Without a Summer (34 page)
“Please, madam. And yet, not only did the march proceed, but you joined it. In men’s dress.”
“We suspected that Lord Verbury had arranged for the march to be fired upon, so—”
“This is the second time you have attempted to clear your associate’s name by implicating your husband’s father. Have you any proof of Lord Verbury’s involvement?”
Jane faltered. Beyond a certainty of his character, did they have any tangible proof? “His desire to displace Lord Eldon is well known.”
“As is your husband’s dislike of his father. Neither of you can offer any proof of this supposed conspiracy beyond your own testimony, which is hardly impartial. Have you not, in fact, deceived the Crown and are you not thoroughly involved in this plot and seek only to save your own skin?” He swept away, not even troubling to let her answer the speech that he had thinly veiled as a question.
“No.”
After an awkward moment, the judge said, “You may step down.”
Jane’s knees shook as she walked down the steps of the witness stand. Standing at the bar, Mr. O’Brien’s face had softened with such gratitude that Jane had to look away in embarrassment. She should have discovered his good character earlier. As she returned to the witness box, Jane kept her head up with difficulty as spectators openly stared at her lower region as though imagining her in trousers. Jane reached her seat and sank into it. Vincent slipped his hand into hers as she sighed with relief.
The defence rose, holding the paper that Melody had given him, and addressed the jury. “I have another witness for your consideration.”
Jane squeezed Vincent’s hand. She had hoped that Lady Penelope was not so much her father’s creature as to wish anyone dead. After her testimony that Lord Verbury had recommended engaging John Devenny, surely the jury would be able to see how suspect his testimony was.
The defence looked to the back of the room. “The court calls Lady Verbury.”
Vincent gasped as though he had been struck. As one, he and Jane turned to look to the door of the room. Melody had been sent to speak to Lady Penelope. His mother’s presence was entirely unlooked for. And yet, a heavily veiled woman entered the room, walking to the stand without looking to the left or right. Jane glanced over her shoulder at Lord Verbury, who sat, positively rigid. A vein stood out on his forehead, pulsing with rage as his wife took her oath with the same placid voice, which she offered in every conversation.
Jane turned back to the front as the defence began his questions. Lady Verbury had removed her veils and was staring at a spot on the far wall. She stated, quite calmly, that she was the wife of Lord Verbury and the mother of Sir David Vincent. Through all of this, Vincent stared at her with his mouth slightly agape.
It shocked Jane that a woman who lived in such fear would arrive to testify against her husband. This certainly answered the question of whether his mother had said that she loved Vincent as an instrument of his father or of her own accord.
After Lady Verbury established who she was for the jury, the defence asked, “And you have testimony you wish to provide the court?”
“I do.” From her cloak, she withdrew a parcel of letters and an account book. The papers rattled against one another with the trembling of her hands. Turning the letters over, she passed them to the defence. “The Earl of Verbury paid John Devenny to create a disturbance that he could use to discredit Lord Eldon. Due to his fastidious nature, I believe you will find that to be well documented here. There is also a payment, above his usual, to Miss de Clare, who I believe is also his creature.”
Exclamations filled the room. Audience members shouted their surprise. A woman began sobbing and laughing in the gallery. The judge pounded his gavel, crying for order, but it was some minutes before anyone was quiet enough to continue. Lady Verbury sat with the same fixed composure, staring at the same spot on the wall with the same placid smile.
The defence turned to the judge and handed him the papers. “I trust, in light of what we have heard today, and the papers I herewith present to the court, that the jury will find my client innocent of charges against him, as well as those who marched with him.”
The judge frowned over the papers. “These do look … good heavens.” He shook his head. “What possessed you to bring these out today, madam?”
Lady Verbury’s smile did not falter. Jane began to recognise that this was the face she wore when distressed. “My husband has long been very particular about how our household is run, including the raising of our children. I often did not approve, but learned early in our marriage that disagreement was … not tolerated.” Her smile faded and she looked down for the first time, turning toward Vincent. “I have never protected my children from him. I find, today, that there are limits. I regret that I did not reach those sooner, but … until his actions endangered the life of my youngest son, I did not have the courage to come forth.”
“Well…” The judge shook his head again. “Does the prosecution have any questions for the witness?”
Looking shaken for the first time, the prosecution stood and glanced back to the gallery. His face paled further.
Lord Verbury’s seat was empty.
With the disappearance of his patron, the prosecution faltered and granted that the Crown may have been misled in the testimony of their key witnesses. He spent some time looking at the papers Lady Verbury brought, then declined his opportunity to cross-examine her.
The defence turned to the jury. “I had planned to present you with more witnesses, and to allow you to hear from Mr. O’Brien himself, but in the light of Lady Verbury’s testimony, I will not waste your time in tedious reconstruction of details. Allow me to only recall for you these items. From Sir David Vincent, we have the testimony of a gentleman—a war hero, if I may be so bold—who was cruelly beaten by the French, yet held his tongue. You are being asked by the prosecution to believe that his character is unsteady—that such a man, who clearly loves his country enough to undergo the most reprehensible torture, could then return to his country and conspire to overthrow it. I submit to you instead that his testimony is irreproachable. Sir David’s statements alone should be enough to clear the name of the accused. We have, however, other witnesses who can also testify to Mr. O’Brien’s innocence.
“Lady Verbury, who is not required to testify against her husband, was so appalled by his actions that she came of her own accord to speak against him. But you need not rely on her testimony alone, because she brings with her divers papers in Lord Verbury’s own hand, which delineate his plan in great detail. These pages include payments to Mr. Devenny and Miss de Clare.
“The character assassination that the prosecution has attempted is decidedly false. Mr. O’Brien should not be on trial here. Indeed, none of the coldmongers should. The charges against Mr. O’Brien and the coldmongers are so clearly fabricated that your only course is to return a vote of ‘not guilty.’”
The judge continued through the forms and summed up the arguments for the jury, but even before they clustered for deliberation, it was clear what verdict he wished them to return. After only eight minutes, the jury delivered a resounding “not guilty.”
The courtroom burst into shouts of good cheer, making it clear how many friends and supporters Mr. O’Brien had. That worthy gentleman succumbed to tears of relief, which no one begrudged him. Lady Stratton ran down from the spectators’ gallery. She embraced her son, sobbing and laughing at the same time.
The coldmongers leaped about with the exuberance that only the very young can show. They ran forward and lifted Mr. O’Brien into the air, raising another cheer from the gallery.
Jane leaned into Vincent, embracing him. He was shaking violently. She looked at him in alarm.
“They are going to kill him,” he whispered at the floor.
“No.” Lady Verbury took a seat next to them, clearly understanding which “him” Vincent meant. “Your father will be on a ship to his West Indies estates by the time they organise enough to seek his arrest.”
Vincent stared at her. His mouth opened but no words came. Jane gave voice to what she thought he must be trying to ask. “How did you come to be here?”
“Miss Ellsworth…” Lady Verbury looked down, frowning. Jane had never seen her with anything but a placid smile. The frown suited her. Lady Verbury sighed and continued. “She came to ask Penelope to testify while I was visiting. When my daughter refused to participate—when she laughed…” Lady Verbury stopped and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “I have made many mistakes, but my path was never clearer than in that moment. She thought it was a game.”
Vincent reached across Jane and took his mother’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Jane! Sir David! Oh! I am so relieved.” Mrs. Ellsworth flung herself down the aisle with Mr. Ellsworth close behind. “I knew they were lying, but—” She stopped, recognising with whom they sat.
Lady Verbury smiled at Jane—a genuine smile with a hint of fear behind it, not the placid mask she had worn before. “Would you do me the honour of introducing me to your parents?”
Jane did, and gladly. Mrs. Ellsworth was a little overcome to be introduced to an actual Countess, which kept her from being too exuberant. Mr. Ellsworth gravely thanked her for her assistance in the trial.
She waved that away. “The credit belongs to your daughter, Miss Ellsworth.”
At that, Mr. Ellsworth frowned, looking about. “Where
is
Melody? She has been absent a great deal these past few days.”
Jane turned and spotted her sister. She stood with Mr. O’Brien, embracing him in the full view of the public. His parents stood next to them, beaming. An answering smile spread across Jane’s own face. “I believe … I believe that Melody is engaged.”
* * *
When two young people
are in love and well matched, it would be foolish parents indeed who stood in the way of their marriage. Mr. Ellsworth had already come to London determined to give his permission to Mr. O’Brien to address Melody, and nothing he saw of the young man’s character made him less inclined to see the pairing with anything other than delight.
Mrs. Ellsworth, when she realised that Melody would have a London wedding, with all the consequence that marrying the heir to a Baron could bring, fell with equal delight into planning the wedding. Two weddings, to be exact, for the law required Melody and Alastar to be wed by an Anglican priest before they could proceed to the Roman Catholic ceremony. By necessity, they were to be married by Special License, which would give the happy couple the ability to wed in the family’s chapel. Mrs. Ellsworth could not have been more pleased by having a Special License, as it was favoured by the most fashionable set. She and Melody went to all the best dressmakers and—with Lady Verbury’s assistance—procured a trousseau that would not have shamed Princess Charlotte.
As for Jane and Vincent, they returned to the Strattons’ employment, but this time to ornament their chapel. When it came down to it, Vincent would indeed perform glamour for a wedding, if asked with sufficient sweetness by his wife. The activity was welcome to them both, and not simply for the pleasure of helping prepare for a joyous occasion. The distraction came at a time when they both sorely needed it.
Vincent had slept poorly since the trial. More than once, Jane had woken to find him shuddering in the throes of a nightmare. She rubbed his back to awake him, feeling his nightshirt slide over his scars. Jane curled up against him, pulling him close to her.
His breathing eased and Vincent intertwined his fingers in hers. “I am sorry I woke you.”
She kissed his neck, tasting the salt on his skin. “I wish I could do something for you.”
“Oh, Muse…” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. “You do.”
“The same nightmare?”
She heard, more than saw, his head slide across the pillow in a nod. “He should be in Antigua by now.”
As Lady Verbury predicted, the Earl had taken ship to visit his estates in the West Indies. John Devenny sat in prison awaiting trial for treason, abandoned by the Earl. He professed, loudly, that Lord Verbury had told him that he was working for the good of the Crown. Vincent’s eldest brother was working with legal counsel to preserve the family seat in the event that the Earl should be found guilty of treason. Jane dreaded that trial when it came about.
She slipped her hand free of Vincent’s and rubbed his brow, trying to ease the lines that creased it. He grunted in satisfaction and nestled closer. “That feels good.”
“I surmised as much by your grunt.”
“I did not grunt.”
“Yes, you did.”
Vincent rolled onto his back. “I do not grunt.”
Laughing, Jane kissed his cheek. “My dear, when you are pleased, you grunt like a bear, and when you are upset, you whine.”
“No!”
Jane found a spot most likely to provoke a response and caressed him there. Vincent grunted with pleasure and then laughed. He swept her into his arms, still laughing, and pulled her on top of him. She giggled as well, covering his face in kisses between chuckles.
He made his small satisfied noise again, and his laughter redoubled. “Oh, lord. I do.”
“I told you.”
They spent some time with Jane proving this assertion in a variety of ways, and Vincent being forced to acknowledge that it was true. This release of laughter and high spirits proved better at restoring his steadiness of mind than any fold of glamour could.
When they fell back among the pillows at last, Vincent wrapped Jane in his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder and she traced a finger among the fine hairs on his chest.
He kissed her on the forehead. “And I whine? Truly?”
She nodded. “You hold your breath first. It is only when you need to say something you do not wish to say.”
“But a whine?”
“It is a small one. Like this.” She imitated the high little keen and provoked a new round of laughter from Vincent.