Improper Match: Scandalous Encounters

by Reed, Kristabel

  Mr. Stanley spoke first. Selina frowned and looked to Edmund. “I thought he was a witness for the defense?”

  Edmund’s frown looked thunderous. He glared from Denley to Mr. Neal and shook his head. He growled something too low for even her to hear.

  “Apparently not,” Edmund muttered. “Not if Stanley questions him first.”

  Again her stomach clenched in tight knots. She asked Denley to speak on her father’s behalf. Why had Mrs. Ashworth called on him to speak against Arthur? Selina swallowed, but her mouth was dry.

  If Denley spoke the truth, it negated Young Peter’s testimony. Then again, Selina had expected Young Peter to speak the truth about what happened in the offices, and the truth was not what she heard in the courtroom this day.

  “Mr. Denley, I put it straight to you,” Stanley said. “Was there any animosity between Mr. Arthur Lyndell and Mr. Clayton Ashworth?”

  Denley nodded. “I’d say so, yes.”

  Selina almost choked. Edmund’s hold on her tightened. She couldn’t tear her gaze from Mr. Denley to look at Edmund, but knew he was furious.

  “Mr. Lyndell often fought with Mr. Ashworth,” Denley continued. “Called him incompetent, a wretched partner. He often claimed Mr. Ashworth did not deserve his twenty percent. And it was always said behind closed doors.”

  Selina choked down an outburst. Jaw clenched, she forced herself to remain quiet. Being held in contempt would do her father no good. But she clearly heard Arthur’s voice in her head, how he never begrudged his partner the twenty percent and often debated giving him more.

  In fact, Arthur’s will left Ashworth an additional five percent should Arthur die first.

  Mr. Stanley nodded, his arms loose at his side. “If they were behind closed doors, then how could you hear what was said?”

  “Because I was often in the room with them.” Denley’s voice carried across the courtroom.

  Instantly voices erupted in chaos. The judge banged his gavel until the noise subsided, but the buzz continued to ring in Selina’s ears.

  “He’s lying,” she muttered. “He’s lying.”

  “I know.” Edmund spoke close to her, but the words felt as if they reached her through a very long tunnel. She knew his fingers held hers, but she no longer felt them. She felt adrift, lost.

  “Mr. Lyndell treated Mr. Ashworth very poorly.”

  “On the night of 2 October, were you in the vicinity of the office building of Lyndell Imports?” Stanley asked.

  Bile rose in Selina’s throat. No matter what happened, what the truth was, she suddenly knew with a horrible, sickening feeling what Denley was going to say. Not the exact lie, but certainly not the truth.

  There was no truth here in the Old Bailey.

  “Yes I was. Mr. Ashworth asked me to meet him there. Told me,” Denley said to the jury, “he was to meet with Mr. Lyndell and wanted a witness to whatever transpired.”

  Unmoving, she listened and waited. For once, the courtroom was deathly silent. She prayed it was not an omen. The nauseating agitation of her stomach said otherwise.

  “I was late,” Denley said and shook his head sadly. “I’d been delayed by a friend who wished to borrow a quid. When I arrived at the office, I saw Mr. Lyndell run out of it. He was holding a small cloth. I don’t know what it was filled with. I was curious, and entered.”

  Denley paused dramatically, and the courtroom paused with him. Selina felt sick. She wanted him to stop speaking.

  “Mr. Ashworth’s body lay bludgeoned near the front doors by the main desk.”

  The courtroom erupted. Even the judge needed a moment to remember himself and call for order. Selina forgot how to breathe and only remained seated because of Edmund.

  “I left quickly, afraid for myself and my position.” He looked to her father, who looked as shocked and ill as Selina felt. “I was sure Mr. Lyndell did not see me.”

  “Denley!” Arthur shouted. Aghast as she at Denley’s lies. “How can you tell such lies?”

  The judge banged his gavel again. “Control the accused, Mr. Neal.”

  Mr. Neal shot him a look, but her father barely paid attention. He did not, however, say anything more.

  “No further questions,” Mr. Stanley said loudly in the still animated room.

  Mr. Neal stood. Selina could only see his profile from above in the gallery, but her father was pale. His hand clenched into fists before gripping the railing, hard.

  “Mr. Denley, as your primary employer, I’m certain you have resentment for Mr. Lyndell,” Neal began. “He was your superior. He instructed you on your daily tasks. And I am certain most everyone in this courtroom can attest to feeling such resentment for any over them. Is that why you spew these falsehoods?”

  Again the room erupted, and again the judge brought it back to order. Selina struggled to breathe but couldn’t manage more than short gasps.

  “Is that why you claim Mr. Lyndell was there when he most definitely was not?” Neal demanded.

  “I said he was there because he was. I hold no resentment against Mr. Lyndell, only gratitude for the position he elevated me to. I am the high clerk of Lyndell Imports. Without Mr. Lyndell or Mr. Ashworth, will there be any more Lyndell Imports?”

  Denley shook his head sadly, but no one interrupted him. “If anything, I should’ve protected Mr. Lyndell. All I can do now is stand here and tell the truth.”

  Even from her position in the gallery, Selina knew Mr. Neal was flustered and at a complete loss. She glanced at Hamilton and Hawkhurst but didn’t need to see their grim looks to know what they thought.

  What the jury thought.

  Selina was only aware she shook when Edmund’s arm wrapped around her shoulders and he pulled her close against him. His body was stiff with his own anger.

  “We can only take your word for that,” Neal said, his voice strong and carrying. “Your word you saw someone else leave the office after Mr. Ashworth died. How do we know it was not you?” Neal demanded. “This could all be an elaborate tale you tell this court to avoid your own charge of murder.”

  The jury whispered amongst themselves, but Selina could barely tear her gaze from Denley. Was he uncomfortable on the stand? Did he twitch and fidget? Or was that merely her own wishful thinking? Desperate thinking?

  “By all accounts,” Neal told the jury, “all who know Mr. Lyndell attest to his gentle spirit and kind heart. Only you and a boy who could not have heard what was discussed between Misters Lyndell and Ashworth attempt to tarnish the man’s reputation. Lord Granville attests to Mr. Lyndell’s good character. And yet you say a man of such honor scurried in the night from his own offices?”

  Neal let the question hang, and Selina looked from Denley to the jury. Did they believe him? Did they believe Edmund? Her?

  “I think not,” Neal added.

  “My lord,” Stanley said to the judge, “my learned colleague tries to spin a tale, a fabrication.”

  “No more than this witness!” Neal interrupted. He turned for his end of the table. “No more questions, my lord.”

  The judge spoke, and the words washed over her. All Selina heard was him telling the jury what Denley had said — not what she or Edmund or Annabelle, or any of the other witnesses said. Only what Denley said.

  “Gentlemen,” the judge finished, “you know your duty. Consider your verdict.”

  The jury spoke in mumbles and whispers. They didn’t look at her father or up at her. Some nodded; some leaned farther over the benches. Selina gripped Edmund’s hand tighter and tighter and felt her world narrow to that jury box.

  How could they decide such a case in so short a time? In moments. Edmund remained quiet next to her, but offered her support. She grasped at it like a lifeline.

  The entire deliberation took no more than six minutes.

  “You have reached a verdict?” the court clerk stood and asked.

  Selina held her breath, her blood roaring in her ears. Edmund’s hand tightened over hers.

&nb
sp; One of the men stood and nodded. “We have.”

  “How do you find the prisoner?” the clerk intoned as if he didn’t care, as if this wasn’t the same question he asked a hundred times a week. “Guilty or not guilty?”

  “Guilty.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Selina’s legs shook. Her blood roared in her ears. The long hallway out of the gallery, out of the Old Bailey, narrowed and blurred before her, tilted drunkenly.

  Only Edmund’s arm about her waist held her upright, and Selina leaned into him. Took comfort from his solid body against hers, from his warm hand around her waist.

  “To be executed. Hanged by the neck until dead some two days’ hence.” The judge’s words echoed sharply in her mind, each word little pricks of a needle that beat against her skull.

  She wanted to wake now. Run down the stairs to breakfast with her father. See Annabelle snatching the last of the apples with an unrepentant grin. Hear Arthur’s laughter at their antics as he left, promising to be home for supper.

  “Think he’ll still wan’ ta marry ye, dearie?” one woman asked, her words cutting through the fog.

  Selina looked sharply to her right. A group stood and stared, clearly unconcerned the woman they gossiped about stood before them.

  Maybe that was their point.

  “Demon’s child!” another called. “Bad seed there.”

  She felt ill and blindly reached a hand for Annabelle, who clasped it like an anchor.

  “She’ll ne’er be able ta show her face again,” a man said as he watched them walk down the hallway.

  Selina did not look around again, did not want to see who spoke those words. It hurt to breathe the cold autumn wind, and yet she felt hot and clammy. Suddenly Edmund was physically lifting her and all but pushing her into the carriage. She collapsed onto the seat and shook.

  ““She opened her mouth to ask how, but no words emerged.

  Her hands trembled and she pressed them to her stomach, roiling and churning with nausea and fear and uncertainty.

  “Selina?”

  She turned to her left to face Annabelle and saw her cousin’s lips move, but heard no words. Nothing penetrated the roar of denial.

  What happened? What had just happened? How? How had —

  She was drowning, sinking into an abyss with no way out.

  Edmund’s hands gripped hers. He sat next to her, holding her tight to him. She wondered why she couldn’t feel his hands around hers. He, too, spoke, but once more she heard nothing. Felt nothing.

  Her world narrowed to only the judge’s voice, the shock on her father’s face. The cold fist tightening around her heart.

  “Here, drink this.” Edmund pressed a hot teacup into her hands.

  Selina blinked and looked up at him. They were in her parlor. How had they gotten here?

  She remembered Edmund escorting her to the carriage. But she had no memory of the carriage ride or the walk into her townhouse. Suddenly, with a rush of light and sound, the world snapped back into place.

  Selina shook her head to clear it. For one terrifying moment all she heard was the pounding of blood in her head. Forcing her breathing to calm, Selina focused on her current surroundings. Annabelle sat on the settee opposite her, and Edmund stood before her. She blinked and wrapped her hands around the warmth of the teacup.

  She might never be warm again.

  “I don’t understand,” Annabelle said, and her voice sounded distant. “How could they do this to an innocent man?”

  Selina looked from her friend to Edmund. “He is innocent. We can’t allow this to happen!”

  She swallowed and clutched the teacup tighter. How could she have left him there? She should’ve delivered one of the chests full of money to the judge. Whatever it took to see her father freed.

  With deliberate movements, Selina set the teacup on the table. Her fingers clenched around themselves, open and closed. The found her skirts and rubbed against it. She barely felt the fine material under her trembling hands.

  “I have trunks of money in the wine cellar.” Her voice sounded harsh and distant to her own ears. “I’ll give it all away to ensure he gets out of that horrible place. Anything to make sure he’s nowhere near that damnable noose.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Annabelle nod. “Yes. We can find a way to buy Father’s way out of Newgate. Take him out of England.”

  “Yes.” Selina looked from Edmund to Annabelle and back again. “We have the ships. They can’t confiscate them, can they?”

  Edmund shook his head but didn’t move from beside her. Selina couldn’t read his face, his emotions; her own were erratic, skipping through her with every painful beat of her heart.

  “Captain Graham will do it,” she added. “He’d do anything for Father. We can have him make ready to sail immediately. Take Father to France.” She breathed deeply, the first real breath she’d taken in weeks, since Arthur’s arrest. “It can be done.”

  “Selina,” Edmund began, sitting beside her on the settee.

  “No, Edmund.” She jerked her head to the side and stood. She backed a step away from him. “I must do all I can to stop this horrible thing from happening! What would you do if it were your father or Octavia facing such a thing? It is unbearable.”

  He stood as well and faced her. “I’ll do all I can. Everything,” he swore, and she believed him. Oh, she believed him. “I already thought of this same thing. Tonight I’ll go to Newgate, speak to the guards. Find a way to have Arthur secreted out.”

  Edmund turned just enough to include Annabelle. “We can all go to France.”

  Selina took another breath and the bands tightening her chest eased just slightly, just a little. Just enough to give her the faintest sliver of hope.

  Leaning forward, she kissed him. She still shook, but the trembling eased when she pressed her lips to his, when he kissed her back. She loved this man more than words; it filled her with such warmth that even now, with her world crumbling around her, Edmund moored her, steadied her.

  Selina pulled back and smiled at him. This might work. Dear God, it might work. “I’ll take the money from the cellar,” she said but didn’t move away from him.

  “No.” Edmund shook his head and cupped her cheek. He brushed his lips over hers. “I’m well prepared. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Are you certain?” Selina asked, voice shaking with hope .

  “Yes.” Annabelle stood and crossed to Selina, taking her hand. “I’ll speak with Captain Graham, arrange transport. It’ll be best if I go, Selina,” she added with a squeeze of her hand.

  “All right.” Selina nodded, and her world warmed again with hope. “I’ll write a note to the captain asking for this great favor.”

  She drew in a deep breath and felt another of the iron bands loosen.

  “I need to arrange for things,” Edmund said softly and stood. “Then I’m off to Newgate. I’ll be back once it’s all settled.”

  Selina stood with him and hugged him tight. She walked him to the door and watched him leave. His stride was confident, even as he walked down the steps and to his carriage. She waited until the carriage disappeared before closing the door.

  Nodding to Thompson, she returned to the parlor. Annabelle stood there, her hands folded tightly before her.

  “I think this will work,” Annabelle said, her voice rough with the long day and that same hope Selina felt.

  Selina smiled and realized it felt genuine. “Yes,” she said and swallowed. “It has to.”

  * * * *

  Edmund’s first stop was the stables where he kept his horses while in London. He looked for Toby, a young man who worked for him since Edmund helped him with a charge nearly five years previous.

  It didn’t take long for Edmund to convince Toby to help. Everyone knew of his engagement to Selina and of Arthur’s current troubles. The broadsheets and gossips made sure of that.

  “I’ll borrow a friend’s cart,” Toby agreed in an excited, hushed
, whisper. “Get a wide-brimmed hat lik’en you see them farmers wear.”

  “Thank you, Toby,” Edmund said and clasped the man on his shoulder.

  Stalking from the stables with long strides, he called up to his driver. Their next stop was Newgate.

  The time for visitors had passed, but a few well-placed bribes gained him access to Arthur’s cell. Night slinked into the cells, creeping shadows of cold and desolation that wrapped around his ankles.

  Edmund walked with sure strides through the labyrinth halls, the guard’s single torch the only light by which to see.

  The man led him past a small alcove where several guards gambled on dice. Edmund stopped and watched for a moment. There, huddled against the stone of Newgate itself, crouched the same guard from that first day when Arthur had been imprisoned. He’d been kind to Selina, Edmund recalled, and helpful so far as Newgate guards went.

  “John.” Edmund stepped up to the guards and motioned for the other man to follow him.

  He paid off the man with the torch, snatched the torch from him, and handed it to John. He spoke quickly, explaining the plan and location. For the money Edmund promised, John easily agreed.

  “You can always count on me, my lord,” he said in a low voice, careful not to carry, “when there’s guineas to be had. The best time, my lord, for when’s the guards are asleep, is before the dawn.”

  “Thank you.” Edmund nodded.

  The other man ambled ahead of him. Once Arthur’s cell door creaked open, Edmund turned to John and handed him several ten pound notes. John stepped back and left the cell slightly ajar.

  Edmund stepped inside. He’d rushed about arranging things and had not thought to bring food for Arthur or a scarf and gloves to ward against the November cold. Unwinding his own scarf from round his neck, Edmund tugged off his gloved and handed both to Arthur.

  The other man took them, hesitating a bare moment. Without another thought, Edmund also shrugged off his greatcoat and settled it around Arthur’s shoulders. He needed the warmth more than Edmund.