AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ellie swallowed her emotions, squared her shoulders and said, “We need to go right, not left.”
“No. You need to disembark and return to your family, and I to London.”
“I can get you a Duchess. One with a great deal of influence, who is very good at making people do as she likes. Go right.”
Mademoiselle Petit levelled another of those long, searching looks on Ellie. “And she can guarantee that if I return the journal and I speak on behalf of your gentleman, that Richard and I will be sent away together?”
Ellie nodded vigorously.
“She’s the Dowager Duchess of Aspen.”
Mademoiselle Petit wrapped an arm about her middle, in a way Ellie had seen Lizzy May do of late, but with Mademoiselle Petit, the bulge that declared her state became glaringly obvious under her vast cloak. “You must understand, Miss Ellsworth, how very important Richard’s life is to me.” Mademoiselle Petit looked down at her belly. “To us.”
Ellie swallowed, eyes round. “I understand. I swear to you, the Dowager Duchess can fix this. She can do anything.”
And as she’d got Ellie into a lot of trouble and knew it, Ellie would make her do this thing.
Chapter Sixteen
Samuel entered the courtroom in a daze. Somehow, despite all evidence to the contrary, he hadn’t thought it would come to this. His reputation should have saved him or, if not that, then the truth should have. Certainly, Richard ought to have come forward. Could he really consign Samuel to this fate? Consign their mother and himself, as well, if Samuel couldn’t convince the judge to at least decree that stealing the general’s journal had been foolish, yes, but not an act of treason. Why had Richard driven the knife so deep in the fit of pique that sent him to the paper?
The judge, seated above the rest of them, gazed down on Samuel with a face quite stony under his curled grey wig. As well he might. England had no place for traitors and, regardless of the truth, everyone now believed Samuel to be one.
In a numb haze, he stood when meant to stand, and sat when told to sit. He listened to the charges against him and worked to keep his mouth closed. Blurting out denials wouldn’t help. Respect was the judge’s due, and disregarding that would gain Samuel nothing.
Finally, Levington stood to speak.
“If I may, the court must allow that while this mass of evidence compiled is damning, none of it speaks specifically to the involvement of my client. Any of the evidence brought could apply to either of the Carmichael brothers.”
This led to a spat of arguing and legal jargon, but it seemed to Samuel that the prosecutor didn’t argue very hard against the point. This would have reassured Samuel, save for the little curl to the man’s mouth and a gleam in his eyes. He obviously felt secure in his ability to discredit Samuel. Maybe he shouldn’t have dissuaded their mother from testifying.
Once the attorneys’ bickering concluded, the judge swept his gaze across the room.
“Well, then, the court will hear from Mr. Richard Carmichael now.”
“Yes, Your Honour,” the prosecutor agreed, the marks of gloating in his expression deepening.
Fabric rustled behind him and Samuel couldn’t help but swivel in his chair.
Near the back of the courtroom, Richard rose from a bench and slid past his neighbours. He didn’t look at Samuel as he walked down the aisle between the onlookers, of which there were many. Those from the paper and those who simply enjoyed the spectacle of an honourable man brought low packed the courtroom. Even the upper gallery was full, both men and women come to watch Samuel meet his fate. When they hung him, he supposed everyone would come watch that as well.
Richard wore a sober black coat and trousers, a white lawn shirt and a sapphire waistcoat, none of his usual flashy, embroidered wardrobe present. His hair, curls usually in disarray, lay in neat waves, held so with some sort of grease. He’d donned gloves and left a hat and cane at his seat when he came forward. He was the very picture of respectability. Samuel had never seen him appear so awkward.
The court made Richard swear he would tell the truth, that oath taken on the bible and on his honour. Samuel couldn’t quite contain a derisive snort. If Richard had any honour, he wouldn’t be testifying that Samuel had committed his transgressions.
“Now, Mr. Carmichael,” the judge said to Richard once he’d given his oath. “Do you know who removed a journal belonging to Major-General Abernethy, Earl of Safonhouss, from the home he rented in London, on the night of Friday, the seventeenth of January?”
“I do, Your Honour.”
“And who, pray tell, was that?”
Samuel held his breath, willing his brother to be a better person.
Richard let out a long sign. He cast a look over his shoulder at Samuel, expression artfully miserable.
“My younger brother, Samuel.”
Samuel could have punched him again. A murmur ran through the court, as if they’d actually expected Richard to say aught else. Obviously, the onlookers didn’t know Richard as well as Samuel did.
