The Romantic (33 page)

Then she ran to another chamber that looked down on the street.

For a horrible half hour she waited.

Light spilled into the darkness as the door below opened. Julian walked over to the police carriage, accompanied by two men. They got in and the carriage rolled away.

She saw nothing after that except an ocean of tears. She cried so hard it hurt. She sank to the floor. Holding herself, gasping for breath, she succumbed to all the dread she had been holding in during the last ten days.

The presence of another person broke through her misery. She looked up and saw Vergil standing ten feet from her, holding a lamp. He put it on a table and came over and sat on the floor with her. His embrace only made her cry harder.

Finally the worst passed, but only because she was
exhausted. The return of composure did not make her truly calm.

“You knew,” she whispered into his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“You let him take me away today and pretend all was well, and you knew what would be waiting when we returned.”

“It was how he wanted to do it.”

“He acted so happy with me. I never guessed. Not for an instant.”

“Perhaps because he truly was happy with you.”

She inhaled deeply and wiped her eyes. She eased away so she could see her brother’s face.

“You must not allow him to do this. You must go and tell him that I won’t have it.”

Vergil stretched out his legs and rested his back against the wall. “I think it is out of our hands now, Pen.”

“He did something to let them think it was he in order to spare me. He is just trying to protect me.”

“If so, he will not listen to my pleas that he not do it. Nor will I make such a plea.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. “Are you saying that you condone such a lie?”

“You are my sister. I will condone anything that saves you, I expect.”

“Even the conviction of an innocent man? Your friend, at that?”

He did not answer. Nor did his eyes meet hers. He appeared terribly beleaguered.

“Vergil, we do agree that this is an elaborate deception on his part, don’t we? You do agree that Julian is innocent, don’t you?”

To her astonishment, he did not reply at once. He actually appeared to be weighing the evidence.

“He refused to tell me that he is innocent, Pen. I asked, and all I got was his damned silence. But, yes, I do believe he is. Not because he is my friend, nor because I think he is too good. In truth, I have concluded that if he believed you were in danger he would not hesitate to kill.”

“I trust you did not give such a strange testimonial of his character to the police.”

“Pen, he was hoping there would be a duel. Whatever reason he gave you for returning to London, that was how he really expected this all to end. He counted on your affair to force Glasbury into a challenge.”

A duel. A furious rebellion swelled in her. Her mind started forming a scathing response to her brother’s accusation.

But memories came to her, of Julian promising protection. Even that first night in his library he had sworn Glasbury would never force her to return. I will do whatever is necessary. How often had he made that promise with such firm confidence?

She had always assumed he was just reassuring her.

“Vergil, if you think he is capable of this, why do you believe he did not do it?”

“It was poison. Julian would never use such a sly and cowardly method. If he had killed Glasbury, he would have thrust a sword into the scoundrel’s heart.”

“You do not intend to help me at all, do you?”

Knightridge posed the question with considerable irritation as he paced around the cell.

Not that it permitted decent pacing. It was a tiny, damp chamber, but Julian knew it was one of Newgate’s best. His friends had bribed the warden to ensure the new inmate received the best treatment the prison could afford, such as it was. His status as a gentleman’s son and a solicitor had gotten him a bit of deference as well.

“This is the trouble with men like you,” Knightridge snapped. “When you finally fall in love you suddenly become stupid. I am personally insulted that you had so little confidence in me that you thought up this ridiculous—what statements did you make to the coroner’s jury?”

“I said almost nothing. I could not deny that I was not home that night. I admitted I could not prove my movements in the city. I refused to answer questions regarding my relationship with the countess—”

“Lot of good that will do, man. The whole country knows about that.”

“All the same, as a gentleman I refused to discuss it.”

“Did you at least deny that you killed him, damn it?”

“Of course. Doesn’t everyone deny it?”

“Don’t get flippant with me, Hampton. Jesus. ” Knightridge stared at the floor. “Fine. Let me make sure I understand. Your movements are suspect, and you cannot prove you were not at Glasbury’s. You have been having a very indiscreet affair with the countess, but the earl had made no moves toward the divorce you hoped for. Worse, he initiated a petition for restoration of his conjugal rights. He threatened to intefere with a project in which you are invested, and you are the partner least likely to survive the financial blow if he succeeded. There was a public argument that evening
and you had to be restrained and announced you would have satisfaction.”

The litany left Knightridge scowling more deeply and shaking his head with dismay.

“They also have some papers of mine, it appears.”

“Papers?”

Julian described them. “In a few, while in deep melancholies, I fantasized about killing Glasbury.”

“Wonderful.” Knightridge paced some more. “I intend to find out how they came into possession of your papers. That may lead somewhere.”

“I would prefer you not do that.”

Knightridge crossed his arms over his chest. “If it is your goal to hang—”

“It is not my goal to hang. However, you are to do nothing that will shift suspicion back on the countess. Nothing. You are to keep her as removed from this as possible.”

“Damned little is possible here, let alone that. She is in the thick of it. I will do what I can for you, Hampton. I am relieved you do not care to hear false hopes, however, since I cannot even offer those at this point.”

As if losing Julian was not bad enough, Pen was forced to abandon him for three days. Her brothers tucked her into a coach and brought her to Glasbury’s country seat in Cambridgeshire for his funeral.

There she had to play the widow in a public ritual and procession, when everyone present blamed her for the earl’s death. Her brothers stood by her side, their faces
carved in stone, staring down anyone who looked her way too long.

After the burial, after the polite condolences, after she had borne more glances and seen more whispers than she ever thought to endure, she retired to the library with Laclere and Dante. She tried to restore herself before she had to continue the display by playing hostess to the lords who had served as pallbearers.

She felt like a stranger in this huge house. It had never been her home. Glasbury preferred that obscure, isolated house in Wiltshire when he went to the country. No guests ever visited there. No house parties were held. When they retreated from town life, it was for privacy that permitted Glasbury to indulge in a very special kind of sport.

Dante and Vergil just sat with her. None of them spoke. She spent the minutes wondering how Julian was faring, picturing the horrors of prison. She kept biting back the questions that it would pain her brothers to have to answer.

The door of the library opened and a white-haired gentleman let himself in. It was Mr. Rumford, Glasbury’s solicitor.

“I am wondering if there is anything that you require of me, madame. If not, I will return to town.” He spoke in a clipped tone, as if he struggled to hide his dislike of having to address her.

“Have you arranged for all the servants to stay on at the various properties?”

“It is all dealt with. I have also informed those who received bequests of their legacies, and made arrangements
for any bills to come to me for payment, if that is satisfactory to you.”

She really did not care. Mr. Rumford was well respected. She was sure he would manage everything wonderfully.

“I assume the heir has been contacted,” Laclere said.

“I wrote to the nephew. Since he is in Jamaica, I expect it will be some time before he learns of the sad event. There may be some delay in his return as well. The estates there are in a bit of a turmoil, as adjustments are made to the emancipation of the slaves. Until he arrives back, of course, the countess has full use of the properties.”

If she is so bold, his voice seemed to imply.

Mr. Rumford took his leave.

“His tone bordered on impertinent, no matter how correct his words,” Dante muttered.

“He does not know me at all, Dante. I think I met him once before. He also assumes I am responsible, if not actually an accomplice.”

“That will pass,” Laclere said. “It is the kind of gossip that grows old fast.”

That was not true. She might not be the first topic of the day for long, but she would be tainted forever. The little place she had carved for herself in society would shrink even more, she did not doubt.

None of that was of account now. All that mattered was the man sitting in a fetid prison cell.

“I want to see Julian when we return to London,” she said. “Bribe whom you must, but get me in there.”

•••

In the hour before dawn, Pen entered Newgate Prison in the company of Charlotte and Mr. Knightridge.

“The warden has the discretion to permit this,” Knightridge said.

Evidently that discretion could be influenced by gifts and considerations. Pen wondered what this had cost Laclere.

“Usually such visits are only permitted just prior to execution,” Knightridge continued.

“You sound as if you do not think my sister should be allowed to see him,” Charlotte said.

Despite the gauze of her black veil and the vague light of the torches, Pen recognized her sister’s expression of pique. But then Charlotte’s tone had conveyed it well enough.

“I have seen innocent men hang after being denied the comfort of friends and family, madame. I do not regret your sister’s privilege. I merely am aware it is unfair.”

“Then put your efforts into reform, sir. My sister is distraught enough and does not need your lectures.”

“It was not a lecture. Only an observation.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to respond.

Pen placed a restraining hand on her arm. “It seems that the two of you never have a civil exchange. Whether it was an observation or a lecture, Mr. Knightridge, I do not mind. I am grateful that you have arranged this.”

Charlotte’s mouth closed firmly but her eyes continued sparking.

He led them through a dreary reception room, to an old heavy door, and into a dark office.

The man inside merely nodded when he saw them. Mr.

Knightridge introduced him as the prison’s assistant warden.

The warden left. The minutes dragged slowly. Pen had noticed how her emotions were distorting time. Some hours flashed by, but others stretched forever. The ones during the nights seemed never to end.

“He may appear changed when you see him,” Knightridge said. “He has been in prison six days now, and it affects a man quickly.”

Charlotte took her hand to comfort her. Pen let her, but she found more comfort in her own heart. Her desolation had cleared somewhat these last days. Beneath the horrible foreboding, growing through the sickening fear, a new emotion had emerged. Anger.

The warden led in his prisoner. Charlotte’s breath caught. Pen barely hid her own shock.

Julian was in chains.

He stood tall and proud, exuding the same reserve he showed at parties. He had been shaved, no doubt another privilege bought with a sly coin. He acted as if he did not notice how the shackles impeded his walk and restricted his arms.

“Leave us,” Knightridge said to the warden.

“I don’t think as how—”

“The prisoner is restrained, the women are widows of peers, and I am a gentleman. You can have no concerns. Leave.”

The warden left, but not happily.

Once the door closed, Julian turned to Pen. “You should not have come.”

“Mr. Knightridge sees no danger in my visiting you.”

“That is true, Hampton. I think that the countess’s
devotion to a friend will be well received by society. How callous if she simply ignored you now.”

“It may be misinterpreted,” Julian said. “I told you to do nothing that might—”

“Is a solicitor going to tutor me on criminal trials now? Mind your wills and entailments, and let me tend to saving your neck.”

“I trust that you do not intend to save his neck by risking my sister’s,” Charlotte said.

Mr. Knightridge sighed with strained forbearance, as if suddenly reminded that a certain nuisance existed from which he could not be spared. “My dear baroness, you agreed that if I permitted you to join your sister, you would not interfere. In the future I will request that Lady Laclere be her companion.”

“You did not permit anything, sir. I remind you that—”

“Please, Charlotte. Upbraid him when we leave if you must, but do not waste what little time I have with Julian in this manner,” Pen said. “If this visit is misunderstood or misinterpreted, I do not care, Julian. If some think it implies I am an accomplice, so be it. When I am allowed to see you during this ordeal, I will do so.”

With a smug expression of victory that did nothing to extinguish Charlotte’s fire, Mr. Knightridge went to the door. “Madame, if you will join me, perhaps we can permit the countess a few moments alone with Mr. Hampton. I am sure that I can intimidate the warden for a short while.”

His glance as he left warned it would be very short indeed. As soon as the door closed, Pen went to Julian and embraced him.

“Do not scold. Do not. Just let me hold you.”

He could not embrace her back, but he pressed a kiss to her head. “I am too grateful to scold.”

“You are not chained all the time, are you? I could not bear it if—”