“It’s Miss Strong, my lord. The chief magistrate came to the house with runners. They want to take her away, so I came to find you as quick as—”
Simon didn’t wait to listen to anything else the maid had to say. He took off running, racing through the streets connecting the two houses until he spotted the one where he and Ida had been living. It was just there, right up ahead, but why was the front door open and why was Claus, one of the men Guthrie had sent over for protection, arguing with a stranger on the front steps? Was that Elliot’s carriage over there?
Dread seeped into Simon’s veins, freezing his blood. He wasn’t sure what exactly was happening yet, but none of what he saw boded well. Needing to make sure Ida was still there he kept running, not pausing for breath until he reached the front door. “What’s going on?”
Claus turned. “Ida’s been charged with attempted murder. The chief magistrate has arrested her and taken her to Bow Street. I’m trying to explain to this here constable that he’ll have the Duke of Windham to deal with unless they release her right away.”
“Never mind Windham,” Simon said as he moved in front of the constable. “I’m here now and I demand an explanation.”
“And who might you be?” the constable asked.
Simon straightened himself to his full height and glared down at the smaller man. “The Earl of Fielding.”
The constable grunted. “Then I’d suggest you speak with that gentleman over there.” He nodded toward Elliot’s carriage. “As I understand it, Mr. Nugent is your relation?”
Simon frowned. “He’s my uncle.”
“Well, he’s also the one pressing charges.” The constable tipped his hat. “Good day, my lord.”
Simon bristled.
“The way I see it,” Claus muttered, “you’d best have a word with your uncle.”
“And you’d better go and tell Guthrie what’s happened.” Simon clenched his fists. “Let him know I intend to do what I can to have the charges dropped.”
“Aye.”
Too furious to think of the repercussions he himself might face at Guthrie’s hands, Simon marched toward the carriage and flung the door open. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Putting your life back in order,” Elliot barked.
“You’ve no right,” Simon snapped. “Ida is just as innocent as her father was. She doesn’t deserve this.”
“I beg to differ.”
Simon glared at the man he’d known all his life, the man he’d refused to think might have played a part in what had happened to Matthew. “It was you, wasn’t it? You wrote the letters and hired a forger to craft the seals. You helped Napoleon escape from Elba.”
“How dare you imply such a thing?”
“You’re rotten to the core, and I intend to prove it.” He slammed the door shut and strode away with every intention of hiring a carriage to take him to Bow Street post haste
“You’re making a terrible mistake!” Elliot’s voice gave chase. “I only have your best intentions at heart!”
Simon chose not to listen. He had more important things on his mind. God, he’d been blind. The answer he and Ida had been looking for had been there all along. His uncle was the villain. No doubt about it. Which meant he must have forged his handwriting when he’d written instructions to Murdoch and managed to hide himself in the crowd when he’d pushed Ida down the stairs at Huntley House. The man was clearly far more devious than Simon had ever thought possible.
Slumped against the corner of the carriage as it rolled through the streets on its way to the Bow Street Magistrate’s Court, Ida faced her defeat. She’d failed. Mr. Elliot Nugent had stifled her efforts by seeing to her arrest. She would be imprisoned, judged, and convicted. The power of the elite was against her, the desire to see her silenced too strong for her to fight.
It was unjust, but it was the way the world worked. Her father had faced a similar situation. Unlike him, she had Simon and Guthrie on her side, but she feared neither man would have the influence required for her release. Not when the charge against her was so severe, and not when it would be her word against a respectable member of Society.
The carriage came to a jarring halt. Ida bumped her shoulder against the side. The door opened. “Get out.”
The order was curt and Ida complied, allowing the man who waited for her to grab her arm and steer her inside the building they’d arrived at. He marched her along, past men who stopped to stare at the new prisoner, then onward, through a series of doors and toward a cell.
“I need to speak with the Earl of Fielding,” Ida said.
The man unlocked the gate to the cell and shoved her inside. “What you need to do is be quiet.”
“He knows I’m being set up, just like my father was. Please. You have to tell him I’m here. You have to—”
