Her Saving Grace (29 page)

His only chance was to be tried by his peers, who
were usually lenient with other aristocrats.

“Can he be tried in the House of Lords?” she asked, unknowingly interrupting Wellington.

Wellington looked to Lord Abbott, who answered her question.

“Unfortunately not. While of noble
ancestry, neither your father nor your brother is a peer of the realm. He must be tried by the Court of Assizes.”

As Lord
Chief Justice, Abbott was head of that court. “Can I beg you to show leniency to him? Flog him, banish him, imprison him if you must but please, do not kill him.”

Abbott rolled his eyes and she could guess his thoughts, probably that women were too emotional to be involved in justice.

Although she felt stunned, she got to her feet.

“Lord Abbott, I realise that you
hold the highest office in our judiciary and I respect that. In return, I am asking that you respect my knowledge of my family. My father was a Christian man who believed in repentance and the idea of rehabilitation. He would not have wished his son to be sentenced to death and since I uncovered his crimes, I feel responsible for any punishment he receives. I also know my brother and he is as stubborn as a mule; fear and violence will break him eventually but not quickly.” That was a lie, he would probably talk after one night, but she hoped that they couldn’t see her deception. “If you will agree to show him leniency, I will make certain that my brother confesses and implicates the others who were involved.”

Abbott looked to the other two men.

Lord Scott remained silent but Wellington gave a small nod. “Lady Wellesley was well regarded by my cousin and her father spoke often of her character. In recent years, she has also made something of a name for herself in the sciences and is respected by many learned gentlemen. She does not give her word lightly.”

Lord Abbott looked indecisive. “Might we confer for a few minutes?” Although phrased as a question, it wasn’t.

“Of course.” Damaris got to her feet. “Ring the bell for a servant when you have decided.”

She and Nathaniel left the room and went to
a smaller drawing room opposite, and Damaris went to the window, although she saw little of the street below.

“Are you sure about this, Mari?” Nathaniel asked. “If they do agree to leniency, your brother might never be brought to justice.”

“What is justice?” she asked. “Perhaps knowing how and why will give me peace.”

“You don’t really believe that?”

“No, I don’t. I want to claw his eyes out and make him suffer, like I have suffered, but that won’t bring my father back and as appealing as the idea of his pain is to me, resorting to violence would make me no better than he.”

“You will never be like him.”

“Won’t I? Haven’t I allowed my losses to make me bitter and cruel? Enjoying the suffering of another, no matter how awful a person, will not help me.”

“You are not bitter or cruel,” he said, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders. “You were hurt and protecting yourself as
best you could. The worst that can be said is that you were thoughtless at times, but never bitter or cruel.”

“Thank you,” she turned her head just enough to look at him and kiss his lips. “Nevertheless, I must make this decision with my head, not my heart. My fa
ther was a good man; taking his son’s life in his name, leaving his grandchildren, my nephews, without a father would be wrong. Answers are the best I can hope for now, and I just have to hope that they will give me peace.”

He kissed her again and they waited in silence until they were summoned back.

The men stood in a row, presenting a united front and Damaris stood in front of them, Nate behind her, a hand resting discreetly in the small of her back.
Wellington, who stood in the middle, spoke.

“If you can help us obtain a full confession from your brother
, and secure his help in convicting all his co-conspirators, we will agree to exile your brother.”

She let out a small sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“So, how exactly do we secure a confession?”

“Let me see him,” she told them.

“That is not possible.” Abbott snapped. “I thought we had already explained that.”

“You did
, but I don’t want to see him to check on his welfare; I will obtain the confession for you. I need these answers as much, if not more, than you do.”

The three men shared a look.

“What can it hurt?” Wellington asked them. “If she fails, our agreement is null and void.”

Abbott and Eldon conferred with only a look, then Abbott nodded their agreement.

“Very well, you have until tomorrow morning to secure a full confession. Do not fail, Girl, you will not want to incur our wrath.”

Damaris straightened up to her full height. “My name is Lady Wellesley and if you knew me at all, you would know that I do
not
fail.”

Abbott raised a haughty eyebrow but Wellington smiled, seemingly enjoying her fire.

“Well, it has been a pleasure, my dear, but we should probably take our leave now.”

“Of course.” She curtseyed.
“Thank you for coming.”

“
I’ll send word to the Tower immediately. I trust you can make your own way there?”

“Yes, thank you, Your Grace.”

“Good. I’ll make sure he has a good fright before you get there, which might make him more… shall we say, malleable?”

Damaris nodded her understanding. She hoped that this fright would only be verbal but she felt she had pressed her luck too far already to question it.

“Good day, Lady Wellesley, and good luck.”

“Thank you.”

As soon as the door closed behind them, she seemed to sag and Nathaniel came up behind her, put his arms around her waist and pulled her against him, pressing a kiss onto her shoulder.

“I can't believe I told
off the Lord Chief Justice,” she muttered.

Nathaniel chuckled. “I can and if I may say, you were spectacular, my darling.”

She placed her hands over his and leaned her head back against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she told him.

“What for?”

“For being you, for being my rock, for not getting upset when I show myself up.”

He placed another kiss on her shoulder. “I will always be your rock,” he promised. “But now we have other things to attend to.”

She nodded slowly but didn’t make a move.

“How will you secure a confession?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“I intend to threaten him.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It didn’t seem like much of a threat when I thought he could be hung for treason but now?”

“Don’t tease me,” he gently chided. “Tell me.”

She turned in his arms and smiled up at him. “Daniel McCallum,” she answered, enjoying his confusion. She kissed him one last time
, then stepped out of his embrace and headed for her room, intending to change into something dark and practical before they left. She laughed as Nathaniel’s words echoed after her.

“Who is Daniel McCallum?”

***

His
Majesty's Royal Palace and Fortress was more commonly referred to as the Tower of London, and had been built by William the Conqueror in the 11
th
century. Since then it had been added to and improved upon by various kings, and the central White Tower was now surrounded by two rings of buildings and walls, which were in turn surrounded by a moat.

It had not been a royal residence for a l
ong time but due to its fortress like nature, had long housed the Crown Jewels, the King’s arsenal and supplies for the Army, a menagerie of exotic animals, as well as being a prison for wealthier wrongdoers.

The buildings
Portland stone façade had darkened over the years, with soot, moss and algae, giving the castle a foreboding air.

The gatekeepers were expecting them and one led them in to the tower. He explained that
Christopher and Hortense were being kept separately until both had been questioned; she imprisoned in Cradle Tower on the outer ring, he in the Bloody Tower, on the inner ring.

The accommodations were spartan and unlike other rich prisoners, Christopher didn’t have the run of a suite of rooms, at least not yet. The guard unlocked a door to a small room with only one
little window. Inside was only a table, one chair and a wooden cot to sleep on, although it lacked blankets.

Christopher had stood up when he heard the door unlock, and he looked positively shocked to see Damaris and Nathaniel enter, although also relieved.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. He looked decidedly rumpled and had a few visible scrapes and bruises, but he didn’t look as bad as she had imagined he might.

“I know what you did, Christopher. I know you sold secrets to the French, I know you
received payment through the sale of fake paintings, and I know that you are responsible for father’s death.”

He blanched.

“Mari, you can't possibly-”

She brist
led at his use of their father’s name for her; Christopher had always called her Damaris, never Mari, and she cut him off before he could finish.

“I don’t want your children to grow up without you, and I know
your death would probably kill Mother, so I will give you one chance to get out of this alive, Christopher.”

He was silent for a few moments as he considered her words. “I can't be tried for treason any more,” he said defiantly. “And I had nothing to do with Father’s death. Nothing!”

She couldn’t tell if his vehemence meant that he was being truthful or not.

“You may not have raised a hand to him, Christopher, but your syndicate that sold secrets killed him. He had discovered your trick of selling supposedly valuable paintings to cover the payments you received and for that, he was killed.”

“You can't prove that I had anything to do with his death! No jury would convict me!”

She had hoped that when finally confronted, he might have
enough honour to come clean. Clearly that wasn’t the case.

“Perhaps not,” she answered sadly. “But
I
will kill you if you don’t confess and give up everyone else who was involved.”

He had some of his swagger back now and sauntered over to the table, sitting at the chair there as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“The guards here would happily beat a confession out of you,” she reminded him, which did dent his confidence slightly. “But I have a better idea.”

“All right then, dear sister,” he said with scorn. “Tell me your ‘
better idea
’.”

“Daniel McCallum,” she answered calmly.
“It’s a strange thing that exactly nine months after we spent Michaelmas with his family in Scotland, his daughter, Eloise, gave birth to an illegitimate child. She refused to name the man who had defiled her, probably afraid that given his reputation, her father would challenge the man to a duel and kill him, and since that was her wish and I had no desire to see you dead, brother, I chose not to reveal what I knew.”

Christopher had begun to sweat.

“He had to send her away, of course. Even if she was his favourite, he had no choice if he was to stop her shame from tainting her sisters. She lives with a spinster cousin in Northumberland now, and the child was sent to distant relatives in Ireland.”

“Nothing happened,” he argued. “I did not father her baby.”

“Don’t lie, Christopher, I saw you.”

“You couldn’t have!”

“You were hardly subtle. Anyone who was observant could have seen it.”

“That i
s a lie!”

Damaris shook her head sadly. “At almost
every gathering we attended in the summer, you and Eloise would go missing for a short while, so I began to pay attention. Eloise would make eye contact with you, then leave. Two or three minutes later, you would leave as well. She would come back after ten minutes to half an hour, then you would return two or three minutes later. I was curious as to why you were sneaking around so at the Peterson’s Ball, I followed you to the library and listened at the door.”

“You think you’re so clever, don’t
you? You always thought you were better than us, didn’t you?”

Nathaniel saw the pain fl
ash across her features and wished that he could comfort her.

“No, Christopher, I only ever wanted to be your friend, it was you who pushed me away.”

He ignored her words. “How do you even know what became of Eloise? I doubt her father told you.”

“Because, knowing that you were responsible for her disgrace, I asked Father to obtain her address. I’ve been writing to her ever since.
You see, whilst I was only a child and couldn’t have stopped you, I still feel responsible. I should have tried to warn her that you were untrustworthy, or told someone that you were pursuing her. Of course, I never dreamed then that you would ruin the poor girl.”

“There is
still no proof!” He slammed his fist down on the table, causing Nate to take a step closer to Damaris, just in case Christopher became violent. He didn’t want to believe that her brother would hurt her but a cornered animal will almost certainly fight, and slowly but surely, she was backing him into a corner.

“But there is. You see, eventually I had to confess my guilt, my conscience demanded it, and I begged her forgiveness for not having intervened. She wrote back, assuring me that I wasn’t to blame for the acts of my brother and that even though I had done nothing to be pardoned for, she would forgive me if it
would set my mind at ease.”

“You-” He stood up to hurl abuse, and possibly more at her, but Nathaniel stepped between them, which gave him pause.

“You are of course aware of Mr McCallum’s propensity to duel. He has fought three duels, won all three and killed one man. They were over relatively minor slights though, one simply for an insult in a newspaper article. That was the gentleman who died, if I remember correctly. What do you think he will do when I tell him that you are the reason he cannot see his daughter, the reason she will die a spinster, instead of marrying and having her own family. He always had a very short fuse and a rather nasty temper; I doubt he’ll even challenge you to a duel, he’ll probably just kill you.”

“You wouldn’t!” he challenged, but he sounded far from
certain.

“A month ago I wouldn’t have believed there was anything you could do that would m
ake me want you dead but now?” She reached into her pocket and produced the letter she had penned just before they left. All she had to do was seal it.

She held it out and he snatched it from her, opening it and devouring the contents.
With each line he read, his complexion became a little more sallow. Finally he refolded it with trembling hands and saw the address, 129 Saxon Street, London.

“He’s in London?” Christopher asked.

“Yes, his youngest daughter is seeking a husband, so they are here for the Season.”

His hands curled into fists on the table t
op, his knuckles turning white. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice oddly calm, while earlier he had been excited. The change made Nate wary.

“I want a full confession, in writing. T
ell us everything, including the names of the others involved.”

“And in return?”

“You will be free to return to France and Hortense… but you will never be allowed to return to England.”

“Exile,” he scoffed. “Who would want to com
e back to this damp, cold, soot-covered, backwater?” he demanded.

Although he thought his words were bravado, Nathaniel didn’t much care if he liked the country
or not, as long as he stayed away from Damaris.

“Get me a paper and pen.” Christopher demanded, and Nathaniel
stepped away from then and turned to knock on the door.

The guard who was waiting outside opened
it enough to converse and Nathan asked him for writing implements.

“Yes, Sir.” The man nodded his understanding. “I was going to ask, the meal will be served to prisoners in about an hour, would you and Lady Wellesley like to be included? It’s not fine fare
, stew and bread mostly, but it’s hot and tasty.”

Nate knew that it could take hours for a full confession
, so he agreed. “We would, thank you.”