Belleterre could be an ass when he drank. Ives had forgotten how much of one.
“It is good you are back, now that things are coming to a head with that case,” Strickland said.
Ives caught his eye and glanced to Belleterre. Strickland took the hint.
“I have to go piss,” Belleterre said, unaware of their silent messages.
As soon as he left them, Ives put his head to Strickland’s. “Sedition now? I don’t believe it.”
Strickland sipped whiskey and smacked his lips. “Not what you believe that matters, is it? What the jury believes is all anyone cares about.”
“Do they have anything at all to convince a jury about that?”
“Enough for a good barrister to get the job done. More than enough for you to do it. Belvoir was told there would be hell to pay if he did not cooperate. Them that said it, meant it.”
“One more reason for me to decline to prosecute,” Ives muttered.
Strickland stared at him. “You cannot be thinking of it. I heard you were firmly committed.” He bent forward and whispered, “That word came from way on high. Do you understand?Hehas every confidence you will do your duty, it is said.”
“I have a conflict.”
“A conflict? Well, get rid of it.”
He had gotten rid of it. Or rather, it had gotten rid of him. Still, he remained a far cry from committed. It did a man’s soul no good to do his duty if he had lost faith in it.
Belleterre staggered toward them. “Let us go find some women,” he declared.
“The way I heard it, the woman you married has your cock under lock and key these days,” Strickland said.
Belleterre looked at Ives, pained. “See? The whole town knows. If Strickland quips at my expense, imagine what is being said by those with some wit?”
Ives sent Strickland a sidelong glance. Strickland’s own glance met his. They burst out laughing. “Trust us,” Ives choked out. “You do not want to know what those with wit are saying.”
Dispirited, Belleterre downed more whiskey.
***
Padua entered the gaoler’s office. He eyed her from head to toe.
“It has been some time, Miss Belvoir.”
“It has.”
“No food? No books?”
She shook her head. “It will be a very brief visit.”
“Make it so. He has been designated dangerous, I’ll have you know. We are supposed to keep a closer watch on him.”
She left the office and strode through the prison. Dangerous. What nonsense. Were the authorities blind?
Then again, what did she know? Perhaps Papa was a criminal mastermind.
She found him sleeping in his corner. The other inmates of his cell had changed over time. She did not recognize most of them. She gestured to one, and then at her father. The big fellow went over, and gave her father’s hip a good kick.
He startled awake, cowered, frowned, then saw her. He closed his eyes again.
“I know about the house,” she called. “The one on Silver Street.”
