Page 62 of To Save a Scoundrel’s Soul

“In which case, my lord,” answered Campbell-Allen with a deferential duck of his head. Honestly, the man was practically simpering; this must have been his most pleasing court case to date. “I call for the defendant to mount his rebuttal.”

With the languor of someone stirring from an afternoon nap, Valentin unfolded himself from his seat, stretching with a quiet grace. The fingers of his unshackled hand, long and slender, grazed the rail of the dock.

“Good afternoon,” he said, and, to muted laughter, added, “And may I take this opportunity to thank the marquess for his most excellent and thorough presentation of the facts.”

“Shall you be raising any argument, Mr Beauregard?” Campbell-Allen’s tone implied Valentin needn’t bother. “Because I’ve been informed that you have also forfeited your right to legal representation.”

Valentin cocked his head as if considering, then adjusted his stance to face the public gallery. Mickey would be happy if he never heard chain links slipping over each other ever again; simply the sound made him nauseous.

“Why not?” the Frenchman answered. He peered up into the rows of watchers, smiling. “Seeing as so many people have made the effort to visit today. And, as to legal representation, I’m of the opinion that an honest man requires no defence.”

Titters of laughter swirled around the courtroom, stopping abruptly as the judge shouted for order. When everybody fell silent, Valentin spoke again.

“I made the acquaintance of the marquess during the summer of 1825, whilst touring Italy. Thus, I was not surprised to receive an invitation to the New Year ball in celebration of his impending nuptials.” He inclined his head towards Talybridge with a glint of the mischievous intent Mickey knew so well. “How is married life suiting you, my lord?”

“Oh, I say, well-played, old chap,” murmured Rossingley.

“None of your damned purview,” snapped Talybridge, glaring at Willoughby, who threw him a modest wave. Even Mickey, hardly able to watch, savoured a small, delighted rush at watching Talybridge’s discomfiture.

“Irrelevant to the case in hand,” barked the judge. “Move forward, if you will.”

Valentin performed a low bow. “My sincere apologies, Lord Talybridge. One is so out of the circle when confined to Newgate. I shall allude to your cancelled nuptials no further.”

He resumed his account. “At approximately eight o’clock, having decided that the ball room was stifling hot, I elected to partake of the night air.”

“Via my study window,” growled Talybridge.

“Via a door to the gardens. You had ample opportunity to cross-examine me, my lord.”

Valentin paused, moistening his lips. “I found myself meandering through the gardens, quite alone, and lost track of my route. As a consequence, I happened to stumble upon a dead end in the form of a high wall running around the perimeter.”

Again, that glint of mischievousness. “I have a fondness for drystone walls and this one was a particularly fine example.”

The public gallery erupted. Even Mickey almost smiled.

“Tempted to scale it, were you?” Talybridge scoffed.

“Indeed, my lord,” agreed Valentin lightly. “If I hadn’t been dressed in my finery, I might have been. As it was, I spied a rather splendid example of fox-tail feather-moss creeping along the top edge, and—” He raised his voice over the guffaws. “—as I contemplated removing my evening coat and procuring a sample, I was suddenly accosted by several gentlemen and servants, accusing me of thievery!” He spread his arms wide and open. “The very audacity of it! Me, an upstanding French vicomte! Unless, by thievery, they were referring to the small patch of thyme moss, which I hadn’t been able to resist scraping off and depositing in my—”

“Preposterous!” exclaimed Talybridge over further rounds of uproarious laughter.

Next to Mickey, Tommy chortled. The court official vainly called for order.

“This man is not fit to hold forth! Is he foxed?” Talybridge added.

Only when Campbell-Allen banged hard on his desk several times over did the crowd fall silent. “Mr Beauregard,” he said calmly. “May I remind you that this is a court of law, and that you are accused of serious crimes. Any more of this nonsense and I shall have contempt added to your list of wrongdoings.”

“Understood.” Valentin’s green eyes sparkled. “I merely outlined an innocent, alternative explanation for my dawdling in the garden.”

“With a safe key, not moss, in your waistcoat pocket,” the judge responded, dry as sand. “Not only are you wasting my time, but that of Lord Talybridge.”

Valentin performed a deferential bow. “Then I shall waste it no longer and will call upon my first witness.”

Campbell-Allen heaved a sigh. “Is this charade necessary? May I remind you that several reputable men have reassured us all that you were seen running from the scene of the crime? You have confirmed yourself that you were the man in the garden they accosted. Any more tall tales, Beauregard, and I shall bring matters to a close.” Wearily, he sighed again. “What witness?”

“I’d like to question my accuser, if I may.” Valentin’s words rang out across the chamber, clear and sharp as silverware. “The Marquess of Talybridge.”

Chapter Twenty-Four