Caprice: The Masqueraders Series - Book One (37 page)

“Indeed I have, milord,” she answered and saw, from the corner of her eye, Tibbitts rise from his seat. She lifted a hand and pointed directly at him. “That man there, Mr. Shelby Tibbitts, is the cause of Mr. Blackburne’s present difficulties.”

She saw Hadrian rise now from his chair, his face livid with anger. “Good God, woman, stand down!”

Ignoring her dearly beloved’s voice, Clarissa turned calmly to the judge. “I can prove what I say, milord. Mister Tibbitts is a blackmailer, no less. He has encouraged debts beyond the means of many an unsuspecting gentleman. I should not be surprised to learn that a few of his other victims are present in this courtroom.”

As she slowly glanced around the courtroom, a few gentlemen refused to meet her stare. Others looked right and left, as if hoping to catch out their companions. Tibbitts had slunk into his seat.

The prosecutor’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he said, “Do you really expect the court to entertain the suggestion that a man not even accused of a crime is more guilty than the man caught red-handed?”

Clarissa nodded then again found her voice though it was thin and reedy. “Milord, did the court stop to wonder why Mr. Blackburne, who is not a foolish man, would allow his belongings to be searched so willingly? Is it not possible that he was unaware that the jewels were in his cabin?”

“Your questions should be posed for the defense barrister, Mrs. Willoughby,” Lord Ackley said dryly. “As I stand for the prosecution, it isn’t my job to supply excuses for the accused. You must step down. This court cannot entertain your assertions when there is no proof.”

Clarissa forced her stiff mouth to form a smile. “In Mr. Tibbitts’s right pocket you will find all the proof you need.”

Tibbitts jumped to his feet. “ ’Tis a lie. I’ve never seen the lady before in my life.”

“That is not true, milord. A good portion of the courtroom must have seen us in discussion more than once today.” Clarissa turned to Tibbitts, and the great lie came tumbling from her lips. “I, too, have been his victim. Put your hand in your pocket, Mister Tibbitts, and show us what I offered you in payment just today.”

A man who had lived by his wits a long time, Tibbitts was too smart not to understand at once that he was being framed. He crossed his arms. “I refuse. I am not on trial here.”

Feeling her ploy slipping away, Clarissa rushed out of the box and over to the low wall that divided her from Tibbitts. “Then allow me, for I distinctly remember your putting it in your watch pocket when I gave it to you.” She reached across the wall, intending to put her hand in his pocket.

Horrified by her actions, Tibbitts fended her off with a backhanded slap that sent her reeling backward into the prosecution’s table. Even though her face flamed with pain, laughter flowed from Clarissa as the courtroom erupted in pandemonium. She had achieved her goal. The trial had been disrupted. She staggered, then slid toward the floor.

Hadrian had leapt the half wall between the lower gallery and the courtroom floor the moment Clarissa was struck. He caught her as her knees buckled and then thrust her into the arms of an astonished solicitor for the prosecution.

The moment his gaze met Tibbitts’s, the man staggered back. As fear dawned in the man’s expression, Hadrian bared his teeth in satisfaction. Tibbitts was a swindler and a gambler, a cheat, and a thug. But he was not a fighter, and Hadrian had never been more primed for battle. Reaching across the wall, he dragged Tibbitts down onto the main floor of the courtroom.

Lady Arbuthnott stared down the young man who stood barring the courtroom door. “What do you mean, you cannot allow me entrance? Do you know who I am?”

“You have informed me, my lady, but—”

“There are no ‘buts’ acceptable to a viscountess on a mission of mercy!” Heloise cried and struck him with her parasol.

“Madame, please!” The tall saturnine man beside her took away her weapon. “The viscountess must be allowed inside, monsieur.
Immédiatement!”

The Frenchman flashed a letter, the seal of which the guard recognized instantly. “Why didn’t you say so before?” he said and turned to open the door.

“Sheer Bedlam” was how Heloise was ever after to describe the scene beyond the opening doors.

The courtroom was a frenzy of activity, some women screaming and scrambling to get out while other spectators shouted and pushed and shoved in order to get a better view of the fight taking place on the floor below.

Not that it was an even match. Tibbitts was staggering drunkenly about, bleeding from cuts above both eyes, his nose, and a split lip. His opponent was barely winded, but the look of concentrated rage on Lord Ramsbury’s face kept anyone from attempting to halt the spectacle taking place.

Comte De Valmy and Heloise entered just in time to see Hadrian deliver a facer that sent Tibbitts reeling. As he cried out for mercy, turning to the spectator stands, the noise died away. But Hadrian closed in on him again and the
thwack
of the impact of fist on flesh resounded in the near-silent room. Yet the power in the punch was not enough to buckle Tibbitts’s knees. This was a brutal, merciless exercise, a carefully controlled beating. Several onlookers could not think of a man who deserved it more.

But there was at least one who did not share that opinion. All Clarissa could think about was that if Hadrian did not stop soon, he might soon be on trial for murder.

“Hadrian! Please … don’t … kill him!” she cried as she tried to break free from the two barristers who held her by the arms to keep her from interfering.

Hadrian jerked at the sound of her voice, but he did not look away from Tibbitts. He closed in on the man quickly.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Three heavy blows went home. Tibbitts went flying back like a tossed sack of meal, only to crash into the wall behind him. For a moment he seemed about to step forward, and then he fell facedown onto the polished floor and lay still. The beating was over.

The judge swung his gavel repeatedly, but the boisterous crowd subsided only after Tibbitts had been carried from the room by two court guards. Despite what had occurred thus far, not a one of them believed that the drama was over. Once the main floor was cleared, the chattering dropped to a bare murmur, for no one wished to be ousted, thereby spoiling the chance to witness the outcome.

Clarissa, who had not been able to take her eyes off Hadrian for even a moment, did not go to him when the fight was over. Like the court officials treading softly at a respectful distance, she had seen the raging warrior beneath the elegant nobleman and feared a little to be in his presence.

As he stood staring off into space, regathering his self-possession, only his brother dared approach him.

“Hades?” Emory said softly, using the childhood name as a talisman for recognition.

Hadrian’s unfocused gaze sharpened, and he turned and flashed his brother a knowing smile. “ ’Fraid I’ve ruined my reputation as a gentleman once and for all.” His looked down at his bleeding knuckles. “But it was worth it.”

Emory grinned. “ ’Pon oath, Hades! Never saw a better mill. I didn’t know—!” He swallowed back his thanks, suddenly uncertain that it was deserved or would be accepted.

Hadrian looked up at him and nodded. “I should have done that in the Yiewsleys’ cardroom and saved us all a great deal of trouble. If I failed you, Emory, I am sorry.”

Emory shook his head, emotion very bright in his green eyes. “I owe—well, I know.” He turned away and went, surprisingly, back to the accused box.

Only then did Hadrian realize that he was the center of absolute attention. He saw Clarissa, her eyes wide as saucers upon him, and he smiled reassuringly at her. But as he moved toward her, a bailiff came up and took her by the arm.

Heloise had been waiting for her moment, and this seemed to be it. She came forward quickly, waving her retrieved parasol. “Just a moment, young man!” she cried and stormed the guard who was trying to lead Clarissa away. “That is my niece! Do you hear me? Unhand her!”

Lord Howard scowled down at the lady who stood berating his bailiff. “And who, madam, are you?”

Heloise looked up at the Lord High Justice, and smiled. “I am Heloise, Viscountess of Arbuthnott, as you well know, Felton.”

Lord Howard winced for the viscountess was, indeed, known to him. But he was not a high magistrate for naught. “Your niece, Lady Arbuthnott, has confessed to being in possession of stolen jewelry.”

“Don’t I know it?” Heloise responded, unruffled. “I stole it.”

“Madame!” De Valmy murmured fatalistically behind her.

“What is more,” Heloise continued undeterred, “I have come here to say that Mr. Tibbitts is an international criminal who deals in stolen jewels.”

Lord Howard looked ready to throttle someone. “In all my years on the bench—” he began, only to sink into silence under the weight of his vexed thoughts.

“If
mon seigneur
will allow,” Comte De Valmy said into the breach as he approached the bench. “The wrong man is on trial. This paper may explain enough to offer direction.”

The bailiff took the paper and handed it up to the bench. Lord Howard’s white brows soared up his forehead when he recognized the unbroken seal. He reached for his pince-nez, broke the seal, and began to read. Within seconds he had perused the contents and made a decision. “Remove the spectators!” he ordered.

The reaction was, as expected, unpleasant. Several shoes and an orange were thrown at the judicial bench before enough guards had been ordered in to clear the courtroom.

Under the cover of the general riot, Clarissa was released. The first thing she did was throw her arms about her aunt. “What you are doing here?” she asked in wonder.

“Protecting you,” Heloise answered and patted her niece’s cheek. “Comte De Valmy has the most wonderful news. It may even save Emory.”

Clarissa glanced in amazement at the Frenchman, who was now conversing with Hadrian in a most congenial manner. “If he knew something, why did he not break in sooner?”

“But, dear, Lord Ramsbury was performing. We could not distract the court.” She smiled and linked her arm through her niece’s. “My dear! I did not know your young man was a member of The Fancy. He could be a pugilist if it were not beneath him. I do so admire a man who is good with his hands. And what muscles!”

“Auntie!” Clarissa glanced at Hadrian again and this time their gazes locked. Something very different from fear moved within her and her face flamed.

“Have I embarrassed you again?” Heloise asked, noting the change. “Dear me. You blush excessively easily. When you remarry you must learn to control it, or you shall continually be shades of red.”

The court was cleared until there were only the prosecution and defense staffs, the Blackburne brothers, Lady Arbuthnott, her niece, Monsieur De Valmy, and the judge. “Now then,” Lord Howard said. “Will the following person approach the bench when his name is called. The rest are to find seats.” The judge nodded at his bailiff, who read the name.

“Monsieur De Valmy.”

Once in the witness box and sworn in, the Frenchman became a study of Gallic charm. The too-tall body with its slight stoop straightened into a rapier-thin line of tautness.

“Now then, Monsieur De Valmy,” the judge began. “I have a few questions to put to you myself, with the prosecutor’s indulgence. Lord Ackley?”

“You have it, milord,” the chief prosecutor replied.

“Monsieur De Valmy,” Lord Howard began, “you have approached this court with the claim that the wrong man is on trial. Can you explain this?”

“Certainement, mon seigneur.
Upon occasion, I am asked to make myself of some small value to your government. These sensitive cases involve, well, discretion. With so many heads of state recently in London, the current rash of thefts made people in the highest places uneasy, as you may well suppose.
Vraiment!
I was asked to make a few inquiries of a delicate nature.”

“May I suppose there is a shorter answer?” the judge prompted.

“Of course. Yet it would be of little use to you.” De Valmy’s expression was all charm. “We French have a saying: to understand all is to pardon all. Therefore, I must digress. This Englishman named Tibbitts has long been suspected to operate a—how you say?—‘fencing ken.’ Stolen jewels, they are taken here, and
poof,
they appear there. London to Paris, Paris to London. For years this is accomplished. Priceless royal jewels have been lost. For us, the French, this must stop. Your government concurred and hired me to do the job. Yet this Tibbitts, he cannot be caught. Not even the war puts a stop to his activities. There is no direct connection, until the case of Mr. Blackburne.”

The judge looked at the Frenchman over the top of his pince-nez. “You mean to say you asked Mr. Blackburne to steal for you?”

The Frenchman dropped his gaze with a smile.
“Mon seigneur.
Who can admit such a thing? It is against the law to steal. Sometimes circumstance and caprice …” His Gallic shrug was eloquence itself. “A fortuitous thing may occur.”

The judge mumbled under his breath. “What of this other theft?” He directed the bailiff to hand him the jewel taken from Tibbitts’s pocket before the man had been carried out, and held it up. “This lavaliere is a jewel which Mrs. Willoughby claims was in her possession until she give it to Mr. Tibbitts. It is also the one Lady Arbuthnott claims she stole.”

“The viscountess did steal it,” De Valmy said without hesitation. “I myself was witness to the theft.”

“Did you say Lady Arbuthnott
stole
this lavaliere?” Lord Howard demanded.

“Oui, mon seigneur.
Madame Arbuthnott has been most valuable in my investigation.” De Valmy favored Heloise with a scorching dark glance. “One might say the center of much of my attention.”

“I do not understand,” Emory complained from the accused box.

“You are in plentiful company,” Hadrian retorted from nearby, but his features had relaxed and a smile played about his lips.

“Permit me to make clear the matter,” De Valmy offered. “The lavaliere, now belonging to Lady Everleigh, is a piece which I myself placed with a certain compatriot jeweler here in London. It is a unique piece, you will allow. I was most desperately in need of a jewel that could be easily traced once it was stolen and fenced. In short, it would be the beacon to lead me through the route of stolen gems.” De Valmy smiled triumphantly.
“Voila.
This it has done. We have Tibbitts! Monsieur Blackburne can give evidence of his dealings with certain of Mr. Tibbitts’s confederates in Paris.
Vraiment!
Nothing so simple,
mais oui?”

“Oh, that is perfectly clear, Monsieur De Valmy,” the judge said in a weary tone. “Once and for all. Were or were not Mr. Emory Blackburne, Lady Arbuthnott,
and
Mrs. Willoughby acting on your instruction and on behalf of your investigation?”

“Most certainly they have made possible the happy conclusion,” De Valmy answered.

“And that, I suppose, is as close as you are likely to come to a simple ‘yes.’ Accursedly indirect lot, the French!” he muttered and peered again at the paper lying before him. There was no denying that seal, nor the intent of the letter. But this was a court of law. He must give the appearance of trying to uphold justice. He turned to counsel. “How does the prosecution see the matter?”

The head prosecutor rose. “Indistinctly, milord. Yet we are disposed to take under consideration the matters herewith disclosed by Monsieur De Valmy. Before proceeding with Mr. Blackburne’s trial, we should like a continuance until these facts can be investigated.”

“No doubt you would, Lord Ackley, but I have very little patience with delay. I am very nearly persuaded that this case should never have come to trial.” Lord Howard adjusted his pince-nez, refolded the paper before him, and pushed it angrily aside as though it were a personal affront. When the Crown demanded, even justice must be more blind than usual.

“These are affairs with international ramifications. It is a matter best debated in the House of Lords. As such, Mr. Blackburne shall be remanded into the care of his brother, a member of the House, until such time as the matter can be taken up by that august body.” He snorted. Not that that was likely. “Thank you for your attention, gentlemen. This court stands adjourned.”

Lord Howard banged his gavel even as the prosecution raised a voice of protest. Ignoring them, he leaned toward the witness box he said in a whisper to De Valmy, “I suggest you remove your cohorts from London for the present. I shall be very much displeased if Lady Arbuthnott or her niece is available for questioning.”

“But, of course,
mon seigneur.
Nothing is simpler. There is also the matter of a marriage soon to take place, linking the houses of Arbuthnott and Ramsbury.
Enfin.
Who can say what will happen?”

Lord Howard looked first toward the young man climbing out of the accused box, but then he noticed Lord Ramsbury sweeping Mrs. Willoughby up in an embrace that made his pince-nez drop from his nose. “I say!”

“A widow,
mon seigneur,”
De Valmy assured the judge.

“Indeed,” the judge murmured and decided he had been on the bench long enough for one day. “Court is closed,” he directed his bailiff and removed himself from the room.

Clarissa came out of Hadrian’s embrace breathless but more happy than she could ever remember being. “Emory is free?” she questioned as Emory and the Frenchman came up to them.

De Valmy smiled indulgently. “But of course.” He patted Emory companionably on the shoulder. “For which he may thank his brother.”