Page 57 of To Save a Scoundrel’s Soul

The flicker of hope kindling in Mickey’s chest faltered.

“But Ashington is prepared to show his gratitude in another way.” Valentin shifted, his chains clanking. The sound had become so familiar, Mickey hardly registered it. “He promises to do everything in his power to expose Talybridge to public ridicule in the courthouse to redress his grandmother’s death and Talybridge’s treatment of my father. He will do this at risk to his family’s—and his own—carefully guarded privacy and reputation.”

“Ridicule?” Mickey cried, deflated. “Is that all? That murdering marquess should be in the dock himself!”

“Shhh. Listen. I know it sounds like nothing. But if things play out as they intend, Talybridge shall not only become a laughingstock, but he shall also never step foot outside of his country estate for the remainder of his days, living in daily fear of being exposed for what he truly is.” Valentin took both of Mickey’s hands in his. “A murderer. No travel, no ton, no betrothments, no balls. Which, for a gentleman such as he, is akin to imprisonment.” The chains clanked again. “Luxurious imprisonment, I grant you, and only a small taste of what my father has endured, yet…” He nodded to himself slowly. “I find myself content. My father’s desire to return to England will be fulfilled.”

“Do Ashington and Fitzsimmons not yearn for the marquess to be tried and hung for murder?”

“Yes, of course, but they also wish to avoid providing the ton with a year’s worth of public entertainment,” Valentin answered drily. “Nor will my father want to spend his remaining years being part of that spectacle.”

Mickey sat back, churning the news over. Talybridge disgraced would be something for Ashington and Fitzsimmons to celebrate, certainly, but, try as he might, he couldn’t muster much enthusiasm. Where did Valentin’s release from his shackles feature?

“Nobody mentioned any of this last night.” That he was the last to hear rankled.

“After you all left, Fitzsimmons and Ashington tossed their options around until the early hours,” Valentin explained. “They concluded that my trial is an opportunity to reduce Talybridge to naught, a chance which cannot be missed. There may never be another opportunity again.”

“Does Tommy know there is a plan?” Mickey knew he sounded sulky. He’d be even more cross if Tommy knew and hadn’t divulged it. Mickey had lain awake in the early hours, too, mulling over the fake parure, trying to fit it in somehow.

Valentin shrugged. “I don’t know if anyone does yet. I was the first to hear, yet even I am not privy to every nuance of it. Partly, because when it is rolled out in the courtroom, it is vital you all behave naturally. Especially for the part where I am freed.”

That piqued Mickey’s interest. “So how will they achieve this?”

“Before the case begins, Ashington will whisper in Talybridge’s ear that in his possession is my father’s written confession, and that he has proof it was produced under duress.”

“Talybridge will shake it off as nonsense. We’ve already discussed this.”

“Yes, but Fitzsimmons will then call Talybridge’s bluff by telling him that not only are they prepared to read it out in the courtroom, but that Ashington’s former footman, the missing Samuel Valentine Roberts, is in the courthouse with them, awaiting to be called forwards as a witness for the defence. And that Roberts recognises Talybridge from that fateful shooting party and is prepared to call him out.”

“But your father is in France! You told me so yourself.”

“Yes, he is. But Talybridge doesn’t know that. Valentin squeezed Mickey’s hand. “Even if he hadn’t been foxed enough to fall over, he’d hardly remember the face of a random footman from thirty years ago. To a toff like him, they all look the same dressed in livery, nothing but pieces of furniture. And the public gallery will be full; my father could be any one of several older men come to gawp. Though Ashington will ensure that there are a few suitably aged members of his own household staff in position to lend a degree of uncertainty. Talybridge will be rattled beyond belief.”

“Still, Ashington won’t actually call his bluff. He would never do something so bold.” Tempting though it was, Mickey refused to open himself to the thread of excitement licking at his insides. “I’ve heard him say so himself. It is exactly the manner of public spectacle he abhors.”

“Agreed,” Valentin answered. “But a vengeful Fitzsimmons would be prepared to shout it from the top of St Paul’s. Fitzsimmons has weathered a poor reputation before; he cares not two hoots what the ton think of him. And why should he? He’s the twin brother of a duke, and he’s in love. He’s untouchable, but he would protect Ashington’s personal reputation and that of the ducal line until his dying day.”

Mickey inhaled deeply. “So, your court counsel will be in on this? He’ll read out the letter if Fitzsimmons gives the word?”

Valentin hesitated. “Um…no. I’ve…we’ve…ah…dismissed my counsel. I shall speak to Talybridge directly myself, as a defendant.”

Mickey fancied he could feel the hangman’s noose tightening around his own neck. “That seems like a terrible idea,” he croaked. “You know not the first thing about being a barrister.”

“But I know Talybridge. And I know Ashington’s plan. At the first hint of Talybridge counterbluffing and refusing to answer my pertinent questions, the duke will very publicly vacate the courtroom. His involvement in the spectacle will come to an end. Which will be the signal for Fitzsimmons to do his worst.”

Wonderful for the duke, Mickey was sure. “But what about you?”

“Me?” Valentin threw him a lopsided grin. “At that moment, I daresay I shall be as much a spectator at the circus as everyone else, a situation of which I fully intend to take advantage.” He dropped his voice even lower. “The duke walking out may not be the only distraction.”

Mickey felt the smallest stir of excitement. “Rollo?”

Valentin nodded. “I believe so. Ashington reassures me that at a crucial moment in time, when Talybridge is on the ropes, the entire gallery will be looking the other way.”

Mickey closed his eyes, picturing the scene. A distraction, devised by Rollo, in a courtroom which had already been turned into a circus. Willoughby in attendance with his new wife. Rossingley there too, of course, being his irresistible, cunning self. A glowering Fitzsimmons, a sly Kit. Talybridge feeling battered and not knowing which way to look. Ashington’s entire Eight out in force. Except for…

“What’s my role in all of this?”

“To stay safe,” Valentin declared. “Without that, it is all for naught.”