Devil in My Arms: A Loveswept Historical Romance (The Saint's Devils)

by Samantha Kane

  “We will have the watchman here as soon as can be arranged, Mr. Burns,” Sir Robert said in a tone that brooked no refusal. “Mr. Templeton, in the meantime do you have any further questions for the witnesses before this bench?”

  “I would beg the court’s indulgence, sir,” Roger said gravely. “As we await the watchman, I would like to call a witness to the stand.”

  “You?” Sir Robert said, surprised. “You have evidence that is pertinent to this case and to which the crown is not privy?”

  “I do, sir,” Roger said. He looked at Eleanor meaningfully. She closed her eyes and suppressed a groan. He was going to do it. Or rather, he was going to make her do it. “I would like to call the accused as witness, sir.”

  “The accused?” Sir Robert said in amazement. “You do realize that doing so will leave her open to questioning by the crown prosecutor, do you not?”

  “Yes, sir,” Roger answered, showing no annoyance at being lectured to like a schoolboy.

  “You do understand that your job is to represent your client, correct?” Sir Robert continued, openly mocking him. Mr. Burns chuckled.

  “I do, sir. I believe her testimony will shed a great deal of light on the events in question.” Roger looked calm and in complete control of the situation. Several women in the courtroom sighed with girlish abandon each time he spoke.

  Sir Robert waved his hand at Roger, summoning him forward. Roger approached the bench. “Mr. Templeton, I feel it is in the best interest of justice to ask you to reconsider your request. Mrs. Fairchild is in a great bit of trouble here. By entering her testimony, you run the risk that she will incriminate herself.”

  “I understand, sir,” Eleanor heard Roger say. “But I must insist.”

  Sir Robert shook his head sadly. “Fine.” He waved him away and turned to Eleanor. “Do you understand, Mrs. Fairchild, that you are sworn to tell the truth here at all times? If you are proven false, that is yet another serious charge against you.”

  Eleanor looked to Roger to confirm that she should answer. He nodded. She turned back to Sir Robert. “Yes, sir. I understand. I swear to tell the truth to this court.”

  “Such pretty manners!” someone in the gallery exclaimed.

  Roger walked over to stand in front of Eleanor, slightly off to the side so that Sir Robert and the gallery had a clear view of her. “Please state your full and correct name for the court.”

  Eleanor bit her lip and stared at Roger wide-eyed. “Are you sure?” she whispered.

  “Aloud, if you please,” Sir Robert said, watching her closely, obviously aware something was going on.

  “My name,” she began, then paused to take a deep breath and calm her racing heart, “is Mrs. Eleanor Margaret Stanley Enderby.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Sir Robert said, confused. “Where does the Fairchild come in?”

  “It doesn’t, sir,” Eleanor said, standing up straight. “I made up the name Fairchild—well, not really. I did have an aunt Fairchild on my maternal grandmother’s side. But I took the name Fairchild when I arrived in London.”

  “How are you related to Jacob Enderby?” Roger asked, anticipating Sir Robert’s next question.

  “He was my husband,” she answered.

  “That’s preposterous!” Mr. Burns exclaimed over the excited murmurs of the crowd. “Eleanor Enderby is dead. She was declared dead last year and buried by her grieving husband, Jacob Enderby.”

  Roger turned to Mr. Burns. “I assure you, sir, that this woman”—he pointed to Eleanor—“is the real Eleanor Enderby. And that Jacob Enderby knowingly and willfully misidentified a dead stranger as his wife in order to have her declared dead, so he could remarry. Mrs. Eleanor Enderby is alive and well and standing in this courtroom.” He spun around and continued to point to Eleanor. “Right there. I know this for a fact,” he said, taking a deep breath and shaking his head sorrowfully, “because she is my wife’s dearest sister, and my sister-in-law. There is no mistaking her identity. And there is no mistaking that Jacob Enderby sought her out in London in order to kill her.”

  The crowd gasped and the room immediately descended into chaos. It took several minutes for Sir Robert to quiet the gallery.

  “Madam,” he asked Eleanor, “is this true?”

  She nodded, and sniffed. Her tears were not feigned. She understood in that moment that Roger was putting his career and his reputation at stake for her. “Yes, sir. He is my dearest brother, and my savior.” Roger walked over and handed her his handkerchief and she took it and grasped his hand for a moment. He squeezed hers in response.

  “Fear not, little sister,” he whispered.

  “He has not saved you yet, Mrs. Enderby,” Sir Robert said, using her true name rather forcefully. “He has proven you a runaway wife and a charlatan. Why did you run from Mr. Enderby, and why was he so eager to prove you dead?”

  “I can only answer the first question with any authority, sir,” she said, wiping her cheeks dry. She vowed not to cry another tear in this courtroom. She feared many would see it as dramatic manipulation. “I ran because he was a cruel master under whom I knew nothing but torture and humiliation. I ran to my sister and her husband for protection and sanctuary, and they gave it to me.”

  “You’ll understand my skepticism,” Sir Robert said to Roger. “Have you any proof that this is Eleanor Enderby, other than your word and that of your wife?”

  “I do, sir,” Roger said. He nodded at the back of the room, and Wiley led two men carrying a covered stretcher into the courtroom. “With the court’s permission, I would like to present this as proof.”

  “And this is?” Sir Robert asked, eyeing the stretcher with distaste.

  “This is the stranger that Jacob Enderby identified as his wife of almost fifteen years, sir. The poor woman buried under someone else’s name, to be forever unknown.” Roger walked over and rather dramatically whipped the cover off the stretcher, revealing a body in a grotesque state of decomposition. One woman in the gallery screamed, and several others fainted. Two things were immediately obvious to Eleanor and, she hoped, the jury. The body was short, noticeably shorter than Eleanor. And what hair still clung to the skull was long and white, either blonde or gray, she couldn’t tell. But no one, not even someone who had no more than a passing acquaintance with her, would identify this as Eleanor.

  She turned away then, unable to look anymore, the handkerchief to her nose as a defense against the stench.

  Chaos again ensued as Mr. Burns and Roger approached the bench and argued vociferously. Sir Robert glared at them both. There was too much noise for Eleanor to hear what was being said. Roger held a piece of paper, which he kept waving about until Sir Robert grabbed it from his hand.

  “Silence!” Sir Robert roared, and the gallery quieted at once. “The court accepts this affidavit from the coroner in Derbyshire certifying that this is the body buried as Eleanor Enderby. You may remove the remains. Put them in the custody of the bailiff to be examined by the coroner here in London for verification.” The last was said with distaste, to Wiley and his men. They immediately covered it and exited the courtroom, following the uniformed bailiff.

  On his way out, Wiley winked at Eleanor. She had to fight a smile at the small but gladly received token of support.

  “Mr. Templeton,” Sir Robert said between clenched teeth. “If you ever turn my courtroom into a circus again, I shall have you removed from the bar. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Roger said meekly. “My apologies. The body was only returned to London this morning. I certainly meant no disrespect to the court by my actions. But certainly you can understand my joy at this obvious sign of Enderby’s villainy.” His voice had grown louder as he spoke, and most of the people in the court had surely heard him.

  “Are you now pleading self-defense?” Mr. Burns asked.

  “Not at all,” Roger said. “Mrs. Enderby had nothing to do with her husband’s death. What I am attempting to show the court is that someone of En
derby’s character would most assuredly have had many enemies, any one of which could have resorted to murder.”

  “To what ends?” Mr. Burns asked incredulously. “The only person in London who had anything to gain from Enderby’s death was his runaway, adulterous wife.”

  Roger’s face turned red, and he glared at the prosecutor. “You, sir, impugn the good name of my sister-in-law, and I take offense at your manner.”

  “Sir, your sister-in-law is on trial for murder,” Mr. Burns said, clearly enunciating each word. “And she herself admitted she ran from Enderby.”

  “For good reason,” Roger said. “One with which I did not find fault, and from which I felt it my duty as her only remaining male relation, and a gentleman, to shield her.”

  “If all you have is her word about Enderby’s supposedly villainous character, I’m afraid that won’t be enough,” Sir Robert said gravely.

  “I have witnesses,” Roger said. “Witnesses who can testify to his treatment of her, and of others.”

  “Fine,” Mr. Burns said. “I shall entertain Mr. Templeton’s witnesses.”

  “As shall the court,” Sir Robert said drily with a wry look at the prosecutor, who colored in embarrassment.

  “I did not mean to usurp your authority, sir,” Mr. Burns said.

  “You are not a magistrate yet, Mr. Burns, but your cooperation is appreciated. Mr. Templeton,” he said, and waved at the witness stand. “Bring your witnesses.”

  The gallery was whispering furiously, heads craning to see who might be taking the stand. Eleanor wondered as well. Roger had not told her a thing about his plans for this line of questioning. She wasn’t sure she approved of parading her sordid marriage before the ravening crowd.

  But she approved far less of hanging, so she took a deep breath and waited for the first witness.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “My first witness is not present,” Roger said. “I would beg the court’s indulgence. The second Mrs. Enderby, Miss Georgina Honeywell, declined to appear in person, which I am sure the court understands. The lady is with child, and is suffering greatly from the events of the last week. But she has sent along a sworn statement, witnessed by the justice of the peace in Derby.”

  Sir Robert waved his hand in a come-hither motion and Roger obliged, approaching the bench. Mr. Burns followed suit. Roger handed the letter over to Sir Robert who took a moment to peruse it. “It all looks in order. Mr. Burns?” he said, handing it over. Mr. Burns scrutinized it for several minutes, frowning.

  “I don’t like it,” he said belligerently, “but I’ll accept it. In spite of the fact that my witnesses’ sworn statements were not acceptable to Mr. Templeton.”

  “As you can see,” Roger said calmly, “Miss Honeywell’s statement concerns her own experiences with Mr. Enderby, and not the events of April fourth. This is in response to Sir Robert’s request that we show proof of Mrs. Enderby’s identity, and also may answer his question as to why Enderby wanted to kill his first wife.”

  Eleanor was shocked by this development. Roger had said nothing to her about communicating with Enderby’s second wife. She was as curious as the onlookers as to what the letter contained.

  Sir Robert gestured at Mr. Burns and he handed the letter back. Sir Robert in turn gave it to Roger. “Read it aloud for the record,” he said.

  Roger nodded and stepped back until he was standing in the middle of the room. When he began reading she realized his position was deliberate. It was the best spot to take advantage of the room’s architecture, designed to maximize sound.

  “My name is Miss Georgina Honeywell,” he began. “I was married to Mr. Jacob Enderby last year, on November 16, 1820. I was led to believe at that time he was a widower, his wife having been recently declared dead by misadventure. He did not observe a mourning period because he said she’d been missing for so long he’d done his mourning months ago. I now realize it was because he knew she most likely wasn’t dead.

  “I became suspicious less than a month later. Enderby was still sending out men to search for his late wife even though he’d identified a body. When I questioned him, I was beaten severely and confined to my room for several days. I feared raising the subject again. Not long after, he became quite critical of all that I did. He wanted me to talk like Eleanor, to walk like Eleanor, to read her books, and he even made me wear her clothes, though they were too small for me—another thing I was berated for. I was punished for my failure to do these things to his satisfaction by being locked in my room and denied sustenance. This continued for about a month before it was discovered I was to have a child. After that I was not beaten or starved because of the baby, but I was now confined to my room almost all of the time. He declared it was for my safety and that of the babe.

  “About a month ago, a man came to see him, one of the men he’d sent to search for his wife. They had a furtive conversation and then the man left again. For several days Enderby came to my room and simply stared at me, as if trying to decide what to do with me. Finally he made me take to my bed, with orders not to leave it under any circumstances. Fearing his wrath, I obeyed. He then informed the staff that I was feeling poorly and the pregnancy was not going well, which was not true. I felt fine. He gave instructions that only his man Ridgeway and the doctor he had retained could see me, and he left. I learned later he’d gone to London. When we received word of his death, Ridgeway disappeared immediately, taking the silver with him. The doctor packed up his belongings and informed me that he was hired to poison me when Enderby sent the word. Now that Enderby was dead, he, too, took several items from the house and disappeared. I have given his name and a description to the police here. Fearing we had been misinformed of Enderby’s death, I immediately packed my bags and returned to my father’s house. After he made inquiries, it was determined that Enderby had been murdered as he attempted to kidnap his first wife. Signed, Miss Georgina Honeywell. Witnessed by Mr. Bartholomew Sommerset, Justice of the Peace, Derby.”

  Mr. Burns looked furious after the letter was read, but he made no objection when Roger submitted it to the clerk as evidence. The gallery was abuzz, but Eleanor’s mind was reeling at the revelations of Miss Honeywell, and she couldn’t focus on their chatter. Enderby had been obsessed with her. She’d known he was slightly mad, and had been during their marriage, or he wouldn’t have done the things he did. But to hear of his unhealthy attachment to her, his cruel and abusive treatment of his young wife, and his relentless search for her was extremely disquieting.

  The next witness was Mrs. Hastings, the Enderbys’ housekeeper for almost ten years. “He was a brute,” Mrs. Hastings said. “And Mrs. Enderby dared not say a word against him,” she stated bluntly. She was a blunt woman, but never about Enderby. Neither of them dared say a word about him for fear of punishment. It had stood like a barrier between them for almost ten years. Awkward weekly meetings to discuss the menus, never knowing if she’d even be allowed to eat. Housecleaning tasks assigned, with Eleanor’s room last on the list. It could only be cleaned if Eleanor wasn’t locked inside. No food or clothing or other charitable contributions to organize; Enderby didn’t allow it. Mrs. Hastings was in charge of the staff. Eleanor rarely knew who they were from week to week, since Enderby ran off or fired so many of them. And most of the gardening staff hadn’t realized Enderby was married at all, since Eleanor was rarely if ever allowed out of the house.

  Mrs. Hastings related it all in her matter-off-fact tone. “Wasn’t much we could do about it, could we? Barely knew the woman, though I worked for her for nigh on ten years. After he’d locked her up for a week or more, with hardly a bite to eat to keep her going, he wouldn’t allow anyone to tend her but himself, until she was able to leave the room again. His manservant helped, of course. Ridgeway has disappeared, by the way, missus, now the master is gone. Took most of the silver with him. The new Mrs. Enderby left for her parents’ house before the body was cold, leaving all behind. Little bit of a thing, she is, like you, and t
reated the same. Can’t blame her at all.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hastings,” Roger said when she stopped to take a breath. “Can you tell us how Mr. Enderby was viewed by the nearby village? Was he socially active, sought out by neighbors, a pillar of the community?”

  Mrs. Hastings scoffed. “Not at all,” she said. “No one came round except to pay him what they owed. He owned most everything in Little Eaton, including the coal mine and the quarry, and a half interest in the paper works. Lorded it over the village with an iron fist, too,” she added with a disdainful sniff. “Only reason I stayed on with him so long is to keep my sister and her man and the little ones in their house.”

  “Is it your opinion as a longtime servant and resident of Little Eaton that there may have been some in the community who wished Mr. Enderby ill?”

  “Some?” she asked incredulously. “Heard the reverend prayed for his untimely demise more than once for the sake of the whole congregation.” She snorted. “Half the town wished him to perdition. About the only person I’d wager wouldn’t kill him is Mrs. Enderby. If she was going to do him in she’d a done it years ago, in my humble opinion. Why wait until she’s a free woman in London and under her brother-in-law’s protection? Always knew she was smarter than that.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hastings,” Roger said graciously. “Mr. Burns, have you any questions for Mrs. Hastings?”

  “Just one, if you would be so kind Mrs. Hastings,” Mr. Burns said in his most pleasing voice. He smiled graciously at the older woman, who blushed at his fine manners. “Do you know the whereabouts of Mrs. Enderby on Wednesday last, April fourth?”

  Mrs. Hastings looked uncomfortable at his question. “I understand she was on her way to visit a friend,” she answered obliquely. God bless the woman. She really was trying to make up for ten years of looking the other way.

  “Yes,” Mr. Burns said encouragingly. “That is what we are being led to understand. But do you know this for a fact?”