The general’s lawyer proceeded with an eloquent recounting of facts and opinions, none of which came as any great surprise to Abigail. Mrs. Bennington—the first Mrs. Bennington, that was—had been snared by the innocence of youth into marrying a man of low birth and no connections to speak of during the Peninsular Wars and found herself settled in a cottage in the remote English countryside that was far inferior to what her birth had accustomed her to. There she was abused by an autocratic and bad-tempered husband and abandoned with her newborn child when he went off to join the Duke of Wellington’s forces gathering in Belgium. Fearing his return for both herself and her daughter, Mrs. Bennington placed the child in the safekeeping of her mother, Lady Pascoe, before fleeing to take refuge with dear friends. Not long after, she met her unfortunate demise, a tragedy that would never haveoccurred if she had not felt compelled to run from her own home.
And so it continued with an account of Gil’s behavior when he had arrived unannounced at the general’s home while Lady Pascoe was there alone and undefended. The lawyer made much of Gil’s second visit there and of Lady Pascoe’s courage in keeping him from her granddaughter, who was shrieking with terror. Parts of the two letters Gil had written not long after from St. Helena were read aloud and both missives were offered into evidence.
A final plea was made to leave the child with her grandparents, who could raise her in a manner appropriate to her mother’s birth and in a place where she would be safe and well cared for. And loved. The lawyer wound up his argument with an affecting description of the maternal love her ladyship lavished upon her granddaughter now that her only daughter had been snatched from her as a result of the abuse she had suffered at Lieutenant Colonel Bennington’s hands. His behavior from the outset had, in fact, shown him to be a man of brutish upbringing and unbridled passions. Not only was he unfit to have the care of a child, even with the acquisition of a new wife—whose own birth was not without blemish—but he was also unfit to visit his daughter at her grandparents’ home or to have any dealings with her whatsoever. And on the subject of the new Mrs. Bennington’s birth—
“Thank you for keeping your case brief,” the judge said, interrupting, though it was not clear if he spoke ironically. “There are no character witnesses to support General Sir Edward and Lady Pascoe’s claim to be suitable guardians for their daughter’s child, who is not yet even three years old?”
“Your Honor.” Their lawyer sounded shocked. “GeneralPascoe’s military reputation is well known and above reproach, and Lady Pascoe, as the whole of the fashionable world is well aware, is the sister of—”
“Yes, yes.” The judge waved a dismissive hand. “Foolish of me to ask. It is the turn of Lieutenant Colonel Bennington’s side to persuade me of his claim to assume his daughter’s care. It is to be hoped the persuasion will be brief. It is also to be hoped that notallof these illustrious persons now adorning my courtroom are intending to testify. I can look with some resignation upon the loss of my luncheon. I am not sure I can do the same for my dinner. Or for tomorrow morning’s breakfast.”
He definitely had a sense of humor, Abigail thought, but a strange one. It was impossible to decide which side it would favor. But a judge was not meant to favor either side. That was the whole point of his position. Besides, he had not heard their side yet. She set her hand over Gil’s on the table and felt it jump slightly beneath the pressure. She did not believe she had ever felt more terrified in her life. She could actually feel the blood pounding at her temples.
“Lieutenant Colonel Bennington’s military career has been a model of extraordinary service and courage and achievement, Your Honor,” Mr. Grimes began after he had got to his feet, cleared his throat, and grasped the edges of his robe just below the shoulders. “He has been singled out for commendation in no fewer than six official dispatches, one from India when he was a sergeant, four from the Peninsula after he became a commissioned officer—including one that followed his successful leadership of a forlorn hope—and one from the Battle of Waterloo. I have here, Your Honor, copies of those dispatches that I obtained from—”
“Yes, yes,” the judge said with another wave of his hand.“Leave them where they are. In the unlikely event I should feel the need to read either them or the letters sent from St. Helena, I will know where to find them. We will grant your client’s prowess on the battlefield, as we will grant General Pascoe’s. Get to the child, Mr. Grimes.”
Mr. Grimes got to her. He described—briefly—the size of the deceptively named Rose Cottage in Gloucestershire, the number of servants who saw to its smooth running, Gil’s financial ability to finance it and to raise his daughter in some comfort there. The documents he had received from Gil’s agent were waved away with the dispatches from the Horse Guards and the letters from St. Helena. He described the arrangements Gil had made to ensure the safety and care of his first wife and his daughter before he answered the call of duty to hurry off to Belgium, where he distinguished himself—
“Yes, yes.” The judge was getting a mite impatient, Abigail thought. Or a mitemoreimpatient.
“Before he left for Belgium,” Mr. Grimes said, “there was no question, Your Honor, of his child’s being taken to her grandparents’ home in Essex and left there. No permission was either asked or granted. If there was abandonment, it was not on Lieutenant Colonel Bennington’s part but upon that of the late Mrs. Bennington, who did not even remain at her mother’s house to care for the child herself. My client, upon his return from Belgium, was beside himself with worry when he arrived home to find his wife and child missing and the servants without any knowledge ofwherethey had gone. His agitation upon learning when he first called upon his mother-in-law that his wife was not there was perfectly understandable, especially as he was not permitted to enter the house. His anguish when he discovered through conversation he overheard, at the inn wherehe was putting up, that though his wife was indeed not at her mother’s house, his daughter most certainly was can only be imagined. What fond father wouldnothave returned to that house to demand that he see his child and take her home with him, where she belonged? And may it be noted, Your Honor, that when Lady Pascoe and her servants refused him access and barred his way from going upstairs to the child’s nursery, he heard his baby crying with fright—and went away rather than terrify her further by forcing his way to her. There, Your Honor, is the action of a loving parent.”
“Yes, yes,” the judge said. “Spare us more of your soaring rhetoric, Mr. Grimes. You are doubtless about to inform us that the same understanding of a parent’s anguish must be extended to the letters your client wrote from his island posting.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” the lawyer said, sounding somewhat disconcerted.
“Then we will pronounce it so extended,” the judge said. “Proceed.”
Mr. Grimes proceeded, and ended by explaining how his client had prepared to take back his child and ensure her future care and happiness by taking a new wife, who was unquestionably genteel. She was the daughter of the late Earl of Riverdale and the present Marchioness of Dorchester.
“Yes, yes,” the judge said. “I am not so out of touch with polite society, Mr. Grimes, as to have failed to notice that I have almost the whole of the Westcott family before me, plus a few spouses, including His Grace of Netherby. I assume you have dragged them into court this morning—or is it already this afternoon?—to impress me into incoherence with their testimonials to the good character of your client and his wife.”
He glared at Abigail’s gathered family as though they were a pack of felons, while Mr. Grimes looked unhappy and Beauty woofed and looked hopefully up at Gil as though to say that Judge Burroughs was not the only one forfeiting his luncheon.
“Stay,” Gil said quietly.
“These illustrious persons, Your Honor,” Mr. Grimes said, “have chosen to come here with no urging on either my part or my client’s.”
“It is my sincere hope,” the judge said, “that they are not all going to insist upon addressing this court. I will hear from one representative, if, that is, they have not all come here merely to be spectators and remain mute. Meanwhile, however, I will hear from the one character witness I have been informed of. Assuming that the... dog does not have a human voice, I will allow one human to speak on his behalf. I must confess myself more than a little curious to hear what he has to say. Or she. With a name like Beauty, one can only hope, I suppose, that he is in fact a she. Major Westcott, will you provide that human voice?”
“I will, Your Honor,” Harry said, while Mr. Grimes first hovered beside the table and then sat down.
Abigail found herself gripping Gil’s hand. Were these proceedings about to descend into farce when so much rode upon the outcome?
“Lieutenant Colonel Bennington discovered the dog on the battlefield of Waterloo after the fighting was over,” Harry explained. “She was a puppy at the time, starving, frightened, and apparently a stray. He fed her and took her into his care and has kept her ever since. She is, as you can see, Your Honor, both obedient and devoted to him. As he is to her.”
“Alas,” Judge Burroughs said. “The story is not nearlyas colorful as I had hoped. The dog has not saved his life upon any occasion, I suppose, or, better yet, the life of a child?”
General Pascoe’s lawyer tittered, and the judge fixed him with a severe eye.
“Not literally, Your Honor,” Harry said. “But my brother-in-law has come from Bath specifically because Gil’s dog has in a very real way saved his son’s life.”
“Ah,” the judge said. “This is better. Identify yourself, brother-in-law from Bath, and tell your story.”
Abigail turned her head to see Joel first half raise a hand and then get to his feet. He looked considerably embarrassed.
“Joel Cunningham, Your Honor,” he said. “My wife is a former Westcott, Mrs. Bennington’s sister. We have a seven-year-old son, an adopted child who came to us from an undesirable, even abusive, background. For three years we have been trying with limited success to induce him to trust us and to trust that life itself is not his enemy. During a recent week we spent at Hinsford Manor with the rest of my wife’s family and with Lieutenant Colonel Bennington, my son discovered Beauty—the dog, that is—and became inseparable from her. The lieutenant colonel allowed Robbie to spend all his daytime hours with her, even when that meant allowing the child into the privacy of his own room. He showed endless patience and kindness to a troubled boy, who now has a dog of his own and is at last showing distinct signs of improvement. My wife and I will be forever grateful to our new brother-in-law.”
