“But—”
“The accusations against you are most severe, Miss Strong.” He opened an outer door and led her toward an awaiting carriage.
“They are false, sir.”
“I’m sure they are.” He helped her into the carriage, then climbed in himself and locked the door before tapping the roof for the driver.
“I was only trying to defend myself,” Ida whispered. Everything was happening too fast. It was just as it had been four years ago with her father. His trial had been rushed as well. Two days after he’d dropped her off at Amourette’s, he’d been hanged. There had been no chance for anyone to prevent it, no time for a legal team to launch a proper defense, or even to hear his side of the story.
The guard met her gaze. “Then I’m sure justice will be on your side.”
Ida swallowed. She wasn’t sure she believed that. But at least if Simon would learn what had happened, he’d be able to come to her aid. Closing her eyes, she cursed herself for firing that pistol. By shooting Mr. Nugent she’d provided him with the perfect means by which to rid himself of her.
How pitifully ironic.
“Please have this man locked away until further notice,” the chief magistrate informed one of the constables when he and Simon arrived at the Bow Street office with Mr. St. John. He approached the front desk while Mr. St. John was led away. “I need a release form.”
The clerk handed him one and Simon watched with increased excitement while the chief magistrate filled it out. He handed it back to the clerk once he’d signed his name.
The clerk studied it. His eyebrows dipped in the middle. He cleared his throat and looked up with the sort of expression that made Simon’s skin prick all over. His stomach tightened with wary foreboding.
“Miss Strong was removed to the Old Bailey almost six hours ago. Her trial was at eight.” The clerk leafed through a pile of papers, pulled a sheet free and gave it to Simon. “She’s been sentenced to fourteen years of transportation to the colonies and—”
Whatever else the man said became a painful ringing in Simon’s ears. His vision blurred and for a moment he felt like he might fall over. “No.”
“With the charges against her dropped,” the chief magistrate said, “we can appeal the ruling.”
Simon grunted. “Forgive me, but my faith in the legal system has taken a serious dive this past month. I wouldn’t be surprised if Miss Strong is shipped off tonight and forced to endure a harsh voyage she doesn’t deserve, not to mention what comes after. Good God.” He stared at the chief magistrate in desperation. “She’s going to be my wife, damn it. I need to get her home this instant.”
“She’ll be at Newgate until the ship is ready for departure,” the chief magistrate said. He snatched the summary of Ida’s sentencing from Simon and skimmed it. “Looks like you’re not wrong, my lord. The recommendation is for her to be aboard the next outbound vessel.”
Simon started to shake. He grabbed the edge of the front desk and forced himself to stay upright. This wasn’t happening. After everything they’d just been through, this could not be the next obstacle they had to face. It was simply too overwhelming. “There has to be something you can do to help – a way in which to stop this.”
“I will go to Newgate and check for her there while you head for the docks. Agreed?”
Simon nodded. “Yes.”
“Take my request for release with you, along with this letter.” The chief magistrate grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a few lines which he signed not only with his own signature but with a wax seal bearing the Bow Street office’s emblem. “It will lend credence to your words.”
“Right.” Simon thanked the man and ran from the building, down the front steps, and into the street where he hailed an approaching hackney. “To the docks. As fast as you can.”
The carriage lurched forward the moment Simon shut the door, jolting him back onto one of the benches. He grabbed the leather strap next to the window, barely holding himself upright as the vehicle caught speed, and Simon thanked God the coachman knew what urgency meant.
Chapter Twenty-One
Shivering, Ida pressed herself up against the side of the wagon the guards had placed her in after her trial. Her wrists were tightly bound behind her back, making it hard for her to find a comfortable position. All around, huddled much in the same way as she, were dozens of other prisoners, all eerily silent. They were beyond tears and complaints, their spirits so broken they simply accepted what was to come.
Ida wondered how many were just as innocent as she, mistakenly or perhaps even purposefully wronged by a system that simply wanted them gone. The trial itself had been a laughable affair. The judge’s blunt words still rang in her ears.
“You have been charged with attempted murder by a peer of the realm, an offense for which you ought to hang. But since there are no scheduled hangings for a few days, you can work yourself to death in the colonies instead.”
“But—”
The judge’s gavel had fallen with a resounding thud. “Next!”
Firm hands had grabbed her arms and dragged her toward the exit. There had been no chance for protest, no opportunity for her to argue her case, not the slightest possibility of being heard or of being treated with fairness. Every word she’d tried to speak had fallen on deaf ears. Her throat tightened and she closed her eyes to block out her grimy surroundings. Where was Simon? It had been hours since her trial had ended – hours she’d spent in a filthy prison cell hoping and praying he’d come and save her. So why hadn’t he shown up?
The wagon bounced as it rattled along, knocking her shoulder straight into the side. She winced and opened her eyes. The gown she wore was crumpled and covered in splotches of dirt while the elegant coiffure Miranda had worked to create had turned into a tangled mess. Ida bit down hard on her lower lip and told herself all would be well.
