The Bride Hunt (13 page)

“Somehow, I don’t think I want to step into that particular quicksand,” he said, waving a hand to the three chairs. “Please . . . sit down.”

They sat in a semicircle facing him, all three coolly composed, hands resting in their laps. All three of them had green eyes, he noticed somewhat distractedly. Prudence’s were lighter than her elder sister’s, and Chastity’s had hazel lights in their depths. The same with their hair, three different shades of red.

Dear God! What an impression they would make on the witness stand.

He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Ensor, I understand you were the author of the offending article.”

“The article in question,” she stated. “I did not, and indeed
do
not, consider it to be offensive.”

“Nevertheless, it certainly offended Lord Barclay.”

“Some people are offended by the truth.”

“Yes, quite inexplicable,” he observed, taking up the relevant issue of
The Mayfair Lady.
“Hard to imagine why a man would be offended at being accused in a public forum of being a rapist, a despoiler of young girls, a cheat, a thief, an embezzler.” He set aside the sheet and regarded the sisters, who met his ironic gaze with unwavering sangfroid.

“I thought we’d covered this ground yesterday,” Prudence said. “And we also dealt with the issue that no
one
of us is responsible for this libel suit. We are all involved to exactly the same extent.
The Mayfair Lady
is the defendant. And that publication is a composite of the Duncan sisters.”

“You’re not making my task any easier.”

“We don’t intend to make it any more difficult than it has to be,” Prudence said tightly. “Our views on Lord Barclay are clearly stated in the article. If we hadn’t believed in the truth of the accusations we would not have made them.” She glanced at her sisters and saw that they were willing to let her lead the advance. She could also see that behind the shared calm exterior they were aware that the rude and imperious side of Sir Gideon Malvern was definitely coming to the fore.

Gideon glanced down at the paper again. “Yes, it’s clear that you are all champions of the downtrodden female. I assume you are also suffragists.”

“What have our political opinions to do with this?” demanded Prudence.

He looked over at her. “A jury may not find them sympathetic.”

“And we need a sympathetic jury,” Constance put in.

“Quite frankly, I think that’s going to be very hard to find.”

Chastity leaned forward in her chair. “Sir Gideon, are you so desperate that just the faintest chance of coming away with eighty percent of possible damages is sufficient motivation for you to take on a case that you clearly don’t believe in?”

On the rare occasions when Chastity was roused to anger she could outdo both her sisters. Prudence and Constance exchanged a quick look but said nothing.

Gideon’s nostrils flared for an instant, then he said, “I thought your matrimonial agency was going to find me a suitable wife as payment for my services.” There was no mistaking the disdainful note in his voice.

“You might need to cultivate a more pleasant manner,” Prudence stated. “We can’t work miracles.”

“Neither can I, Miss Duncan.” In leisurely fashion he reached for a silver cigarette box on the table beside him. He flipped the lid. Hesitated. Some women did smoke these days, but only in private. In general it wouldn’t occur to him to offer the box to a woman, but with these three . . . ? He gave a mental shrug and leaned over the desk, proffering the box first to Prudence.

“No, thank you, it’s one means of shocking the world we haven’t embraced,” she said, her voice chilly enough to give a polar bear shivers.

“Then I hope you don’t mind if I do,” he responded, ignoring the chill. “I find it helps me to think.” He lit a cigarette and smoked in silence for a couple of minutes, staring at a point on the wall somewhere above his visitors’ heads.

“I have the unmistakable feeling that we’re wasting your time,” Prudence said at last.

He waved her into silence with a gesture that infuriated all three of them, and continued with his cigarette. Only when he’d thrown the stub into the fire did he speak again. “This broadsheet of yours is inflammatory even when it’s not directly and personally attacking a member of Society. I am merely pointing out that an all-male jury, twelve good men and true, are unlikely to find against one of their own in favor of a group of subversive women.”

“Not necessarily,” Prudence said. “It’s not inevitable that every man on that jury will be of the same social standing as the earl. It’s possible that they might have some sympathy for the women Barclay has ruined.”

“Yes,” Chastity put in. “There may even be one or two who for whatever reason—envy, personal discontent—would enjoy seeing someone like Barclay get his comeuppance.”

“Ignoble motives, but certainly to be considered,” Gideon said. “However, I can’t put together a case for the defense if I don’t have some basis for a defense.” He tapped the sheet and the pile of notes Prudence had left him with a flick of his fingertips. “Now, Prudence, is the moment to give me what you have to support these accusations of fraud, theft, and cheating.”

Prudence took a deep breath. “At present, nothing. But we suspect that Barclay was responsible for inveigling our father into a fraudulent scheme that resulted in the loss of his entire fortune.”

“And Prue is convinced she’ll find evidence in support of that among our father’s financial papers,” Constance said.

Gideon frowned. “This smacks of a personal vendetta. That won’t sit well with a jury.”

“Since no one will know our identities, no one will make the connection,” Prudence pointed out.

Gideon shook his head and leaned forward. “Now, listen to me.” He pointed an imperative finger. “Do you really think for one minute that Barclay’s legal team will allow you to remain anonymous? They will turn heaven and earth upside down to discover who you are. And when they do, they will crucify you.”

“There’s no need to sound so patronizing,” Prudence snapped. “We’re not blind to the realities.”

“Forgive me,” he said in much the same tone as before. “But I think you are.”

He sat back in his chair for a moment, then suddenly glared at Prudence, his gray eyes hard and cold as a gravestone. “Madam, do you have any personal reasons for this vendetta against his lordship? Has he perhaps made an unwelcome advance to you?”

“No,” Prudence said, sounding shocked. “No, not at all.”

“Are you asking the jury to believe that this crusade against a respected member of Society was entirely motivated by a desire for the public good?” He raised his eyebrows in sardonic disbelief.

“No . . . I mean yes,” Prudence said, aware that she was stumbling now, her cheeks suddenly warm. “There’s nothing personal about it. Lord Barclay ruined—”

He silenced her with a raised hand. “We don’t need to hear your scurrilous accusations repeated, madam. The jury should note that they are the accusations of a few servants, young girls, easily manipulated, probably more than willing to gain their employer’s favor in return for favors of their own. It’s a common enough situation.”

Prudence jumped to her feet an instant before her sisters. “How dare you!” She jabbed a finger at him across the table. “What kind of bullying monster do you think you are? We have no need to listen to another word.” She spun around to the door, but Gideon moved quickly, leaning across the table to grasp her wrist.

“Sit down again, Prudence. I want to hear you answer me.” His tone was peremptory and she tried to jerk her wrist free of his grasp. His fingers tightened. “Sit down. All of you, sit down.”

“You were wrong, Prue,” Chastity declared. “He’s a lot worse than Max ever was.”

Gideon was for a moment bewildered by this remark, which seemed to have no bearing on anything. He looked from one to the other of them, and his clasp of Prudence’s wrist loosened. She liberated her wrist and deliberately rubbed it, taking advantage of the barrister’s momentary disadvantage.

“I’m sorry,” he said in evident chagrin. “Did I hurt you?”

Prudence made him wait. Then she said frigidly, “I thought I had made clear last night that I do not tolerate being touched without my permission. If you cannot keep your hands to yourself, Sir Gideon, this arrangement is at an end.”

Gideon looked so shocked, so utterly taken aback, that Prudence could almost have laughed. Finally she had the satisfaction of besting him, of making him uncomfortable.

After a minute he said in a more moderate tone, “Forgive me. I was only trying to make a point. Please sit down. All of you.”

They took their seats again and Prudence, whose anger had faded under a few minutes’ calm reflection, said, “I suppose you were giving us a taste of what it might be like with a hostile prosecution in court.”

“I was.”

“But we’ve already explained that we can’t appear as witnesses,” she said, sounding impatient again. “We’re going around in circles on this one, Gideon.”

“Not quite. I think I see a way to break the circle. One of you will have to appear on the witness stand.” He looked at them each in turn. “I’m sure you can lay hands on a really heavy veil, one that will totally conceal features.”

“I suppose we could,” Prudence said, glancing at her sisters. “Would it work, d’you think?”

“You’d have to disguise your voice,” Constance pointed out. “But we could practice that.”

“And if Con and I wear veils too, we could sit in the courtroom,” Chastity observed, frowning in thought. “At least we’ll be there for moral support.”

“Why me?” Prudence asked.

No one answered and she gave an accepting shrug. She had been the main player from the start, it was logical she should continue. “It’s risky,” she said.

“Everything about this case is risky, Prudence,” Gideon declared.

“You’re being patronizing again,” Prudence exclaimed. “Do try not to keep telling us what we know already and to our cost.”

Gideon Malvern was one of the top barristers in the country and he was most definitely not accustomed to being taken to task for his professional manner by anyone, let alone by an indigent client. However, he resisted the impulse to put her in her place. He had the absolute conviction that an attempt to set one sister straight would bring down the wrath of the other two and he wasn’t sure he could handle them in concert. One at a time . . .
maybe
. . . but definitely not all at once.

He chose the dignified course and ignored her remark, instead saying, “How would you answer the question in court, Prudence?”

She frowned. “As I recall, it was not so much a question as a repellent inference designed to appeal to a male jury.”

“It was also designed to fluster you.”

“As it did.”

“So, give me your response.” He sat back in his carved chair and folded his arms.

“I would probably say that—”

“No,” he interrupted. “I want a spontaneous answer.”

“We gathered sufficient evidence from the young women who had been violated and abandoned by the earl of Barclay, and from those who had assisted them, to substantiate their claims beyond any doubt. The press took up—”

“The gutter press, madam. The
Pall Mall Gazette,
which thrives on sensationalism. Did it appear in the
Times,
in the
Telegraph,
the
Morning Post
? No, it did not.” Gideon leaned forward, pointing a finger at her. “No respectable person gives any credence to yellow journalism. If that’s your only evidence, Madam Mayfair Lady, I can see no possible justification for the jury to find in your favor.”

“Oh, I like that,” Constance said. “Madam Mayfair Lady.”

“Yes, a splendid alias,” Chastity said.

“Just a minute, Gideon, are you saying that despite all our evidence we’re not on solid ground with those accusations?” Prudence asked.

“His lawyers will certainly try to discredit your evidence.” Gideon took up the legal document that Prudence had brought him the previous afternoon. “I was trying to point out how shaky the ground is even when you have fairly strong support for the accusations. Where you don’t have . . .” He shrugged as he perused the document.

“I told you, we will get what’s needed,” Prudence declared.

“Yes, so you’ve said. I’ll reserve judgment until I see it.” He didn’t raise his eyes from his reading.

Prudence closed her mouth firmly and gazed at the ceiling. He looked up then and the corners of his eyes crinkled. He seemed to have won that point. It was curiously satisfying, almost childishly so, he thought. He said, flourishing the document, “Falstaff, Harley, and Greenwold are as good as solicitors get when it comes to libel. And they’ve briefed Sam Richardson, KC, as counsel. Which was inevitable. They always work together.”

“And he’s good.”

“Yes, Prudence, the very best.”

“I thought you were.”

“In some areas I am. But I’ve had less experience than Richardson in libel cases,” he returned matter-of-factly.

“This case will, however, add to your stock,” Prudence said. “A potent motive for taking it on.”

“It was one of several,” he responded without a flicker. He laid the solicitor’s letter on the table again. “So, ladies, we go on the attack. I’ll draft the letter and get it to the solicitors by this afternoon. Then we sit back and wait for a trial date. Or at least,” he added, “I get on with my other cases, while you try to get me some evidence for an adequate defense.” He stood up. “If you’ll excuse me. I have to be at the Old Bailey by ten.”

It was a firm but perfectly courteous dismissal and Prudence gathered up her gloves and handbag, her sisters following suit. In the outer chamber Gideon donned his black gown and white curly wig. “I’m lunching with Sir Donald at the noon recess. I’ll be back this afternoon, Thadeus.”

“I’ll work on the brief for the Carter case this morning,” the clerk said, handing him a thick folder of papers. “The witness statements are all there.”

Gideon riffled through the folder and nodded. “If I need anything extra, I’ll send a runner.” He turned to his visitors. “Let me escort you downstairs.”