Clara rose with dignity, nose in the air, her bravado an indication she was lucid. Behind her in the gallery, Mrs. Whitmore held a handkerchief to her eyes, dabbing furiously. How hard this had to be for her.
“Very good.” The judge shuffled some papers on his desk, held one up to his eyes, and then methodically set it down. “Miss Clara Whitmore, you have been charged and found guilty of abduction, false imprisonment, and the attempted murder of Miss Charity Russell.”
“No!” she shrieked, her hands waving frantically. “I never tried to kill Charity. She is my dearest friend!”
The gavel cracked. “Order!”
The guard nearest Clara clamped her arm, holding her steady as her breath came in frantic gasps.
An uneasy silence settled over the courtroom.
The judge pulled off his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing.
“Normally, for committing such crimes, you, Miss Whitmore, would be sentenced to death or transportation. However, given your fragile mental state and upon the testimonies of Dr. Branch and Dr. Yeats, you are deemed unfit for traditional penalties. Therefore, you are henceforth committed to the Bedford Lunatic Asylum, where you will remain for the rest of your days.”
Mrs. Whitmore swooned in the bench behind her daughter, the gentleman beside her fanning her face in a frenzy.
Clara whirled towards Henry. “Stop this! Tell them I belong with you. YouknowI belong with you. I did this for you. For us. You love me. You owe me!” Her words choked into a garbled wail as she thrashed in the guard’s grip.
Henry remained motionless, his expression flint.
The gavel struck again, the report of it sharp as a shot. “Take her away,” the judge boomed. “Court is dismissed.”
The judge rose, his black robe billowing as he departed for his chamber. Others stood as well, chatter breaking out as the guard hauled Clara off, her wails a pitiful sound.
Juliet leaned towards Henry, who sat as if his spine were a rod of steel. “Are you all right?”
He gave a sharp nod; then finally, his body uncoiled as he faced her. “I am glad it is finally over.”
Next to him, Charity broke from her father’s embrace, tears in her eyes. What an ordeal this had been for her—for them all.
Juliet squeezed Henry’s arm gently. “My aunt and I shall meet you outside. Take a moment to be with your family.”
His jaw worked, emotion rippling below the surface in those grey-green eyes of his. With a quiet exhale, he covered her hand with his own. “Thank you, Juliet.”
She nodded, then turned to her aunt. “Shall we?”
“Yes, dear. It has been an eventful few days, and I am more than ready for a quiet evening by the hearth.” Her aunt pushed up, swayed a bit from sitting so long, and then edged her way along the bench to the aisle. Save for some random aches and pains, and that she tired easily, Aunt Margaret was back to her normal self, going so far as mixing up a new batch of tonics from the last of her herbal reserves.
Out in the lobby, the horse-faced Mr. Scather waved and approached, blocking their exit. Out of habit, Juliet tensed.
“Ladies.” He dipped his head. “I will not detain you long as I know this has been very trying for you both. That being said, allow me to come directly to my point. Mrs. Brewster”—he peered at Aunt Margaret over the rims of his spectacles—“I should like to offer you employment.”
Juliet reared back her head. Of all the things she’d expected him to say, this did not even make the list.
Her aunt reset her hat, coaxing it to a jaunty angle. “Thank you for your offer, sir, but I am not in need of employment.”
“No, no. Of course not.” Mr. Scather tugged at his cravat, his overlarge Adam’s apple bobbing. “What I mean to say is I should like to offer you a partnership of sorts.”
“What sort?” Juliet narrowed her eyes.
The apothecary lifted his pointed chin while wrapping his fingers around his lapels. “I should like to take you on as a partner, Mrs. Brewster, if you will have me.”
Juliet’s jaw dropped. “Why would you even consider such a thing?”
His dark eyes shifted her way. “Because your aunt’s customers are as loyal as they come. Actually”—he turned back to Aunt Margaret—“they trust you. They believe in your knowledge and your remedies. And after the laudanum incident … well, I’d be a fool not to admit that I have some things yet to learn.”
Juliet blinked.
