“And his dog,” the judge added.
“And his dog,” Joel agreed. “And might it be added, Your Honor, that Lieutenant Colonel Bennington showed himself to be patient and gentle and good-natured with all the young children who were at Hinsford during that week.”
“It has been added,” the judge said, “whether I wished it to be or not.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Joel said, and sat down abruptly.
“Now,” the judge said, “I will hear from one representative of the Westcott family, unless by some miracle no one wants to speak at all.”
Abigail glanced behind her again. Alexander was getting to his feet.
“I am the Earl of Riverdale, Your Honor,” he said, “and head of the family. I have not known Lieutenant Colonel Bennington for long, but what I have seen has convinced me that he is an honorable man of steady character and mild-mannered disposition. I met him in Paris earlier this spring when I went there with the Duke of Netherby to bring home Major Westcott, who was still recovering from wounds sustained at Waterloo. The lieutenant colonel, having just completed a year of duty on St. Helena, was eager to return to England to see to his own pressing affairs. But he nevertheless delayed his journey after discovering his friend Major Westcott in a convalescent hospital for officers. He made arrangements to bring Harry home and remain with him while Harry recovered sufficient strength to be left alone. He continued steadfast in that commitment even after His Grace and I arrived in Paris. His behavior was exemplary throughout the journey and during the following week, while Netherby and I remained at Hinsford and were joined by the rest of the family. He left Hinsford only a week ago after marrying Miss Westcott, my cousin and Harry’s sister—and after assuring himself that Harry was fit to be left alone.”
“Hmph,” the judge said, but it appeared he had nothing to add.
“And may it be said, Your Honor,” Alexander continued,“that the lieutenant colonel’s choice of a bride and mother for his child cannot be faulted. Mrs. Bennington is a perfect lady in every way. She is modest and sensible and good-natured. And she is a Westcott. We are a close-knit family and invariably stand by our own in both triumph and adversity. When Lieutenant Colonel Bennington made his choice of wife, he also—perhaps without fully realizing it—chose us to be his family. And when he chose her as a mother for his daughter, he was choosing us to be her cousins and aunts and uncles—and grandmother and great-grandmother. Miss Katherine Bennington will never be without the security of family as long as there is one of us alive.”
“We have a courtroom full of orators,” the judge said. “Thank you, Lord Riverdale. It is only a shame we do not also have members of the lieutenant colonel’s family present. We might all leave here in tears.”
“There is one such member here, Your Honor,” a voice said from the back of the room. Abigail turned her head sharply to see that the stranger was on his feet and it was he who had spoken. “I am Charles Sawyer, Viscount Dirkson. Lieutenant Colonel Gilbert Bennington’s father.”
“Ah,” the judge said, “what more could I ask?” He banged his gavel on his desk to hush the swell of sound that had followed the stranger’s words.
But he was a stranger no more. Abigail gazed at him in shock, and Gil, she could see, without turning his head, had stiffened in every limb. His head had snapped back rather as though someone had punched him on the chin. His hands were in fists on the table before him, the leash clutched in one of them. Beauty looked up at him and very softly whimpered.
“Let us hear from you, Lord Dirkson, by all means,” the judge said. “The surprise witness. I shall be the envy of my peers when word spreads.”
Abigail laid a hand on Gil’s arm but she doubted he noticed. His eyes were closed again, his face angled up slightly toward the ceiling.
“Miss Bennington, the lieutenant colonel’s mother, was a proud woman,” Viscount Dirkson said. “She was the daughter of a prosperous blacksmith when I met her and... indulged in a brief liaison with her. She was turned out by her father and her whole family when it became known that she was with child, and she lived in desperate poverty as a washerwoman in a village nearby for the rest of her life. She would accept no support from me for either herself or her son—our son. Any gifts I sent were refused. But I never lost sight of either of them. I had my ways of knowing.
“Gilbert was a good child. He minded his mother and learned his lessons and endured the inevitable bullying of other, more fortunate children with a pride she had taught him. At the age of fourteen he went off with a recruiting sergeant and was soon sent to India, where he was obedient to his superiors and did his duty and demonstrated courage. He was never once written up for disciplinary action. He rose rapidly to the rank of corporal and then sergeant and distinguished himself in each role. I was proud of him.”
He stopped briefly when Gil suddenly brought down the side of one fist on the table. Everyone in the room jumped and looked his way, including the judge, who was frowning. He did not say anything, however—Gil was still sitting as before, his head tilted back, his eyes closed. Viscount Dirkson continued.
“Miss Bennington died,” he said, “and at last I felt free to offer some support to my son. I purchased an ensign’s commission and then a lieutenant’s for him. But he had more than his share of his mother’s stubborn pride. He wrote to inform me that any further attempt of mine tointerfere in his career or his life would be rejected. So I returned to viewing his career from afar.
“There has been nothing, Your Honor, in all the details I have learned that has shaken my pride in the upbringing his mother gave him and the way he has conducted himself since leaving his home. He honored his mother after leaving by writing to her and sending her money. I know him to be an honorable, dependable man of loyal, steadfast character. It is my opinion that Miss Abigail Westcott would not have married him if it were not so. The Westcotts have a reputation for marrying only when their hearts are fully engaged with someone they deem worthy of their love.” He sat down.
“We may need handkerchiefs after all,” the judge said, drumming his fingertips on his desk before sitting back in his chair, frowning and pursing his lips.
Gil sat staring downward, absolutely immobile. Abigail set her hand in his and he gripped it tightly without turning to look at her.
“In an ideal world,” the judge said after a full two minutes of silence, during which all attention was focused upon him, “this case would have the simplest of solutions. In asensibleworld, that is. General Pascoe, you and your lady are Katherine Bennington’s grandparents. I daresay you love her as the only child ofyouronly child, sadly now deceased. Grandparents aresupposedto love their grandchildren. It is unnatural if they do not. They are supposed to spoil them and then gleefully restore them to their parents so that they may deal with the consequences. Only under extraordinary circumstances do they take andkeeptheir grandchildren and refuse to allow the parents even to see them. In this case those circumstances hinge upon the unsubstantiated account your daughter gave her mother ofabuse at her husband’s hands and presumably fear for the child’s safety. Yet it would seem to me that any mother fearing for her child’s safety would be unwilling to let that child out of her sight, especially when her husband could be expected to return at any moment. Yet your daughter went off to visit friends.
“And you, Lieutenant Colonel Bennington, are the child’s father. You would seem to live in a comfortable home under comfortable circumstances. You left your wife and child well provided for there when you were called away to distinguish yourself at Waterloo. You can hardly be accused of abandoning them when your duty was clear. I assume General Pascoe responded similarly and was himself in Belgium when your wife took your daughter to her mother. You behaved badly afterward when you raged at a lady who was both your mother-in-law and the grandmother of your daughter. You continued your bad behavior when you wrote angry, threatening letters from St. Helena. However, I cannot for the life of me think how else you could have been expected to behave. Any father under such circumstances would have raged similarly. Many would have dashed their mother-in-law to the ground in order to get to their child crying piteously in an upstairs room. And who would blame them?”
“Your Honor!” General Pascoe’s lawyer protested, jumping to his feet.
Judge Burroughs’s gavel banging against his desk made everyone jump again. “You are out of order!” he thundered. “Sit down, sir. Any more such outbursts and I will have you dragged from my courtroom in chains.”
The lawyer resumed his seat as fast as he had left it.
“Mrs. Bennington,” the judge said, frowning ferociously upon Abigail, “was the innocent victim of a father whobehaved outrageously and criminally by contracting a bigamous marriage with her mother. I have never understood why the sins of the fathers should be visited upon their sons—or daughters in this case. It would seem to me that Mrs. Bennington has shown good judgment in marrying a man who is devoted enough to his child to put himself throughthis.And she married him on the full understanding that she would be taking upon herself the role of stepmother to his daughter. I believe that what Viscount Dirkson said of the Westcott family must be true.”
Gil pressed Abigail’s hand hard against his thigh.
“I suppose,” the judge said, his eyes coming to rest upon Gil, “the scar that makes you look so like a disreputable pirate, Lieutenant Colonel Bennington, was honorably acquired in battle?”
