“She tried to run,” the man holding Edward said in a tart voice. “’Sides, how can she be your client when we ain’t questioned her yet so she can be arrested?”
The man in the doorway frowned as he withdrew a silk handkerchief and extended it toward me. “No one is questioning or arresting my client, though I ask you to note how her own name sent her into a panic-stricken state.”
“Panic-stricken state?” Isaac questioned blandly. “I’m sorry, but I noted no such thing. Julia was just tackled by a full-grown magistrate, cutting her lip, right before Reverend Auburn also fell on top of her. Of course she’s dazed.”
“Ah, young Dalry!” The man greeted Isaac with regard. “We met at Hurlingham’s dinner. Remember?”
“Merrick,” Isaac greeted back with a polite nod. “Of course.”
“Good, you recall me. I’m surprised, given the temper Tillet was in that night. Don’t suppose you’ve seen him lately?”
Though his arms were secured behind his back, Isaac wore his polished expression. “No, I fear not. Lord Pierson and I haven’t been out much.”
Merrick chuckled, then rubbed the bottom of his nose. “No, I suppose you haven’t been, with a secret like this to keep.” Then, to the magistrates, “It hardly does to leave the girl standing here bleeding. Take Mrs. Macy back to the front of the house.”
“Her name,” Edward said, spitting blood from his mouth, “is Mrs. Auburn.”
Merrick gave Edward his back and continued to address Isaac. “I heard that Hamley is planning on only attending the Regent Club. That will be quite a loss for you and Pierson, considering how many Whigs are there.”
Isaac shrugged. “Or perhaps Hamley plans to persuade them instead of being persuaded.”
Merrick chuckled. “You should have pursued law, Dalry, but you—” he pointed to Edward—“I fear I cannot recommend you for the law or the church.”
“Come on.” The magistrate holding Edward shoved him toward the door.
Isaac stepped in line behind him. “May I inquire why we’re being held captive by the police in Lord Pierson’s house?”
“We’ll ask the questions,” the man securing Isaac’s arms growled.
Merrick chuckled again. “And here is another problem with Peel’s police for debate. They’re not cultured. Have you any idea how illustrious the people you are handling are?” He gestured for me to follow. “Go on, Mrs. Macy. Your husband has given me permission to serve as your proxy, so you need not answer any questions. As far as your question, Dalry, my client Mr. Macy was out of the country on business for the last several weeks.”
My mouth tasted of blood as I dabbed my lip.
“You can imagine his shock when he arrived home and learned that, despite having left her in the direct care of Lord Pierson, she’d married another. Macy is suing Pierson for damages to his conjugal happiness.”
They deposited us in the same chamber that Edward and I had just occupied. Still trying to puzzle out why Macy had been abroad, I stared at the pile of posts and the maps of Africa. We had been so close. My stomach cramped as I suddenly connected everything. Of course Macy had been abroad. It made complete sense. Just as he’d somehow managed to destroy Forrester’s evidence, he’d gone back to Austria to destroy any record of his childhood. And he must have succeeded; otherwise he’d never have called Forrester’s and my bluff.
“Suing Pierson for damages to his conjugal happiness.” Merrick’s words flooded back. Surely, I thought frantically, surely he couldn’t still legally claim me as his wife.
The idea was so monstrous, my heart stuttered.
“Sit and wait for Howell Ethan to question you,” the man ordered.
“And the reason for the police?” Isaac asked.
Merrick retreated to the window, where he took out a small snuffbox and tapped the lid. “Naturally they caught wind of the lawsuit and are here to investigate. It’s quite the scandal, let me assure you. Pierson might even face treason charges for lying to the queen.”
Beneath the table, Edward tapped my foot. In my panic, I could scarcely catch my breath, much less face him. But he tapped my foot again, this time more firmly. Tears filling my eyes, I lifted my gaze. Dark-golden curls coated with dust hung over his brow. He had his own cut, a crescent-shaped gash over his left cheek. Hazel eyes fastened on mine with an expression of fearlessness I hadn’t seen since our youth—the type of pluck that would jump into an adventure, dagger in hand, shouting with joy. He meant to embolden me.
I calmed enough to give a humorless laugh. Who in life was stupid enough to want adventure? I wanted Windhaven and piles of dishes and laundry.
“Though he slay us,” Edward whispered. “Fix your eyes on the star.”
I nodded, telling him I understood, then blotted my mouth with Merrick’s handkerchief.
Isaac, however, looked puzzled as he tried to figure out Edward’s mismatched statement.
“May we speak?” I asked.
“Absolutely not.” Merrick took a pinch of snuff and gave it a sharp sniff.
I looked to Edward, who confirmed it.
Thus, as magistrates dumped out my father’s desk drawers, ransacked Edward’s meticulous studies, Edward, Isaac, and I only locked eyes, little knowing it was the last time we’d ever be all together again.
How differently each one of us was sifted too, for we had different ways of handling the world: Isaac and his ability to slip in and out of situations with the appearance of perfection, Edward with his passion and refusal to ever budge, and me and my passivity, taught young not to struggle against circumstances.
There was so much evidence that it took the police hours to document and record it. It was a hidden blessing, for otherwise I would have been arrested and immediately bailed by Mr. Macy, who waited to gather me. They had no legal right to detain my father, an MP. And by the time the magistrates were searching my bedchamber, he was already roaring like a bull in the Temple district, rousing his countersuit.
By the time my father’s boots pounded up the front steps of London House, hours had passed and the afternoon sun rippled over the table we sat at, exhausting us further. I heard his arrival, but amidst the other angry noises, I scarcely registered it. Instead I swiped my damp brow, then craned my neck, swallowing as I looked over the stuffy chamber.
My mouth was parched, but asking for claret was beyond my ability. For fear had entwined and galvanized itself around every fiber of my body. Mentally I was trying to calm the storm within me by cutting short every speculation of what would happen next. Nevertheless, I repeatedly had visions of being forcibly dragged down the front steps of London House and shoved into Macy’s carriage. I shut my eyes, but the image was replaced by another equally repugnant one—that of Edward being shoved into a prison cell.
I felt my face screw tight as I choked on the lump in my throat.
The door slammed open and my father barged into the chamber and threw down papers that had been trifolded, sealed, and tied with string. “She’s not married to Macy.”
His fingers gouged into my arm as he lifted me from the chair and pulled me against him. The smell of sweat, dust, and the manure of London’s streets testified about his day. Edward’s eyes narrowed at his rough manner of handling me.
As if relishing his role, Merrick smirked and strolled to the table. He paused for another pinch of snuff, then savored it with closed eyes. After tucking his walking stick beneath the crook of his arm, he untied and gathered the thick documents to him with an air of contempt. He scoffed, thumbing through the pages. “A countersuit? Contesting the marriage? Truly?”
“Leave my house.” Bluish veins protruded from my father’s neck.
Merrick pinched his nose and shut his eyes. “This is only going to make it worse for you, not to mention place undue stress on Mrs. Macy.” He gave a slight shake of his head, then held up the packet. “Agree to negotiate a settlement, Pierson, and Mr. Macy will be merciful both in the price and with your public image.” His
eyes were cold as he innocently spread his hands. “After all, the only thing he truly desires is his wife’s safe return.”
Silence met Merrick’s suggestion. My fingers growing cold, I peeked at my father to gauge his thoughts. His face was wroth with a brand of anger I hadn’t seen since the night I married Mr. Macy. Dark rings of perspiration spread through his shirt and frock coat. Whereas fear coursed through my body, anger trembled through his.
“Leave.” He gnashed his teeth. “Or so help me, I will beat you out with a whip.”
“Fetch Mr. Ethan,” one of the bobbies whispered to another one near the door.
A moment later Mr. Ethan arrived, carrying a ledger in his left hand. “What’s this I hear?” He glared at my father. “Are you causing a ruckus?”
My father shoved me behind him. “I’m taking my daughter and we’re leaving now!”
Mr. Ethan sneered. “With all due respect, Lord Pierson, you’re under investigation for treason and—”
“You have no right to hold me or my daughter!” My father kept a tight grip on my arm. “I suggest you move from my path.”
“I have every right to hold the girl, especially as I haven’t questioned her yet,” Mr. Ethan replied. “If you wish to leave, then you may do so, but she remains.”
“She stays,” Merrick agreed, “but Mrs. Macy isn’t answering any questions regardless.”
“Her name,” Edward said from his seat, “is Mrs. Auburn.”
Mr. Ethan sported a waxed moustache, which twitched as he frowned at Edward. “So you admit at least that you’re Reverend Auburn? That you married Mr. Macy to Miss Julia Elliston.”
“I admit nothing and everything,” was Edward’s circuitous response.
Mr. Ethan narrowed his eyes in my direction. “Do you deny that you’re Julia Elliston Macy?”
“How many times must we do this?” Merrick removed a folded note from his vest and opened it for Mr. Ethan to see. “As I said outside, I’m serving as her proxy. Mr. Macy’s wife is not to answer any questions.”
“Your note carries no weight here. I’m investigating charges of bigamy and treason,” was Mr. Ethan’s response. “She’ll either speak or be arrested.”
“Plebeians in power are always the worst,” Merrick muttered to himself as he dug around in the inner pocket of his frock coat. “If you want to make an arrest, you’ll have to charge Mr. Macy. Hang on, I’ve his address in here somewhere. You’ll also have to save your questions for him, for she’s under coverture.”
“You’re claiming that she acted under Mr. Macy’s direct orders?” Mr. Ethan’s tone was dubious. “To commit bigamy?”
“She’s been manipulated by Lord Pierson. Told outlandish lies about her husband as a continuation of an ongoing feud. In order to preserve his wife’s fragile mental state, he’s not torn her from her father’s clutches but sanctioned for her to remain with Lord Pierson. So in that respect, yes, she’s a feme covert.”
“Her marriage to Macy isn’t legal,” was my father’s gritty response.
“Your argument is pointless, Pierson. I have documentation that she’s Macy’s wife. As such, I have a carriage outside to transport her home.”
“And I can prove that she isn’t.” My father crossed his arms, keeping his stance. “She’s not going into that man’s care. So help me.”
Merrick spread his hand in a helpless gesture, ordering Mr. Ethan to do something. “He’s standing in the way of the law. Mr. Macy has every right to demand the return of his wife.”
Though I did not see his face, my father angled himself in such a way that Mr. Ethan took a small step backwards. Ethan looked askance at Merrick before lifting his hands. “I’ll leave this to the courts. When they draw up the charges, you both can present your arguments. Let them decide what to do with the girl.” Then, giving a nervous glance at my father, “Do I have your word not to remove your daughter from this house?”
My father gave a curt nod.
Merrick closed his eyes and shook his head. “Wouldn’t like to be in your shoes, Ethan. But it’s your head, not mine.”
“Be glad I’m not arresting the girl.” Mr. Ethan placed his hands on his hips, pushing back his frock coat. He studied me a long moment as if to say he knew I was guilty. Then he looked over his shoulder. “Are you Reverend Edward Auburn?”
“I am.”
“Bring him with us.”
Before the nearest magistrate could approach, Edward stood and scooted back his chair. His deep-set hazel eyes remained fixed on me as long as they were able, as if to fill me with a measure of his brand of iron will.
The slam of the front door had the ring of finality about it, and in my mind I’d never heard anything so vast, empty, and hollow.
“Go to the library,” Isaac directed me in a whisper. When I made no move, he went so far as walking me to the door, where he waved for William to escort me.
Though there were magistrates in the hall questioning the staff, no one made any attempt to stop or question me. I noted the servants’ wide and questioning eyes, but I pressed on.
Once in the library, I shut the door, relieved to find it was empty.
Spent, I lay on the plush carpet and stared at the empty grate, no longer bothered by memories of Eramus. Something so much worse had just happened. For a long moment I could not move, could not utter a sound, for no sound was worthy enough to express the deep ache and emptiness.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I awoke to a silent house and opened my eyes to find Edward’s shoes sitting on the chair next to the bed. I wondered what shoes he’d been wearing when he was taken. For the only ones I’d ever seen were still here.
Pushing my hair from my eyes, I pictured the sort of bed Edward had slept in. An image of him lying on a wooden pallet with fleas arose. I winced. Would prison bring on a relapse of the sickness that had nearly claimed him under the oak tree at Maplecroft?
“It should be me,” I whispered. Then, realizing I was aiming my words toward God, I prayed more boldly. “We both know I’m the one who deserves prison and not him. Switch us somehow.” My voice broke. “I’m begging you.”
That simple prayer was all it took to find heaven’s balm. As I had in the past, I felt the rich fullness of his presence. It gave the impression that during this time of deep grief I’d always find him within arm’s reach, that even while one is drowning, one is never misplaced.
And with it came a flood of new ideas—that he didn’t want me in prison or bondage of any sort. That this was the Goliath he’d chosen for me, and prison was the one he’d chosen for Edward. That his plan for my future was life more abundant and full than I could anticipate, not because I was strong or noble, but because of his great favor.
Like a lover hovering, he made himself known and waited for me to fix my gaze solely on him. He’d wooed me since that first day in Eastbourne’s chapel, and now he was beckoning me to run to him.
I know some of my readers will think, as William Elliston maintained, that in crisis, my imagination produced the necessary sensations for me to cope. But I know it is not so, though I cannot supply tangible proofs. Perhaps it is why Jesus said his sheep will know his voice.
How Edward had known that in the hour of drowning, I’d reach out and touch God, I cannot say. For until that moment, God had seemed little more help than a far, distant star. How many countless times has humanity reached toward heaven only to find the thick veil that separates it from earth? But that morning, I found the veil rent. Like Edward stretching his arms toward the sunrise, full of passion and fire, here was manna to sustain me.
My attire was plain and my eyes red as I approached the breakfast chamber. The scent of croissants and eggs confirmed a meal was being served, but I was uncertain whether or not I’d find occupants, for no sound carried from the room.
Arms hugged tightly against me, I crossed the threshold. Isaac, Forrester, and my father sat in silence, sorting through the vast stack of newspapers. If my father registered me, he gave
no sign. Ashen-faced, he simply continued reading.
Isaac stood and gathered me while Jameson pulled out a chair.
“Morning.” Smirking, Forrester withdrew a folded paper he’d kept secured beneath his elbow. “Welcome. We’re searching to see if we can discern Macy’s legal strategy from the slant of the story he’s telling. That, and what public opinion we need to quell about you, though so far, I can’t argue with their conclusions.”
Jameson’s chest swelled with outrage, though he could do little more than glare. Grateful for his and Isaac’s presence, I consulted the paper Forrester had reserved. The headline read:
EMERALD HEIRESS EXPOSED
Aware that Isaac carefully measured my response, I borrowed his mask as I read. It said I was a bigamist. Greedy for wealth, status, and notoriety. A vampiric spider, willing to devour anything in my path to gain power. I wasn’t the only person attacked. My father had been tied to the stake next to me. His credibility was roasted and his actions torn to shreds. Every bill he was championing and every political ally he’d spoken to since my arrival were shrouded in new suspicions. Keeping my face expressionless, I picked up one paper after another. That morning it was easy to see which ones supported the Tories and which ones the Whigs. Some argued that his misdeeds needed to be separate from his party; others said the entire party’s very character was tarnished. And in others there was a general outcry that people needed to hold judgment until the full truth about me came to light.
Swallowing, I turned to take measure of how my father handled the news. My stomach knotted as I found his accusing glare on me. I lowered my gaze. I alone knew that the chains of my shame were broken and I was free. For had I not just communed with God himself? Human forgiveness, however, is an entirely different matter.
The bell jangled, causing everyone to stiffen.
“Go see who it is,” my father ordered Jameson.
I sat trying to regulate my breathing as I strained to hear. A moment later Jameson returned and placed a tray filled with merchant bills before my father. Jameson whispered in his ear, then stepped back.
Price of Privilege Page 29
