Page 64 of To Save a Scoundrel’s Soul

“The gallery is packed,” agreed Valentin, seemingly as cool as if taking a stroll on a crisp spring morn for the sole purpose of admiring drystone walls or hunting for rare species of moss. Calmly, he scanned the crowds. Even with one hand tied and minus the assistance of decent washing and laundering facilities, his strong profile exuded elegance.

“I note a lot of older gentlemen in attendance. From all walks of life, I imagine—merchants, milliners, sailors…footmen. Some of whom I daresay have known the Talybridge family for many years.”

“Get on with it!” Campbell-Allen’s patience veered towards breaking point. “They can all be vagabonds for all it bears any relevance. I am ignorant of how they conduct these matters in France, Beauregard, but in the Old Court—my court—you are here to be tried for Grand Larceny, not to pass the time of day indulging in idle tattle about the Talybridge family tree.”

Valentin bowed his head, suitably contrite, before returning his attention to a perspiring Talybridge. “Forgive me. Perhaps, on another day, someone might enlighten us as to the history of the parure. In tune with His Grace, it is of interest—”

Campbell-Allen sighed heavily again and brought out his fob. “Beauregard. I am failing to see the objective of all this, and the marquess is being far too reasonable in his humouring of it. You have two minutes before I shall ask the jury to retire and consider their verdict. Clear?”

“As the crystal waters of Verdille,” answered Valentin agreeably. “Very well.”

His demeanour instantly shifted, the languid friendly tones replaced by a sharp precision that sliced through the air. “I deny stealing the parure on the night of the New Year ball. Despite all the evidence presented, no one witnessed the theft. Thus, I shall use the allotted time remaining to me wisely, by outlining an alternative theory.” He cleared his throat, no doubt in need of water himself, though none was forthcoming. Talybridge gulped at his like a landed fish.

“In a word, my lord judge and gentlemen of the jury, I put it to you that I have been set up. Malicious rumours about me have abounded since I set foot on English soil. I am of the opinion that the parure was never stolen from that safe at all; I believe the marquess became so addled at the ball by his betrothed fleeing to Gretna in the arms of another man, compounded by the wanton vandalism of his portrait, that he merely mislaid it. And, after raising such a rumpus, he is far too embarrassed to admit the truth. Covering up his feeble-mindedness by accusing me of the theft is nothing but the marquess directing the ton away from his own humiliating situation and, may I also suggest, provides a useful outlet for all of his frustrations.”

The courtroom, mere seconds ago filled with the low hum of dainty wooden fans, shuffling feet, and gasps of conversation, now stood unnervingly still, as though all in attendance were undecided whether to laugh, to mock, or to bury themselves in Valentin’s incredulous bold lies.

Standing tall in the dock, with his dark head held high, the Frenchman let his eyes land on Mickey, softening. Again, he pressed his fingertip to his lips.

“Oh, I say,” murmured Rossingley. “Bravo, Monsieur le Vicomte. Bravo.”

Meanwhile, across the courtroom from him, quivering with rage, Talybridge was in danger of succumbing to an apoplectic fit. Or at the very least, drowning in his own perspiration. “Did you dare to call me addled? Feeble-minded? This is…this…”

In shocked silence, all assembled waited for Talybridge’s next move. Even the judge seemed at a loss for words. The marquess’s lips worked furiously, but nothing emerged. When one of his men thrust a second glass of water at him, Valentin seized his chance.

“According to the runner—Mr Pearson—your safe was found hanging open, my lord. Am I correct?”

“Yes! Because you opened it, damn your eyes!”

“And your butler confirmed it was hanging open, yes?”

“Yes!” Talybridge’s skin glistened under the bright lights of the courtroom, the sheen of moisture and unhealthy shade of purple a testament to the storm raging within.

“And both men swore the parure was not inside.” Valentin, on the other hand, sounded the very model of cool reasonableness.

“Yes! Damn you, man.” Talybridge gulped at his water too fast; a dribble ran down his chin.

“To make a liar even more maddened, keep asking them questions,” Tommy hissed. “Sidney swears by it. See? Talybridge is starting to panic.”

“But your butler also describes Lady Cavendish handing him the jewellery box before the evening celebrations got underway, and returning the parure to the safe. So, to clarify, it was in your safe?”

“Of course it was in my damned safe! And now it’s not! As you of all people know!”

“But I don’t know that, Lord Talybridge. I believe you still have it yourself, my lord. It has never been stolen.”

“Stop saying that!”

“I believe you simply mislaid it. Or, even more perturbing, you have deliberately contrived to set me up for the theft in order to hide your own inadequacies. In fact, I’d go a step further, my lord. I’d suggest that you have since located it.”

“How jolly dare you! You…you should be hanged for such a preposterous accusation!”

“Perhaps you have it about your person right now,” pressed Valentin, his words an ever-tightening velvet rope. Every woman and man in the room hung on them; one could have heard a pin drop. “After all, one can hardly return it to the safe. And it is far too valuable to leave somewhere inside the house. Secreting it about your person is the next best secure location.”

“Codspiffle!”

“If you reach into your trouser pocket, Lord Talybridge, I believe you can show us.”

Mickey didn’t know what, at that moment, drew Talybridge’s eye to Fitzsimmons. Perhaps it was his utter stillness in a courtroom where the air was thick with agitation. Or simply that he was an imposing man, taking up the space of two men on the front row. More likely, it was that he had the half sheet of foolscap opened up in his hand.