The Lord High Steward invited Mr. Upwey to cross-examine.
Upwey stood and approached the witness box. “Mr. Bastin, during the six weeks that Lord Hudsyn stayed at Greyson Manor, how did he occupy his time?”
“He took plenty of walks, went into town, attended the theater, spent time with my wife and daughter, and volunteered twice at my sister’s ladies’ college where he taught English to working women who wanted to improve their reading and writing skills.”
“So, this supposed predator spent his time doing charity work and helping young women improve their lives?”
“That’s correct.”
Henry swallowed, thinking guiltily of Anne and hoping the Attorney General didn’t know about her.
“Thank you. Nothing further, Mr. Bastin.”
Jack stepped down from the witness box and returned to his seat.
“Does the Crown rest its case?” The Lord High Steward looked at the Attorney General.
“No, Your Grace. We have one more witness.”
Henry’s throat constricted, and his heart froze.The mystery witness his barrister had told him about. Who could it be?
The Crown calls Mr. Nathaniel Trawler,” the Attorney General said.
Henry sucked in his breath.Nate!
Chapter Twenty-Three
But hark, what sounds have struck hisear;
Voices of men theyseem;
And two have entered now hiscell;
Can this too be adream?
—Anne Brontë,A Prisoner in a DungeonDeep
Annabel’s ears buzzed.Someone was talking to her, but she couldn’t make sense of the words. Her eyelids fluttered. She blinked several times and then forced them open. A blurred face bent toward hers.Where am I?
“Mrs. Crawford, can you hear me?”
She blinked again, and slowly the face came into focus. She recognized the fresh, round face and ruddy cheeks. It was Lena—one of the younger housemaids at Greyson manner. Annabel tried to speak, but her throat felt as though it was scorched.
“Can you sit up? And take a sip of tea?”
Yes, please. Tea. Give me tea. My throat.She attempted to push herself to a sitting position, but her arms seemed to have lost all their strength.
“Here, let me help you. Don’t tire yourself, now.” Lena stepped behind Annabel, clasped her under her arms, and pulled her to a sitting position. Then she arranged the pillows, and when she’d finished, Annabel felt more comfortable and relatively stable.
She tried again to speak.
“Don’t try to talk before taking some nourishment.” The doctor was here and left strict instructions for you to rest. He said he’s seen a lot of folks like you these past few days on account of the fire in Whitstable. They all have scorched throats, blackened faces, and weak and shocked bodies, just like yours. Horrible it is. They say it started late at night when folks were already in their beds, and the winds kept it going until morning.” Lena held the teacup to Annabel’s lips.
She took a tiny sip and let the warm liquid trickle down her throat. Feeling bolder, she took a longer sip. That one hurt. It stung her raw throat, but once it was down, she felt better.
“But I told the doctor you couldn’t have been near the fire because Yorkshire is a long way from Whitstable. And he said, ‘No matter, I’m telling you that this young lady’s lungs have been injured by smoke, and she needs rest. She is not to exert herself. Those are my strict orders.’ That’s what he said.”
Annabel smiled weakly. “The doctor is right, Lena. I was in Whitstable—” she paused to rest her aching throat and chest—“and I was caught in the town when it burned.”
