The Bartered Bride (40 page)

"The general public is convinced he's a murderer. I'm told most of the lords do, too. They can't wait to convict him for murdering his gentle lady wife. Obviously few of them know you personally." Alex laughed. "Actually, many of them do know me, though I agree they're being sentimental if they think of me that way. Is there any other news?"

Frederica hesitated. Over the course of her visits, she'd gradually lost control of their interviews. Alex took pleasure in knowing that. "Daisy has vanished with her child. She took the boy and ran away from our country estate."

"Good for Daisy! Finally she is truly free."

Frederica's expression turned ugly. "Barton has charged her with theft so she can be arrested. She'll be found-a black girl with a baby won't get far without being noticed. As soon as we have her back, the slut goes to America."

Alex doubted that. Daisy was intelligent and determined enough to elude capture. She'd have to hide in London, the only city large enough for a black woman to disappear into, but she'd manage. Despite Daisy's treachery, Alex wished her well. The girl had been doing her best to save herself and her child. In similar circumstances, Alex might have behaved the same. "You do have the worst trouble with servants, Frederica. Perhaps you should treat them better."

"I have a French maid now. She is far superior to that stupid slave." With another scowl, Frederica turned and stalked away.

Alex's smile faded when she was alone. It was pleasant to bait Frederica, but it didn't alter the fact that she was still a prisoner. She waited until she heard the distant sound of the vault door closing. Then she returned to her work.

Time was running out.

In true British fashion, Gavin's trial would begin with a lengthy procession. "A pity the Westminster fire last year destroyed the usual chamber. This one barely holds two hundred fifty people," Sir Geoffrey murmured as he accompanied his client into the hall. "By the way, the Lord High Steward chosen to preside over your trial is Lord St. Aubyn."

The name meant nothing to Gavin. "Is that good or bad?"

Sir Geoffrey pursed his lips. "It's not bad. He is hard but fair. You could have done much worse." As the lords filed into the long, high-ceilinged chamber, Gavin admired the flamboyant majesty of English ceremony. Dressed in flowing scarlet robes and wigs that erased individuality, the peers entered in order of precedence and seated themselves on the tiered benches. Dukes were in the first row, marquises next, then earls, with viscounts and barons 'at the top.

At the far end of the room sat an empty throne. King William would not attend; judging one of their own was for peers alone.

In front of the throne, the Lord High Steward took his seat upon the woolpack-literally a six foot-long bale of packed wool covered with scarlet cloth. Sir Geoffrey had explained earlier that the woolpack was recognition of how England's medieval wealth had been built on the wool trade. Gavin found it bizarre.

St. Aubyn, the chosen Lord High Steward, was about sixty, but fit and shrewd-eyed. While the King's Commission to hold the trial was read, Gavin studied the rows of seated lords. As a duke, Ashburton's robe rated gold lace and four bands of ermine on each side. Ashburton met Gavin's gaze and gave a faint nod of acknowledgment.

There were other familiar faces as well, mostly men he'd met at Ashburton House. The Duke of Candover and the Marquess of Wolverton, the Earls of Strathmore and Aberdare, and Lord Kimball, who was improbably both soldier and artist.

Kyle was so grave he was almost unrecognizable. His twin brother was nearby, looking uncannily similar and bearing a title from his wife's family that would have become extinct without a king's decree. Gavin had met Lord Grahame, who was a more relaxed version of Kyle. Hopefully he shared Kyle's belief in Gavin's innocence.

But most of the lords were strangers. Middle-aged or older, some had been ravaged by dissipation, others had the sleekness of men comfortable with their power. His judges, God help him. He wondered which was Lord Wylver, the man who had set the wheels of injustice in motion. More documents were read, ending with the indictment. In the middle of a long passage, words jumped out. "The said Gavin, Earl of Seabourne, Viscount Handley, did feloniously, willfully, and of his malice aforethought wound his wife, Alexandra, Countess of Seabourne, and did destroy the building with fire and thereby caused the death of said Alexandra, Countess of Seabourne." The words were like hammers, driving home that this horror was no nightmare-Gavin had not only lost his wife, but stood accused before the world of murdering her.

"Oyez, Oyez, Oyez! Lieutenant of the Tower of London, bring forth Gavin, Earl of Seabourne, your prisoner, to the bar, pursuant to the order of the House of Lords!" Aware that every eye in the house was on him, Gavin walked to the accused's box flanked by the Deputy Governor of the Tower and the Gentleman Jailer, who carried a massive axe. Steeling himself, he bowed three times and knelt. He resented showing reverence for an institution he disliked, but Kyle had convinced him this would be a devil of a time to display his republican principles.

"Your lordship may rise," St. Aubyn said. His gray eyes sharply assessing, he made a lengthy statement about the nature of the charges and of the court.

When the Lord High Steward was finished, the Clerk of the Crown said, "How say you, Gavin, Earl of Seabourne, are you guilty of the felony and murder whereof you stand indicted, or not guilty? "

"Not guilty, my lords." Gavin spoke in a carrying voice, wanting every damned peer in the room to hear him.

The clerk asked, "Culprit, how will your lordship be tried?"

"By God and my peers." This required more gritting of teeth. "God send your lordship a good deliverance."

The last was the only part Gavin could agree with.

The Crown opened its case, led by the Attorney General, William Oliver. An imposing man with a sonorous voice, he obviously relished the chance to prosecute such a splendid scandal. Gavin stood stone-faced as witnesses were called. After being examined by the Attorney General and Sir Geoffrey, any lord present could ask questions to satisfy his own curiosity. The first witnesses were two of Gavin's servants, testifying uncomfortably that they'd heard raised voices between master and mistress in the day or two before her death. Questions by Sir Geoffrey established that the servants had heard nothing threatening; the raised voices were notable only because they were so rare.

Constable Mayne then testified that he'd come on the scene immediately after Lord Seabourne had killed two men with his bare hands, one by breaking of the neck, the other by fracturing the skull. Murmurs came from the lords at the constable's graphic description. Some looked at Gavin as if he were a dangerous viper.

Sir Geoffrey rose and asked, "Constable Mayne, you say there were five attackers?" When that was confirmed, the counsel said, "So his lordship was fighting for his life against overwhelming odds. Was Lady Seabourne present?

"Aye, sir, she was there, too."

"So his lordship was fighting for not only his own life, but that of his wife. Under such circumstances, any man would fight like a tiger." Sir Geoffrey waited for that to sink in. "In your opinion, did Lady Seabourne appear frightened of her husband?"

"Nay, sir, she looked at him as if he was the most wonderful man on earth." The prosecutor objected that the constable's statement was mere opinion, but the words had been said. Perhaps they would influence the noble lords.

More witnesses were called to verify what had happened on the day of the fire. Jem Brown was the boy on the street who'd held Gavin's horse and later told him of the fire. The prosecutor elicited the information that his lordship had looked angry, and told Jem to "never get married." Gavin winced internally; he didn't even remember making the remark. When cross-examined, Jem admitted that his lordship hadn't seemed crazy-angry, and his own old man said all the time that Jem should never marry.

After him, the elderly man who watched from his window all day testified that Gavin had gone into the warehouse for a time, and no one else had entered before the fire consumed the building. Sir Geoffrey elicited the information that the old man could see only the front, not the river side of the building, and that his lordship probably hadn't been inside long enough to spread lantern oil all around a large warehouse. Also, no smoke or flames had been visible until well after his lordship left. By now it was late afternoon, so the session was adjourned until the next morning. As Gavin was taken away by his jailers, Sir Geoffrey paused to say, "If this is all the evidence they have, tomorrow I'll move to dismiss on the grounds they haven't proved their case."

That sounded good, but as Gavin again watched angry crowds outside his carriage, he didn't let his hopes get too high. Surely the prosecution was saving the worst for last-and believed that the worst would be enough to hang him.

Gavin's misgivings were fulfilled. The first prosecution witness called the next morning was a shifty-eyed man called Throup. He looked like a thief who was attempting to appear respectable. After the preliminaries, Attorney General Oliver asked, "Have you ever met the prisoner, Lord Seabourne? "

"Yessir, the day Elliott House burned down."

Seeing his counsel's questioning glance, Gavin shrugged to express his ignorance. The man could easily have been part of the crowd watching the fire.

Majestic as a great lion, Oliver asked the witness, "Will you tell us in your own words what happened that day? "

Throup stared at Gavin, his eyes burning with malevolence. "That fellow there asked me to help 'im at

'is warehouse. I waited outside the door on the dock till 'e unlocked it and let me in. 'e gave me ten quid to throw lamp oil around the warehouse, and half-a-dozen lucifers to set fires when I was done. He said to leave by the river door."

Gavin gasped at the blatant falsehood. "He's lying!"

"The prisoner must remain silent," the Lord High Steward warned. "Proceed, Mr. Throup."

"Did you find this request unusual? " the Attorney General inquired. Throup shrugged. "Who knows why rich coves do what they do? Maybe he wanted the oil to polish the floors. Anyhow, 'e went off I thought I heard a noise upstairs, but didn't think much of it. When I was done spreadin' the oil, I set it afire, a good long distance from the door so I'd 'ave time to get out. Then I thought I heard a cry, like a baby or a woman, from upstairs, so I went up to take a quick look." When the witness paused, Oliver asked, "And what did you find, Mr. Throup?"

"A pretty woman with dark hair lyin' on the floor and bleedin' from a bullet in the belly." The chamber filled with exclamations of shock. Gavin jerked upright, wondering if this could be true when the rest was lies. Had Alex really been shot?

"Was the woman dead or alive?"

"Alive, but only just. I bent over and asked 'er who shot 'er." Throup's gaze swung to Gavin again.

"She told me it were 'er 'usband."

Hearing two pairs of footsteps, Alex quickly covered up signs of her chipping and sat on the cot, flexing cramped hands. Though wrapping rags around the spoon made it easier to handle, she still suffered shooting pains in her hand, wrist, and arm. If-when-she got out of here, she'd have an excuse not to do needlework ever again.

She'd been knotted with anxiety ever since Frederica had announced the start of the trial. That had been two days ago. It had seemed a good sign that Frederica hadn't returned, but as soon as she saw that the other woman was accompanied by her husband, her heart sank. Both of them were glowing with vicious satisfaction.

Determined not to show weakness, she said coolly, "Good day, Sir Barton. I trust you're well? I haven't seen you since that memorable day when I killed your henchman." His expression hardly faltered. "It's a wonderful day-your contemptible husband has been sentenced to hang by the neck until dead." Numb with shock, Alex struggled to breathe. She had never dreamed it would go this far. Who could believe Gavin a murderer? "Only you can appreciate the delightful irony of this," Frederica said brightly. "To know that he will die for your murder-I can't even imagine how you must-feel. Please tell me what it's like."

Alex ignored her to concentrate on Pierce, guessing that, like his wife, he wouldn't be able to resist boasting of his cleverness. "Who did you hire to perjure himself?"

"How clever you are-that's exactly what I did. I had to choose carefully, because testifying before the House of Lords must be frightening even if one is telling the truth. But I have the perfect man-Sly, whom you met at the warehouse. He was angered by the fact that you grazed his arm with a bullet, but he particularly resented your killing of his mate, Webb. Since Sly is a talented liar with considerable practice, he was able to tell a convincing tale to the noble lords."

Wishing her aim had been better, Alex asked, "What story did you invent? "

"That Seabourne paid Sly to spread lamp oil through the warehouse. After the fire was set, Sly heard you calling out piteously and went upstairs to find you bleeding from a mortal pistol wound." Pierce smiled with pleasure. "And with your dying breath, you accused your husband of the crime."

"Surely everyone couldn't have believed that," Alex said crisply. "Sly is such an obvious villain."

"Not everyone believed," Frederica agreed. "But enough did. Seabourne was declared guilty by a five-vote margin. It's said that everyone who knew him personally voted for acquittal, but Sly was really quite convincing, and there was indisputable evidence that Seabourne is a violent man."

"The fact that he isn't a true English gentleman made it easier to think him capable of murdering his gently born wife," Pierce added. "And few believed his testimony that he'd allowed you to stay in the warehouse alone to meet an escaped slave. No real man would do such a thing." Pierce smiled. "My cooperative patron, Lord Wylver, did a good job of spreading that thought among his fellows."

"Real men don't have to treat their wives like imbecilic children," Alex said, aching at the knowledge that the qualities that made Gavin special were being used against him. "Did the noble lords completely ignore the defense counsel case? "