Love's Peril (Lord Trent Series) (37 page)

“I can try.”

“Don’t endanger yourself, though. Only proceed if you can get safely away.”

They’d always hated the notion of hanging by the neck, of the horrid spasms the body endured as it swung on the rope. A bullet through the heart was so much quicker and cleaner.

“If I can kill you, I will,”Raven promised.

“Thank you,
mon ami
.”

“For you, Jean Pierre. Anything for you.”

After that, there wasn’t much else to say.

They finished their drinks, and a guard came by, quietly motioning to Raven that it was time to go.

They stood, and John escorted Raven to the door of his cell. They stared and stared, then enjoyed a long and final hug.

“We had a wild ride, didn’t we?”Raven said.

“We certainly did. Grow old and fat. Be happy.”

“I wouldn’t have done anything different.”

“Neither would I,”John concurred.

“My friend…my brother…how I will miss you.”

“It’s been my honor and privilege, Raven.”

“And mine, as well.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye forever.”

Raven left, and John went over and sat on his bunk, listening as Raven’s footsteps faded away.

* * * *

Sarah was squeezed into the top row of the balcony of the theater that had been rented for use as a courtroom. The trial of Jean Pierre,
Le Terreur Français,
was a public spectacle. There wasn’t space to hold it in a regular courthouse. Too many people had wanted to watch.

The streets outside were jammed with thousands surging into the neighborhood, hoping for a glimpse of the notorious pirate. For the prior three days, Sarah had paid a boy to save her a seat.

The gallows had been constructed several blocks away. Once the death sentence was imposed, Jean Pierre would be transported in an open cart. Ghoulish spectators lined the route, eager to observe as he passed by, eager to see him on the scaffold, to hear his last words, to maliciously cheer as the hatch dropped.

Caroline had stayed at Bramble Bay with some of Jean Pierre’s armed sailors. Sarah had been afraid Mildred might sneak home while Sarah was in London. Caroline’s animosity toward Mildred was potent and glaring, and she would definitely keep Mildred out.

Raven was wandering in the crowd, too unnerved to remain in one place, so Sarah was all alone.

Raven had tried to convince her not to attend the trial, had bluntly apprised her that Jean Pierre didn’t want her there, but she’d scoffed at the edicts of both men. As if Jean Pierre could tell her what to do! As if she’d heed him!

The proceedings were swiftly winding to a close. In another hour or so, he’d be executed. She wasn’t about to cower in an anonymous hotel, wondering if it was over.

He was standing down in the dock, ignoring everyone. Freshly barbered, his blond hair gleaming, he’d attired himself in his finest clothes—the beautiful lavender coat with the silver stitching—so he appeared rich and bored and nothing like the desperate pirate he was accused of being.

When he’d been brought in—in chains—earlier that morning, the audience had furiously gossiped. He didn’t look like a criminal, didn’t look like the violent bandit they were expecting. People almost felt cheated.

She didn’t know if he’d seen her. If he had, he hadn’t given the slightest indication, but she suspected he’d spotted her. He might pretend to be indifferent, but his keen gaze would be taking in every detail.

Sarah was hardly an expert on legal matters, but it didn’t seem as if the Crown had much of a case. The two main witnesses had been Hedley and Miss Dubois. Hedley’s testimony had been quite irrelevant and full of attorneys’ interruptions as he repeated hearsay from Miss Dubois.

The guards from the prison had testified too, but they’d only been able to say that Jean Pierre spoke fluent French and had had few visitors, mostly Reggie Thompson who also spoke French when they chatted.

The soldiers who’d captured him at Bramble Bay had testified that he’d had a knife and a pistol when they’d trapped him, that he’d fought like a madman and was very skilled with fists, sword, and gun. But so what? Many men were accomplished at fencing and pugilism. The world was a dangerous place and a fellow had to be prepared to defend himself.

Miss Dubois had inflicted the most damage, but even her testimony was a bit trifling.

She’d talked about Jean Pierre’s castle in France, his ships, his frequent trips out to sea. Her most precise information dealt with his wagering, where she’d often accompanied him to high-stakes games, but gambling wasn’t illegal. So it was pointless to discuss it.

As to her allegations of piracy, they rested on the fact that she’d heard him boast of his misdeeds and had seen some of the goods retrieved during his pillaging forays. Yet she wasn’t accurate with her dates and didn’t have any physical proof except her word that Jean Pierre was who she said he was.

It didn’t seem like strong evidence to Sarah. If Jean Pierre would have contested the charges, she was sure he could have explained it all away. But no. The insane oaf would rather die than fight.

For a man who’d spent his life raging, it made no sense, but then, maybe he was simply weary of the struggle. Maybe he was ready to let it all go.

Miss Dubois’s lengthy testimony finally wrapped up, and Jean Pierre’s attorney rose to cross-examine her.

He was an older, stately gentleman, Mr. Thumberton, who had been hired by Lord Trent. Mr. Thumberton was greatly respected and only served the best families. His presence on Jean Pierre’s behalf indicated that Jean Pierre was a person of means and substance who shouldn’t be discounted.

But as far as Sarah was aware, Jean Pierre had refused to meet with Mr. Thumberton. She wished she could march down to the main floor. She’d grab Jean Pierre by the lapels of his beautiful coat and shake him until his teeth rattled.

“Miss Dubois”—Mr. Thumberton’s voice was ponderous and weighty—“I realize you’re French, but you must have heard the phrase, ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’. Have you heard that phrase, Mademoiselle?”

“
Mais oui
.”

“How long did you say you’ve known Mr. Sinclair?”

“Two years.”

“In what capacity did you know him?”

There was a very pregnant pause. People shifted to the edges of their seats. There had been scandalous stories about Miss Dubois in the newspapers, but the prosecutor had skirted over her background and history.

She was modestly dressed in a dark blue gown, her lustrous hair pulled into a tidy chignon, but her beauty couldn’t be completely concealed. She was too voluptuous, and everyone was eager to learn if the rumors were true.

She hadn’t answered Mr. Thumberton’s question, and he repeated it.

“In what capacity did you know Mr. Sinclair? Surely you can tell us,”he sarcastically said. “What was your relationship? I don’t believe it was ever made clear.”

“I was his very good friend,”she breathily claimed.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”Thumberton muttered. “Isn’t it a fact, Miss Dubois, that you’re an expensive prostitute?”

The term was so shocking that people gabbled over it like hens in a henhouse. The judge banged his gavel, shouting for order.

“Mr. Thumberton, I don’t allow that sort of low talk. Watch your language.”

“My apologies. Let me rephrase.” Thumberton glared at Miss Dubois, and his expression was so contemptuous that she squirmed, her cocky smugness vanishing.

“Isn’t it true, Miss Dubois, that your mother was a French courtesan?”

“No!”Miss Dubois huffed, but from her irate glower, it was obvious she was lying.

“Isn’t it true that Mr. Sinclair purchased you in a French brothel?” The spectators began to whoop and gasp, and Thumberton spoke over them. “He saved you from the dreaded establishment, and
this
is how you repay him? With treachery and false statements?”

“Rude dog!”Miss Dubois spat.

“Mr. Sinclair became engaged over the summer,”Thumberton fibbed. “You were notified that he was setting you aside.”

“He would never set me aside!” She tossed her head imperiously, showing a hint of temper.

“You weren’t jealous and furious? Isn’t it true that you told acquaintances you would do anything to get even?”

“
Non!
It is not true.”

Mr. Thumberton smirked. “You have spread vicious tales about Mr. Sinclair. That would definitely qualify as
anything,
wouldn’t it?”

He turned and sat down, observing her as she writhed and fumed. The attitude of the audience was fickle. Suddenly, they weren’t quite so enamored of her.

The prosecutor asked her a few more questions, but he wasn’t able to dislodge the impression Mr. Thumberton had created that she was a scorned woman seeking revenge.

As she left the stand and swept to her seat, people studied her with disdain. She was no longer their darling, and her back was ramrod straight, as if she could feel their angry frowns pelting her.

Thumberton called his first witness, causing a titter of curiosity as he announced that it would be Charles Sinclair, Earl of Trent.

Lord Trent made a quiet entrance, but it was very grand all the same. He was a notorious character. Londoners were fascinated by him and didn’t mind his reputation as a cad. Women loved him because he was handsome and charming. Men thought he was lucky to spend his time gambling and having salacious affairs. They all secretly wished they could behave just like him.

He strolled down the center aisle, walked over to Jean Pierre and whispered in his ear. Their conversation continued unabated until the court officers started to glance at each other, wondering if they should stop him. But Trent was an earl, and no one could tell him how to act. If he wanted to whisper to Jean Pierre he could.

The crowd was beginning to whisper, too. And point at them. With Lord Trent and Jean Pierre side by side, the resemblance was obvious. There could be no denying of kinship, and there was an exciting sense that testimony was about to swerve in an unexpected direction.

When Lord Trent was good and ready, he proceeded to the witness stand. He was dressed in an expensive velvet coat, a lush green shade that highlighted the emerald of his eyes. His fingers were covered with heavy diamond rings, every aspect of his attire specifically selected to underscore his elevated rank and position.

Mr. Thumberton led him through a long recitation of his lineage and many titles, then posed the query that had the audience rippling with shock.

“You’re on friendly terms with John Sinclair,”Thumberton said.

“I am.”

“How do you know him?”

“He’s my son.”

At the admission, there was a stunned pause, then people shouted and exclaimed. The judge was banging his gavel again. The prosecutor protested, carefully suggesting that Lord Trent was a liar when any fool could see the truth.

The courtroom calmed, and Lord Trent grinned and confessed, “I’ve sired a few…children in my day. John is one of them.”

With a less infamous personage, an embarrassing review of the statement might have been required, but Lord Trent’s status as a libertine was common knowledge. There was no need to hash out the details.

A lengthy discussion then ensued of Lord Trent’s relationship with Jean Pierre. Trent offered an exacting account of Jean Pierre’s whereabouts in prior years. His dates contradicted Miss Dubois’s version of events.

Words were like honey in Trent’s mouth. It wasn’t possible to consider him a fraud.

As he finished, Mr. Thumberton asked, “Is there anything you’d like to add?”

Looking rich and regal, Lord Trent gazed at the judge. “I’m fond of all my children. If one of them—my son John for instance—suffered a misfortune, I’d be very unhappy. I’m a powerful man. I wouldn’t think anyone should forget that I am.”

The silence was deafening. He hadn’t overtly threatened the judge, but his warning was unmistakable. If John was convicted, there would be consequences.

Lord Trent was excused, and Mr. Thumberton advised that he was done presenting evidence.

Sarah’s heart sank.

Lord Trent had been extremely credible. He’d made Annalise Dubois seem like a deceitful shrew, but Jean Pierre’s life was at stake. Shouldn’t there be more? Where were the Sinclair siblings? Couldn’t they have helped? Would they let him hang? It was distressing to realize that they would.

The lawyers stood to begin their closing arguments when a ruckus erupted down on the floor. Heads spun toward the rear doors, and the murmuring grew frantic again.

A woman walked down the center aisle. She was short and slender and wearing a cloak, the hood raised, so Sarah could discern her identity.

She reached Mr. Thumberton and lowered her hood, and everyone could see that it was Harriet. She was another notorious Londoner and was recognized immediately.

A general buzz of, “It’s Harriet! It’s Harriet!”raced around the room.

Jean Pierre recognized her, too. In the first sign of emotion he’d displayed, he muttered, “Thumberton!”

He was still in chains, so he couldn’t leave the box, but the guards yanked him back anyway.

“Thumberton!”Jean Pierre tried again. “Absolutely not. I forbid it!”

“Be quiet, you!”a guard threatened, and Thumberton ignored Jean Pierre.

Harriet and Thumberton hurriedly talked, then Thumberton peered up at the judge.

“I have another witness, Your Honor. I didn’t think she was coming, but she’s arrived at the last minute.”

Harriet removed her cloak, and Thumberton escorted her to the witness chair. On the way, they passed by Jean Pierre. She stopped, letting him take a good look, while she looked, too. Then she proceeded on, took the oath on the Bible, and sat. She appeared pretty and young and very composed.

Thumberton didn’t waste any time. He quickly established her credentials, her relationship to Lord Trent, to her brother-in-law, James Harcourt, Lord Westwood, her marriage to Tristan Harcourt.

And she was half-sister to John Sinclair.

“Mrs. Harcourt,”Thumberton said, “have you heard of a dangerous pirate known far and wide as The French Terror?”