Willing Love

by Mary Jean Adams

  Adams invited him into the house to discuss the case and things went downhill from there. Evidently, even though he believed everyone should get a fair trial, Adams didn’t approve of smugglers. Not that Evan admitted to smuggling, but Adams seemed to assume the entire world guilty.

  Evan had had just about enough of the man’s self-righteousness, when his fiancée interrupted the discussion to ask if the two men would like tea.

  Pretty, vivacious and pleasant, Abigail Smith was almost everything her betrothed was not. She was also obviously in love with her future husband and expressed great confidence in his ability to defend Prudence. So, based on the personal opinion of a second woman, Evan retained Mr. Adams as his lawyer.

  Evidently done conferring with his client, Adams straightened and glanced around, eyebrows drawn together over his beetle-like eyes as he stared down one spectator after another. Evan wondered if the man’s scowl was purposeful or simply his normal expression. He tried to imagine a smile stretching the man’s taut little lips and failed.

  Once again, Evan hoped Rachel and Abigail were right about the lawyer’s abilities because he wouldn’t win this case on charm or sheer force of personality.

  Prudence turned and scanned the crowd. Her green eyes sparkled like jewels in her pale face, making her look at once both defiant and vulnerable. She caught Evan’s eye, and he gave her a reassuring smile. Her return smile looked forced at best. If only he could stand next to her to give her the strength she would need for the next few minutes.

  Another door opened and an elderly man in a black robe and tightly curled wig entered.

  “Oh dear,” Richard said under his breath.

  Evan gave him a questioning glance.

  “That”—Richard inclined his head toward the judge taking his seat at the front of the room—“is Judge Everidge.”

  “Judge Everidge?” The name meant nothing to Evan, but then he wasn’t as familiar with the good folk of Rhode Island as Richard.

  “Everidge used to be the judge for cases tried in Providence, but ever since he was transferred to the Vice-Admiralty Court in Halifax, Judge Roberts has presided here. I guess the powers that be decided this case required Everidge’s personal attention.”

  “Is Everidge likely to hear our case fairly?” Evan asked.

  “The Court of Admiralty trials are biased under the best of circumstances. This happens to be the worst.” Richard’s look darkened. “Everidge is an adamant loyalist who would happily have all American merchants brought up on charges of treason.”

  The mention of treason and the memory of Prudence’s words just a few short hours ago sent a chill up Evan’s spine. Had Simon found a way to get the charges elevated? Perhaps the new charges warranted a judge like Everidge.

  “I hope Adams knows what he’s doing,” Richard said.

  “Me too,” Evan said, as much to himself as to Richard.

  An attendant handed Judge Everidge a sheet of parchment. The conversation in the room faded away when the judge removed a pair of spectacles from his robe pocket and put them on. Even with this aid, he had to squint to read the print.

  After several minutes, the judge looked over the top of his spectacles. He scanned the room until his gaze landed on Prudence. He studied her for a moment.

  “Mrs. Foster?”

  “Yes, your honor.” Her voice was firm and clear.

  “Formerly Miss Prudence Ashcroft, granddaughter of Rachel Ashcroft?”

  “Yes, your honor,” Prudence said again.

  Judge Everidge gave a small nod that told little of what he was thinking and returned his attention to the parchment. Did the Ashcroft name mean something to the judge? Of course, it did. He was a Rhode Islander, and anyone within the state would know of the Ashcrofts. Perhaps the man was calculating what his take might be if Prudence were forced to forfeit the whole of the Ashcroft & Sons enterprise.

  Everidge looked up again and cleared his throat. “Mrs. Foster, it says you have been charged with smuggling. What say you?”

  While he waited for her answer, he scanned the courtroom over the tops of his spectacles. What could he be thinking?

  Prudence glanced at her lawyer who spoke for her. “My client maintains her innocence, your honor. Nor have we been informed of any evidence against her,” Adams said in a surprisingly commanding tone. “Furthermore, your honor, my client was arrested in her home, detained for several days aboard a ship, and held in a cell with little food or water.”

  “Dear me.” Judge Everidge’s words of concern seemed contrary to his stern expression. “Well, then, we’d better get this trial moving forward so we can set things to rights.”

  Adams opened his mouth to say more, but then he shut it again. From his bemused expression, Evan could only surmise the judge had stunned him with his reply.

  Evan was just as surprised, and he frowned at the judge. Had the old man been making light of Prudence’s suffering? He began to wish he had rescued her last night, but of course, he had no way of knowing the odds would be so stacked against them.

  No, it was too early to give up hope.

  “Simon Manley—” Everidge looked up, his gaze finding Simon with little difficulty “—will you be so kind as to illuminate us as to the evidence, sir?”

  Simon opened his mouth to speak, but the crowd, standing no more than a yard or so behind him, started booing and hissing.

  “Excuse me!” Simon turned around, his face almost as purple as his coat. “I am Simon Manley, Tax Commissioner to Rhode Island, duly appointed by his majesty’s representative, the Royal Governor!” To be heard above the din, he had to raise his voice more with each word until, in the end, he was almost shouting,

  Everidge rapped his gavel against his desk, the sharp crack of oak against oak quieting the crowd. “Mr. Manley, perhaps if you turned this way and spoke to me, we could get this business done faster.”

  The crowd laughed, and the judge let it go for a moment before rapping his gavel again.

  Simon straightened his coat, then stepped out from behind his table. He squared his shoulders and walked with imperious formality toward the center of the courtroom. Unfortunately on the way, one heel of his absurd red shoes must have hit a particularly slick spot on the polished walnut floor. His foot slid out from under him and only the flailing of arms and God’s grace saved him from landing on his backside. A snort sounded from the back of the gallery, and several ladies in attendance held handkerchiefs to their lips.

  Glowering at the crowd, Simon tugged his velvet coat back into place. It took him a moment longer to realize his wig was askew, but he quickly straightened that as well. Stifled laughter erupted through the gallery.

  As much as Evan had begun to feel sorry for the little man, he hoped Simon’s day wouldn’t improve.

  “Your honor,” Simon tried, with little success, to make his nasal voice sound commanding. “On Thursday last, based on information I received from a reliable informant, I requested to search the home of Miss Ashcroft…I mean Mrs. Foster.”

  Simon’s cheeks reddened a bit with his slight slip of the tongue.

  “Mrs. Foster gave me permission to search the premises and even took the wise precaution of having her servants follow my men about the house to ensure proper conduct.”

  “What sort of improper conduct did she anticipate?” Judge Everidge regarded Simon over his spectacles.

  Simon gave the judge an incredulous look. “To ensure no evidence was planted I suppose.”

  “And was it?”

  “No, your honor, of course not.” His voice nearly squeaked with indignation.

  Evan wondered whether Simon’s peevishness was due more to having his integrity questioned or his oratory interrupted.

  “And what did you find?”

  “As I was about to say, your honor, in the study Mrs. Foster uses to conduct business, my men discovered several invoices for shipments of rum from the French West Indies.” He scooped his carefully arranged papers into a sta
ck and held them up. “As you know, it is illegal to import French rum into the British territories.”

  Judge Everidge crooked his finger, and Simon brought the papers to the judge’s bench.

  “These invoices not only implicate Ashcroft & Sons, they also implicate the ship the Cythraul in the smuggling operation, your honor. I sent a ship after her to try to seize the Cythraul, but apparently—” he narrowed his eyes at Evan “—the captain was unsuccessful.”

  Evan gave Simon a little nod, and Simon snapped his attention back to the judge.

  “Very well.” Everidge handed the papers back to Simon. “Have you a witness that can testify to the authenticity of this evidence?”

  “Yes, sir.” Simon’s smug expression returned. “Miss Annette O’Malley is Mrs. Foster’s ladies maid. She attended the man who searched the study and found these papers, and she is willing to attest that no evidence was planted.”

  “Is Miss O’Malley present?” Everidge scanned the gallery.

  “I am, your honor.” Netty’s voice came from the gallery and, as one, the crowd craned their necks to get a look at the girl. “I was there when the evidence was found, and I was watching them real close just to make sure there wasn’t any foul play.”

  The maid’s words sounded rehearsed, almost as if she were reading a script placed in front of her. For good measure, she plucked a handkerchief from her pocket with a mechanical flourish and dabbed at her eyes.

  Evan glanced at Prudence who looked no more surprised than he at Netty’s treachery. In fact, she seemed to be more focused on Netty’s gown of sea foam green silk, a dress far more elaborate than anything one might expect a maid to own.

  “Mrs. Foster often uses the study to conduct business, so I wasn’t surprised. But, oh, I mean, to know that Mrs. Foster, a woman I always admired, could be involved in something so horrible as smuggling. I never would have imaged it, your honor.” Netty’s words grew more fluent as she warmed up to her role. “But there you have it. The evidence that it’s true, all true, right in front of you.”

  She dabbed at her eyes again, wiping away tears Evan doubted existed.

  “Well, that is surprising,” Richard whispered. “I take great pains to ensure the loyalty of the staff at Ashcroft. I review the background checks personally. Netty O’Malley came from a family who has made a living off the Ashcrofts for generations. Even has a brother serving on one of our ships, if memory serves.”

  “Not so surprising.” Evan shrugged. “That one followed me home one night and made me a little offer. When I refused, I should have known she wouldn’t take it lightly.”

  “What kind of offer?” Richard asked.

  Evan gave him one of those looks that are reserved for the truly naïve.

  “Oh,” Richard said as understanding dawned.

  “Yes, yes, that will be fine,” Judge Everidge said when Netty brought her handkerchief to her nose and blew with great abandon. “Wouldn’t want to distress you anymore than you already are.”

  “Mr. Manley, is this the extent of your proof or is there more?”

  “There is more, your honor.” Simon licked his lips. “I have an eye witness. A man who served aboard the Cythraul and is willing to swear upon his honor to the charges.”

  Prudence paled at this. She gave Evan a quick glance over her shoulder.

  “Yes, well, let us hear what he has to say. Call him forward.”

  Judge Everidge scanned the crowd as a young man came forward to stand at the rail.

  “Peter,” Evan gasped.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Now it’s my turn to be surprised.” Evan couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice. “Of all the men you referred to me, Peter seemed the most promising. His only fault is that he’s in love with Prudence. I can’t believe he’d turn out to be a traitor.”

  “So you’re willing to attest to the charges, are you son?”

  “No, sir—” Peter twisted and turned his broad-brimmed felt hat between thick, calloused fingers.

  “No?” Simon shouted the word in a startled gasp. “But you—”

  “Silence,” Judge Everidge snapped. “The man is your witness. I suggest you let us hear what he has to say.”

  “I was threatened into appearing here today, sir, I mean, your honor.” Peter gripped his hat with white knuckled fists and glanced over at Evan. “I thought they was gonna to press me unless I told them what they wanted to hear.”

  “He’s been paid off!” Simon’s pallid skin grew red as if he’d been out in the sun too long.

  “God’s truth, sir. I have not.” Peter seemed to grow bolder in the face of Simon’s accusation.

  “Atta boy, Peter,” Evan said under his breath.

  Peter cast a shy glance toward Prudence. When he discovered her beaming at him, his ears glowed.

  Simon wasn’t willing to give up easily. “This boy has been bought off. I don’t know what kind of lawyer Mrs. Foster hired, but I will bring him up on charges.”

  Adams sputtered with indignation, and Prudence laid a calming hand on his arm.

  “Given time, I’m sure I can prove he paid my witness to give false testimony or someone else did.” Simon’s gaze darted around as though looking for the culprit. It landed on Evan. “Your honor, that man there”—Simon pointed toward Evan with a finger trembling with rage—“is the owner of the Cythraul and the accused’s husband. I’m sure he had something to do with it.”

  Evan met Everidge’s assessing gaze with what he hoped the judge took to be confidence, not arrogance. In his experience, many of the crown-appointed judges responded to timidity like a shark responded to blood in the water. On the other hand, arrogance didn’t sit any better. The best course of action was to exude a calm confidence.

  Judge Everidge’s gaze slid to Prudence, and he winked. “It’s nice to have a husband who comes to your rescue, isn’t it?”

  Prudence dipped her chin, and her cheeks took on a spot of color. “Yes, your honor.”

  “Argh!” Simon stamped his ruby-clad foot when he realized Judge Everidge didn’t care one whit that the man who had undoubtedly paid off his witness stood not five feet away.

  “Well, sir,” Judge Everidge said. “I’d guess you’d better come up with a new witness. This one doesn’t seem to be doing you any good.”

  A polite titter spread through the gallery.

  “I have one more, your honor,” Simon said in a tight voice. “I’d like to call Lydia Hendricks. She runs a local, uh, establishment and will attest to receiving smuggled goods.”

  A middle-aged woman in a violet gown even more flamboyant than Simon’s velvet suit made her way to the railing. Her hair was swept high into an elaborate coiffure so large her hat, with its bright yellow plumes, could do no more than perch on one side like a tipsy canary.

  “Mrs. Hendricks, I presume?” Judge Everidge asked.

  “Yes, your honor.” She waggled three bejeweled fingers at the judge. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Judge Everidge gave her a grin. “For the record, Mrs. Hendricks, what kind of establishment do you run?”

  “I own a quaint little tea house in Newport.” She flashed a becoming smile at the audience.

  Laughter skittered throughout the courtroom.

  “Brothel is more like it,” Richard whispered in Evan’s ear.

  “Picked that one up, did you?” Evan asked.

  Richard colored and cleared his throat.

  “Mr. Manley just loves his tea.”

  The laughter in the courtroom grew louder.

  “Mrs. Hendricks, do you admit to receiving smuggled rum from Ashcroft & Sons as Mr. Manley asserts?” Judge Everidge asked.

  “Oh, no, sir. I never got a drop of it from Mrs. Foster or from anyone at Ashcroft. But still, there’s plenty to be had for them that knows who to ask.” She turned to Simon and her smiled dissolved. “Given Mr. Manley’s preference for only the best, I’ll bet he knows.”

  Simon’s jaw d
ropped, and for a moment all he could do was stare at the woman. Finally he turned to Judge Everidge, his entire body quivering. “Your honor, as a loyal subject of the crown and the Royal Governor’s appointed tax commissioner for Rhode Island, I do not partake of anything this woman has to offer.”

  Simon’s lip curled as he glared at Mrs. Hendricks, silently daring her to deny his statement. The woman did not disappoint.

  “And that’s the problem.” She placed two fists on her ample hips, her feathers bobbing as she spoke. “You do not partake of anything except the rum…”

  “She’s been paid off, too.” Simon’s rush of words drowned out whatever Mrs. Hendricks was about to say.

  Judge Everidge waited for the laughter in the courtroom to die down before turning to Mrs. Hendricks. “Well then, madam, I guess that would mean you’re excused as a witness.”

  “Thank you, your honor.”

  Mrs. Hendricks turned to make her way back into the crowd, but not before she cast a provocative glance toward the portly Mr. Adams. The young solicitor turned redder than the pomegranates Evan had sampled the last time he had been in Spain. Adams tugged at his collar, a vein pulsing in his forehead.

  Judge Everidge regarded Simon over his spectacles. “Any more evidence you’d like to present, sir?”

  “No, they’ve all been paid off. I don’t know how they did it. I had Mrs. Foster in custody, and I have it on good authority that Captain Foster was in the West Indies negotiating with a Frenchman. It might have been Mr. Bainbridge…” Simon seemed to be talking to himself, turning over in his mind all the possible ways things could have gone so horribly wrong.

  “Well, then, if there are no more—”

  “Wait!” Simon’s eyes darted about like a caged animal’s until they landed on Prudence. “You can’t let the slut go free. She owes me for what she’s done to me.”

  Prudence’s jaw dropped, and it was Adams’ turn to lay a hand on her sleeve.

  Although he hadn’t been called to testify, Evan decided the time had come for him to speak.

  “Your honor,” he said in a voice that carried above Simon’s manic ravings. “I will attest to my wife’s virtue. Furthermore, I will demand satisfaction outside of this courtroom if it comes up again.”