Halloween Knight

by Tori Phillips

  “Aye,” Mortimer snapped. He glared daggers at Mark.

  “Kiss the holy book as a sign of your oath,” the justice continued, motioning to the bailiff.

  After kissing the Bible, Mortimer assumed the expression of the injured party. “Honorable lords,” he began in a reedy voice. He cleared his throat, and continued, “I beg for justice under the law. That man, Mark Hayward who calls himself a gentleman, came to my manor at Bodiam Castle masquerading as a suitor for my poor beloved sister, Griselda.”

  Mark curled his lip. Hogwash! You loathe her.

  Mortimer hurried on. “There are many witnesses among my servants who will attest to this farce. Hayward and I drew up a marriage contract by which he would stand to gain a sizable portion of the Bodiam estate. The villain sought to defraud me of my property by his counterfeit betrothal. Furthermore, he broke the contract and left my poor sister in a state of near collapse.” Justice Barnes turned to Belle. “What says the prisoner to these first and second charges?”

  Belle stood tall in her lawyer’s robes. “Not guilty, my lords. I beg the court’s indulgence, but before we discuss the matter of Sir Mark’s alleged betrothal, may we first examine the plaintiff’s claim to the estate of Bodiam? Tis Doctor Bellario’s opinion as well as my own that the crux of all the charges hinges upon the exact ownership of this property.”

  Mortimer’s shoulder’s slumped at this. Mark grinned to himself. Good for you, Belle. Stab him in his greedy heart. He drew his first easy breath since the proceedings began.

  Mortimer pulled himself together and snapped, “Methought the question of my ownership of Bodiam Castle and its estates was a foregone conclusion, my lords.”

  Justice Barnes steepled his long fingers. “Pray explain yourself for the enlightenment of the court,” he replied in a silky tone.

  Ha! Justice is not as blind as I feared. The good judges have already scented out that polecat.

  Mortimer rubbed his hands together in a distracted manner. “Tis quite simple. My dear younger brother was Master Cuthbert Fletcher, late of London. Two years ago this Christmastide, he married the natural daughter of Sir Brandon Cavendish of Northumberland.”

  Though her expression remained steady, Belle flinched at the words “natural daughter.” Mark wished he could leap over the railing and rip Mortimer’s sneering tongue from his mouth.

  Gathering strength as he continued, Mortimer elaborated his testimony. “Thanks to the generosity of her father, Mistress LaBelle Cavendish brought Bodiam Castle and all its estates to my brother as her marriage portion. Specifically among the goods and furnishings was a ruby brooch of great value. In June of this year, my brother fell ill of a fever. He died shortly after my sister and I arrived at Bodiam.”

  Mark fixed him in his glare. Did you have a hand in Cuthbert’s sudden demise, knave?

  Mortimer rambled on. “My sister-in-law was much saddened by her young husband’s untimely death. Indeed, her grief so unhinged her mind that she fell into a melancholy madness. As her most loving brother-in-law, I took it upon myself to administer Cuthbert’s estates until Mistress LaBelle had regained her wits.” He lifted his hands palms upward. “Alas, twas not to be. I regret to say that Mistress LaBelle took her own life on the twenty-second of this past October.”

  The spectators murmured among themselves. The Cavendish family remained impassive, though Brandon’s eyes flashed an ominous fire. Belle pressed her lips together but did not stir. Mark wondered what thoughts ran through her head.

  Mortimer cleared his throat and waited for the chamber to grow quiet again. Then he concluded, “As your honors well know, under the law established by our late King Henry VII—may God rest his soul—the goods, chattels and properties that a woman possesses become her husband’s upon marriage. My brother died without a will and without issue. As I am his next of kin and since his deranged wife is also now deceased, Bodiam Castle and all it entails rightly belong to me,” he ended on a note of triumph.

  Turning to Belle, Justice Barnes asked, “The case of ownership seems clear enough, Doctor. Is there any particular point you wish to examine?”

  Belle rose with a dignified air. “All of it, my lords, from top to bottom.”

  Again a murmur rose among the spectators. The bailiff rapped for silence. A whisper of a smile flitted across Brandon’s face as he watched his daughter move to the center of the floor. Mark’s heartbeat pounded against his chest. How young Belle looked! He should be the one defending her rights, not the other way around.

  “Proceed,” intoned Justice Barnes. He propped his hand under his chin and assumed an attitude of strict attention.

  “Tis true that Mistress Cavendish brought a great wealth to her marriage with Master Cuthbert, but the castle of Bodiam and all the goods, chattel and furnishings within it were hers by right of jointure, not dowry. They were hers to keep for her lifetime. This specific point was written into the spousal contract signed by Cuthbert Fletcher, his father Master Engelbert Fletcher and by Sir Brandon Cavendish in November of the year 1540.”

  She crossed to her table, shuffled among her papers, then held up a heavy piece of parchment. “I have here Sir Brandon’s copy of this contract, duly signed and witnessed. Sir Brandon is present in court and can attest to its validity.”

  She passed the document to the bailiff who conveyed it to the justices. While they scanned the contract, Mortimer wiped his face several times with his handkerchief. Mark raised an eyebrow at his accuser. How do you like turning on your own spit?

  Justice Barnes addressed the chamber. “Tis legal and binding in all respects, Doctor, but since the woman in question is dead, Master Fletcher’s claim remains valid.”

  Belle’s expression turned feline. “I crave your gracious permission to question Master Fletcher as to the particulars of Mistress Cavendish’s demise.”

  The chamber grew deathly still. No one dared to cough or sneeze. Public description of a suicide was a rare thing. The crowd held its collective breath.

  Justice Noble nodded. “You may proceed, Doctor.”

  Mortimer blanched but did not move. He wrung his hands as if he washed blood from them.

  Belle bowed to the judges then asked the plaintiff, “Can you describe the circumstances of Mistress Cavendish’s confinement?”

  Mortimer’s eyes bulged from his pasty face. “I did not say she was confined.”

  Belle cocked her head. “How now? I have taken depositions from several of your servants that you kept Mistress Cavendish locked within the garret of one of Bodiam’s towers. How say you to this?”

  Mortimer attempted to shrug. “Do you refer to Will Allen, a potboy? My lords, the scullion is a lackwit and has been so since birth. His mind is that of a six-year-old child. His evidence is not substantial.”

  Belle nodded, “That is true, but there are others who have also sworn to the ill-keeping of Mistress Cavendish—several former guards, your cook, a stable boy who spied her at the window of her prison—and Christopher Cavendish, LaBelle’s own brother who saw her in her most pitiful state.”

  Kitt stood up and leaned far out over the gallery railing. “Tis true, my lord justices. My sweet sister was kept in that cold room without a fire or blanket to warm her, nor did she have food to give her strength. This I saw with my own eyes.”

  The chamber rocked with outrage. Kat gasped and leaned against Brandon, who looked eager to pounce on Mortimer and kill him where he stood. The judges stared aghast at the plaintiff. The bailiff beat his staff on the floor for some minutes before order was finally restored.

  Justice Barnes pointed to Kitt. “You are the deceased’s brother, Christopher?”

  Kitt squared his shoulders. “I am, and my good parents here beside me will attest to my claim.”

  Justice Barnes shifted in his seat. “Your noble parents are well-known in this shire, Master Cavendish, however you are tender in years and do not yet know your own mind.”

  The Cavendish temper colored the boy’s
complexion though he kept his voice steady. “I am eleven-and-onehalf years old, my lords. I am long past the prescribed age of reason and am near to the coming of my manhood. Unlike poor Will Allen, I possess all my wits.”

  Belle retrieved another paper from her table. “I have one further deposition, my lords. Mistress Griselda Fletcher—”

  “What?” Mortimer exploded. “What pernicious lie is this?”

  “Signed by her own hand,” Belle continued, “and witnessed in the presence of the High Constable of London whose seal is here affixed.”

  Mark whistled under his breath. I understand now why you were so busy in London, chou-chou.

  Belle handed the paper to the bailiff who passed it to the judges. “Mistress Griselda states that her brother kept Mistress Cavendish locked away for over a month and would allow no visitations.”

  Mortimer’s face contorted. “In truth, my sister-in-law was mad, I tell you. Of course I kept her locked up. Tis a tried and true remedy to effect a cure for lunacy. Ask any physician.”

  “Describe how Mistress Cavendish died,” Belle requested. “Please tell the court in explicit detail.”

  Mark hid his smile behind his hand. How would Mortimer explain a heap of ashes and duck bones?

  The plaintiff visibly shivered. “Twas a ghastly sight, my lords, and not fit for those members of the weaker sex to hear,” he gabbled.

  “Tell us, Master Fletcher. Justice and truth demand it if you wish to prove your claim,” Belle added with a certain gleeful snap.

  Mortimer looked ready to faint. He coughed several times then replied, “Twas the devil’s own doing. When I came to visit her, I found that her body had shriveled to dust and tiny bones.”

  A number of the spectators unthinkingly crossed themselves, though the new Church of England forbade such customs.

  Belle glowered at the perspiring man. “And what did you do with the…remains?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What any Christian would do in such a circumstance, I sealed up that hideous chamber.”

  Belle returned her attention to the justices. “Tis a grim tale, my lords, and one suitable for telling around a fire at night, but I fear tis not the truth.”

  Mortimer clutched the bar for support. “How dare you question me, you puling waterfly! You are barely out of the schoolroom.”

  Belle ignored his outburst. Instead, she continued to address the judges. “Master Fletcher’s testimony is false from beginning to end, my lords, for the woman in question, Mistress LaBelle Cavendish, still lives!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The chamber erupted in a frenzy of wonderment as the spectators in the crowded benches voiced their shock, horror and disbelief to their nearest neighbors. Belle cast a look out one of the chamber’s long windows and saw that a large mob had gathered in the street before the courthouse. By nightfall, the events of this most unusual trial would be discussed around every hearthside in the shire. Good!

  Even the judges paled. Justice Barnes gripped his notes. “How now, Doctor Bartholomew? Can this statement be proved?”

  Belle lifted her voice. “Aye, your honor, it can.” She extracted yet another paper from her pile and waved it before the intrigued crowd. “Here is Mistress Belle’s deposition written in her own hand in the presence of Dr. Bellario, the Chief Constable of London and several magistrates. She charges that Master Fletcher did attempt to steal away her jointure and when she would not yield to his demands, he imprisoned and starved her.”

  The bailiff handed the paper to the judges. While they read it carefully, Belle glanced over her shoulder at Mark. Very slowly he winked at her. Anger whipped through her. Blast and fogs, he knows who I am!

  Refusing to acknowledge his salutation, she looked up to her parents. Kitt grinned back at her. Am I that transparent? Pray to God that Mortimer does not catch wind of my disguise.

  Justice Barnes searched the gallery for Sir Brandon Cavendish. “My lord?” he called. “Have you seen your daughter alive since the report of her death?”

  Brandon hoisted himself to his feet. Kitt put his arm around his waist to support his father. Belle swelled with pride at the sight of them together.

  “Aye, my lord justice, I have,” Brandon’s voice reverberated around the courtroom. “Last week in London. I saw her as plainly as I see Doctor Bartholomew there. Belle is alive and well, no thanks to that…that piece of perfidy!” He pointed to Mortimer.

  Though visibly shaken by the unexpected turn of the proceedings, Mortimer refused to yield his case. “My lords!” he shouted over the din. The chamber immediately grew silent.

  “My lords, I rejoice in this good news, but you can see for yourselves how I was hoodwinked by that woman and by her partner in crime, Lord Hayward. I have been wrongly and cruelly abused by these two. Tis no wonder I have been unwell. In truth, I have barely slept a wink since the fateful night when I found those gruesome bones. I still maintain that I am the sole owner of Bodiam and all its contents.”

  “By what right?” asked Justice Barnes.

  Mortimer gripped the railing in front of him. “By my rights as Mistress LaBelle’s brother-in-law. Though she lives, you have witnessed how she has abused me and my poor sister. The woman is not perfect in her wits. All of her life she has delighted in tricks and counterfeits designed to drive everyone around her to distraction. There are no end of witnesses who can vouch that truth. How can such a light-headed female possibly administer such a large estate as Bodiam? Besides, she has obviously abandoned the castle now, leaving me in sole possession.”

  While the two judges conferred, Belle shivered under her heavy black robe. Zounds, my childish follies will undo me yet! She shot a quick glance at Mark. He leaned toward her and beckoned. Now what? She stepped up to his box.

  Bending down, he whispered in her ear. “Return to the matter of the betrothal contract.”

  Belle gritted her teeth. “So that my downfall will be complete?” she snarled.

  He had the nerve to chuckle. “Tis not you who stands here accused of a felony, but me. Or had you forgotten that fact?”

  “Nay,” she snapped. “I am trying to save your miserable neck.”

  “Trust me, chou-chou,” he whispered. “As I trust you.”

  Despite the serious circumstances, Belle’s body tingled at the seductive tone in his voice. His warm breath fanned her cheek causing her blood to surge through her.

  “You blush, lawyer,” Mortimer remarked with a sneer. “Methinks you are out of your depth.”

  Belle bit her tongue while she controlled her fury. She chose her words with care. “If I blush, Master Fletcher, tis to witness such an example of rapacious greed as yours. You have an ambitious eye. No man nor woman’s pie is free from your grasping fingers.”

  A number of spectators guffawed.

  Justice Barnes frowned at the breach of decorum. “We declare that Master Fletcher has proved his point. We declare him to be the rightful owner of the disputed property.”

  Belle gritted her teeth. Over my very dead body!

  “The contract!” Mark whispered behind her.

  Belle gulped a deep breath. “Very well, my lords. Then let us consider the charges concerning Mistress Griselda’s broken betrothal.”

  Mortimer waved his handkerchief. “Minor charges, my lords. Let us instead consider the theft of the ruby brooch—my brooch.”

  “Don’t let him change the subject!” Mark whispered loudly as he leaned half out of his box. His guards jerked him back.

  Under the cover of her long sleeves, Belle balled her hands into fists. “I fully intend to address the matter of the ruby, my lords, but first let us clear the docket concerning the breach of contract.” She held her breath.

  Justice Barnes nodded. “Proceed, Doctor Bartholomew, but be quick about it. We burn daylight with this bickering.”

  Belle straightened her posture. “Exactly so, my lords. Master Fletcher, you said earlier that Lord Hayward came to Bodiam Castle posing as a su
itor for your sister’s hand?”

  Mortimer lifted a corner of his mouth in a sneer. “He did. He wooed Griselda with sweet words and a great deal of off-key singing. She was instantly smitten. She has the mind of a sheep, your honor.”

  Belle nodded. “Indeed, so I have been told.” She riffled through her papers until she found the stack she sought. “My lords, I pray your patience. I have here more depositions from members of Master Fletcher’s retinue at Bodiam. These witnesses—” She waved the documents at the judges. “Swear that Master Fletcher was most anxious to rid himself of his sister, Mistress Griselda, whom the witnesses say he cordially hated. These witnesses, including the steward of Bodiam and the chamberlain, swear that Master Fletcher presumed that Lord Hayward had come a-wooing.”

  Belle handed the papers to the bailiff. “In actual fact, Lord Hayward had come to Bodiam at the request of Sir Brandon Cavendish to seek out the whereabouts of Sir Brandon’s daughter. You will find that Sir Brandon’s deposition is duly signed and sworn.”

  Justice Noble fixed Mortimer in his stare. “Did Lord Hayward say in exact words that he had come a-wooing Mistress Fletcher?”

  Mortimer stuck out his chin. “Aye, he did so and in full hearing of many of my retainers.”

  Belle hunched under the verbal blow. How could she defend Mark’s actions when his own words had already condemned him? A vision of the hangman’s noose swung before her eyes.

  Mark leaned forward in his box. “Most worthy justices, may I speak?”

  Belle frowned at him but Mark ignored her. Did the fool intend to thrust his own head into the deadly loop?

  The justices conferred, then agreed.

  “Tis true, I did come to Bodiam to woo Mistress Fletcher,” he began, “but not Mistress Griselda. I came to woo the Widow Fletcher—Mistress LaBelle.”

  Belle opened her mouth but no sound came out.

  Mark continued. “When I arrived at Bodiam, I quickly discovered that Mistress Belle was under lock and key by order of Master Fletcher, as we have already heard.”

  Justice Barnes waved his hand. “Go to! Do not waste the court’s time.”