returned to his seat,
Judge Matson said, “We’ll have dispatch in this matter. I have no
intention of indulging this whim with long and protracted
testimony. The defendants will be seated until this matter is
concluded.”

Gabrielle sat beside Rodrigo, but kept her
hand anchored in his.

“State your name,” said the bailiff.

“Cullen Ashton.”

He was sworn in.

Mr. Ames stepped before Cullen. “Mr. Ashton,
earlier in this courtroom, the prosecution made reference to you,
saying you’d been kidnapped by the accused, Mr. Soro. Is that
correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He also said you could attest to Mr. Soro’s
acts of piracy against the Crown.”

Hastings edged forward in his seat.

“What I can attest, sir,” said Cullen
pointedly, “is that Mr. Soro has done more for England than any man
since the Duke of Wellington.”

There was a gasp in the court.

“But he’s considered a pirate,” Mr. Ames
said.

“Only against those Englishmen who have
committed the most grievous crimes against humanity. Who have
instigated a network of slavery so abominable—”

“Objection, my lord!” shouted the
prosecution.

Mr. Ames persisted, “But the slave trade
officially ended twenty years ago.”

“In the Indian Ocean, sir, it’s thriving.
Because of men right here in England who profit from it
mightily—men like Lord Breckenridge, there, and men like his friend
Judge Matson.”

The judge thunderously banged his gavel.
Hastings stood indignantly. “This perjury has gone on long enough.
The brat will say anything to keep his sister from hanging. It’s as
plain as the nose on his face.”

Judge Matson agreed. “This is preposterous.
I’m putting a halt to it at once. Mr. Ashton, you will please step
down.”

As Mr. Ames was protesting vehemently,
Admiral Fulton stood and made his way to the bench with an
authority that was an island of calm in this sea of turmoil. He
held up a hand for silence, and the bedlam subsided instantly.

“My lord, I remind the court that Soro is
officially a prisoner of the Royal Navy. So I have some interest
here. I think it imperative that this testimony proceed.”

The judge wrinkled his nose and, looking for
all the world like a rat cornered by a cat, nervously gestured his
agreement.

Mr. Ames resumed his questioning. “Mr.
Ashton, you were saying?”

“Hastings—Lord Breckenridge—has been
conspiring with the French planters who need slaves, and the sultan
of Zanzibar, who provides them. For years, he has allowed the
Seychelle Islands to be used as a sanctuary and way-station for the
African slave trade, which continues to exist, principally
supplying the Mohammedans, but also provisioning those islands in
the Indian Ocean whose economy is dependent on slave labor.”