Conspiracy of Silence (Ravenwood Mysteries #4)

by Sabrina Flynn

  Laughter erupted in the court, along with a number of outraged cries of protest.

  The prosecutor cleared his throat. "That was hardly what Mr. Ashworth was expecting."

  "What do you imagine he was expecting?" she asked innocently.

  "Mrs. Kingston, kindly stick to the point. And refrain from vulgar comments."

  "That will limit my answers, your honor."

  The judge shot her a baleful warning that she returned with a smile. The knot between Riot's shoulders tightened, but her answers only became more spirited. She was going to get herself hanged at this rate.

  For the next three days, Isobel was stripped of reputation and dragged through the mud. And yet she came alive on the stand, answering every question as unapologetically as she had lived her life. San Francisco fell in love with the spirited young woman.

  Finally, at the beginning of day four, Judge Adams addressed the jurors. "The jurors will put circumstances aside. Your responsibility is to decide whether Mrs. Kingston is guilty of fraud beyond a reasonable doubt. In plain words, did Mrs. Kingston fake her own death?"

  The law was harsh.

  "Are you ready with your final arguments?" Judge Adams asked.

  "Yes, your honor," answered the defense and prosecution.

  Closing arguments droned on, but Riot barely heard the impassioned words. The prosecution painted Alex Kingston as a love-struck man, greatly grieved and wounded by his adulterating wife. And the defense reminded the jurors of the extenuating circumstances that had driven Isobel Kingston to take action. But Riot knew it was hopeless—the jurors had already made up their minds.

  The jurors were sent out to deliberate, and court was dismissed. As the conversation around him rose to a fevered pitch, Riot sat quietly, an empty shell, wishing he had accepted Mr. Thorton's offer.

  ✥

  Twelve jurors filed into the court room. Atticus Riot checked his watch. They had deliberated for a scarce hour.

  Judge Adams eyed the jurors. "Will the jury foreperson please stand?"

  A middle-aged man with a squint stood. He folded his hands meekly in front of him.

  "Has the jury reached a verdict?"

  "We have, your honor."

  Judge Adams nodded for the juror to proceed.

  "Although circumstances were extraordinary, we find the defendant, Isobel Saavedra Amsel Kingston, guilty as charged."

  The world dropped from under Riot's feet. Murmurs from the gallery turned to angry shouts. Lotario sat stunned, and Jin shot to her feet, shaking her fist and shouting with the rest of the audience.

  Time slowed to a crawl. The next six years stretched before Riot—the woman he loved would spend two thousand one hundred and ninety lonely days and nights in a cold cell. Riot couldn't breathe. Numb, he stared at the woman in front, focusing on the minuscule—the shape of her ears, the elegance of her neck.

  Isobel's shoulders straightened, she planted her hands on the table, and surged to her feet. And with a voice that cut through storms, she shouted, "I want to divorce this blackguard!"

  The audience fell silent.

  "This is not the place for a divorce," Judge Adams growled.

  "You're a judge," she shot back. "Divorce us now, or we'll be forced to have the same trial over again."

  "You'll be in prison either way," Alex snapped.

  She ignored him and the judge's gavel. "I want half his money!"

  Alex fumed. "You're a lunatic!"

  "And yet you married me."

  "I'll commit you to an asylum!"

  "Will you do that from your prison cell? Your honor, I say again, divorce us now and we won't clutter your court. But I demand compensation."

  "You're in no position to demand a settlement!"

  "You purposefully ruined my father's business."

  "Lies!" Alex bit out. "It's that same drivel you approached me with in the summer."

  "And you blackmailed me! I want a divorce."

  "This is a fraud trial not a divorce court," Judge Adams stated.

  "Same thing," she retorted. "Fraud. I had no idea Alex would be such an ape-like lover in the bedroom, only minus the physique."

  The audience roared with amusement. And Alex Kingston turned red.

  "I should have known by the size of your hands," she added, cheekily.

  "I demand a divorce, too," Alex growled. "The verdict is guilty. She won't get a penny of mine. And your father will be ruined."

  Voices raised to a deafening pitch as a shouting match between husband and wife filled the court room. Both ignored the hammering gavel. Judge Adams appeared on the verge of an apoplectic fit.

  "Order!" he roared. "Divorce granted! Get out of my court room—both of you. Court is adjourned!" He slammed his gavel on the bench.

  Isobel turned to Riot—triumph shining from her eyes. He couldn't account for it, then the penny dropped.

  As soon as the stenographer had finished his notes, Farnon shot to his feet. "You closed the case before sentencing her!"

  "Oh, but he did," Isobel said. "He granted me a divorce."

  43

  The Widow

  Friday, May 11, 1900

  THE SUN SHONE DOWN on Riot as he strolled through Golden Gate Park. All of San Francisco seemed to be enjoying the day. Couples strolled arm in arm, and children played, while a steady stream of landaus and carriages bounced over miles of pathways.

  It didn't take long for a carriage to slow at his side. A woman sat alone, veiled in red with dainty gold flowers. Deep pools of black stared at him from behind the veil.

  "Mr. Riot."

  "Jesse."

  She lifted her veil. Her skin was ivory, and her hair black as ink. She arched a perfectly penciled brow. "It's a beautiful day, A.J."

  "It is," he said.

  "And yet you are alone."

  Riot spread his hands.

  "Will you join me?" she asked.

  Riot glanced at the driver, a man in a skullcap and a long queue. "I'd rather walk."

  Pak Siu Lui stirred from her seat. Riot opened the door, and offered his hand. "Wait here, Jon," she said, accepting his offer.

  Two white horses stamped impatiently. With Mr. Jon's gaze boring into his back, Riot strolled arm in arm with the most dangerous woman in San Francisco. Pak Siu Lui led him towards a secluded pathway under an arch of branches. A breeze rustled through leaves, and he felt her relax into his arm.

  "How is Miss Amsel finding prison?"

  "I'll find out in a few days." To avoid a retrial, Isobel had compromised, accepting a reduced sentence: six months in an asylum, forty-six days of which she had already served during the trial. She was set to be released in September.

  "When I heard you'd returned, I was hoping to visit you, but you threw yourself in front of another damsel in distress. You were never one to waste time."

  "Isobel is hardly a damsel."

  Pak Siu Lui smiled. "She's certainly spirited, if reckless. I've seen young women like her before. They burn brightly and briefly, until the world uses them up and tosses them to the gutter. She won't last."

  Riot stopped under a broad oak, and turned to face her. He snapped his fingers and a white token appeared.

  Siu Lui laughed, her eyes dancing. "You always delighted me with your tricks when we were children. I suppose some things don't change."

  "I'm afraid they have changed. I think this belongs to you, Jesse."

  "Is that because it has a white blossom on it? Where did you find it?"

  "You know where I found it."

  "Do I?" She clucked her tongue. "Coincidence is a curious thing—the mind grasps for connections to make sense of chaos."

  "We used to use that to our advantage when we swindled the gentry."

  "I miss our games."

  "I don't think you ever stopped playing."

  "Do you think I'm the criminal mastermind behind Sing Ping King Sur?"

  Riot didn't answer.

  Siu Lui touched the wing of white at his te
mple, brushing fingers through his hair. "You have that look about you—the patient stare of a boy content to wait for days beside a hole. Do you really want to see the animal hiding in the shadows?"

  "I'm looking at her. You had Ravenwood murdered."

  Her hand dropped. "It was business. Like most men, he couldn't conceive that I was the mind behind Sing Ping King Sur. I was touched when he bargained for your life. I offered him a deal to simply walk away. He refused my offer."

  "You used me."

  "I had forgotten what a fragile heart you have." She rested her hand on his chest. "I could have had you killed a hundred times over." Her whisper chilled his blood. "Consider preserving your life as part of my debt to you."

  "I never asked for repayment."

  "And so I can never repay you. Years ago, you risked your life and your freedom for my own. You're the only person who has truly loved me."

  Riot took her hand in her own. "Why?" he rasped.

  "Be extremely subtle even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate," she quoted. "It amuses me to pull the strings of men."

  Siu Lui inclined her head towards the road, to the passing carriages and gentlemen on horseback and bicycles. "These men playing at gods—call it revenge for all I have endured at their hands." She brushed his knuckles with her lips. "Save for yours."

  A muscle in his jaw twitched.

  Siu Lui looked up at him through long lashes. "What now, A.J.? Have you come to kill me?"

  "You know I can't."

  "Then we're at a draw."

  "It appears that way."

  "I sometimes wonder how our lives might have been…" She trailed off, eyes clouding with grief.

  Riot cleared a lump from his throat. "If you weren't my sister?"

  "Half-sister. Or so our mothers claimed." Siu Lui slipped her arm through his own, and they continued their stroll under the trees. "It won't make a difference, I know, but I do regret that I could not come to amicable terms with your partner."

  "He wasn't that sort of man."

  "Neither are you." Siu Lui seemed to float on his arm, never quite touching the ground. "Will you marry?"

  The question caught him off guard. "That's entirely up to the lady in question."

  She hugged his arm. "She'd be a fool not to marry you. And I don't think she is. So as my wedding gift to you, I'll yield victory and withdraw from San Francisco."

  Riot drew her to a halt, searching her face for deception.

  "You don't believe me."

  "Do you blame me?"

  She smiled. "I drove you out of San Francisco for three years. I'll leave the city for the same period of time."

  "A timely offer considering your men unleashed plague-infested rats under your home."

  "There is that." She stood on tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. "Goodbye, brother."

  Riot didn't relax until she was ten feet away. Just when he did, she stopped, and cocked her head without turning. "And A.J.? Consider our slate clean. Meddle in my affairs again, and I'll meddle in yours. I do look forward to meeting your wife one day."

  44

  After the Storm

  Monday, May 14, 1900

  SAO JIN FOLDED HER arms over her chest. "This is a prison?"

  Atticus Riot turned to look at the girl. Jin glared at a trickling fountain in front of a stucco building surrounded by palms and oak. Flowers burst with color at its edges, and music drifted on the breeze.

  "Maybe it's worse inside?" Sarah suggested.

  "Horror can be found in the quaintest of settings," Riot said.

  Reassured, Jin adjusted her oversized cap and kept walking. The girl had refused a dress, and since her wide-sleeved tunic and loose trousers would attract attention, she was wearing one of Tobias' new suits.

  Completely opposite of reassured, Sarah stared at the building with open dread. Riot stuck his elbow out, and Sarah slipped her hand through his arm.

  "The word 'quaint' is enough to spark horror in some," he said for her ears alone.

  "Like for Jin and Mr. Mor—" Sarah sighed. "What on earth should I call her?"

  "You can always ask."

  "I hope she hasn't suffered too much." But any worry Sarah might have had was quickly dispelled by a cheerful woman sitting on the fountain's brim in front of Bright Waters Asylum. She had a pet rabbit on a leash.

  "Hello, Miss Meredith. And Mr. Darcy."

  Curly red hair poked from under the woman's straw hat. She peered at Riot through a pair of thick spectacles. "Oh, it's Mr. Riot. Mr. Darcy told me we would see you again."

  "It appears he was correct."

  Jin and Sarah began looking for this mysterious man.

  "Is Mr. Darcy ever wrong?" Riot asked.

  Miss Meredith leaned in closer, and put her hand up to shield giant rabbit ears from the truth. "On occasion."

  "It happens to the best of us."

  "It does," Miss Meredith sighed. "I suppose you're here to visit Miss Amsel?"

  "We are."

  "She's been such a delight to have. So pleasant and amiable. It's a shame about her shoulder though. I dare say she shouldn't be taking part in the music sessions."

  "The music sessions?" Riot asked.

  "Why, yes, she's such a delightful dancer."

  "I see."

  Miss Meredith leaned closer to the leashed rabbit. "Mr. Darcy says I shouldn't take up any more of your time. He's sure you're eager to see Miss Amsel. She's around back, under the oak."

  Riot tipped his hat in gratitude.

  As they walked around the building, Jin and Sarah kept casting backward glances at the woman. "Where was Mr. Darcy?" Sarah finally asked.

  Jin tripped over her feet, but caught herself. "Pleasant, and dancing? What have they done to Captain Morgan?"

  Riot had his suspicions.

  The music was coming from a phonograph. A ring of women with flowing hair and loose white gowns moved in a circle on a stretch of green grass. A woman in a blue dress and white apron led the afternoon exercises. She stopped, and stretched her fingers towards the sun, and ten women followed suit.

  Jin's feet stuttered. The girl looked horrified.

  "How lovely!" Sarah exclaimed.

  "Lovely? This place is full of wun dan."

  "What did you think an asylum was?" Sarah asked.

  Riot smiled to himself as he stooped to pick a bouquet of flowers from the garden. Leaving the children to their arguing, he walked across the green towards a sprawling oak tree. A woman in a flowing tea dress reclined on a wicker divan. Her hair had softened, the edges growing out and the black dye fading. The sun caught a tendril of gold in the black.

  The woman opened her eyes. "Hello, Riot."

  He sat on the edge of the wicker divan, and took her hand. "How did you hurt your shoulder?" Her left arm was in a sling.

  "Getting out of a bath. Are those flowers for me?"

  Riot plucked a single daisy from the mix. "This one is for you."

  "Not even a kiss?" she asked.

  Riot brushed his lips against the back of her hand, then folded her fingers around the daisy.

  "Oh, I've missed you." She glanced over his shoulder. "And you girls, too—both of you." She beckoned the children closer, greeting Sarah with a hug.

  "What do I call you?" Sarah whispered.

  "Mr. Amsel," Jin growled.

  Sarah gasped.

  Lotario huffed. "How did you know?"

  Jin thrust a finger at his wrist. "That is not my bracelet. It is a fake."

  Lotario glanced at the frayed imitation, and sighed. "We couldn't quite capture the decrepit state of decay that lends your bracelet its beauty." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Did I fool you, Atticus?"

  Riot shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

  Lotario put his nose to the flower. "You mean you gave me a flower and kissed my hand knowing it was me?"

  "Of course," Riot sa
id. "Bel is alive thanks to you."

  Lotario sat up a little straighter, but then winced. He fell back on the divan, looking drained from the excitement.

  "How is your shoulder?" Riot asked.

  "It hurts. Ordinarily, I would numb it with copious amounts of alcohol, but Bel won't let me. Dr. Bright has me on a regimen of healthy eating, hydrotherapy, and manual manipulation, which isn't as exciting as it sounds."

  Riot cleared his throat, and inclined his head slightly towards the two girls.

  "Well, it's not," Lotario said. Gray eyes flickered to Sarah. "Oh, dear. Come here before you fall over."

  Riot hopped to his feet, and quickly steered Sarah to the divan. The girl looked like her world had just been tipped upside down. "You cut your hair," she said faintly.

  Lotario patted her hand. "Dr. Bright, the alienist, calls it 'mirroring'. I never feel right unless I look like my twin. It makes me feel…detached. It's also amusing. The staff is utterly confused. I sat in for Bel during her talking cure session with Dr. Bright yesterday. He had no idea." His eyes flashed. "By the end of the session he was reaching for every monograph Sigmund Freud ever wrote."

  Riot shot him a warning glance. He did not feel up to explaining Freudian theories to two young girls. Lotario caught his hint, and quickly changed the subject. "Bel is off somewhere…" He fluttered his fingers towards the trees. "Walking, or climbing some god-awful cliff."

  "I'll find her."

  "It's only been a week and she's already restless." Lotario seemed about to say more, but then looked to the girls. "Why don't you both go climb a tree for a moment."

  "Why would we climb a tree?" Jin asked.

  Lotario's eyes widened. "My dear child, do you mean to say you've never climbed a tree?"

  Jin looked up at the oak's branches, and Sarah grabbed her hand. "Come on, I'll show you. I'm terrible at it, but I'm sure you'll take to it like a duck to water."