Beguiling the Barrister

by Wendy Soliman

  Several more witnesses followed, giving such similar accounts to Baldwin’s to make it almost laughable. Darius barely bothered to question them.

  “It’s like they’ve learned their lines by heart,” Flick said, pouting with disgust.

  “Except no mention is being made of eye colour anymore,” Rob pointed out.

  “Pallister will have sent word to Woodard not to bring it up,” Hal said.

  “Surely he would have been better advised to make sure the witnesses know which of the accused actually has blue eyes,” Flick remarked with irrefutable logic.

  Rob shrugged. “He probably realized that Darius wouldn’t be stupid enough to ask the question of another witness for precisely that reason.”

  “Is Darius winning?” Flick asked anxiously.

  “Too soon to say,” Hal said. “But Rob’s right about that horse and its scar. It’s pivotal.”

  “You think it belongs to Armstrong?” she asked.

  “Possibly.” Hal frowned. “I believe Gabe said something about Nathbone supplying Pallister’s horses, but I could have got it wrong.”

  “If it’s so important, why hasn’t Darius asked other witnesses about the horse?” Flick asked.

  “Because he knows the remaining witnesses will have developed amnesia on the subject.”

  Flick frowned. “Is there any justice involved in this process?”

  “Don’t be so naïve, little sister,” Rob said affectionately.

  “Yes, I suppose that was rather stupid. Still,” she said, brightening, “Darius has made each witness sound unsure of himself. That must count for something.”

  “Unfortunately not,” Hal told her. “Pallister will have influenced the jury, of that you can be sure. Even if by some miracle he hasn’t, the judge’s summing up will be so biased that it’ll be hard for them to find grounds for acquittal.”

  “Then Darius has no hope,” Flick said dejectedly.

  “It’s his responsibility to prove his clients’ innocence. Casting doubt on their guilt isn’t enough because the law already looked upon them as guilty, which is why they’ve been brought to trial.”

  “And the only way he can prove them innocent is to reveal the guilty party,” Rob added.

  “Armstrong?” Flick fell into a state of dejection. “Then it’s hopeless. He’s far too well protected.”

  “He’s certainly rattled his cage, though,” Rob said, nodding to father and son who appeared to be involved in a heated discussion.

  That discussion concluded when Lord Pallister beckoned to an underling and whispered something in his ear. The man scurried from the gallery, presumably to carry out Pallister’s instructions.

  Woodard rested his case just before luncheon.

  “Shall you call any witnesses, Mr. Grantley?” the judge asked.

  “One or two, my lord.”

  The judge sighed, implying that it would be a massive waste of everyone’s time. “Very well then, if you must. I suppose we’d better hear ’em after luncheon.”

  “All rise,” his clerk intoned as the judge stood up, gathered his scarlet robes about his rotund figure and disappeared from view, muttering beneath his breath about defence lawyers who didn’t know when they were beaten.

  Flick hoped they would see Darius during the interval but unfortunately that didn’t prove to be the case. After a hasty greeting, he managed nothing more significant than a curling smile intended for her alone before excusing himself and disappearing with his instructing solicitor.

  “I wonder what tactics Darius intends to employ this afternoon,” Flick said, picking at the food placed before her in the private dining room Hal had secured at a nearby tavern. “It seems rather hopeless.” She sighed, unable to eat a thing, wondering how Hal and Rob could possibly do so. “David and Goliath spring to mind.”

  “Don’t be downhearted, squirt,” Rob said, tweaking her nose. “Just remember who won that particular skirmish.”

  They resumed their seats in the gallery just before the judge returned.

  “Do you wish to make an opening statement, Mr. Grantley?” he asked with a long-suffering sigh.

  “No thank you, my lord. It’s hardly necessary.”

  The judge looked as astonished as Flick felt. “Surely he should—”

  “Darius knows what he’s doing,” Hal told her calmly.

  “Where’s Edward Armstrong?” Rob asked, indicating his vacant seat with his eyes.

  “I have no idea.” Hal frowned. “But I don’t like it. He ought to be here.”

  “Father and son were arguing earlier,” Flick reminded them. “Perhaps he’s been told to stay away.”

  “Perhaps,” Hal agreed, not sounding convinced.

  “Then call your first witness, Mr. Grantley,” the judge said impatiently.

  “With your permission, my lord, I called Ruben Clegg.”

  “Who’s Ruben Clegg?” Flick asked.

  Hal and Rob both shook their heads, watching with interest as a small man, uncomfortable in his Sunday best, made his way to the witness box.

  “An ostler,” Hal said, smiling. “Now I understand what he’s about.”

  “I think perhaps I do as well,” Flick said, her heart beating faster as her expectations grew.

  Darius had Ruben Clegg tell the court that he was head ostler at the Dog and Duck posting inn, near Bath. He recalled the two accused residing at the inn at the time of one of the robberies that happened locally.

  “Were these gentlemen alone?” Darius asked, waving a hand towards the dock.

  “No, sir, three other young gents was there with ’em.”

  “I see.” Darius paced in front of the witness. “And you had their horses under your care?”

  “That I did, and fine beasts they were too.”

  “Do you recall if there was a Trakehner among their number?”

  “There was. One of the finest stallions it’s ever been my dubious pleasure to care for?”

  “Your dubious pleasure?”

  “He was a vicious beast and no mistake. Entertained itself by trying to take lumps out of my grooms, so he did.”

  “Any flaws on the horse that you noticed?”

  “A nasty scar on his neck. I was told he fell in a point-to-point race and his neck was trodden on by another horse. I wondered if that accounted for his bad temper.”

  “The horse was difficult to handle then?”

  “No question. Only his owner could do anything with him. Wouldn’t let anyone else even sit on him, I was told. Bucked ’em all off, so he did. His owner laughed about that. I reckon it made him feel good about himself, what with him being the only gent as could handle the beast.”

  Darius paused for a prolonged moment. “Do you recall the name of the horse’s owner?” he asked, almost casually.

  Flick gripped Hal’s hand and held her breath until her lungs almost burst.

  “Oh, I remember, right enough. The young cove was full of himself and almost as mean as the horse he rode. Me and my lads, we reckoned they deserved one another.”

  “His name,” Darius prompted.

  “My lord, I must protest.” Woodard sprang to his feet. “We only have one witness’s word that this horse was present at a robbery.”

  “Your witness’s word,” Darius reminded him.

  Before the judge could rule on the objection, Ruben spoke up.

  “The young gent’s name was Armstrong,” he said. “Lord Edward Armstrong.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Pandemonium erupted in the courtroom. The judge hammered his gravel and roared for silence, his face flushed beetroot red at having his authority so abominably flaunted. He was ignored. Darius, aware of eyes burning into his profile from the spectators’ gallery, looked up to find Lord Pallister holding him in a death glare. Darius was briefly overwhelmed when it occurred to him that he had, single-handedly, destroyed one of the most powerful men in the land.

  Darius neither knew nor cared at that moment how Pallis
ter would react, aware that his retribution was likely to be swift and brutal. Instead he gloried in his moment of triumph, his gaze moving along the front row of the gallery until it fell upon Flick. She was on her feet, jumping up and down, clapping her hands and laughing recklessly. She caught Darius’s eye and blew him a kiss.

  “Silence in court!” This time the judge’s voice did rise above the hubbub but he was still ignored. “I’ll have the court cleared if this carries on.”

  If the people heard the threat, it had no effect. The repercussions of this latest revelation needed to be chewed over and revelled in. Lord Pallister wasn’t popular with the working classes and they were enjoying his son’s downfall, along with his own.

  A thundering voice brought everyone’s attention back to the spectators’ gallery. Edward Armstrong bounded up the steps two at a time, looking deranged as he pointed an outstretched arm directly at his father. He’d done the judge’s job for him. Everyone stopped talking and it was now as quiet as the grave inside the courtroom as people gaped at this latest unfolding drama.

  “What have you done with him?” he yelled.

  “Edward, what in the name of the devil—”

  “Damocles, he’s gone from his stall.” Lord Edward’s eyes bulged, red and angry. His clothing was dishevelled and his hair stood wildly out from the sides of his head. “What have you done with him?”

  “Calm down and remember where you are,” his father said in an authoritative tone that momentarily silenced his son.

  “He’s got a pistol,” someone shouted.

  “It’s true. He has,” someone else said.

  Darius hadn’t noticed him wielding a weapon when he burst into the gallery but could now see the thing pointed directly at Pallister. His heart went cold—Flick was up there too.

  Panic overtook the entire courtroom. Women screamed, men yelled conflicting advice to their fellows, and feet drummed on the wooden floor in a stampede to vacate the gallery.

  Darius needed to get up there. Fighting against a human tide of panicked people, he kept getting pushed back. Those escaping the gallery barged into others leaving the body of the courtroom.

  Darius had seldom seen such a display of cowardice. Had he not been so concerned about Flick, he would have been disgusted by it all. As it was, all he could think about was saving her. He hadn’t gone this far, exposed Pallister’s son and risked making enemies in high places, only to lose her.

  “Make way, make way!” he yelled.

  Desperation lent him extra strength as he pushed people out of his path. It did him no good. Others merely took their place.

  Damn it, Flick was trapped with her brothers, standing at the end of the front row and unable to get past Lord Pallister and his gun-wielding son. Now Darius understood why he’d felt uneasy about the seating arrangements. The others in the front row who had separated the Forsters from the Armstrongs—all of them men—had climbed over the back of the high benches and joined the fight to get clear. Darius supposed Hal and Rob couldn’t do the same because of Flick. Hampered by her skirts, she wouldn’t have been able to climb over the benches. Even if she could, she was so small that she would have been trampled underfoot in the exodus.

  Darius could easily imagine how impotent Hal and Rob must be feeling because he shared their state of frustration. He finally managed to reach the gallery, now devoid of everyone except the Armstrongs and Forsters. He looked across at Flick, shielded by the solid bodies of her brothers. He shared a glance with Hal and an unspoken message passed between them. If he could distract Edward Armstrong for long enough, Hal, Rob and Flick would be able to climb over the benches, now that the gallery was empty of stampeding cowards, and reach safety.

  “Put the pistol down,” Darius said calmly, “and think about where you are. You won’t get away with shooting anyone.”

  The throng who’d barged their way out of the courtroom were now creeping back in, watching from a safe distance, curiosity winning out over fear for their well-being.

  “Damn you, Grantley,” Lord Edward said savagely. “This is all your fault. Why couldn’t you do as you were ruddy well told?”

  “Edward!” his father said sternly. “Do as Grantley suggested and think before you speak.”

  Lord Pallister remained implacably calm, obviously not imagining that his son would actually fire at him. Darius wished he could share his confidence. The pistol was still aimed at Lord Pallister and, in spite of his agitated state, Lord Edward’s arm was rock steady. He was reputed to be a decent shot too. Should the shot go wide, the Forsters would be directly in the line of fire. Far from remaining safely behind her brothers, Flick kept poking her head out to see what was going on. Perdition, when would the minx learn to do the sensible thing!

  “If you’ve ordered Damocles shot then I will shoot you,” Lord Edward roared. “I love that horse and he’s about the only thing in this world that loves me for who I am.”

  “You’re talking rot, boy. Now put that pistol down and we will discuss this like rational adults.”

  “You no longer get to tell me what to do,” Lord Edward raved.

  He’s lost his mind, Darius thought, and his father knows it. That’s why he’s gone to so much trouble to protect him. Madness in his family wouldn’t do much for his influence in political circles. In the periphery of his vision Darius was surprised to see that the judge remained on his bench. Pallister glanced at him but didn’t receive the nod of support he clearly hoped for. The judge was obviously thinking of his own position. Rats and sinking ships sprang to Darius’s mind, and if he hadn’t been so concerned for Flick, he would have found the situation vaguely amusing.

  He was less surprised to see the sergeant-at-arms making for the steps to the gallery. Darius waved him back. The slightest threat would probably spook Lord Edward into discharging that gun.

  “Your horse is quite safe,” Darius said in the soft, persuasive tone that juries loved. “He’s been taken back to your father’s estate.”

  Darius glanced at Lord Pallister, willing him to back him up and distract Lord Edward for long enough to allow Flick to escape. Pallister, in his arrogance, would probably already be trying to think of ways to recover his position. He wasn’t the type to give up all he held most dear without a fight, and Darius had firsthand knowledge of just how low he was prepared to stoop in that respect. Having his son shooting anyone inside the Old Bailey was one situation from which he would never recover, which is probably why he followed Darius’s lead.

  “That’s perfectly correct,” he said. “The horse kicked a groom in the livery yard and broke his shin. They asked me to remove him so I did. I forgot to tell you.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re lying, both of you.”

  With Lord Edward swivelling his gaze between Darius and his father, Hal and Rob managed to step over the back of the bench without drawing his attention. For Flick it wouldn’t be so easy, her skirts would rustle and draw Edward’s attention. Her brothers resolved that problem by bodily lifting her over. Excellent! They could now carefully make their way behind the two Armstrongs and reach the steps. Lord Edward would then only have him or his father to select as his target.

  “Why would I lie to you?” his father asked.

  “Because you’d do anything to save your precious reputation. You’ve never cared about me,” he said petulantly. “All you ever think about is yourself.”

  “Edward, that’s enough!” Pallister took a step forward, hand outstretched. “Give me the pistol before someone gets hurt.”

  Just for a moment, Darius thought Lord Edward would bow to parental authority and give up his weapon. Instead, he did the last thing Darius had anticipated. Flick’s skirt caught on a ragged edge of the bench and tore when she snatched it free. Edward heard the sound, swung round and grabbed Flick before Hal could bundle her clear of danger.

  “Ouch!”

  She screamed when he caught her by the arm and kicked out at him. Lord Edward slapped her fa
ce.

  “Keep still, you little bitch. This is your fault as well.”

  Hal and Rob looked ready to commit murder. They’d have to queue up behind Darius in that case. Damn, he’d handled it all wrong, miscalculated Lord Pallister’s control over his son. Lord Edward himself had probably felt his resolve weakening in the face of his father’s calm authority and had grabbed himself a lifeline. About the only lifeline that would keep Darius from trying to snatch the pistol.

  “We’re going back to our estate, you and me,” he said to Flick, holding her around the waist with one arm and pointing the pistol at the side of her head with the other. “And if Damocles ain’t there then you’ll be the one to pay the price.”

  Darius felt a murderous rage sweep through him, manifesting itself in the sort of calm that usually enveloped him at the start of a challenging trial. He would use all that experience to his advantage, never having had greater need for it. No good would come of this situation if he didn’t keep a cool head. Forget that it’s Flick’s life in danger, he told himself repeatedly, and use reason and logic to win the day. It’s what you’re good at.

  Hal glanced at him, asking without words if he had a plan. Darius nodded just once, hoping against hope that it would be good enough.

  “By all means take Lady Felicity to Berkshire if that’s what you desire,” Darius said lazily. “But you must prepare yourself for company since we won’t allow you take her without us.”

  “Then I’ll shoot her.”

  “In which case you will hang. I realize you’re not the brightest spark in the tinderbox. However, even you must comprehend that shooting a lady in a court of law, in front of a judge no less, can only end one way.”

  “You’re in love with the doxy,” Lord Edward said sarcastically. “I’ve seen you with her so I know you wouldn’t take that chance.”

  “Try me.” Darius faced Lord Edward without blinking, a chilling cast to his expression.

  “Are we to take a ride into the country?” Flick asked brightly. “How lovely.”

  Darius had never admired her more. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth where the bastard had hit her. It must have hurt. Her face was chalk-white, telling him just how terrified she actually was, but no one else would have known it from her attitude. Indeed, even Lord Edward appeared slightly surprised by everyone’s calm response to his desperate action and didn’t seem sure what to do next. He moved the pistol away from Flick’s body, relaxed his hold on her waist and once again pointed it at his father.