The Romantic (37 page)

When Sophia arrived this time, her husband accompanied her. Adrian Burchard had returned to London the previous evening, with a letter from Mr. Jones admitting he abducted the countess at Glasbury’s command. That word had spread fast, even if it had not been in the papers yet.

“The general opinion seems to be that Julian at best should be convicted of manslaughter, not murder,” Sophia whispered as soon as she sat next to Pen. “I attended a party last night where several very vocal ladies insisted that it was no worse than self-defense.”

Adrian tipped his head. “At White’s last night, more
than a few men commented that a scoundrel needs killing no matter what his title or how it is done.”

Their reassurances did not soothe Pen. Turbulent emotions raged in her.

She did not know if she could bear being here today. She did not expect all these opinions in the city to matter at all. An earl had been killed, and someone would have to pay.

Knowing that the people who could save Julian now sat in Glasbury’s house almost made her insane. She had spent the night trying to think of the argument or promises that would encourage Caesar to come forward. Dawn had brought a terrible dread into her heart that she could not control.

The judge and jury arrived. Julian came in. The prosecutor took his position.

The defense counsel was nowhere to be seen.

“Mr. Knightridge seems to have exhausted himself with yesterday’s recitations,” the judge said sarcastically. “How unfortunate.”

He called for the trial to continue.

There was nothing much left except the summation of the facts. The prosecutor proceeded to lay them out again. Knightridge would not have been allowed to refute them anyway, so his absence could not affect the outcome now.

Pen’s dread increased anyway. It was as if Knightridge did not want to be present when his friend was condemned, and had let Julian stand alone up there against these accusations.

As the summation wound down, a rumble of voices
interrupted. It began in the back of the courtroom and billowed forward until it drowned out the prosecutor.

The judge called for silence, to no avail. He glared at the source of the disturbance. His mouth pursed and his lids lowered.

Knightridge was squeezing through the court functionaries. He strode to the judge. “I must ask your indulgence, but important matters delayed me.”

“Your presence was not missed, sir. You may think you are essential to all you engage, but we are capable of completing the trial without your help.”

“Of course. However, the trial is not completed. A person came to me this morning and expressed the desire to lay down information. It is a story that must be heard.”

“We have all that we need already.”

Knightridge looked affronted. Wounded. Perplexed. “Would you deny sworn testimony that could shed further light on the events? If you require precedents before allowing such late developments, I can give them to you.”

The judge peered at him with extreme displeasure. Knightridge responded with a mixture of innocence and hauteur.

It was the spectators who made a difference. Shouts called out for the new evidence to be heard. Other voices agreed. The din grew.

Faced with exercising his prerogatives or retreating from the threat of pandemonium, the judge chose the latter.

Knightridge turned to face the door of the chamber. He gestured to someone. Every head turned.

A woman walked into the courtroom.

Señora Perez.

“My goodness, what is this?” Sophia whispered.

Pen had no idea. She was as stunned as everyone else.

Señora Perez walked down to the judge. Her demure ivory dress contrasted with her almond skin. Her hat was very sedate. Only her shawl appeared exotic. Long and silken, dark blue with a green pattern, it flowed over her like water, and its rivulets hinted at the curves obscured by garments.

The light from a window illuminated her face. Pen’s breath caught. In the theater she had not been able to clearly distinguish this woman’s features, but now the morning light revealed her unusual and alluring beauty.

With great skepticism, the judge addressed her. “You have information regarding this crime, madame?”

“I have information that should be heard. I know nothing of the crime.”

“Really, this is a waste—”

“I know that Mr. Hampton could not have been with the earl that night,” she continued. “You see, he was with me.”

Pen’s breath left her. So did Sophia’s and Dante’s. So did everyone’s. After a five count, the entire courtroom audibly inhaled.

Pen stared at the woman facing the judge. There was something about her expression … something in the manner she had donned for this role …

“Indeed, madame? Are you saying that you are Mr. Hampton’s mistress? One wonders how many the man requires.” The judge seemed delighted with his little joke. No one laughed.

“He is not my lover. He came to advise me. My husband
was about to embark on an investment that worried me as potentially ruinous. I asked Mr. Hampton to visit when I knew Raoul would not be home, so that I could consult with him and my husband would not know. He arrived at midnight and left two hours later.”

“And were you satisfied with his advice?” the judge asked with a smirk. “Contented with his services?”

The audience did not pick up the cue. The drama was more compelling than the judge’s insinuating attempts at wit.

Señora Perez pretended not to notice the double meanings. She assumed the demeanor of a virtuous woman incapable of understanding such things. “His advice was most welcome and sound, thank you. I was able to convince my husband to retreat from this risky business affair.”

“Why did you not come forward before?” the prosecutor snapped. “This looks most suspicious to me. Perhaps he is your lover, and now you lie to save him.”

“I did not speak, because I feared my husband would misunderstand that meeting. However, Raoul saw my growing distress and, upon learning the secret I had, insisted I seek out Mr. Knightridge.” She lowered her eyes submissively, as if a husband’s command was law with her.

“You husband actually believed the innocence of this midnight assignation?”

“My maid and a manservant were able to attest to my innocence. They were in the drawing room the whole time. I would never meet with a man alone, even on a matter of business. Where I come from, that is not done
by ladies.” She turned to the judge. “If you want to speak with the servants, they will explain how it was.”

“Oh, yes, I am sure they will.” The prosecutor threw up his hands to express his exasperation and disbelief.

“I do not think that this new evidence is worth weighing heavily,” the judge said to the jury. “Someone killed the Earl of Glasbury, and the woman’s very delayed story does not tell us who did or did not.”

Julian’s face had turned to stone. Pen knew the reason for his anger. If Señora Perez’s story was believed and Julian was exonerated, the police had another person they could accuse very easily.

“If I may speak,” Mr. Knightridge said very politely.

“I think we have heard you speak enough already, sir.”

“Please, indulge me. The lady has indeed told us who did not kill the earl, and I may be able to shed some light on who did.”

That certainly got everyone’s attention. Julian’s frown deepened.

Center stage again, Knightridge spoke lowly, as if confiding to the judge. His words carried to most of the spectators, however. Pen certainly heard them.

“Sir, very early this morning, before dawn, I accompanied members of the Metropolitan Police back to Glasbury’s house. I had been told that a more thorough search of his chambers might prove interesting.”

He paused and glanced up at the spectators. He gave the judge a meaningful look that indicated continuing could be very awkward.

The judge eyed him like a man who knew the game, but had no choice but to be the pawn. “Go on.”

“Well, in his wardrobe, hidden by garments, we found
certain … uh, objects that suggest that his secret visitors came to, um … shall we say they came at his bidding and to do his bidding, as it were.” He looked positively distraught that his duty required he broach the indelicate subject.

The judge’s face reddened with embarrassment. And anger.

“The police have those objects in their possession now. Perhaps you should request they be brought forth, so that you can ascertain whether—”

“That will not be necessary.”

“No? Do we agree, then, that their existence indicates that the earl’s murderer should be sought in less elevated circles than heretofore?”

“Oh, my, he is good at this,” Sophia whispered.

Yes, he was. Very good.

The judge looked like a man who had been backed into a corner. Having gotten him there, Knightridge pressed forward. “Do we agree that this lady’s testimony exonerates Mr. Hampton, and that the earl’s visitor was a person unknown to the police and not associated with Mr. Hampton?”

This cue was not missed. Spectators yelled their agreement and called for an answer. The judge’s cheeks puffed as he debated.

Finally he exhaled, and nodded.

The gallery went wild.

Pen looked at Julian while the din swelled around her. She wanted to grab him and embrace him and cry with relief.

He looked back. His comportment did not change,
but fires burned in his eyes. Lights of life and hope blazed in them.

Others did, too. Private fires, that only she would recognize.

The love and passion of a lifetime now waited for her, if she was brave enough to accept it.

chapter
29

Y
told Mr. Knightridge about the wardrob Pen said.

She stood with Charlotte outside the Old Bailey, waiting for Julian. The crowds had dispersed, but some people still milled around. Down the street she could hear a new yell, as a boy offered fresh broadsides describing the suspenseful conclusion of the trial.

The judge had recommended the jury to vote to acquit, and they had quickly done so. Formalities were being attended to, but Julian would come through the door soon.

She could not wait to see him. Hold him. There were other people she needed to see, too, but that would come later, after she had Julian back.

“Of course I told him. When they first examined those chambers they were not looking for evidence of Glasbury’s character. Your revelations came after that. Now, with the particulars of your marriage well known, I realized Knightridge needed only to allude to them to open other possibilities in the jury’s mind.”

“You are as brilliant as he is, Charlotte. You must admit that he played it out perfectly. He left the judge nowhere to turn.”

Charl snickered. “I suspect the judges all dislike him as much as I do, if he always makes them look like fools when he wins.”

The door opened. A robe appeared.

“Here he comes. I hope that you will be gracious and congratulate him as he deserves.”

“Without you, me, and Señora Perez, he would have failed. How surprising to find her joining our army. Thank goodness her husband was so understanding and honorable, that is all I can say.”

Pen had rather more to say about Señora Perez, and to her, but that was for another day.

Today was for joy. Julian stepped across the threshold behind Knightridge. The sight of him had her lightheaded and wobbly.

He paused and looked up to the sky. Then he closed his eyes, as if composing himself against the onslaught of a powerful emotion.

When he opened them again, he was the Mr. Hampton the world knew. Contained. Cool. Removed.

Until he saw her.

A burning intensity entered his eyes. It revealed everything he hid in his soul. She saw the agonizing fear he had battled in prison when he assumed he would hang, and also the exhilaration incited by his unexpected salvation.

In that moment, she also comprehended as never before his resolve to protect her at all costs, even that of his life.

Ignoring whatever Knightridge was saying to him,
unmindful of the eyes that still watched in hopes of more spectacle, Julian strode toward her, opening his arms. She ran to his waiting embrace.

She brought him to her house. He was incapable of refusing.

He had not entirely absorbed the astonishing turn things had taken. The reprieve left him intoxicated with relief. The trial had also rendered him more tired than he realized.

Pen took him in hand. She ordered some brandy be brought, and then gave instructions that a bath be prepared.

When the brandy arrived, she poured him a good measure, then splashed a bit in another glass. “Promise not to tell,” she said. “I feel some need of fortification myself.”

The spirits warmed him. They helped tilt the world back upright.

Pen sat on a sofa and sipped. She appeared very contented and happy.

He hoped he did not have to say it, but he thought he should anyway. “I never visited Señora Perez, least of all that night.”

“I know that.”

“I cannot imagine why she did this. She owes me nothing, let alone a lie under oath.”

“Perhaps she is in love with you, and could not bear to see you hang.” Pen set down her glass, got up, and came over to him. “Whatever her reason, I am grateful. Tomorrow we will go and thank her. For now, come with me.”