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

by Samantha Kane

  “If she says so, then it must be so,” Mrs. Hastings hedged.

  “So you saw her? In London that night? On her way to see Sir Hilary St. John? Remember, Mrs. Hastings, that you are sworn to tell the truth.”

  “No, sir,” she mumbled.

  “Let the record show the witness’s answer was no,” Mr. Burns told the recorder.

  And so it went. Eleanor was quite amazed that at least seven former servants and residents of Little Eaton had shown up to testify in her defense. But Mr. Burns asked the same question of each on cross-examination, and each one had to answer no, they did not know where she’d been the night Enderby was killed.

  At last the day ended. Sir Robert stood and addressed the courtroom. “Court will reconvene tomorrow morning at seven o’clock sharp. I am remanding Mrs. Enderby back into the custody of the gaol keeper at Newgate until then. Mr. Burns,” he said to the prosecutor, “when we reconvene in the morning, I will expect to see your watchman here. Do I make myself clear? His is the only testimony that places Mrs. Enderby at the scene of the crime.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mr. Burns said nervously, looking behind him at Inspector Vickery, who shrugged.

  “Mr. Templeton and Mr. Lyttle,” Sir Robert said. They stood and faced him respectfully. “There will be no more theatrics tomorrow. This is a courtroom, not Drury Lane.”

  “Yes, sir,” they both replied, looking chagrined, though Eleanor could tell it was an act on Roger’s part. He chanced a glance in her direction with a barely there grin, but she could tell he was elated. He’d bought her one more day.

  * * *

  “Damn and blast,” Hil swore, kicking the door shut on Weekes’s empty office. It was obvious from the detritus around them that he’d been living there for some time. But his files were gone, burned in the grate, if the ashes were any indication, and his personal effects were noticeably absent. “He’s on the run.”

  “He gave himself away on the street,” Lavender surmised. “Do you think he’s flown London?”

  “I don’t know,” Hil answered, running his hand through his hair in frustration. He spun around, vainly looking for some clue. “We’ll have to check the docks and coaching lists to see if he sought transportation out. After all this time, he could have walked to Scotland.”

  Lavender stretched his neck from side to side, his eyes closed and his lips pursed. “I don’t know,” he said at last, looking at Hil. “This is a personal vendetta, and it’s almost at the gruesome conclusion, if you’ll excuse the reminder. In my experience, people want to stick around to see the finale when they’ve gone to so much work. And he was determined to see it through, when he thought the murder charge wouldn’t stick. Can’t imagine he’d run now without seeing it done.”

  “Speaking of finales,” Hil said grimly. “I must go to court tomorrow. We shall work all night to find this bastard. If we do not, I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. Wiley should have delivered the body this afternoon. I’m going to check in with him and with Roger. Perhaps with the body, Unger’s testimony, and Cruikshank’s drawing, it will be enough to convince the jury she’s innocent, or at least that she might not be guilty. I am going to go back over my notes and try to figure out where Weekes might be hiding.” His palms were slick with nervous sweat, his throat dry with fear. Eleanor’s life was on the line and he had nothing but paltry theories and a ghost on the run.

  “I’ll check the docks,” Lavender said, followed by a heavy sigh. “We need luck more than anything now if we’re to find him.”

  “Luck has always been kind to me,” Hil said. “I can only hope she has not turned her back when I need her the most.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Nothing. Not a damn thing. No trace of Weekes in London, or leaving it. Hilary hadn’t slept a wink all night, and looked like the Devil he was, wearing the same clothes he’d had on the day before. He hadn’t taken the time to shave or change his clothes, had barely eaten. He was a man possessed. His thoughts kept veering toward the possible result of this day in court, and then skipping away. He simply couldn’t imagine what he might do if Eleanor were convicted. But he knew it would either set her free or kill them both. With shaking hands, he pulled open the door to the Old Bailey and stepped inside, Wiley at his side. The boy had been constant with his help and support in the last week, and Hil would never forget it. He’d worked as tirelessly as Hil all night, questioning every source he had, running all over London, searching to no avail. Weekes was a ghost, unknown and ignored by most of society, high or low. The sort who surprised everyone when they burst forth with violence and destruction.

  He entered the courtroom and had to elbow his way into the gallery. Once his identity was discovered, however, the crowd parted and he slid to the front. Harry was there, wearing a lavender gown that made her look like a spring flower among the refuse. Alasdair and Julianna stood at her side, along with the Earl of Throckton and his sister, Lady Anne. Harry took his hand as he came up beside her. The magistrate was not on the bench yet. Hil gripped the wooden rail separating him from the courtroom floor. His heart ached fiercely when he saw Eleanor standing in profile to the gallery. She was wearing her prisoner’s garb again, and biting her lip in the dock, her hands visibly shaking, from fear or the weight of the shackles, he wasn’t sure which. He’d never seen her so distraught. But no tears fell, and that somehow made her terror more frightening. He ducked under the rail separating the crowd from the trial participants and went to her. It was a compulsion he could not deny, just as he could not make his heart stop beating.

  He knew that yesterday, witnesses from Little Eaton had been called to describe her life with Enderby; upon hearing some of what they said, once again he wished the other man weren’t dead, so he could kill him. The crowd was murmuring behind him, calling out, and it drew Eleanor’s attention. When she saw him she rushed to the side of the dock nearest him, reaching out with her shackled hands. He ran to her, grasping her hands and kissing them, as she bent down and kissed the top of his head. Grabbing the rail around the prisoner’s dock, he climbed up to the outer ledge and wrapped his arms around her. Though the rail was between them, he clutched her tightly. The shackles around her wrists, with a bar braced between them, rammed into his chest as she clutched his coat, but he didn’t care. He buried his face in the curve of her neck. “I love you,” he said.

  “Hilary, Hilary, Hilary,” she said, as if she couldn’t believe he was there. “I love you, too.”

  “Trust me,” he whispered, already planning how to get her from the prison to the docks if the verdict was guilty. Wiley had men in place.

  “I do,” she said. “With all my heart.”

  “Hil,” Roger was saying, tugging on his coat. He became aware of angry shouts and catcalls around them. The courtroom was a madhouse. Suddenly his arm was grabbed and he was yanked down. He angrily turned to his attacker, only to see a bailiff standing there with his hands in the air, shaking his head.

  “Sir Hilary,” the magistrate was saying angrily. “I will not have more theatrics in this courtroom. If you wish to help the prisoner, then I suggest you retreat to the gallery, or I shall have you removed and barred from the courtroom.” He turned to the crowd. “I will clear the courtroom,” he shouted, “if order is not restored immediately.”

  Hil took a deep breath and came to his senses. He had no wish to jeopardize Eleanor’s freedom with reckless behavior. “My apologies, Sir Robert,” he said with as much respect as he could. “I thought court was not in session yet.”

  “It is not,” Sir Robert said stiffly. “But embracing the prisoner in the dock is still against the rules, whether I am sitting or not.” He pointed to the back of the courtroom. “Go. I am quite sure the gentlemen of the press in the audience have already had an opportunity to memorialize your dramatic and tender scene in print. All of London will see the depth of your feelings soon enough.”

  Hil bit back an angry retort. He and Sir Robert had encountered one another many
times in the past over various cases, and Hil had always found him to be a reasonable, if somewhat stern, magistrate. Eleanor certainly could have gotten worse. His embrace had arisen from his intense emotions today, not a desire to sway public opinion through the broadsheets he deplored, which Sir Robert should well know. With a last, longing glance at Eleanor, now crying in the dock, he stepped through the gate and back into the gallery. Harry grabbed his hand again, and her hold was strong. Wiley immediately stepped behind them to keep the crowd at bay.

  Sir Robert called court into session and Hil was shocked when Roger immediately said, “I would like to call Sir Hilary St. John to testify.” He moved forward without hesitation as the prosecutor protested.

  “I fail to see how Sir Hilary’s testimony is relevant to the murder. He was not with the prisoner at the time.”

  “He was witness to the prisoner’s state of mind on the night of the murder,” Roger said, “and she was arrested while in his company, at his house.”

  Hoots and catcalls came from behind him until Hil turned and glared at the offenders, who went silent and slunk back into the crowd.

  “I trust that you, Sir Hilary, are now cognizant of the solemnity of these proceedings, and that your testimony here today will reflect your honesty and integrity, despite your relationship to the prisoner,” Sir Robert said.

  “Of course,” Hil said, trying not to be offended.

  “Good. Mr. Templeton, proceed.”

  “I would like my objections to this testimony to be entered in the record,” Mr. Burns said stiffly.

  “I’m sure you are aware that everything is entered in the record,” Sir Robert barked. “As I said, proceed.”

  “Sir Hilary, please state your name, and tell us the nature of your relationship with Mrs. Enderby.”

  Hil wasn’t sure this was the line of questioning Roger ought to be pursuing right now, but he had to trust him. To question him now in front of the jury would undermine the credibility he’d earned thus far. Hil wasn’t ignorant enough to believe the members of the jury didn’t know him and his reputation. If he appeared hesitant, it could ruin everything.

  “I am Sir Hilary St. John,” he said. “As to my relationship with Mrs. Enderby, I am in love with her.”

  The crowd gasped and there were sighs from some of the ladies present.

  “Would you please tell us how you met?” Roger asked.

  “Is this a tea party, where we are going to share gossip,” Mr. Burns exclaimed, “or a court of law?”

  “One more such outburst during a witness’s testimony, Mr. Burns,” Sir Robert said in frosty tones, “and I shall find you in contempt.”

  “I cannot help but feel I am superfluous in these proceedings, sir,” Mr. Burns said with rigid dignity. “Has the court not allowed extensive liberties to Mrs. Enderby and her counsel already?”

  Sir Robert lowered his chin and glared at Mr. Burns from beneath his stern brow. “The court will ignore the impropriety of that statement, Mr. Burns. It was brought to my attention by authorities greater than yours or mine, that in a case such as this, where a lady’s life is at stake, certain liberties should be allowed before pursuing a drastic remedy. Sir Hilary, answer the question.”

  Hilary almost shouted for joy. The king had made himself heard on the subject. He was going to owe the royal some rather large favors after this, and he didn’t care. Not one whit. “I met Mrs. Enderby the day she showed up in London seeking sanctuary. Mr. and Mrs. Templeton had asked me to look for Mrs. Templeton’s missing sister. The deceased, Enderby, had sent men around demanding her return and Mrs. Templeton was worried about her sister’s welfare. I was unable to locate Mrs. Enderby, although later she confided that she’d been hiding in Lyme Regis. On the evening of September 23, 1820, I went to Mr. Templeton’s home to explain my failure to him. Much to my surprise, I encountered Mrs. Enderby outside, just about to knock on the Templetons’ door. She was dressed as a boy and was quite thin and overwrought. She was brought into the house and told us her story. Mr. Templeton and his wife offered her asylum, and I assured her I would help in any way I could. Other duties took me away and I didn’t see Mrs. Enderby again until several months later. By then, Enderby had had her declared dead and he had remarried, and she had assumed the name Mrs. Fairchild. I advised them I thought her ruse the best recourse.”

  “Did Mrs. Enderby at any time indicate to you that she had plans to murder her husband?”

  It was a bold question, but one Hil could answer honestly. “No, never. As a matter of fact, others made the observation that his death would only benefit her, but she declined to entertain the idea.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose it simply isn’t in her nature to kill someone for her own benefit.”

  “There are those who say your illicit relationship with Mrs. Enderby is morally objectionable, and that it also makes you a less than credible witness, Sir Hilary.”

  Hil bristled at the comment. “I hardly think it immoral to fall in love with a courageous and kind woman,” he snapped. “And, regardless of my personal feelings, I am Sir Hilary St. John. I have the utmost respect for the law, and for those who carry it out and maintain it. Truth and justice are at the center of all I do and have done in the past to help the authorities maintain order and protect the innocent.” He wouldn’t go so far as to say he’d never lie to protect anyone. He would, and had. But in this case it wasn’t required.

  “Thank you,” Roger said and sat down.

  Mr. Burns immediately stood. “If I may, Sir Hilary?”

  “Of course.” Hil was on guard. Burns wasn’t the best prosecutor in London, but he wasn’t the worst, and Hil had already proven today he was not completely in control of his mental faculties, due to his worry over Eleanor and lack of sleep.

  “Your relationship with Mrs. Enderby progressed from protector to lover rather quickly.”

  “If by lover you mean the woman I love, then yes,” Hil answered, maintaining his temper by force of will. “I was not long in her company after becoming reacquainted with her that I realized what a brilliant, kind, irresistible woman she is.”

  “When she arrived at your house the night of the murder, once again dressed in boys’ clothing and on the run from her husband, was it the first time she had done so?”

  The question was worded poorly. Technically, Hil could answer yes, because the other times she had not been on the run from Enderby, nor had she been wearing boys’ clothing. “Yes.” Hil’s answer was curt. He feared embellishment would trip him up, and he needed his wits about him for this cross-examination.

  “You had not been intimate with Mrs. Enderby prior to that night?” Mr. Burns pressed.

  “Yes, we were intimate.” He wanted to protest but couldn’t. Roger had opened up this line of questioning.

  “With Enderby’s death, you and Mrs. Enderby are now free to pursue your relationship, are you not?”

  “I plan to marry her, if she’ll have me.”

  Eleanor gasped and put a hand over her mouth. She shook her head as tears fell down her cheeks. Women in the gallery were openly weeping.

  “A future you would be unable to pursue if Enderby still lived,” Mr. Burns observed. “Surely you and Mrs. Enderby had spoken of this before?”

  “I wished to marry her as Mrs. Fairchild. I had not a care for whether or not a piece of paper had been signed when she was a mere girl giving her to a man who was undeserving, nay, more than that—vile and reprehensible. Our legal status had no bearing on our feelings for one another. The only reason for a marriage was so that she could live in my home and society would not ostracize her, as they would if we were not legally wed. We could have married without revealing her identity.”

  “But you didn’t,” Mr. Burns said, watching him closely. “Why?”

  “She was too frightened,” Hil answered honestly. “Because of her experience with Enderby, she feared being under the control of any man, even one who loves her as I do. W
e fought over it and she sent me away.”

  “And yet, before Enderby’s body was cold, she was at your door again,” Burns said snidely. “His death was very convenient for her change of heart.”

  “I don’t believe there was a question in your remark,” Hil replied haughtily. “But I shall answer to it, if not answer it directly. Eleanor’s appearance at my home was not to say she’d had a change of heart, but to say good-bye. She was leaving London because of Enderby’s pursuit. She felt she put all of us at risk by remaining. He had gone mad, from what I understand. His behavior was not sane when he threatened Mrs. Enderby at the opera and tried to take her.”

  “That is speculation,” Mr. Burns said quickly, turning to the jury. “Sir Hilary was not present.”

  “Nor were you,” Hil said, to the delight of the crowd. “If you can take the word of credible witnesses, so can I.” The gallery erupted in laughter.

  “Do you know for a fact the whereabouts of Mrs. Enderby prior to her arrival at your house on the night of the murder?” Mr. Burns asked.

  “Yes,” Hil answered, stepping forward in the witness box and gripping the rail as he glared at Mr. Burns. “She was running through the streets of London, risking her life to say good-bye to the man she loved, because she was fleeing from a man who had tortured her in the past and was trying to kill her again.”

  “Sir Hilary!” the magistrate shouted as the gallery erupted in cheers and hollers both for and against Eleanor, in response to his heated answer. “You will limit your answers to the facts and not speculation.”

  “I do not speculate,” Hil declared staunchly. “If that is what Eleanor said she was doing, then that’s what she was doing.” He pointed at Mr. Burns. “Did it escape your notice that she did not have blood on her hands or her person when she was arrested? Enderby was stabbed before he was shoved down the stairs, correct? Where is the knife? It was not found on her person or in her effects.”

  “Sir Hilary, you are not the prosecutor, nor is Mr. Burns the prisoner,” Sir Robert exclaimed. “It is not your duty to interrogate him.”