“It angered Macy so much,” Lady Foxmore continued, “that he’s thwarted Pierson’s every attempt to obtain a mistress ever since, though from what I hear, he’s tried.”
Simmons stood, along with many of my father’s cronies, who were dotted about the courtroom. There was shouting and arguing, but I felt too sickened to move. I pictured Mama frightened and alone with child. I felt tears sting my eyes. No wonder she had been so sad all the time.
“The counsel will take a fifteen-minute break,” the judge ordered.
My father grasped my wrist. His face was screwed tight with pain. “Take her. Now.”
Simmons frowned, looking over the scene. I followed his gaze. He watched Mr. Whitney, who had finally been handed the letter that had circulated through the courtroom. His expression was one of confusion.
“Now!” my father managed, looking ready to fall over from pain.
Simmon’s grip was a vise. He pulled me after him, but instead of heading toward the doors, he made a straight line to Mr. Whitney. “Theoretically speaking,” he said, approaching my barrister, “if Mrs. Auburn were to disappear right now and never be found again, what would happen to Reverend Auburn?”
“What?” Mr. Whitney said, looking up from the paper.
I glanced at Edward, who watched us from the dock.
“If she were to disappear,” Simmons said, speaking very quick and low, “what would happen to Reverend Auburn?”
Mr. Whitney looked furious as he placed the letter on the table. “Don’t ask me theoretical questions that I can see through.”
Swallowing, I turned the letter so that I could read it for myself. The date showed it to be from the same time period he’d written my mother.
Adelia,
How can I but write? Who else will be as diverted by the twist fate played me? You will crow. I’m in love, and at first sight too. I endure your laughter, knowing my arguments against the possibility of it all these years. She’s an angel. She’s divine. She’s a result of my misdeeds, which endears me to her all the more. Do you remember the summer Lord Pierson had that addiction to that girl under your care? It is their child I intend to collect as my wife. I imagine your shock. I am all gratitude to you. You always hoped to find me a wife, and you have finally succeeded, though unintentionally. Who knew Roy purchased my future happiness with his bribes for more time? Do you remember his pleadings?
The girl’s mother visits your neighborhood. Someone by the name of Windham. Learn who they are. Add them to your circle. I’m going to give this girl the most advantaged, overindulged life. Start my wooing for me. Make me mysterious. It’s a common weakness amongst your sex.
Chance
“How can you even look at one more word that man says?” Simmons said between his teeth.
I glanced up and found both Mr. Whitney and Simmons staring at me. Realizing that they looked expectant, I said, “I’m sorry; did you ask me a question?”
Mr. Whitney grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the doors. “I need to know how much of what was said was true,” he whispered. “Hold nothing back from me.”
From the dock, Edward paid rapt attention.
I squeezed my eyes shut, just trying to think. “The jewelry and the necklace, that’s true.”
“A thirty-thousand-pound necklace!” Mr. Whitney’s whisper was incredulous. “You forgot to mention that?”
I nodded. “Yes, it . . . didn’t seem important.”
“You went into a jeweller’s and tested Macy’s love and commitment to you by asking for a thirty-thousand-pound necklace, and that didn’t strike you as important?”
“No. It was Forrester. I didn’t do it. I’d forgotten I’d even had it.”
“What?” Perspiration trickled down Mr. Whitney’s brow.
“We blackmailed Mr. Macy together,” I whispered, crossing my arms, and got the facts out of order. “Only he ran away. Before we did, though, he tested Macy by pretending he was me and asking for the necklace.”
“Forrester! I knew it!” Simmons swore beneath his breath, then looked at my father, who still cradled his head in pain. “And that testimony about you and Edward?”
“True,” I whispered.
Mr. Whitney’s eyes bulged. “He forced himself on you?”
I felt my face turn beet red. “No, of course not.”
Mr. Whitney placed his hand on his hip, and when he spoke, it was clear he worked to keep his temper. “Where is Dalry? I need someone to interpret for us.”
Simmons turned to me. “We’re leaving now.”
“I’m not leaving Edward,” I protested. “I won’t go into hiding, not if it endangers him.”
“What a clever trap,” Mr. Whitney said, then looked at Mr. Macy with a sort of amazement. He turned back to us. “I don’t know how he did it, but he outmaneuvered us in every way.” Then, incredulously, “He is Adolphus. He truly is.”
“We’re leaving.” Simmons wore a stricken look as he mentally bade good-bye to England. “Tell Pierson that I said she’d be taken care of, on my honor.”
“I’m not going,” I said. “I swear to you, I’ll run to Macy right now over allowing Edward to be sentenced to death. That is what’s happening, isn’t it?”
“You’re going.” Simmons’s grip was strong.
Though I dug my shoes into the floor, they only slipped over the surface. Panicked, I glanced over my shoulder at Edward. His face was marked with love as he nodded approval to Simmons and farewell to me.
“No,” I said, my face crumpling. “No, no!”
Simmons walked with determination, straight through the heart of the Old Bailey, dragging me behind him.
I tried to grab hold of a pillar and even one passing magistrate, who threw us an offended look. Simmons wasn’t deterred. Within a minute sunlight blinded me and I had to turn my gaze to the ground until my eyes adjusted. Hudson hastened toward us.
“Prepare the horses. We’re headed to the docks.” Simmons shielded his eyes and took in the position of the sun. “We shouldn’t have a problem with the tide, at least.”
“Let me go,” I begged. “You know as well as I do that I need to remain here.”
Simmons made no reply.
“Haven’t you ever been in love?” I asked.
“No,” was his curt reply.
I shut my eyes, desperately trying to think of anything that might work with this man. But here was another soul I didn’t truly know. I’d taken no pains to get to know him. In fact, I’d misjudged him and believed he was Macy’s spy.
Apparently he was exceedingly loyal to my father.
Trying to hold back my despair, I rose on tiptoes and looked about. Everywhere people stared at me, but no one I recognized. Yet wasn’t Macy bound to have his men nearby?
Wildly, I dug through my brain for any name I’d ever heard Macy use. “Rooke,” I screamed as loud as I could. “Snyder!” I moved on to the names that Forrester had once tried to ask me about. “Dillyworth!”
“Will you please stop?” Simmons turned his head. “You don’t even know who that is. Trust me, you wouldn’t call for him if you did.”
“Rooke!” I screamed again.
To my astonishment, someone did respond to my call. A nearby prisoner jerked his head in my direction, and I found myself staring at a man with an eye patch and a scarred cheek. I recognized him from the day he’d placed me in Macy’s carriage with Rooke. He recognized me too. He must have thought it would be of benefit to come to Macy’s wife’s aid, because he roared and ran toward us, even though his hands and feet were bound in thick iron chains. Some of the jailors guarding him shouted and lifted their clubs.
Simmons startled with shock at the sight of a brawny man in chains racing toward him. It was all I needed. I tugged hard, throwing him off-balance, and then turned and ran back to the courthouse. Simmons wasted no time recovering.
I tore up the steps and shoved past two clerks in conversation. Simmons’s footsteps pounded behind me.
&nb
sp; Near the courtroom, I spied the doors still open and threw all my energy into crossing back into that chamber. All at once, Mr. Macy leaned into view and grabbed me by the arm. He yanked me to a halt. He assessed me for a fraction of a second, betraying nothing.
My body recoiled from his touch.
His glittering gaze scanned the scene behind me, narrowing on Simmons as he approached.
“You will release her,” Simmons ordered, raising his fists as if prepared to fight.
Mr. Macy’s look would have felled anyone. “I better not find that you put one mark on her, Simmons.” Then, as if drawn to where my father’s steward had clamped my arm only seconds ago, Mr. Macy picked up that wrist and examined its redness. His expression grew so baleful that fear undulated through me.
Even Simmons took a step backwards.
“Where was he taking you?”
I felt so miserable, I glanced toward the hall I’d just run down.
Mr. Macy stared at me with intensity. “Where—” his tone was iron—“was he taking you?”
“To the docks. That’s all I know.”
Mr. Macy lifted one brow at Simmons, angling his head. “Leave and do not come within a rod’s distance of my wife again.”
Simmons hesitated, but I gave him a quick nod of permission to leave. Macy was serious.
Mr. Macy watched until Simmons entered the courtroom, then slowly returned his focus to me. “Obviously the docks didn’t suit you. Where do you wish to be?”
Once again I tried to remove his hand from my arm, but he held tight. “You know where I want to be,” I pleaded. “With Edward.”
He gave me a queer look, but then a ghost of a smile softened his lips as if he was amused. “No, dearest, I’m afraid my patience in that direction has ended.” His eyes narrowed in thoughtfulness before he pulled me toward the gallery. Mr. Macy led me with a firm grip, then signalled for Rooke to stand and join us.
Mr. Whitney’s eyes lifted to us from the floor of the courtroom with a look of disbelief.
Beyond him, Simmons tenderly knelt at my father’s side. I couldn’t tell you what I felt at that moment, for I’d just heard testimony that he’d viciously used and abandoned Mama, yet even from a distance, as Simmons informed him that he’d lost me to Macy, I felt pity. He gripped Simmons’s arms with anguish and great pain washing his countenance.
“Has there been any sign of him?” Macy asked.
Rooke shook his head. “None.”
“Nobody outside has spotted him either.”
“Are you still certain he’ll come?”
“Oh, he’s out there somewhere.” Macy’s feral gaze swept over the courtroom. “Of that there’s no doubt. I can practically feel his moody presence.”
I tucked one arm over my stomach, realizing they were talking about Mr. Greenham. I cast them a guilty glance, wondering if Macy knew Greenham had managed to contact me through Nancy.
“Take her to my house,” Mr. Macy instructed Rooke. “Do not leave her side.” He grinned. “She’s bold enough to slip through people’s hands today. She’s already escaped her father’s steward.”
“Wait,” I pleaded, my eyes still fixed on my father as his face tightened into silent grief. Watching as he mourned the loss of a child hurt me deeply, too, though I knew he mourned an illusion. For what relationship had we? “They still haven’t declared whether or not our marriage is legal. There’s still a chance.”
Amusement filled Mr. Macy’s eyes.
I shifted my gaze to Mr. Whitney, who flipped through his voluminous pages, preparing his cross-examinations, and then to the various counsel spread throughout the chamber. Most eyes were on Macy, like trained hounds watching their master, ready to take orders. Though it hurt, I swivelled so that I could see Edward.
Chains did not suit him. He wore the fierce look of a warrior, as he had that night at the opera as he watched us.
“I want to stay,” I said, turning my attention back to Mr. Macy, “until the verdict.”
“Fine,” he decided, his gaze sweeping over the men again with dissatisfaction as if he was angered that Mr. Greenham hadn’t stood up from the crowd and revealed himself. “But not here. She spent the morning in the Lord Mayor’s parlor. Take her back there.”
He placed my right arm in Rooke’s hand as if I were a package being passed on, then started away.
“May I make a request?” I found myself saying to Macy’s back.
He turned, one eyebrow arched.
The words were like chewing gravel. “If they decide we’re married, will you make certain Edward isn’t harmed? For me? And . . . and I don’t want to go straight to your house. I want to be allowed to return to London House to pack my own belongings.” My voice choked during that speech, for in truth, I wanted to ensure that I packed the shirt that still smelled like Edward. “Please.”
Macy considered me, saying nothing. Then, with a flick of his eyes, he told Rooke to remove me.
I sat in the corner of the chamber that Isaac and I had occupied earlier that morning. The feel of two solid walls against my back and the solid floor beneath me was comforting. What did it matter if all emotional, relational, and spiritual realities shifted around me? At least the physical ones were still the same.
I drew my knees close and sat silently praying for what felt like hours.
I thought of all the Old Testament stories where God displayed his hand and rescued his people. Surely, I reasoned with God again and again, without him I had no escape.
Rooke waited near the door, arms crossed. The few times I glanced at him, he paid no attention to me, though all his senses appeared heightened as if he considered himself in danger.
After an eternity, the door clicked open.
Paling, I lifted my head, not certain who would walk through the door.
“Are you Rooke?” Mr. Whitney’s voice asked.
Rooke eyed him suspiciously.
“I’m to pass.” Mr. Whitney held up his hands. “I’m to say that my boots are clean.”
Rooke frowned but jerked his head for Mr. Whitney to enter. “Where’s Macy?”
Mr. Whitney did not answer him but fastened his sorrowful gaze on me.
I hugged myself, already knowing the outcome. Mr. Whitney wouldn’t have learned one of Macy’s signals unless we’d lost the trial and Macy had sent him. There was no panic while inside that chamber. Instead I felt like a battle-weary veteran.
Mr. Whitney seemed scarcely able to find the words, though twice he attempted to open his mouth.
I decided to spare him. “We lost.”
He simply nodded. Then, with an expression of one gathering courage, he curled his fingers into fists. His eyes darted in the direction of Rooke behind him. Thus I perceived that he thought it his duty to save me.
Not wanting him to do anything rash, I determined to keep him occupied by making demands upon him as a lady. I held up my hands. “Will you please help me stand?”
He obliged.
As I dusted off my skirt, I looked about the chamber. “My bonnet and parasol. Please, I need them. Do you see them?”
He frowned, debating as if torn between obeying a lady’s request and tackling Adolphus’s organization single-handedly. As I hoped, years of good breeding overruled everything else, making it impossible to do anything except search the seats of the chairs. He handed me my bonnet.
“And my parasol!” I demanded, though I knew full well it was in the witness box of the courtroom.
“Rooke,” Macy’s voice sounded from the door. “Take my wife to London House. Keep two men at each door there while she packs. I’ll collect her myself.”
And with that, Macy was gone. Two other men entered the chamber, preventing any attempt to aid my escape. Mr. Whitney looked grim as he stood and considered the men.
“It’s all right,” I whispered to him. “I think it’s in the witness box.”
His eyes remained fastened on the men, making me wonder how a man of position felt when h
e suddenly realized he was powerless. The men who entered the chamber paid no mind to him but eyed me uncertainly, in a strange reversal of roles.
To be united with Macy, I realized, was to be equated with power.
“Your names,” I said, emotionless. The next time I needed to scream for help on the streets, my list would be longer than three names. Furthermore, I knew that my ability to survive in Macy’s organization would increase if I appeared more powerful.
Both men hesitated, so I eyed them for all I was worth.
Rooke laughed. “If I were you, I’d tell her your names.”
“Holt,” the broad-shouldered man said dubiously.
“Ostlere,” the other supplied.
I was aware that Mr. Whitney watched me with mute astonishment, for I must have seemed like a completely different person to him, but if I allowed myself to touch upon his thoughts, I knew I’d dissolve. So I refused to acknowledge him. Instead I displayed my newfound clout and gave orders to Rooke next. “You will take me to London House. Now!”
Survival is different from healing. Instinctively I knew it was necessary to take advantage of position and leverage, the only rule of law in Macy’s kingdom. Thus the newspapers were not altogether inaccurate to report that I left the Old Bailey in the company of three men, each with a ruthless and calculated look.
Rooke grinned at my newfound determination as Macy’s carriage jostled through the streets. Ostlere, however, studied me with a wary look. Less than a block from the Old Bailey I turned an envenomed gaze in his direction, warning him that I didn’t wish to be studied.
The whites of Rooke’s teeth flashed as he advised, “I wouldn’t upset her.”
Our lives are littered with what-ifs. In order to stay sane, we tell ourselves to leave them scattered where they lie on the floor—never to wonder, never to turn and try to sweep them up—for they are impossible to transport to the rubbish bin. The past is sealed, and looking back only unmakes us. Yet in writing my story to you, I have already turned back.
And here my hand trembles.
What would have happened if I’d never returned to London House?
Price of Privilege Page 40
