by Merry Farmer
“Peter is still in Cornwall, awaiting the birth of his second child, isn’t he?” Katya asked.
“He is. And Basil is languishing in Cumbria, ignoring it all.” Malcolm swore under his breath. “At least Armand is in town. And we may be up here, but we can make it to London by tomorrow morning if we head straight to the train station,” he said, thinking aloud. “Rupert, I’ll need you to linger behind to make arrangements with Mackay to send my things and your mother’s things after us. And somebody needs to send telegrams to Peter and Basil advising them to get their arses back to London immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” Rupert agreed with a nod.
“I want to come with you,” Cece insisted, rushing to Malcolm’s side.
Malcolm paused to take her hand. “There are many things I’ve allowed you to do over the years that I shouldn’t have, my darling, but this will not be one of them.”
“But it’s just a trial, Papa,” she argued, looking far more grown up than Malcolm wanted her too. “What harm could come to me by sitting in the gallery to watch?”
“With Shayles involved, far more harm than I care to contemplate.” He started walking forward again, still holding Cece’s hand. “There’s no telling what sort of muck and mire will be dredged up as part of the proceedings.”
“We should come too,” Bianca insisted as she and Natalia surged forward to flank Katya. “We’re as involved as anyone else.”
“I need you to oversee the packing of our things,” Katya said diplomatically. “You can come back to London with Rupert in a day or two.” She sent a sly look to Rupert, who nodded with maturity beyond his years.
Malcolm indulged in a momentary smile. Katya had raised a fine man. Cece had excellent judgment in setting her cap for him. Malcolm was confident that the young man would delay the girls in Scotland as long as he could to keep them out of trouble. That meant that he and Katya could focus on the trial without distraction.
Gatwick had a carriage waiting once they returned to Gretna Green. There was ample space for the seven of them to pile in for the ride back to Strathaven Glen. Malcolm reminded himself to find out how Rupert and Cece had traveled to Gretna Green without stealing any of his carriages later. For the time being, he had bigger fish to fry.
The journey back to Strathaven Glen wasn’t a silent one, however.
“So?” Bianca asked as the carriage sped on. She and Natalia sat facing Malcolm and Katya in Malcolm’s carriage. Rupert and Cece had chosen to drive with Gatwick.
“Would you care to elaborate on that brief syllable?” Katya raised an eyebrow at her daughter.
Bianca huffed and exchanged an eye-roll with Natalia. “Was our plan a success?” she asked, sounding irritated that asking was necessary.
“Yes, are you madly in love and engaged to be married now, as you should be?” Natalia followed, her eyes dancing with excitement.
Katya glanced to Malcolm, her expression flat. At least, it likely appeared flat to anyone who hadn’t known her and loved her for nearly two decades. What her silence said to Malcolm was that she intended to make the children suffer for the trick they’d played. Even if the outcome had been a positive one. Although if he were honest, Malcolm wasn’t entirely sure what the outcome was.
Katya glanced back to her daughters. “My discussion in the cottage with Lord Malcolm is none of your business,” she said, her brow knitting into a slight frown.
“But, Mama—”
“That’s not fair—”
Both girls spoke at once, going on to claim to have a right to know and to call Katya cruel for not telling them everything.
Malcolm would have liked an answer himself. He wasn’t sure where he stood anymore, with Katya or with himself. Her revelations had struck him deeply. He’d had no idea what her life was like before they’d met, no idea that Robert had been so cruel to her. Of course, he’d known Robert somewhat. The man would never have dreamed his treatment of Katya could be deemed cruelty. He would have thought his attitude of permissiveness was generous. Which shed a whole new light on the way he’d turned a blind eye to Malcolm’s original affair with Katya. Malcolm had assumed the man was an ignorant cuckold, which had been the source of his own, crushing guilt. Chances were that Robert had known all along.
But it was everything else Katya had said, everything about her conquests—or the lack thereof—that had turned his world upside down. He’d never dreamed a woman could ruin her reputation in order to make a new one. He’d always assumed Katya simply enjoyed sex. She’d always enjoyed it with him, to a creative degree that made him blush to think about. It changed everything to know that, after the first few years as a widow, she’d been secretly faithful to him. That revelation was a seismic shift to his world.
“Something must have happened,” Natalia said, interrupting his thoughts. “You’re far too quiet for it to be otherwise.”
“Yes,” Bianca agreed. “You have an odd look on your face, Lord Malcolm.”
“My digestion is upset,” Malcolm grumbled, snapping himself out of his difficult thoughts. “You might want to open the window, just in case.”
“Lord Malcolm,” Bianca scolded him, crossing her arms and slumping in her seat.
“He’s teasing us,” Natalia concluded. “They both are. Just look at Mama.”
Malcolm shifted to peek at her. Katya was struggling to hide a laugh. But what caused a hitch in his chest and made him want to take her hand in spite of the meddling young women sitting across from them was the sparkle in her eyes. That was the Katya he knew and loved. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the vivacious, sometimes wicked, always clever woman he’d fallen in love with over the last few weeks. With that woman back and by his side, he was confident they could find a way to bring Shayles to justice.
* * *
The journey back to London was a whirlwind that left Katya feeling as though she didn’t know which way was up. They spent less than an hour at Strathaven Glen after the trip from Gretna Green. Lord Gatwick didn’t even get out of his carriage. He let Rupert and Cece out, then continued on without a word.
“I don’t think that man is on our side,” Malcolm said as he and Katya paused to watch Gatwick’s carriage roll away.
“I don’t think he’s on Shayles’s side either,” Katya said. She never would have believed she’d hear herself say those words, but she stood by them.
“Did he say anything on the way here?” Malcolm asked Rupert as the lot of them hurried inside the house.
“No,” Rupert said with a frown. “He didn’t say a word.”
“Not a single word,” Cece confirmed. “It was odd.” She rubbed her arms as if the time she’d spent cloistered with Gatwick had left her with a chill.
“Still,” Katya argued, “he alerted us to the change in the trial.”
“Could he be lying?” Cece asked.
Katya wondered the same thing, but the question was answered moments later as Mackay came forward with a telegram he had received from Alex Croydon mere minutes after Gatwick had arrived on Strathaven Glen’s doorstep. There was no time to waste.
They were fortunate to catch a train heading south shortly after arriving at the station in Glasgow. Katya said a prayer of thanks for the rail service, then spent the next several hours cursing it in every way as she writhed and squirmed through the night, trying to find a comfortable way to sleep. Even first-class cabins left much to be desired when it came to journeys as long and as sudden as the one she and Malcolm took.
By the time they arrived in London early in the morning, Katya was sore, the clothes she had worn for nearly twenty-four hours were wrinkled and uncomfortable, and her head pulsed with a dull throb from lack of sleep. But to her and Malcolm’s surprise, Alex was waiting for them at the station.
“Rupert telegraphed that you were on your way,” he said, gathering Katya and Malcolm up and ushering them out to his waiting carriage. “We’ve no time to lose.”
“How the devil did Shayles m
anage to get his trial moved up so drastically?” Malcolm asked as they dodged their way through dozy morning passengers, on their way to or from work.
“Gatwick says he has friends in the courts,” Katya added.
Alex nearly skidded to a stop. “Gatwick?”
“He was the one who informed us of the change in the trial,” Katya said. “He showed up on Malcolm’s doorstep to tell us before your telegram arrived.” She left out the complicated bit about Gretna Green in the middle. There would be plenty of time to recount that story to their friends later. Katya herself wasn’t certain what the effect of the children’s prank would be herself. It was easier to focus on Shayles.
“Gatwick went all the way to Scotland to warn you the trial was today?” Alex asked, his tone incredulous.
“I don’t trust him,” Malcolm said as they continued on, out of the station and to Alex’s waiting carriage. “But I’m beginning to believe he’s not as staunch an ally to Shayles as we’ve previously believed.”
“Lavinia swears he’s turned over a new leaf,” Alex said, pausing to tell his driver to move on once they were all settled. “She insists he’s good.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Katya said. “But there’s definitely more to him than any of us suspected.”
“Forget about Gatwick for a moment,” Malcolm said, leaning toward Alex, who sat opposite him and Katya. “Is the case against Shayles strong enough as it is? Has Craig gathered enough proof of his villainy for a court to convict him? And for God’s sake, have Peter and Basil arrived in town yet?”
“Peter arrived after midnight. Basil is having a harder time getting here. I don’t know about the rest, though,” Alex answered honestly and gravely. “All I know is that Craig wasn’t able to get even half of the evidence he wanted, as the club burned too quickly.”
“He wanted photographs, documents from the club, testimonies from patrons,” Malcolm said, sitting back and rubbing his face. He hadn’t shaved the day before, and was close to sporting a beard now.
“He obtained a few documents,” Alex said, “but there was no time for photographs. And as I understand it, there hasn’t been enough time to coerce significant witnesses to testify under oath.”
“That must be why Shayles has pushed for a quick trial,” Malcolm said, fury radiating from him. “He must believe that if he can stand before the House of Lords and challenge the scant evidence Craig has gathered, and if Craig hasn’t had a chance to instill fear in Shayles’s patrons, he’ll get away with it.” He paused, then hissed, “Dammit, half the men in Lords are Shayles’s patrons. They won’t convict him unless Craig’s case is rock-solid.”
“We won’t let him get away with it,” Katya said, reaching for Malcolm’s hand.
He took it, but didn’t smile. The look he wore was closer to one a man might wear before charging into battle. She felt rather like she was about to enter the decisive battle of a long war herself, which meant that she would need reinforcements.
“Can you take me home?” she asked Alex as they turned a corner into Mayfair.
“Are you sure?” Alex asked. “The trial could begin within an hour.”
“Which is why it’s even more important that I go home first,” Katya said.
Malcolm turned to her with a frown. “What are you plotting?” he asked.
“The same thing I’ve been plotting for the past ten years,” she answered. “To bring Shayles down by means he would never expect and has taken for granted all these years.”
Chapter 19
There was no point in going anywhere but the Palace of Westminster after dropping Katya at her townhouse. Alex offered to take Malcolm home or to his house so that he could bathe and shave, but Malcolm wasn’t interested. Knowing Shayles, he could be up to any number of dirty tricks in an attempt to finish what should have been a days-long trial before any of them had a chance to show up.
Malcolm wasn’t far off the mark. By the time he and Alex arrived at the chamber for House of Lords, pushed their way through the milling crowd of clerks and press who were curious about the case, and slipped into the chamber itself, the trial was already underway. The benches were sparsely populated, confirming Malcolm’s suspicion that the whole purpose of speeding the trial was so that Shayles could stack the deck. Aside from Peter—who looked as though he hadn’t slept in a month—most of the peers in attendance were friendly with Shayles at the very least and long-time patrons of the Black Strap Club at the worse.
Shayles himself stood at the front of the room, looking as elegant as a fashion plate, as though he were there to debate a bill instead of pleading for his freedom. When Malcolm burst into the room, he turned to smile at him, as smug as a badger.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Lord Malcolm Campbell,” he said with a sly grin. His eyes held a measure of anxiety, though. It was a small victory for Malcolm.
Jack Craig was seated on a front bench, but he jumped up and strode to meet Malcolm, bringing the trial to a pause.
“It’s about time you got here,” Craig murmured, making no attempt to hide his common accent. “Where’ve you been?”
“I’m here now,” Malcolm ignored the question. They had better things to talk about. “How do things stand?”
“We’ve just begun,” Craig said, gesturing for Malcolm to follow him to the front bench.
Several of the lords in attendance balked as Malcolm wove his way through the rows of benches to take a seat well out of the area his title’s precedence entitled him to. Now was not the time to quibble about rank and place, though.
“Shayles is painting himself as a victim,” Craig whispered as he and Malcolm sat. He darted a look around at the half-empty chamber. “He’s loaded the place with men who will see things his way.”
“I can see that,” Malcolm said, glaring at a few of the men who he knew were in Shayles’s pocket. “Alex is working to round up as many voting members as he can.”
“They’d better get here soon,” Craig said. “Otherwise this whole thing will be over before it’s begun.”
The words burned hot in Malcolm’s gut. He couldn’t let Shayles get away with everything, not now, not after so many years and so much effort. As long as there were people working against the bastard, there was hope. Katya still had a card up her sleeve. He just wished he knew what it was.
He leaned closer to Craig. “Lady Stanhope is planning—”
“Did we all come here for social hour?” Shayles interrupted, glaring at Malcolm and Craig as though they were heckling his grand performance. “Or did we come here for a trial?”
“I’m surprised you’re so eager to expose your villainy to the world, Shayles,” Malcolm said, refusing to be put in his place. His place was standing before Shayles, challenging him until the man got what he deserved.
“I’m here to defend myself against the gross and baseless accusations being made against me,” Shayles insisted, feigning innocence. “For as I was saying,” he turned back to the pack of his cronies, sitting together on a bench across the chamber from Malcolm, “what has the aristocracy come to when one of its members can be accused of all manner of false and vile dealings by common street trash?” He gestured toward Craig.
Craig sucked in a frustrated breath, tension rippling from him, but to his credit, he didn’t rise to Shayles’s bait. “I have yet to hear a reasonable explanation for the evidence presented to the House, my lord,” he said, standing. “You admit to being the owner of the property in question. Numerous witnesses place you there on the night of the fire and hundreds of nights before. Documentation of the activities of your club, including depositions from notable members of this chamber, have been presented. How do you answer these charges?”
“Again,” Shayles said with an overdramatic, impatient sigh, “I tell you I am innocent. Yes, I was the owner of a gentlemen’s club located at the address in question in Kensington, but I deny all charges of illegal or improper activity at that location.”
Malcolm sn
orted loud enough to draw Shayles’s attention.
“Do you contest my claims, Lord Malcolm?” Shayles stared pointedly at him.
“I absolutely do,” Malcolm answered, standing and glaring at Shayles. “You and I, and half the members in this chamber, know exactly what kind of establishment you were running.”
“Is that so?” Shayles’s mouth twitched as though he’d won a point instead of being in danger of losing it. “How would you know, Lord Malcolm?”
Heat shot through Malcolm, pushing its way onto his face. “The Black Strap Club is well known in certain circles.”
“Certain circles that you are a part of?” Shayles continued to needle him. It was clear the man was trying to get Malcolm to indict himself, possibly to destroy his credibility.
Malcolm was saved from having to defend himself without forethought by a commotion at the chamber door. Sir Christopher Dowland burst into the room, tripping over one of the back benches and sending a cushion flying. A few of the lords near him chuckled at his clumsiness. Malcolm was surprisingly glad to see the man.
Dowland spotted Malcolm and Craig and hurried down to them. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, out of breath. “I only just heard the trial had started twenty minutes ago. I got here as soon as I could. What can I do?”
Malcolm studied the man with narrowed eyes. He didn’t know how he had mistaken the man for Katya’s lover. Dowland wasn’t remotely Katya’s type. He had no finesse, even if he was as intelligent as everyone claimed he was. But he was a key witness in the proceedings, and far more valuable than anyone expected.
“I brought this,” he said, presenting Craig with a large envelope.
“What is that?” Malcolm asked, frowning as Craig opened the envelope to take out several smaller letters.
“It’s correspondence between my father and Lord Shayles dating back several years,” Dowland said, his face stony. “You were right about the connection,” he said to Craig.
Shayles’s expression had lost some of its smugness at Dowland’s arrival. He, along with most of the men in the room, looked on eagerly to see what new piece had just been added to the puzzle.
