Master of Paradise (37 page)

When he was dismissed from the stand, he
passed her by with a smug smile. She’d refused to grace his bed on
numerous occasions. This, then, was her retribution. She despised
the hypocrisy of his testimony. If she were still playing Rodrigo
onstage and he thought the publicity would help the production,
he’d have been the first to capitalize on the news, making her seem
the glamorous pirate queen instead of a sea-butcher’s whore.

Ranking officers of the British East India
Company were called to attest to Rodrigo’s behavior at Haileybury
before he left for the Indian Ocean.

“He was deucedly secretive. Had us all
fooled...”

“Pretended to play along, while all the time
he was plotting to overthrow one of our ships...”

“I’ve never seen a more devious man. The
devil’s spawn. I wouldn’t put anything past him...”

It was crowded to capacity in the
dark-paneled courtroom, as blistering as the equatorial noon. The
air was still, the room smelling of closely packed bodies, hair
pomade, and perfume. The best of London society had come to watch
the show. They ate oranges and peanuts, the shells of which they
dropped on the floor, as if they were watching a play. Even as the
audience listened with rapt attention to the testimony, they fanned
themselves with whatever was at hand. Proper ladies made delicate
shows of putting lacy handkerchiefs to perspiring brows. Yet, in
spite of the insufferably stifling quarters, not a soul got up to
leave. It was simply too juicy a spectacle to stay away.

Sir Thomas Buxton and several of his allies
were there to give Gabrielle moral support on the first day. But
with the vote on the bill fast upon them, and a hard fight ahead,
they were absent on the next.

On this second day, Admiral Fulton appeared
in court with several other Royal Navy officers. As the rebellion
in Seychelles collapsed with Rodrigo’s surrender, he’d returned to
England for the trial.

Next, Hastings was called to the stand. He
was dressed in conservative black, emphasizing his dark, hawklike
features. Glaring at Rodrigo with the impervious stare of a future
duke, he ticked off the prisoner’s acts of piracy to the enthralled
spectators.

“The number of men the blackguard has
butchered would fill the whole of Kensal Green cemetery. I’ve seen
him run men through with nary a blink. He’s a cold-blooded murderer
who has used his knowledge of English policies to defy the
authority of Britain on the high seas.”

“And the other defendant? Miss
Ashton-Cross?”

“Miss Ashton is as bad as he. I myself was
witness to her treachery. It was no accident that she chose to
portray this rogue onstage. She took to piracy with a verve I’ve
rarely seen in any man. Her own brother, Cullen, knew what she was
doing and brought us evidence. He spent time with the sea-swine’s
crew after being kidnapped by him. The boy witnessed firsthand the
killing by his own sister’s sword of at least a dozen men. Innocent
citizens who merely got in the way of the treasure she was seeking
for her lover and herself. Would that poor Cullen were here to give
testimony to just how vile these acts were.”

There was a rush of whispering in the
courtroom. Gabrielle leaned over to Mr. Ames, the wigged barrister
at her side, and said, “The lying pig.”

“Don’t fret,” he soothed. “Our turn will
come.”

“And why would she do such a dastardly thing,
my lord?”

“She told me herself, she was in love with
the brute.”

While she sat stewing, Hastings rattled off a
series of lies, each meant to dig another foot of dirt in her
grave. It was like being a child again, helpless before her half
brother as he told vicious stories to their father to assure that
he’d revere Hastings and reject her. When he stepped down, the
prosecution requested a brief recess before calling the pirate
himself to the stand.

Gabrielle turned to Mr. Ames. “You have to
put me on the stand. I’ll see what information I can slip in. There
has to be a way of getting around this.”

But he shook his head. “I can’t risk such a
thing. You’ll forgive my saying so, Miss Ashton-Cross, but you’re
known far and wide as a creature of impulse. I can’t trust what you
might say on the stand. I do, after all, have a responsibility to
try to acquit you, regardless of Mr. Soro’s fate. If you remain
silent and leave things to us, we may very well succeed.”

“What do you mean, regardless of Mr. Soro’s
fate?”

But before he could answer, they were
diverted when her father joined them at their table. His eyes met
Gabrielle’s and she saw a softening of his patrician features that
she hadn’t seen since she was a very young child. Before Hastings
had done his dirty work. There was an almost wistful look in his
eyes, as if he wished they could begin anew.

“You must see to it,” he told Mr. Ames, “that
the testimony my son has given is counterbalanced. Do what you must
to ensure that my—that Gabrielle does not hang.”

While Gabrielle was digesting her surprise,
Mr. Ames asked, “Will you testify in her behalf? Admit your
association with her?”

Douglas glanced at his daughter. For an
instant, she thought he might do it. But he dropped his gaze and
said, “I can’t.”

“Of course not,” she said bitterly. “No more
than you could stand up for my mother in court. Tell me,
Your
Grace
, did you sit just so and watch while they threw my mother
to the wolves?”

With a pained look, he left. Mr. Ames patted
her hand. “Not to worry. We’ve a few tricks up our sleeve.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see in a moment.”

She did see when the prosecution called
Rodrigo to the stand. He stood and walked proudly to the
witness-box, in spite of the fact that he was still bound by chains
at his wrists. It was a menacing sight that couldn’t help but
impress the jury in a negative fashion. As if he were too dangerous
to be let in the courtroom without manacles.

With regal dignity, he answered the questions
put to him in a clear, honest way.

“Mr. Soro, did you participate in acts of
piracy against the Crown?”

“I did. As a way of ensuring—”

“If you please, Mr. Soro, answer only the
questions put before you.”

“I only wish to explain—”

“No explanations are necessary, Mr. Soro. We
understand all too well the heinous crimes you’ve perpetrated. It
runs in the blood, does it not? Now, sir, did you or did you not
murder seamen sailing under the British flag?”

He was the epitome of grace under pressure,
answering coldly and succinctly. It reminded Gabrielle of his
manner in England back in the early days—imperiously silent and
distant, yet with an air of one whose enigmatic surface masks
hidden depths.

It had to be frustrating. Every time he tried
to introduce the issue of slavery, the prosecutor would look to the
judge and say, “We shall address only your acts of piracy, Mr.
Soro, for which, after all, you are on trial.” And the rodentlike
Judge Matson would say, “Quite so.” Rodrigo had to be seething
inside. Yet he gave no clue. He was, she decided, not for the first
time, a better actor than she.

Still, in spite of his composure, there was
about him something elemental that made the stifling air in the
courtroom sizzle. When he scanned the jury with those steady,
powerful eyes, they flinched as if they’d been burned. Women fanned
themselves more vigorously.

When the defense took over the questioning,
it was only minutes before Gabrielle understood what they meant to
do.

“Mr. Soro, you’ve heard the testimony of the
Marquess of Breckenridge as to the willing—nay,
eager
—participation of Miss Ashton-Cross in your escapades.
What say you to these foul accusations?”

“I say they’re nothing but bilge and
blather.”

“You deny them?”

“I deny them uncategorically. They’re nothing
but the fabrications of an oily little jackanapes fit only for the
company of baboons.”

The courtroom was abuzz.

“Are you insinuating, sir, that the Marquess
of Breckenridge, while under oath, sought to falsify testimony to
this court?”

“I’m saying he lied to this court to make
Miss Ashton-Cross appear a flouncy wench. When nothing could be
further from the truth.”

“What exactly are you saying, sir?”

“That I kidnapped the lady in question and
forced her to do my bidding.”

Gabrielle leaned across the table with a “No”
on her lips, but Mr. Ames pulled her back in her seat.

“You must be silent, I implore you. This is
your only chance to escape the noose.”

“By selling Rodrigo down the river?”

“Do as I say! My orders are to acquit you at
any cost.”

“You’re saying—” continued the barrister.

“She was no part of it,” Rodrigo said, with
so much conviction that no one could believe otherwise. “She had
nothing to do with any of my acts. I accept responsibility for my
own actions, but I won’t have the lady so maligned.”

My God!
Gabrielle thought.
He’s
decided to sacrifice himself for me. Did he plan this all
along?

“Yet his lordship claims the lady in question
was in love with you.”

“No doubt his years in the equatorial sun
have unhinged his mind. I kidnapped her as a bargaining tool
against his lordship. I never cared for her. She never cared for
me. In fact, she threatened my life in front of the passengers and
crew of one of your own East Indiamen. Believe me, she wouldn’t
lift a finger to help me if I were stripped and flogged before
her.”

Gabrielle knew now he was going to hang. So
be it, she thought, but she’d damn well swing by his side! No
longer afraid, she lunged to her feet. “No!” she cried. “I
did
go along with it. I believe in what you’re doing. I’d do
it again. I love you, Rodrigo. I don’t care about them. I’d do
anything for you.”

The court was bedlam, with Judge Matson
pounding his gavel for a constraint that wouldn’t come. Rodrigo’s
eyes, when they flicked to Gabrielle, were full of fire and
fury.

“She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” he
roared above the din. “It’s the voyage. Being locked up for so
long. She’s out of her mind.”

“I know what I’m saying,” she called to him
as the judge banged his gavel louder and called for order. “If
you’re going to hang, I want to hang with you. Do you think I want
to be left among these popinjays? Do you think I want to live a
moment without you?”

Judge Matson was shouting now. Rodrigo
called, “I threatened her to say these things. But you’re no longer
bound by your promise, my lady. What harm can I do you now?”

“Miss Ashton-Cross,” shouted the judge, “if
you don’t desist, you’ll be taken from this courtroom.”

She raked her gaze over his furious red face.
“Why don’t you ask him why he took to piracy? Why don’t you see for
yourself what an honorable man he is? How he’s helped more people
than anyone in this court—”

At the judge’s orders, the bailiffs came to
drag her away. As they did, she cried, “I fought at his side for a
noble cause. Coerced, was I?” She freed her arms from the hands of
the bailiffs in one strong lunge. Her hands went to the collar of
her dress and she tugged hard. Buttons flew in all directions.
“How’s
this
for coercion?” she flared as she yanked her
bodice down. There, for all to see, was the flesh of her right
shoulder. And on it, the tattoo of a frigate bird in flight.

It shocked the court so deeply that
everything stilled. Even the bailiffs stood rooted where they were,
staring at her exposed back.

“Anyone who knows of
Mkombozi
knows he
brands only those who willingly request it. I was an eager
participant in his cause. Had he the tools in his hands right now,
I’d take his mark again, in front of you all.”

“Take her away,” said the judge, breaking the
ensuing hush.

They carried her off. As she looked back, her
last sight was that of a pair of golden lion’s eyes, staring after
her with a profound sorrow mingling with a fierce, proud love.

Anxiety boiled in Gabrielle as she paced her
cell. She couldn’t recall ever being so frustrated. In the two days
that had passed since her rash outburst, she hadn’t been allowed in
the courtroom. She waited restlessly, frantic for news. Today was
the last day of testimony. The case was now in the hands of the
jury. Tomorrow would likely see a verdict.

That night she heard the carpenters outside
her window building the scaffolds from which the prisoners would
hang side by side. There was no doubt of the outcome now, she
realized, as she watched the instruments of their destruction
ascend with frightening speed. Once the verdict was in, they’d be
hanged within the hour. Judge Matson would see to it there was no
delay in ridding the Crown of this public embarrassment.

Mr. Ames came to her just before ten that
evening. “The jury has reached a decision. Your presence will be
required in court in the morning for the reading of the verdict.
I’ve been severely warned to keep you reined in. One more such
outburst and—”

“What?” she asked defiantly. “What can they
do that will be worse than hanging?”

He lowered his head. Clearly, he was annoyed
by her suicidal gesture, but he was also enough of a gentleman to
sympathize with the veracity of her words. “There can be no other
verdict but guilty, for both of you. I anticipate that you will
hang together on the morrow. I wish there were something I could
do. I wish you hadn’t—”

“Jeopardized your case? Mr. Ames, if Rodrigo
hangs, I prefer to hang with him. It’s as simple as that.”

“You’d really want to die with him?” he
marveled.

“I really do.”

He was silent, musing with a hand at his
chin, clearly impressed with her devotion.