She recognized some of them from her first stint in jail. On the other side of the long bench they sat on was the man who’d come close to revealing her secret. Perhaps it was the weeks she’d spent free that caused these men to dislike her.
One by one they were taken from the dock to stand before the judge and jury while the officers who had arrested them presented their evidence.
One by one, each of the accused spoke their defense—everything ranging from “I wasn’t there” to “I was just walking past” to “I damned well did it and I’d do it again.”
The jury, a group of twelve people with sour faces, sat and listened. At the end of the day, they would rule on each case. Until then, the accused sat and watched the rest of the trials.
How many of these men—if any—would walk free? How many of them would find themselves on a ship to Australia? None faced Fiona’s charges, only breaching the peace and assault, all because they voiced their disagreement with how poorly they were represented.
“Miss Fiona McTavish,” the bailiff said. “Your turn.”
She wiped her sweating palms on her velvet pelisse and swallowed. Her heart thumped.
She stared at her feet as she was led to the main floor.Look respectful, she thought to herself.Keep your voice low. Make them think you’re simply a foolish woman.
When they reached the desk opposite the judge and next to the prosecutor, she finally looked up from her slippers. Rollins, Edward’s lawyer, stood there, a grave look on his face.
“Keep quiet and let me work,” he said.
That didn’t instill much confidence. The last time they had faced court together, her misdemeanor charges had been upgraded to assault.
She twisted to look at the gallery behind her. Edward sat in the first row of the packed spectator benches, right in the center where his presence could not be missed. He looked every inch the duke—perfectly presented with jeweled stickpin the size of a robin’s egg. There was no mistaking who he was.
Even from this distance, she could see his displeasure; his jaw was set at an odd angle, his face in a permanent frown. His hands rested on his thighs, out of sight, but she could picture the frustrated tap of his fingers against his breeches.
There hadn’t been this big an audience gathered at her first hearing. Clearly, the story of the duke and the treasonous, duplicitous scientist had spread. Those who weren’t ogling her in clear delight were craning their necks to get a good look at him.
He would be hating every second of this. The perfect Duke of Wildeforde now a key player in the most melodramatic of storylines. She tried to feel sympathy for him but couldn’t.
Despite what he must be feeling, he caught her eye and gave her a curt nod. A you’ll-be-fine nod, intended to make her feel better but ultimately making her stomach roil further.
The prosecutor stepped forward. “Your Honor. Today we bring before you Miss Fiona McTavish. While she may look like a respectable woman, we have evidence that she has consorted with known extremists and supplied them with the knowledge and tools to create an incendiary device that could devastate our beloved city, putting its lords, its lawmakers, and even its sovereign at risk. In addition, we have three eyewitnesses from members of the King’s Guard who can testify that she was seen breaking into the grounds of Westminster Palace. We will demonstrate that she poses a great risk to society and that her sentence should reflect the seriousness of her crimes.”
The courtroom broke out in wild exclamations, and the magistrate was forced to bang his gavel multiple times to restore order.
The prosecutor looked as though he was ready to continue his opening statement, but Rollins spoke up. “If I may interrupt, Your Honor. Before the prosecution continues with their entirely spurious accusations, I ask that they at least use the plaintiff’s correct name—Her Grace, the Duchess of Wildeforde.”
A wave of nausea almost overcame her at the use of the title she didn’t want, that she was forced into. Shocked gasps echoed through the chamber. The prosecutor sent Rollins a murderous stare. “This is naught but a ruse,” he said loudly, trying to be heard over the din of the crowd.
Rollins waited patiently for silence. “I assure you, Your Honor, it is very much the truth. His Grace is also willing to testify that his wife was with him the night of the alleged palace break-in. One must ask, which eyewitness account holds more credibility, that of a royal peer of the realm? Or of three guards who viewed the suspect at night, in the rain, from thirty yards away for less than a handful of seconds?”
The magistrate took a long look at Fiona, clearly assessing the situation, then turned his attention to Edward. She watched as Edward gave a solid, deliberate nod to the man who held her whole future in his palm.
The magistrate cleared his throat. “My learned friends, I agree with the defense. I’m not satisfied that the prosecution will be able to deliver a compelling argument.”
Fiona’s knees buckled, and she reached out a hand to Rollins to steady herself. He didn’t so much as glance in her direction as the prosecutor protested.
“The case is dismissed without prejudice,” the magistrate said. “The prosecution is free to bring charges again when—if—it has more solid evidence. But mark me, the evidence must be overwhelming for you to waste my time with this case again.”
She laughed shakily, her whole body trembling. She wouldn’t be charged again—there would be no stronger evidence because she’d never been guilty. Now it was time to get the hell out of London. To get away from everyone in it. To put this whole, wretched experience behind her.
She and Rollins had to pass the dock to exit the courtroom. The angry clamor of the men there matched the clamor of emotions within her. Relief. Guilt. Anger. Grief.
Once they’d reached the corridor outside, the bailiff uncuffed her and she sagged against the wall, looking up to God in thanks.
Rollins turned to her, a bland expression on his face, as though they hadn’t just been through the most harrowing moment of her life. “His Grace will be very pleased. He bid me to escort you to his carriage. It’s waiting in the mews behind the courthouse.”
Ha.
