By Love Unveiled (34 page)

“Silence!” Sir Pitney shouted. “The man may speak for himself of what he did and didn’t know.”

Marianne glanced to the captain in silent appeal, but he merely turned his hard gaze on Garett. “My lord, I must ask you to tell me what you know of this woman.”

Marianne begged Garett with her eyes to save himself.

Garett turned to face the captain. “This is Miss Marianne Winchilsea, daughter of Sir Henry. I have been aiding her for the last several weeks because I believe
her to be innocent of wrong. To my knowledge, no one has accused her of any crime. Thus there is no reason for you to arrest her.”

Marianne stood stunned. For her, he was risking his reputation, his lands, his very life! She wanted to stop him, but she didn’t know how.

Sir Pitney’s face grew mottled with rage. “She’s a traitor. She only escaped being accused because she was believed dead!”

The captain watched both men with interest.

“I say she’s blameless, as was her father,” Garett retorted.

“Then who committed the crime?” Sir Pitney asked. “No one carried his medicines but he—everyone said so. And she prepared his medicines. Nay, he was guilty, and so is she. You can’t prove otherwise!”

“Ah, but I can,” Garett remarked coolly.

Marianne gasped.

Sir Pitney’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

Garett turned to the captain. “This discussion must be continued in the presence of those with the power to determine a judgment. His Majesty should hear what I have to say. I won’t speak further until you bring me and Miss Winchilsea before him.”

Marianne sucked in her breath. What game was Garett playing? Had he really discovered something while he’d been gone, or was he bluffing, hoping he could prevail upon His Majesty to release them both simply by virtue of his friendship with the king? Her pulse raced as a desperate hope rose within her.

The captain seemed uncertain what to do, and Sir Pitney took advantage. “Don’t be a fool, man.” Sir Pitney dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword. “If you bring this lunatic before His Majesty with these ridiculous ravings, the king will have your head for it. Cast them both in the Tower. Then His Majesty may question them at his leisure.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Garett retorted. “Of course, before we’d spent one day there, you’d make certain we were murdered.”

“You wretched—” Sir Pitney caught himself as he felt the captain’s eyes on him.

The captain turned a questioning gaze to Garett. “My lord, you realize I don’t have to grant your request.”

Garett smiled coldly. “I know. But if you don’t, I’ll fight you and your men when you try to take us prisoner. I won’t win, of course, but I’ll die trying. And how will you explain that to the king? He may not easily accept your tale that I fought because I was guilty. The king knows me well, and he’s never had reason to doubt my loyalty, whereas Sir Pitney’s loyalty has been doubted time and again.”

“You damnable liar!” Sir Pitney sputtered.

“Quiet!” the captain said irritably. “All right then, I’ll take you to Whitehall. Then we’ll see if His Majesty grants you an audience.”

Some of Marianne’s tension fled. Garett knew something he wasn’t saying. She was sure of it.

At the captain’s command, two soldiers flanked her, and two moved to flank Garett.

“One other thing,” Garett said. “You must bind us both—Miss Winchilsea and I.”

The captain looked offended. “My lord, I trust you and my lady not to—”

“Aye,” Garett broke in. “But my uncle doesn’t. I wouldn’t like to find my throat cut simply because I stumbled in the street and he took it for an escape.”

Marianne glanced at Sir Pitney and felt a sickening lurch when she saw his face whiten to an unearthly pale. Clearly Garett had guessed exactly what Sir Pitney planned. Sir Pitney had made a potentially fatal mistake, and he knew it.

“Captain,” Sir Pitney interjected, “perhaps Lord Falkham will feel more comfortable if I don’t accompany you at all. I have done my part in the king’s service. I need not be there to accuse them, for their crime speaks for itself.”

Garett laughed harshly. “Afraid, dear Uncle, of what I might have to say before the king? Afraid it might concern you?”

The captain shot Sir Pitney an assessing glance. “Sir, you must come with us. You must also explain how you knew of the lady’s presence here.”

For a moment, Marianne thought Sir Pitney would protest. Then he drew himself up in forced bravado. “If you insist.”

The captain motioned to a guard, who clapped manacles around her wrists. Numbly, Marianne watched as Garett whispered something to the captain. The captain
gave Garett an assessing glance, then murmured a command to another guard, who nodded and left the house.

Then a soldier stepped forward to manacle Garett. Garett’s eyes never left her face. His expression seemed to say,
Trust me.

She wanted to, but she’d never been so afraid. She’d found her love in the midst of hardship. How could she bear to lose him so soon after finding him? He gave her a reassuring smile, and she smiled back, forcing all the love she felt for him into her expression.

His eyes burned suddenly as his lips formed words. She thought he said “I love you,” but she wasn’t certain. It could also have been “I want you.”

Then they led the two of them out to the street as hope grew within her heart.

*  *  *

Marianne shivered while waiting with Garett to be led into the audience room of King Charles II. She could just see inside it, and hear how it echoed with the sounds of booted feet tramping the marble floors. The king himself sat in an oaken chair, tapping his bejeweled fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair. When Sir Pitney Tearle strode in ahead of them, as if he came to court every day, the king’s eyes narrowed. Then the captain of the guard brought her and Garett in.

The king noticed Garett first, frowning as he apparently spotted the manacles. Then he saw her and looked noticeably startled.

“Miss Winchilsea?” he inquired, half-rising from his chair.

She managed a low curtsy despite the manacles, and he jumped to his feet.

“Take those manacles off the lady!” he commanded the captain. “And off Lord Falkham, too.” When the manacles were removed, the king asked, “What is the meaning of this? I was only told some muddled tale about Falkham harboring criminals and wishing an audience.”

Sir Pitney seemed loath to speak in the presence of the king. Flashing him a scathing glance, Garett stepped forward.

“Your Majesty,” he said as he rubbed his chafed wrists, “I see you know Miss Winchilsea.”

The king nodded. “My guard informed me months ago she was dead.” His eyes flicked briefly over the captain, who colored.

“As you can see, she is not,” Garett continued. “I found her at my estates some weeks ago, pretending to be a gypsy healer.”

Charles sat down, an odd expression on his face. Then his eyebrows quirked upward. “Ah, so this is the gypsy mistress I’ve heard so much about from Hampden?”

It was Marianne’s turn to color. Hampden and his quick tongue! If she ever came out of this alive, she’d make certain he suffered for his gossip.

“Yes,” Garett responded, his voice a tinge harder. “Only recently did I discover who she really was. Now
it seems my uncle wishes to have me condemned for protecting a traitor.”

“Your Majesty,” Sir Pitney hastened to put in. “The woman clearly aided her father in the recent attempt on your life. Everyone knows—”

“Miss Winchilsea,” the king said, “I’m sure you realize the grave position you’re in. Have you anything to say in your defense?”

She swallowed, but bravely met the king’s gaze. “My father was not a traitor, and neither am I, Your Majesty. I can’t explain how the poison came to be in my medicines, but upon my honor, I didn’t put it there.”

Charles leveled his gaze on Garett. “Is this why you came to me this morning with a request to question my prisoner?”

Garett nodded. “I think you’ll be interested in hearing the results. Before we left my house to come here, I took the liberty of asking the captain to have your prisoner brought here so we might better unravel this tangle.”

Marianne glanced up at Garett in confusion. Silently he took her hand in his and squeezed it, though he avoided her gaze.

“Bring him in, then,” the king ordered.

Behind them, the double doors opened, and Marianne turned to see who was entering. A middle-aged man accompanied by two guards walked in. Marianne’s mouth dropped open, and her knees turned to jelly.

“Father?” Her voice rose as he spotted her and smiled. “Father!”

She’d been told he was dead! Yet clearly he stood before her, gaunt and tired, but in good spirits. In moments, she was in his arms, hugging him fiercely. Joy surged through her as she pulled back to look at him, noting the sad disrepair of his clothing and the lack of flesh on his bones.

His gaze took in everything about her, too. Apparently he was satisfied with what he saw, for he continued to smile broadly, making a lump catch in her throat.

Then his gaze turned to Garett. “I see you didn’t lie to me, my lord.”

His tone and the familiar way he looked at Garett reminded her of what the king had said. So Garett had known all along that her father lived.

“You didn’t tell me,” she accused him, her voice laced with hurt.

Remorse shone in his face. He moved to her side to take her hand. “I couldn’t be certain he still lived, sweetling, until I spoke with the king. I was returning to tell you when I found the soldiers there.”

She shook her head in mute disbelief. Garett seemed to have hidden a great many things from her, and she hardly knew how to react.

Another in the room also seemed to have difficulty adjusting to the new turn of events. Sir Pitney stood in dumb shock as he apparently realized what it might mean.

Then a sneer replaced his amazement. “A touching scene, but it hardly proves anything. He’s still guilty of treason, and his daughter with him.”

“Is he?” Garett asked. “Another awaits outside who
might have something to say about that. With His Majesty’s permission—”

The king nodded. From the other end of the room entered a soldier accompanying a pale woman, whom Marianne recognized as Sir Pitney’s wife, poor Lady Tearle.

This time Sir Pitney went as white as his hair before he recovered himself. “Why do you bring her here? She’s in confinement. She shouldn’t be dragged about the city with no concern for the child she bears!”

The king gazed at Garett. “Well, Falkham?”

Lady Tearle seemed wretchedly frightened, but at the sound of her nephew’s name, her eyes sought him out, and she ventured a timid smile.

Garett gave her a reassuring smile of his own. “She, too, may help us unravel this tangle. You see, Your Majesty, when I questioned Sir Henry, I threatened to turn Miss Winchilsea over to the guard if he didn’t confess.”

How could he have done such a despicable thing? She’d meant nothing to him! Marianne tried to jerk her hand from Garett’s, but he wouldn’t relinquish it.

“Sir Henry was understandably upset,” Garett continued, “but insisted that he was innocent. I found that odd. Even the most reprehensible father would hesitate to sacrifice his daughter for his own good, and Sir Henry is no such man. So I could only believe he spoke the truth.”

So he’d done it to test Father. Still, it had been terribly wicked of him.

“This is all nonsense,” Sir Pitney muttered.

The king ignored him. “Go on.”

“Yet one thing puzzled me,” Garett said. “Sir Henry himself insisted that Miss Winchilsea prepared the potions and then gave them to him the morning he went to court. He carried them on his person the rest of the day until he started to administer them and accidentally spilled them. His story corresponded with the one Miss Winchilsea told me as well. So if Sir Henry didn’t commit the crime, who did, and how?”

Charles leaned forward eagerly. “Yes, who and how indeed?” he remarked as his gaze rested briefly on Sir Pitney.

Sir Pitney stood there stone-faced.

“Then I recalled a trick I played on my uncle as a child,” Garett went on. “I coated the inside of his ale mug with soap. Later, when it was filled, he had a terrible surprise.” Garett turned his gaze to his aunt. “Do you remember that, Aunt Bess?”

She glanced nervously at Sir Pitney, but nodded.

“He was very angry after that,” Garett said. “He used to check every mug, every box . . . every pouch brought to him to make certain it was truly empty before he used it.”

Every pouch. Marianne began to shake as she realized what Garett was leading up to. She’d filled the pouches, but she’d never checked them before doing so. Why should she have? They’d been washed days before. There had been no need to believe they might have contained other additional powders—like poison.

Her father leaned close and took her arm, squeezing it reassuringly.

The king, too, seemed to recognize what Garett implied. He sat back in his chair, his brow furrowed in thought. “If someone had entered Miss Winchilsea’s chambers and filled her pouches beforehand—”

“The pouches were of white satin, and she filled them early in the morning,” Garett remarked. “She would never have noticed arsenic dusted on the inside. Anyone with access to her house could have—”

“This is absurd!” Sir Pitney said with a shaky laugh. “All this talk of pouches and soap. If indeed someone else did as you say, you still have no idea who might be guilty. It could have been anyone.”

Garett turned to fix Sir Pitney with a piercing stare. “Ah, but it wasn’t anyone, was it, Uncle? Who else is a known Roundhead who doesn’t particularly like His Majesty? And who else wanted Falkham House so badly he would have killed to get it? If Sir Henry were eliminated—”

“All speculation and idle flummery,” Sir Pitney protested. “You’ve no proof, my lord.”

Garett turned from Sir Pitney to look at Lady Tearle. “I suspect others here could provide us with proof enough if they were so inclined, eh, Aunt Bess?”

Sir Pitney stiffened. “Bess, don’t let him persuade you to spout lies about me, do you hear?”

Lady Tearle looked decidedly ill, and Marianne
pitied her. Yet she couldn’t find it in her heart to make Garett stop what he was doing. She needed too badly to prove her father’s and her own innocence.