“Indeed.” Mr. Richmond made several notes before raising his gaze to Charlotte. “Killing a man is a serious offense, Miss Russell, regardless of the reasoning. And while I will agree Mr. Callanach may have deserved his fate, if he did indeed murder Mr. Hollander as you describe, there is no proof this is what happened.”
“Mrs. Callanach witnessed it with her own eyes,” Charlotte protested. “She may not be able to speak, but she can write a statement.”
Mr. Richmond’s grim expression was not a good source for optimism. “Her reputation has been torn to shreds by what happened. No one will take her at her word. Certainly not after all these years. Which makes any testimony she might be willing to give as good as useless.”
“Mr. Callanach lied,” Charlotte insisted. “He told the world his nephew had been so enraged when he’d learnt of his mother’s infidelity that he’d murdered Mr. Hollander, then struck down his father when he’d tried to restrain him. Mr. Callanach said James Callanach died when he fell from his horse while fleeing, and that he had him buried in an unmarked grave as punishment for his sin.”
“And therein lies the defense.”
Charlotte blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Earlier, you referred to the man who has been imprisoned by Seamus Callanach as Mr. Blayne MacNeil. And yet, you have spoken of Seamus’ nephew – the lad who’s reputed to have committed murder – as James Callanach.” Mr. Richmond steepled his fingers. “Are you in fact quite certain the two are one and the same? And I suggest you take a moment to consider your answer carefully, Miss Russell.”
Charlotte sat back.
“Maybe,” Marcus said in a slow drawl, “Mr. Seamus Callanach has been mistaken.”
“That is what I am thinking,” Mr. Richmond said.
“After all,” Marcus added, “One cannot bury someone and then resurrect them two decades later. Can one?”
“It does seem unlikely,” Mr. Richmond agreed.
“So…” Charlotte said, warming to the idea she was being presented with, “Mr. Seamus Callanach has accused an innocent man to whom he’s not related?”
“He has certainly accused a man known as Blayne MacNeil of being someone whom it would be impossible for him to be when Seamus himself has said that person is dead.” Mr. Richmond frowned as if in thought. “And on what grounds? An old woman’s suggestion that Mr. MacNeil might bear some resemblance to Bruce Callanach? That’s hardly a solid basis for an arrest, never mind a trial. Plus, you’ve also said your mother, Lady Elkins, saw little resemblance either, besides them both being Scottish and tall.”
Charlotte considered this. Denying Blayne was James would be the simplest way forward – so simple in fact it surprised her she’d not thought of it herself, or that Blayne hadn’t used it in his defense. Perhaps he’d believed in his own guilt so much he’d simply accepted his fate when Seamus showed up in the church and accused him.
Of course, insisting Seamus was mistaken – that he’d wrongfully blamed a different man – would lead to another problem, namely Blayne losing out on whatever inheritance might be his due. There could be thousands of pounds in the Callanach coffers, money that would forever after belong to Seamus if Blayne denied his true identity. But considering the alternative, which would be a lengthy trial with an unpredictable outcome, it might be an option worth taking. Indeed, it might be theonlyoption if he wished to live.
And yet…
“Since any attempt we make to defend Mr. MacNeil will have a direct impact on him,” Charlotte said, “I believe it would be best if you were to meet with him, Mr. Richmond, in order to present him with his options so he can decide how to proceed.”
“I’ll do so tomorrow,” Mr. Richmond assured her. “If he agrees to let me help him, I’ll meet with the Chief Judiciary afterward so we can resolve the matter as quickly as possible.”
Pleased with Mr. Richmond’s solid advice and efficiency, Charlotte paid his fee and offered her thanks. Having forfeited her dowry when she departed for Scotland, her chance of regaining rights over her manuscript as good as lost, and Blayne sacrificing his savings to help out her father, she wasn’t sure how they would ever afford the life they’d hoped for.
She shook her head and chastised herself for worrying over such things. All that mattered was that they’d be together, and if that meant living at a St. Giles tavern for a while, then so be it. At least they wouldn’t be homeless.
Hope filled Blayne to the brim as he listened to Mr. Richmond. He’d not dared believe he actually stood a chance of acquittal, and yet, the solicitor had found a cunning way to beat his uncle. Provided Blayne was willing to make one last sacrifice.
Unfortunately, as luck would have it, the solicitor returned the following morning with unwelcome news.
“I was denied a meeting with the Chief Judiciary,” Mr. Richmond informed Blayne with regret. “In other words, I was unable to issue a plea to have you released on grounds of unjust imprisonment. To make matters worse, a trial has been scheduled for Thursday next week at the High Court of Justiciary. I’m sorry.”
Blayne could only stare at him while an unwelcome sense of defeat crawled through him. “Sounds like I’ll be needing a barrister then.”
“Indeed. I’ve already spoken with a colleague of mine. Mr. Walsh is the finest defense barrister you’ll find this side of Hadrian’s Wall. After explaining your situation, he believes you could have a chance of winning.”
“Thank ye, Mr. Roberts. If ye dinnae mind, as one last request, I’d like ye to ask Miss Russell to come and see me again.” It surprised Blayne a bit that she hadn’t been back yet. He missed her.
“Right.” Mr. Roberts shifted his feet. “Turns out the prosecutor has barred you from receiving visitors.”
“What?”
“I thought you’d been informed.”
