Lionel Finch stopped pacing and smiled. Yes, he liked that idea very much. There were a few details to be worked out, but the general plan was nearly fully formed in his mind. He suddenly lunged toward the door and ran down the stairs to fetch Oliver. Harvey was too stupid to handle this alone. He had brute strength and skill with a sword, but not nearly enough cunning to be trusted with something this important. If this played out the way Finch hoped, not only would he get revenge on Hugo Everly and his whore, but he might get back Frances as well. Lionel Finch got a mighty cockstand when he considered what he would do to punish her for humiliating him.
Chapter 44
The day of the trial dawned misty and gray; the city of London shrouded in a steel-wool blanket of thunderous clouds and chimney smoke, reducing visibility to roughly a few inches in any direction. The husk of St. Paul’s looked as if it were wearing a periwig made of dirty cotton, and the usual morning sounds were muffled and distorted. I pulled the blanket up to my chin, making a decision to stay in bed a little longer. I watched Hugo pace the small room like a caged tiger, but could offer him no words of comfort. The stage was set, and the players were due to start the performance at 9 a.m. Whatever the outcome, we had no power to interfere. Of course, Brad would fill us in once he got back, but even before then we’d hear it through the grapevine.
There was a soft knock on the door before Archie materialized out of the dim corridor. “All right?” he asked, the question encompassing all manner of things ranging from our general health to our frame of mind.
Hugo nodded absentmindedly, his mind miles away.
**
Max was somewhat taken aback by the manacles that were placed on his wrists and ankles for the short walk to the other side of the building. Even if completely unfettered, his chances of escape were nonexistent with soldiers stationed at every exit and various individuals milling on the green, their curiosity getting the best of them. Max tried to eat some breakfast, but the dry bread and strong-smelling cheese stuck in his craw, making him feel queasy.
He felt a small pang of relief when he spotted the tubby figure of Mr. Warburton hurrying along with a tidy sheaf of papers under his arm; a long, curly wig making him appear like a particularly well-fed poodle. Max smiled bitterly as he considered the fact that he could still make jokes when his life was in peril. It had always been his habit to deflect reality with humor, so at least that part of him was still intact — for now.
Max walked slowly along the corridor, pushed and prodded by two guards. The chains between his ankles were heavy and clunky, making walking awkward and painful. The fetters chafed against his skin, so Max tried to pull his feet forward rather than try to lift them as he normally would.
“Will the fetters be removed for the trial?” he asked one of the guards, but the man barely even looked at him.
“No,” he finally replied. “Not until you go back to your cell.”
Max was admitted into a small, sparsely-furnished side chamber where a tall blond man and a dark-haired woman stood waiting anxiously. They both turned toward him when he entered, expressions of amazement and suspicion etched on their worried faces. “You have five minutes,” the guard announced as he took his place just outside the door.
The man hung back, but the woman came forward and laid her gloved hand gently on Max’s cheek, smiling into his eyes. She was no more than thirty, with soulful dark eyes and a wide mouth, so like his own. He’d never seen a portrait of Hugo’s sister, but that’s who this angel had to be. The resemblance was too marked for her to be anyone else. Was she his mysterious benefactor? Max wondered as they studied each other in silence. The man was studying her as well, his expression difficult to interpret. He seemed almost repulsed by her, but instantly rearranged his face as he noticed Max looking at him.
“Who are you, my lady?” Max asked, hoping for a confirmation of his theory.
“I’m Jane Hiddleston, Hugo Everly’s sister, and I’m not a lady. Plain Mistress Hiddleston will do,” she replied, still gazing up into his eyes, her own round with wonder. “Yes, the resemblance is quite remarkable,” she said at last, “but you are clearly not Hugo. I’d know my brother anywhere. You lack the arrogance and self-possession of the man.”
“It’s hard to be self-possessed and arrogant when you’re chained like an animal and accused of a crime that can cost you your life,” Max replied.
“So, you’ve never met my brother then?” she asked, as a charming giggle escaped from her mouth. She turned to beckon the blond man forward. “This gentleman is Bradford Nash, our closest neighbor and a devoted friend of my brother’s. Brad, is there anything you wish to ask Master Everly to help you make up your mind?” She turned to the man, but he simply shook his head as he watched Max. It seemed his mind was already made up.
“Master Everly, I wish you the best of luck in these proceedings,” Bradford Nash said as he gave Max a slight smile of acknowledgment. “I know that you are who you say you are. Jane, are you ready?” He took the woman by the elbow and steered her toward the door, but she turned back before leaving.
“You have nothing to worry about, nothing at all,” she said with a smile of encouragement. “I will tell them the truth.”
“Thank you, Mistress Hiddleston,” Max replied, feeling overwhelming gratitude toward this kind woman.
“Oh, think nothing of it. I’m only doing my sisterly duty.”
Max sucked in his breath as the guard returned to take him into the chamber where the trial would take place. It was a sizeable room with a massive fireplace, and an iron light-fixture hanging from the ceiling which held numerous candles, lit despite the early hour. Gray light crept through a narrow window set into the thick stone wall but did little to dispel the gloom. A wooden table stood facing the room with three elaborately carved wooden chairs awaiting the judges. There were several benches for spectators which were already nearly full. There was no actual dock or a place for the accused to sit, so Max was made to stand to the left of the table and face the room. The chains rattled every time he so much as twitched, making him acutely aware of his position of helplessness.
Max found Jane Hiddleston, who was sitting behind a rather tall, bewigged man. He tried to make eye contact, but she looked through him, her gaze blank and her mouth pursed in displeasure as she stared at the wall. Bradford Nash was next to her, his expression still inscrutable, but not unfriendly as their eyes met. Everyone rose to their feet as the examiners shuffled in.
It was immediately clear that the man who took the middle seat was the one to watch out for. He wore an elaborate wig of chestnut brown and an extravagantly embroidered coat in charcoal gray. Frothy lace showed beneath the wide cuffs, drawing attention to the pale skin of his bony hands. His deep-set gray eyes scanned the room from beneath heavy brows as he took his seat. The man was of average height, but rather too thin, which made him appear taller and grimmer. The other two were of middle age, paunchy, bewigged, and slightly nervous, their demeanor suggesting that they would be easily swayed by the head judge.
The representatives of the Crown were introduced as Lord Eastwick, George Jeffreys, and Lord Gray by a clerk who settled on a stool at the end of the table with a pot of ink, quill, and paper to record details of the trial and draw up a document proclaiming the verdict. The man called Jeffreys, who was clearly the head judge, spoke first.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the individual on trial is accused of attempted murder, kidnapping, and most importantly, high treason. Since he insists on denying his true identity, the first order of this court will be to ascertain whether he is truly Maximillian Everly, as he claims, or Lord Hugo Everly, playing at being mad in the hopes of making a fool of the Crown. He has solicited legal representation, which is unusual, but due to mitigating circumstances, has been permitted by our sovereign who is just and merciful. You may proceed, Master Warburton, and be quick about it.”
Gideon Warburton rose to his feet and stood before the table, half turned toward the ju
dges, half toward the assembled spectators. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I won’t waste your time with a lengthy opening statement. I will only say that the cornerstone of any legal action is to ensure that the right man is being tried. As I will prove today, with the help of physical evidence as well as statements from several credible witnesses, the man before you is not Hugo Everly, despite the physical resemblance. The man on trial is Maximilian Everly, a distant relation of the lord who happened to be in Cranley and was arrested in error.”
Gideon Warburton grew momentarily silent to allow everyone to digest what he’d just said before turning to the table of judges with an affable expression. “First and foremost, I would like to present to the court a sample of Lord Everly’s writing, as well as a sample of my client’s. They differ radically.”
Gideon Warburton triumphantly laid two sheets of paper in front of the judges, but George Jeffreys didn’t even glance at the evidence before dismissing it.
“Master Warburton, I hate to think you naïve, but it’s not a great feat to disguise one’s writing, particularly when plainly aware that the two will be compared. I do not accept this evidence. Move on,” Jeffreys ordered, waving away the two writing samples.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Warburton replied, clearly taken aback. He took a deep breath and instantly rallied, moving on to his next piece of evidence. “Here, I have a list of measurements of Lord Everly obtained from his tailor and bootmaker. As you can see, Lord Everly is somewhat shorter than the accused and his foot measures nearly two inches less.” The lawyer made to hand the document to the judges, but Jeffreys once again waved it away, his face a mask of annoyance.
“Unacceptable. Lord Everly could have easily paid these men to falsify the measurements. There is no proof whatsoever that these are accurate. Proceed.”
“I call Bradford Nash,” Gideon Warburton intoned.
Max couldn’t help noticing that he seemed less sure of himself than before. The blond man rose to his feet and took his place in front of the judges.
He never looked at Max, but Max felt a certain sympathy emanating from him, and rightly assumed that this witness was in his corner.
“Master Nash, how well do you know Lord Everly?” Gideon Warburton asked.
“Hugo and I have known each other since childhood. We grew up together, and are still the closest of companions.” Bradford Nash had a deep, soothing voice which resonated through the stone-walled room, and his demeanor was one of calm assurance as he faced the examiners.
“In other words, you are here to prove your loyalty to your friend by supporting his fraudulent claim,” Jeffreys roared, rising to his feet and slamming his hand on the surface of the table. He was much shorter and thinner than Nash; a shortcoming he instantly recognized before he sat back down to avoid looking ridiculous.
“I’m a loyal subject of the Crown and a man of honor. I do not lie under oath,” Nash countered, his color rising as his eyes locked with those of Jeffreys, daring him to impugn his honor. Jeffreys did not reply, but motioned for the lawyer to continue.
“Master Nash, is the person here today the man you know as Hugo Everly?” Gideon Warburton asked, cutting through the tension with his reedy voice.
“He is not. This man does bear some resemblance to Hugo, but he is most certainly not the man I’ve known all my life,” Bradford Nash stated calmly. His eyes never left Jeffreys’s face, his expression challenging him to question his honor again. Jeffreys was the first to look away, clearly unsettled.
“Take a seat, Master Nash,” Jeffreys ordered. “I’d like to call a witness for the prosecution before allowing you to proceed, Master Warburton. I call Lionel Finch.”
Max shrank back as he watched the man rise and take his place. He knew who Finch was, of course, from the charge of attempted murder and kidnapping, but he’d never seen the man. He wasn’t very tall, and wore a curly blond wig that accentuated his pale skin and colorless eyes. There was nothing overtly threatening in the man, but something about his demeanor made Max’s flesh crawl. If Hugo had tried to kill this man, he probably had very good reason, Max thought as he tried to adjust his expression to one of neutrality. Showing any animosity would only prove the prosecution’s case, so Max tried to appear as bland as possible.
“Master Finch,” Gideon Warburton began, “do you know the man on trial today?” Finch turned slowly about and studied Max at length, his eyes meeting Max’s for a long moment before finally turning to face the judges.
“I do. This is the man who came to my home in April with the purpose of soliciting my support for the rebellion of the traitor the Duke of Monmouth. While there, he took it upon himself to interfere in my marriage, assaulted me most viciously, and stole my lawfully wedded wife, whom I still have not found.”
“Where’s his wife?” Jeffreys demanded, looking directly at Max for the first time.
“I don’t know. I’ve never met him or his wife.”
“Your insolence will not be tolerated, sir. I repeat: where is his wife?”
“As God is my witness, I don’t know,” Max replied. He tried to appear calm, but his innards were turning to jelly as he looked into the pitiless eyes of the judge.
“Step down, Master Finch. Master Warburton, I’m allowing you one more witness before I make my decision on the identity of the accused.”
“I call Jane Hiddleston, sister to Lord Hugo Everly,” Gideon Warburton announced triumphantly. Jane was his trump card; his unassailable witness. Max smiled at the woman as she rose slowly and took her place. She appeared small and vulnerable as she stood in the middle of the room before the table, and the judges noticeably relaxed and even nodded to her in encouragement.
“Mistress Hiddleston, you are very fond of your brother, are you not?” Gideon Warburton asked softly.
“Indeed I am, sir, which is why it makes it so difficult for me to speak the truth in front of this court. That man is my brother,” she said, pointing at Max as her eyes bored into his mercilessly. Max felt his heart drop to the floor and shatter at his feet as he stared at the woman who’d been so kind to him only a few minutes ago. She’d promised her support and told him not to worry, but now she was swearing that he was Hugo Everly, when she knew damn well he wasn’t.
“Mistress Hiddleston, please look again. Are you sure?” Warburton squeaked, panic written all over his face. His star witness had gone over to the other side without any warning, and he had no idea why.
“I am absolutely certain,” she said and buried her face in her handkerchief, plainly distressed. “I’m sorry, Hugo,” she sobbed as she was led back to her seat by the clerk, who’d jumped to his feet and took it upon himself to assist the lady.
Jeffreys smiled at the assembly like a shark who’d just smelled blood. “I think it’s painfully clear that the accused tried to deceive this court and failed. Therefore, we will now turn our attention to the charges.”
Jeffreys was clearly enjoying his position of power. His shoulders were drawn back; his chest puffed out with self-importance, and his lips twitching with suppressed mirth. He turned to the other two judges, who nodded in agreement, eager to be done with the trial and scamper to the nearest tavern for a tankard of ale. They were visibly uncomfortable with the tactics Jeffreys employed, but didn’t care to draw attention to themselves by disagreeing.
Jeffreys turned his gaze back upon the audience as he took a moment to gather his thoughts and allow tension to build. He was nothing if not a good showman, and this was a performance he relished. When he finally spoke, his voice was smooth and controlled; his hands steepled in front of him almost as if in supplication.
“Master Finch, since you are very much alive, the charge of attempted murder is hereby dismissed. The accused is presumably guilty of abducting your wife, but I have no proof that she didn’t leave with him of her own accord. Much luck in finding her, sir, and if you do, I suggest greater vigilance and stricter supervision. A woman requires her husband’s guidance and moral instruction since s
he’s too feebleminded to think for herself. I suggest you look to your own lack of husbandly discipline for an explanation.”
Lionel Finch turned puce at this little speech, but remained silent and bowed to Jeffreys stiffly in acknowledgment of his judgment and advice. Max had no idea what his marriage had been like, but he could only assume that the wife wasn’t so feebleminded if she decided to turn her back on her husband and leave with Hugo. It wouldn’t have been an easy decision for a woman to make in this day and age, so presumably, she’d been justified. Had she been Hugo’s lover before he took up with Neve Ashley? Max wondered. Of course, the charge of abduction never really posed much threat. The worst he could get for that one was a slap on the wrist, according to Gideon Warburton. It was the charge of treason that would decide if he were to live or die.
Jeffreys once again grew silent, waiting for everyone to focus their attention on him before speaking. He clearly enjoyed theatrics, a trait which would have been valuable in a T.V. judge on a reality show, but not nearly as appreciated in a seventeenth-century courtroom. The audience was growing restless, eager to hear the outcome of this much-awaited spectacle.
Finally, he spoke. “Now, the only charge that truly matters in these proceedings is the charge of treason, which we have ample physical evidence in support of. We have letters of correspondence between the conspirators, as well as a letter from the Duke of Monmouth himself.” Jeffreys pointed to a stack of papers in front of him, which could have been pages from a Shakespeare play for all anyone knew. “It is, therefore, clear to me that Lord Hugo Everly is guilty of high treason.”
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