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“Let me take numbers two, four, and five in order,” Radford said. “These pertain to rank and social standing. Firstly, as to rank: I am the great-grandson of the third Duke of Malvern. My father is heir presumptive to the present duke. Men of less lofty antecedents than mine travel in the first circles of Society and are admitted to Court.”
Only Clara knew what it cost him to use his beastly cousin’s rank, and her heart squeezed.
“The only court you’re admitted to is criminal court,” Mama said. “His Majesty doesn’t know you exist.”
“As it happens, my lady, my name is known to His Majesty,” Radford said. “I have prosecuted for the Crown more than once, as well as seeking royal mercy in the form of conditional pardons. I have represented or advised six members of the upper ranks of society, all of whom have offered to exert their influence on my behalf. In short, I do have useful connections. I simply haven’t used them, out of a possibly misguided desire to make my way on my own merits. However, in the event I marry Lady Clara, I won’t hesitate to use all possible means to ensure her continued—”
“You may not make such appalling sacrifices on my account,” Clara burst out. “You of all people ought to see how silly it is to claim Society will ostracize me. Really, Mama, I wonder at your proposing it. No hostess will exclude me simply because I was so intrepid as to marry Mr. Radford. On the contrary, the world will flood us with invitations.”
“Clara, you live in a fantasy world,” said her mother.
“I live in our world, Mama,” Clara said. “I understand as well as you do how our friends think. Yes, everybody will talk. But they’ll be wondering what’s so special about Mr. Radford. They’ll want to know why, of all the fine gentlemen who courted me, I wanted the one who didn’t. Certainly the ladies will want to know what I did to bring the elusive Raven Radford to heel.”
Only she caught the infinitesimal twitch of Radford’s mouth.
“Raven Radford!” Mama said. “The criminals are bad enough, but this vulgar nickname—”
“Enough,” Papa said. “I call the court to order. Clara, you interrupt the proceedings.”
“I! What of Mama?”
“She must be let to express herself from time to time, to prevent the physical injury she would do herself if stifled.”
“Warford!”
“Yet after a time, I did call you to order, my dear, did I not? Can’t let anybody think I can’t control my wife.”
“You are on his side, Warford!”
“I’m on Clara’s side,” he said. “Her happiness is what concerns me.”
“Then call me as a witness, Mr. Radford,” Clara said. “Why should you answer all these ridiculous charges yourself, when it’s my happiness everybody claims to be in agonies about?”
“I’m perfectly capable of answering the charges unaided,” Radford said.
“Why should you? I got you into this.”
“You most certainly did not.”
“I plagued you endlessly.”
“I’m a lawyer,” he said. “People plague us constantly with their problems, and we’re glad to have the work.”
“But I was always underfoot.”
“Not always,” he said. “You proved useful now and again. Or, at the very least, entertaining. Enough to lead me to seek you out, when I ought to have let you go your way. On that point, in fact, I was about to call a witness.” He turned to Westcott. “Kindly summon the first witness.”
Westcott went to the door and murmured something—to the clerk, evidently. A moment later, Tilsley dragged Fenwick, in all his gold and lilac glory, into the office, not without some scuffling and hostile use of elbows.
Radford should have realized matters wouldn’t proceed precisely as he’d planned.
Fenwick did take the “stand”—the rug in front of Westcott’s desk. He did testify regarding the shockingly large bribe—two shillings!—Radford had paid the little pirate to get a clandestine message to Lady Clara.
But then Lady Clara rose to cross-examine, and asked if it were not true that she had initially employed the boy—for two shillings!—to take her to Mr. Radford, he being, on the boy’s avowal, “the only feller which’d find a cove which’d gone ’n done a bolt if anybody could.”
Then the boy went out again—and, by the sounds of it, scuffled with Tilsley.
But then her father asked, too quietly, what, precisely, his daughter was talking about.
Ignoring Radford’s signals to be silent, Lady Clara took the stand to confess to a hundred crimes and misdemeanors, i.e., the full and true story leading up to her illness (but with the naughty bits left out).
By the time she was done turning her parents’ hair grey, Radford’s emotional self was banging his head against a wall.
He said, “Did nobody ever tell you never to say a word above what is asked of you when you are under examination?”
She said, “Can’t you see it’s bad strategy for you to take all the blame?”
“Bad strategy!”
“Yes. It makes you seem a wicked seducer, which won’t help your case. You know I started this, Mr. Radford, and you know I used all my womanly wiles on you—”
“Such as they are,” he cut in before she made him smile—or, more prejudicial, laugh—and before she could make matters worse, though he wasn’t sure that was possible. “And let me assure the jury that, as a barrister, I am of a necessity and by training and experience impervious to womanly wiles.”
“Yes, and it’s very irritating of you,” she said. “But I’m obstinate—”
“Let us say persevering.”
“Do not start being gentle with me at this late date,” she said.
“I’m trying to make a good impression on your parents,” he said.
“Which goes against your nature and makes you look a trifle green,” she said. “I recommend, for your health’s sake, you cease and desist.”
And he had all he could do not to say, I love you I love you I love you.
“In any case, your gentleness is rather condescending, don’t you think?” she said.
“Perhaps. A little. Thank you, my lady. You may step down.”
“I’m not done.”
“I believe your ladyship has done enough,” he said. “We shall move on to number . . . ?” She’d made him forget, more or less everything.
“Six,” said Lord Warford. “Deadly enemies. Low persons.” He glanced at the closed door. “The lad being an example, I take it?”
“A former juvenile delinquent now gainfully employed at Maison Noirot,” Radford said.
“That would explain the costume.”
“Warford, must we continue this charade?” the marchioness said.
“I promised a fair hearing,” said her spouse.
“Fair? You see as well as I do what goes on here,” Lady Warford said. “He views it as a great joke, and he encourages the worst in Clara.”
A joke. His future. His life. Clara’s life. Encouraging the worst in her!
A red mist appeared before Radford’s eyes. He tried to blink it away.
“He encourages something,” Lord Warford said.
“Her independence,” Radford said sharply, unthinkingly. “Her mind. Her courage. She’s twenty-two and one-sixth years old. Someone ought to encourage her. To be herself.”
He heard a collective intake of breath—including his own—and he was aware of the parents’ stiffening and Westcott making the throat-cutting gesture: Don’t.
Radford saw the precipice at his feet.
Annoy the judge, provoke your colleagues, but never, ever, attack the jury.
He tried to retreat.
