And all of this worry was over and above the question of the Prince Regent’s decision.
So much about her future was unresolved. This was, for now, why discretion was essential.
“Where is she?” Jo’s voice resonated through Baronsford’s halls. “Where is she hiding, Mrs. Henson? Where is my future sister-in-law?”
So much for discretion. Grace wished she could crawl under the rug and hide. Hugh must have told his sister their news on the ride back from church.
“Here you are.”
Jo burst into the study, and Grace put down the book she had in her hand. The broad smile on her friend’s face brought her own emotions quickly to the surface.
“Please, Jo. Nothing is definite. You shouldn’t announce it.”
She didn’t have a chance to say any more as Hugh’s sister threw her arms around her. The woman’s happiness was positively contagious. The two held each other, and Grace couldn’t stop the tears. Her love for Hugh and her friendship with Jo were the only things that she was confident of in this uncertain life she was leading.
“I’ve hoped for this. For eight years, I’ve prayed that he would find happiness again.” Jo’s eyes were misty when she drew back and held Grace’s hands. “And then it happened. The day you arrived in that crate. The fact that you survived that horrendous crossing. It was a sure sign. You two were meant to be together.”
Grace smiled through her tears. If only others could view their relationship with such positive hope and belief. She gathered her friend once again in her arms.
“Please, I told Hugh and I’m telling you, we cannot make this news public. If we could just wait . . . if not for the Prince Regent’s decision, then at least until we find out your parents’ position.”
“There will be no waiting,” Jo said, leading her to a sofa where they both sat. “First of all, Hugh makes up his own mind on how he lives his life. But secondly, you’ll soon learn that our parents are true believers in second chances. Each of them had harrowing early years in life. They each were married before and widowed. My mother was told she could never have a child, and an accident had left my father crippled. But they found each other, and now there are five of us . . . or at least four that she gave birth to.”
Jo laughed happily, holding Grace’s hand.
“All through the years when Hugh was drowning in his grief, my mother said over and over again that the time would come for him too. That he would find happiness. That there was a woman out there who would bring him back to life. Bring life back to Baronsford. She only needed to arrive. And then you did arrive . . . in a crate addressed to him.”
The strings of her heart were singing and Grace closed her eyes, but the bittersweet tears wouldn’t stop. Life could not be so easy. Fate was not trustworthy.
“Our parents will love you. They’ve been waiting for you,” Jo whispered. “We’ve all been waiting.”
Chapter 26
The family preferred to dine early on Sundays to allow the kitchen staff time to themselves, and Jo would have happily taken the discussion of weddings and gowns and flowers into the drawing room for the remainder of the afternoon. When the butler announced that Kane Branson had arrived from Edinburgh and was waiting in the study, Grace asked to join Hugh for she wanted to share information from a particular case she’d found.
“M’lord,” the law clerk said, rising from a table by the window as they entered the room. “I have the testimony.”
Grace watched as the young man produced a packet of documents.
“Tell us what you’ve learned.”
“When I arrived in Edinburgh, I went directly to Mr. Kinniburgh’s school in Chessels Court, as you directed. He could not have been kinder, sir, when he heard your name.”
“He’s a good man,” Hugh said. “Proceed.”
“Immediately, he canceled all his appointments and accompanied me to the Bridewell on Calton Hill. We had some difficulty there. They needed to send to the warden’s house for the man, but eventually we all were situated in his office where Mr. Kinniburgh translated your questions and Mrs. Campbell’s answers—which was a wee bit like some dismal harlequinade pantomime—and the warden served as witness.”
“Excellent,” Hugh encouraged. “What did she communicate to you?”
“What we learned earlier about her husband was correct, though some question remains about whether they were legally married. He deserted her and their three children in Glasgow not a week before the event on the bridge. She reluctantly confirmed the neighbors’ account that after a bout of drunkenness, the villain gave her a thrashing and lit out. He hasn’t been seen since, though a neighbor believes he shipped out on a merchant ship bound for the Indies.”
The blackguard, Grace thought. Like a snake, slithering away from his responsibilities to his family.
“The day of the child’s death,” he continued, “Mrs. Campbell was crossing the Saltmarket Bridge on her way home to her children. One of them was with her. Three years of age he was. The lad had grown weary from the long walk, and some time before she’d strapped him on her back.”
“A three-year-old can be a handful,” Grace said. She’d seen women escaping war-torn areas with young children strapped to their backs.
“Mr. Kinniburgh offered her a handkerchief to represent the child. She showed us how she’d been carrying him, using her shawl as a sling and holding the ends tight against her chest. Mrs. Campbell told us that when they reached the bridge, she rested for a moment, leaning back against the battlements. A chestnut dealer was not far off, and the lad began to squirm and point that he was hungry.”
Grace felt her insides go cold, knowing how this would end.
“Mrs. Campbell reached inside her dress to see if she had the ha’penny for the chestnuts, and one end of the shawl slipped from her grip. Before she knew it, the boy had rolled free and tumbled into the river.”
Grace could only imagine the panic and the helplessness the mother must have felt.
“M’lord, when she showed us this, she wept something pitiful. Some folk passing only saw the lad go over and they grabbed hold of her. The boy was swept away on the river current.”
“How awful for her,” Grace murmured, feeling herself choke up.
“You’re right about that, mistress. When Mr. Kinniburgh conveyed to her that the people on the bridge reported to the authorities that she’d thrown the child over intentionally, the woman nearly went mad right then and there. The sounds of anguish that filled the warden’s office would have melted the hardest of hearts. She thought she was being held because the child had died by accident. She didn’t know any better, and she couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t let her go home to her other children.”
The horror of losing your child would be devastating enough, Grace thought. But then, not to know what was happening to your other children. Not to know who was feeding them and caring for them.
She looked at Hugh, whose fierce frown showed that he was also clearly moved by the story.
“I told her, through Mr. Kinniburgh, that your lordship had taken a personal interest in her case. It was beyond our ability to explain the dilemma of the madhouse versus the gallows, and I didn’t think she needed to know just then what was facing her.”
“Quite right, Branson,” Hugh said quietly.
“We stopped there. I copied out my notes of the testimony, added the warden’s comments and Mr. Kinniburgh’s, as well. The gentlemen took an oath and signed it as witnesses. But will it be enough, m’lord?”
Hugh sat back in his chair, his brow furrowed as he considered what they’d heard. Grace recalled what he told her about the predispositions of juries and the limited choices of the judges hearing these cases. The deadlock of the justices in this case pertained specifically to that issue. If Mrs. Campbell was capable of understanding the moral implications of the case, then she would face a potentially prejudiced jury. If she wasn’t, she would spend the rest of her life in an asylum. The fu
ture of her children looked dire, either way.
Grace decided this was the time to share what she’d found. “I found a few things that might be helpful.”
Hugh’s approving nod encouraged her. “Tell us.”
“To begin, your clerks have been noting a few cases of relevance that I found in Lord Dreghorn’s Arguments and Decisions in Remarkable Cases. And volumes one, four, and five in Dilly and Elliot’s Decisions of the Court of Session produced cases involving deaf-mutes which would support your position on the unreliability of juries faced with such defendants.”
“But you found something specific?” he asked, reading her thoughts.
“Yes, I did. Just this morning.”
Grace rose and went to the chair where she’d been working earlier. Picking up a thick volume, she brought it back and laid it on the table in front of Hugh.
“Thomas Leach’s Cases in Crown Law.” She sat again. “Several cases pertain to the issue, but Case 58, found on page 97, relates to a defendant named Thomas Jones, being tried in 1773 for stealing five guineas. The court faced the same dilemma that caused such difficulty for the justices in Glasgow regarding Mrs. Campbell. This Jones was deaf and mute, and the court could not decide if he ‘stood mute through obstinacy or by the visitation of God.’ It was either the asylum for life, or trial. Finally, someone found a Mrs. Lazarus, who could communicate with Jones. Realizing that the defendant was ‘capable of receiving intelligence from her by means of signs,’ the court used her as a translator of sorts, and he was arraigned and put on trial.”
“And how did it turn out for him?” Hugh asked.
“Whether it was the evidence against him or the jury’s antipathy, the record says nothing, only that he was found guilty of simple larceny and transported.”
“So there is a precedent for using Mr. Kinniburgh to communicate her testimony,” Branson suggested.
“Leach’s Cases pertains to English law, if I’m not mistaken,” Hugh observed.
“You yourself suggested that the argument could be made that since the Union of Scotland and England, the precedents can apply. Well, Mr. Hume cites three cases in his Critical Commentaries on Scottish criminal law in which that happens.”
Hugh pondered that for a moment. “So, with this precedent, I can order Mrs. Campbell to stand trial.”
“You can do that,” she agreed. “But Mr. Hume also discusses the range of power exercised by justices in the pretrial hearings.”
Branson nearly leaped from his chair. “You can use Kinniburgh’s testimony that was not available before, find her competent to stand trial . . .”
“And dismiss the case for lack of evidence,” Grace concluded.
“M’lord, not one of the witnesses testified that he actually saw Mrs. Campbell throw the child from the bridge.”
Hugh laid his hand flat on the volume before him. “Branson, I know it’s Sunday, but I need you to note all of the precedents that Miss Grace has searched out, along with her argument.”
The clerk nodded, and his satisfied smile told her the man was not unhappy with the task ahead.
Hugh looked at Grace. “I know how to proceed now, thanks to you. Fine work, indeed.”
“What will you do?” she asked.
“We have a great deal happening this week,” he continued. “It will be best if I ride directly to Edinburgh and call my court into session tomorrow.”
“And what will happen to her?”
“Based on all you and Branson have given me, I’ll not send the case back to the lower courts. I’ll rule from the bench that an impartial jury, upon hearing the additional evidence would find a charge of murder ‘Not Proven,’ if even that. Therefore, to avoid more time and expense being wasted . . .” Hugh took her hand in his. “I’ll dismiss the case for—as you said—lack of sufficient evidence to go to trial. Jean Campbell will be freed.”
Chapter 27
Baronsford had been approaching a state of pandemonium all day. Mrs. Henson and Mr. Simons each led their armies of housemaids and chambermaids and kitchen maids and cooks and valets and footmen through wing after wing and floor after floor of the house in preparation for the arrival of Lord and Lady Aytoun.
Grace decided that staying out of the way would be her best course of action. After looking in on Darby in the morning while the doctor was visiting, she divided the rest of her time between the lower library, the gardens, and the kennels, where a new litter of pups had recently been born.
As the Monday sun dropped lower in the western sky, Grace’s anxiety grew. Hugh had not yet returned from Edinburgh, and he’d told her that his parents would probably arrive by Tuesday at the latest. And that worried her dreadfully.
Scattered among the years of accompanying her father and his regiment on the battlefields, she’d had the opportunity of being introduced to some of the most powerful people in Europe. But never, before meeting Hugh, had she felt such insecurity about who she was or how she’d be received.
Standing at the window of the library and watching the golden light bathing the distant meadows, she realized that she had so much to lose. If Hugh were here, she knew his presence would bolster her spirits, and Grace found herself fervently wishing that the earl and the countess would come later, rather than sooner.
An hour later, Hugh had still not arrived, and Jo and Grace shared a modest dinner together in the small dining room.
“They do this every time,” Jo told her, referring to Mrs. Henson and Mr. Simons. “Hugh lives here virtually all year round. Even though most of the house goes unused, Baronsford is never closed up in any season, even when my brother is visiting in London or Hertfordshire or Edinburgh. He never reduces the size of the staff. The Prince Regent himself could arrive at any moment, with his entire court, and Baronsford would be ready to receive him. Still, those two go out of their way to outdo each other, battling away as if they were in a competition.”
Jo told her about the unending array of decisions the housekeeper and the butler brought to her during the day. Anytime she’d tried to get up to the tower house for even a moment, someone was at her elbow, requesting her presence or opinion.
“You, my friend, will do an excellent job of running this place when you’re mistress of Baronsford.”
Grace shook her head, hoping Jo would be more sympathetic to her reluctance about speaking openly about this with servants bustling about. But it was not to be. There was no stopping her.
“I’m only here for a short time, mostly in the spring and summer.” Jo smiled at her and nodded to have their plates taken away. “But this house needs a real mistress. A confident and capable woman with a loving heart and a first-rate mind. You’ll be perfect for it . . . and for him.”
Grace pressed her hand against her jittery stomach, wishing she could share her friend’s optimism. Since learning the news yesterday, Jo had mentioned the wedding more times than Grace could count. It was as if the more she spoke of it, the more certain it was that the event would take place. Though Grace would never have said a word, she found it surprising for a woman who’d seen her own future altered dramatically at the last moment because of a question of “suitability.”
“Please tell Mrs. Henson and Mr. Simons that they should allow the staff to retire for the evening,” Jo told a second butler as the last of their plates were cleared. “Everyone has done quite enough work for the day.”
“Then you don’t expect your parents to arrive tonight?” Grace said, trying to keep the note of hopefulness out of her voice.
“I shouldn’t think so. My father is not fond of traveling after dark. I believe it’s safe to assume that they’ve already stopped at some inn along the way.”
Grace didn’t say it, but she was relieved. She wanted Hugh to be here when they arrived. She knew she’d do much better for that first meeting if he were making the introductions.
Later, when Jo retired to bed, Grace slipped into Hugh’s study, surveying the stacked volumes of trials, judgments, cases
that she’d been reading for three days now. As she began to replace the books on the shelves, she reminded herself that whatever her own worries were, they were nothing compared to the reality of those who were less fortunate. Women and men with no education. Those poor souls who had no skills and no work. Those who needed to steal to feed their family. Those who suffered for months and years in the jails only because they could not afford adequate legal representation.
She thought of Jean Campbell and everything the Irish woman had gone through over the past six months. Today, Hugh was in Edinburgh to set her free. But Grace wasn’t a fool. She knew that Mrs. Campbell’s troubles were far from over.
Grace thought of the ragged children of the streets that she saw everywhere she traveled. That woman’s young ones might join their numbers. The law cases that filled these walls were a sacred history, chapter and verse, of the perpetual poverty that led to crimes of survival, generation after generation.
Settling into a chair with a volume of more recent cases in the Scottish courts, Grace soon lost track of time. Law and its varying interpretations fascinated her. Never before this week had she seen how valuable her memory could be in the service of others.
She was lost in her reading when voices outside of the study alerted her to Hugh’s return. As she scrambled to her feet, the study door opened. She drank in the sight of him. His impressive height and wide shoulders filled the doorway. Her gaze paid homage to his handsome face and lingered on his sensual mouth. She was starved for the taste of him.
“M’lord,” she said, as a subtle warmth spread from her heart to every limb in her body.
It was some time before his dark gaze released her and Grace became aware of the presence of his law clerk, who’d come in behind him. As Hugh came toward her, she realized that until this moment her entire day had been missing something vital.
She clutched the book she’d been reading tightly in one hand. Her face burned from the way he focused on her and nothing else. He looked ready to cast aside propriety and take her into his arms. She glanced meaningfully at the cheerful face of the clerk and back to Hugh.
Romancing the Scot (The Pennington Family) Page 22
