“Hold on,” the chief magistrate said before Elliot was able to voice a response, “I was led to believe you had every right to be in that house, Mr. Nugent. According to your statement, it belongs to you and your family, and Miss Strong was the intruder.”
“That’s what you told him?” Simon could only stare at his uncle in dumbfounded amazement. When Elliot simply stared back without answering, Simon turned to the chief magistrate. “The house belongs to me. Miss Strong was my guest. She had every right to be there, and when my uncle came to call, intent on chasing her away, she refused to open the front door which led him to enter the house through the kitchen. Uninvited, I should add, in case that’s not clear.”
“Miss Strong did try to tell us as much,” the chief magistrate said. He was starting to look most uncomfortable. “I fear my men and I chose to believe Mr. Nugent instead. After all, he is a respectable member of Society while she…”
“She?” Simon asked.
The chief magistrate cleared his throat. “Mr. Nugent, I do believe you may have misjudged Miss Strong, believing her to be someone she clearly is not. As such, I have every intention of ensuring the charges against her are dropped, effective immediately.”
“But—”
“If you prefer,” the chief magistrate told Elliot, “we can turn this into a public spectacle.”
“That’s really not necessary,” Elliot grumbled.
The chief magistrate gave him a hard look. “I thought not.”
“If you don’t mind,” Simon said when no one else spoke, “I’ll accompany you to Bow Street.”
The chief magistrate’s expression softened as he gave his attention to Simon. “By all means.”
Simon thanked Huntley and Guthrie for their assistance and took his leave of the other gentlemen too.
“Please give our regrets to Miss Strong,” Kirksdale said. “I’m very sorry for what happened to her father.”
Simon paused on his way out the door. “You tried looking into it too, did you not?”
Kirksdale tilted his head. “Why do you ask?”
“Murdoch, the captain of The Soaring Falcon, mentioned you came to press him for information years ago.”
“He told me he didn’t know anything, and I eventually chose to believe Matthew Strong must have been a traitor after all. I’m glad his daughter met with more success than I did.”
Simon nodded and followed the chief magistrate to his carriage.
“I will see you all brought before a judge,” Mr. St. John said as they rolled along toward the Bow Street office.
“Vincent St. John, perchance?” Simon asked. He smiled at the look of surprise in Mr. St. John’s eyes. “I trust he’s a relation of yours?”
“If you must know,” Mr. St. John sneered, “he’s my brother, and he’ll make damn sure the charges against me are dropped.”
“No.” Simon crossed his arms. “Not even he can help you with this I’m afraid. You’re going to be eaten alive by rats at Newgate prison for what you’ve done.”
The chief magistrate chuckled. “Aye, that is the harshest punishment we have, and one most fitting for the crime that’s been committed.”
Mr. St. John seemed to gnash his teeth in fury, but he refrained from saying anything more, much to Simon’s relief. He was still so bloody enraged by what the man had done, first to Matthew and then to Ida, he feared he might strangle him if he uttered one more complaint.
Honestly, all Simon wanted was to reach Bow Street as quickly as possible, so he could be reunited with Ida. It had been too long since he’d seen her – he’d been too busy – but at least the whole ordeal was now over. They could finally be together again. He’d make her his wife and damn anyone who protested the match. She was the woman he wanted, his future countess. They loved each other and that was all that mattered.
The breakfast Ida received that morning was mediocre at best, consisting of flavorless, watered-down porridge. She ate one spoonful and forced down a second before setting the bowl aside. The guard had told her it was six o’clock when he’d come to wake her, and it felt as if that had been ages ago.
Staring at the hallway beyond the bars, she wondered when Simon would stop by again. She knew he was busy trying to help her, but she missed him terribly and hoped it wouldn’t be too long before she saw him next. Perhaps later in the day? She sighed and leaned back against the wall. He’d done well asking Guthrie and Huntley for help. Individually, each man was exceedingly powerful, but together, they would surely be able to get her out of here.
It was what she had to believe in order to calm her nerves. Simon was on her side. He would support her to the best of his abilities. He’d told her he loved her and he’d asked her to be his wife. She closed her eyes and smiled in response to the thought. A happy future awaited them. She had to have faith in that no matter how bleak things might seem at the moment.
A door opened and footsteps sounded. Ida straightened, blinked a few times and stood. Perhaps this was him right now? She stepped toward the bars and waited. A stern-faced guard, different from the one who’d brought her breakfast, came into view. Ida’s heart sank.
“Time to go,” he said as he unlocked the gate. It swung open with a creak. “Your trial will begin soon.”
“My trial?”
“The courts are fully booked for the next two weeks, so the judge overseeing your case has asked that you be delivered to the Old Bailey early so you’ll not be kept waiting.” The guard reached inside the cell, grabbed her by her arm, and pulled her into the hallway. “You should count yourself lucky, Miss Strong. Most people in your position are taken to Newgate to await their trial. They end up infested with lice and contract all manner of diseases. And that’s without having to worry about the stench from the other prisoners.”
“But I’ve not even spoken with a barrister yet.”
The guard snorted. “I suppose you imagined you would?”
“Yes! I know nothing about the law myself. You cannot honestly expect me to argue my own case.”
“That is what most common citizens do, and as long as you’re innocent of the charges made against you and you tell the truth, the judge will be sure to rule in your favor. Fear not.”
Something wasn’t right. Ida could feel it. She began dragging her feet in a pointless attempt to stall for time. “Has Lord Fielding been notified of this?”
“I am sure the clerk has sent him a missive.” The guard directed Ida through a doorway and into another hallway that took them toward the back of the building. “This way, if you please. We must be at the Old Bailey by eight o’clock.”
“But—”
“The accusations against you are most severe, Miss Strong.” He opened an outer door and led her toward an awaiting carriage.
“They are false, sir.”
“I’m sure they are.” He helped her into the carriage, then climbed in himself and locked the door before tapping the roof for the driver.
“I was only trying to defend myself,” Ida whispered. Everything was happening too fast. It was just as it had been four years ago with her father. His trial had been rushed as well. Two days after he’d dropped her off at Amourette’s, he’d been hanged. There had been no chance for anyone to prevent it, no time for a legal team to launch a proper defense, or even to hear his side of the story.
The guard met her gaze. “Then I’m sure justice will be on your side.”
Ida swallowed. She wasn’t sure she believed that. But at least if Simon would learn what had happened, he’d be able to come to her aid. Closing her eyes, she cursed herself for firing that pistol. By shooting Mr. Nugent she’d provided him with the perfect means by which to rid himself of her.
How pitifully ironic.
“Please have this man locked away until further notice,” the chief magistrate informed one of the constables when he and Simon arrived at the Bow Street office with Mr. St. John. He approached the front desk while Mr. St. John was led away. “I need a release
form.”
The clerk handed him one and Simon watched with increased excitement while the chief magistrate filled it out. He handed it back to the clerk once he’d signed his name.
The clerk studied it. His eyebrows dipped in the middle. He cleared his throat and looked up with the sort of expression that made Simon’s skin prick all over. His stomach tightened with wary foreboding.
“Miss Strong was removed to the Old Bailey almost six hours ago. Her trial was at eight.” The clerk leafed through a pile of papers, pulled a sheet free and gave it to Simon. “She’s been sentenced to fourteen years of transportation to the colonies and—”
Whatever else the man said became a painful ringing in Simon’s ears. His vision blurred and for a moment he felt like he might fall over. “No.”
“With the charges against her dropped,” the chief magistrate said, “we can appeal the ruling.”
Simon grunted. “Forgive me, but my faith in the legal system has taken a serious dive this past month. I wouldn’t be surprised if Miss Strong is shipped off tonight and forced to endure a harsh voyage she doesn’t deserve, not to mention what comes after. Good God.” He stared at the chief magistrate in desperation. “She’s going to be my wife, damn it. I need to get her home this instant.”
“She’ll be at Newgate until the ship is ready for departure,” the chief magistrate said. He snatched the summary of Ida’s sentencing from Simon and skimmed it. “Looks like you’re not wrong, my lord. The recommendation is for her to be aboard the next outbound vessel.”
Simon started to shake. He grabbed the edge of the front desk and forced himself to stay upright. This wasn’t happening. After everything they’d just been through, this could not be the next obstacle they had to face. It was simply too overwhelming. “There has to be something you can do to help – a way in which to stop this.”
“I will go to Newgate and check for her there while you head for the docks. Agreed?”
Simon nodded. “Yes.”
“Take my request for release with you, along with this letter.” The chief magistrate grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a few lines which he signed not only with his own signature but with a wax seal bearing the Bow Street office’s emblem. “It will lend credence to your words.”
“Right.” Simon thanked the man and ran from the building, down the front steps, and into the street where he hailed an approaching hackney. “To the docks. As fast as you can.”
The carriage lurched forward the moment Simon shut the door, jolting him back onto one of the benches. He grabbed the leather strap next to the window, barely holding himself upright as the vehicle caught speed, and Simon thanked God the coachman knew what urgency meant.
Chapter Twenty-One
Shivering, Ida pressed herself up against the side of the wagon the guards had placed her in after her trial. Her wrists were tightly bound behind her back, making it hard for her to find a comfortable position. All around, huddled much in the same way as she, were dozens of other prisoners, all eerily silent. They were beyond tears and complaints, their spirits so broken they simply accepted what was to come.
Ida wondered how many were just as innocent as she, mistakenly or perhaps even purposefully wronged by a system that simply wanted them gone. The trial itself had been a laughable affair. The judge’s blunt words still rang in her ears.
“You have been charged with attempted murder by a peer of the realm, an offense for which you ought to hang. But since there are no scheduled hangings for a few days, you can work yourself to death in the colonies instead.”
“But—”
The judge’s gavel had fallen with a resounding thud. “Next!”
Firm hands had grabbed her arms and dragged her toward the exit. There had been no chance for protest, no opportunity for her to argue her case, not the slightest possibility of being heard or of being treated with fairness. Every word she’d tried to speak had fallen on deaf ears. Her throat tightened and she closed her eyes to block out her grimy surroundings. Where was Simon? It had been hours since her trial had ended – hours she’d spent in a filthy prison cell hoping and praying he’d come and save her. So why hadn’t he shown up?
The wagon bounced as it rattled along, knocking her shoulder straight into the side. She winced and opened her eyes. The gown she wore was crumpled and covered in splotches of dirt while the elegant coiffure Miranda had worked to create had turned into a tangled mess. Ida bit down hard on her lower lip and told herself all would be well.
The wagon eventually drew to a halt. There was a pause and then the scrape of keys in the lock that secured the barred door.
“Get out,” a brutish voice spoke.
Ida stepped down onto the pier and glanced around in all directions, still hoping and praying for a glimpse of Simon. Her heart sank as realization crashed over her with unforgiving force. He wouldn’t come. Although she was sure he’d done his best, he’d failed. She was about to leave England and he was out of time.
“Move,” one of the guards sneered next to her ear. He shoved her forward and laughed when she stumbled.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Ida made her way toward the gangplank and onto the ship that would take her away from the man she loved. Defeated, she stepped onto the deck of the three-masted seagoing vessel.
“Keep moving,” another guard cried out. “Down the ladder you go.”
Ida grabbed the railing and followed the woman in front of her into the ship’s dim interior. A good thing, when the person behind her slipped and their foot hit her back. Holding on, Ida stopped her descent with a jarring yank to her shoulder. She winced in pain as the back of her shins scraped against the steps.
“Onward,” the guard yelled. “You’ll have plenty of time to rest while you’re sailing across the Atlantic.”
Rest? Was he deranged?
Clenching her jaw, Ida pulled herself upright. A hand clasped her arm and shoved her forward. When she looked back she saw it was another guard making sure all the prisoners kept a quick pace. She muttered a curse and forced her feet into motion. At least she wasn’t dead. Considering what had been done to her father, she supposed she ought to find solace in that.
Descending further into the bowels of the ship, Ida tried to accept her fate. No matter how much Simon loved her or how much he wanted to save her, it couldn’t be done. He wasn’t coming for her. It was too late.
Ida’s heart ached at that thought. He might not even know where she was right now. Everything had progressed so fast, she’d likely be gone before he found out.
Forced into an overcrowded space, she sought a small spot where she could sit. Men, women, and even children were pressed up against her. The stench from those who’d had no choice but to soil themselves was unbearable. But of course no considerations were made for any of these people. They were criminals, undeserving of respect and stripped of all their rights.
Shallow sobs from those who dreaded their fates filled the air. Ida closed her eyes and tried to block out the sound and the smell. She pictured Simon, the day he’d helped her bake tea-rolls with his shirt sleeves rolled up and flour dusting his cheek. She allowed herself to find peace in the memory of him, of his arms holding her close, the brush of his lips against hers, and the tenderness with which he’d cared for her when she’d been hurt. Even though his actions and beliefs when they’d first met had been guided by a need to satisfy others, he’d changed in a way she would never have thought a man of his upbringing could. Instead of living for everyone else, he’d started to live for himself, and she was so incredibly proud of him for finding the courage to do so.
She’d changed too because of him. She’d learned that life was too short to not risk one’s heart. Even if it led to unbearable pain, the chance to be loved and to love in return was a gift too precious to be squandered on fear. And she would love him forever, no matter where in the world she was. There would never be another Simon Garrison Nugent.
A low voice echoed from somewhere abo
ve. Additional muted shouts followed.
“They’re raising the gangplank,” a man murmured.
“May the lord be with us,” someone else said.
Merciless agony wrenched itself free from a place deep within Ida’s breast. It sliced its way through her and clutched at her heart until grief overwhelmed her. Hugging her knees she bowed her head and surrendered herself to the ordeal she now had to face. The future she’d hoped to share with Simon had never been more than a fragile dream. She’d lost. The ship she was on had already started to take her away from him.
The carriage had barely made it onto the pier before Simon was pushing the door open and leaping down from the slowing vehicle.
“Wait for me,” he yelled to the coachman while racing forward toward the first ship. A crew member was carrying a crate on board. Panting for breath, Simon practically spat his question. “I’m looking for a transport vessel. Do you know which one it might be?”
“Transporters tend to dock all the way at the other end. This area’s reserved for merchantmen.”
Simon looked toward the far end of the pier. It had to be at least a mile away. He glanced at the hackney, then considered the crowd of people milling about and the crates and barrels and carts blocking the straight path he needed. The carriage would take too long to get there. It would get stuck weaving its way between all the goods and allowing people to pass. Which meant there was only one thing for it if he didn’t want to waste additional time. He had to run.
Heedless of how he might look, a gentleman dressed in beige breeches, blue coat tails, a mother-of-pearl jacquard waistcoat, and gleaming black boots, Simon clutched the chief magistrate’s release order and sprinted forward.
Finding a narrow path near the edge of the pier, he ran as if every desire he’d ever had waited for him at the other end. His hat toppled from his head, but he didn’t care nor slow his pace, he just kept going, mindful of only one thing – one person – one dream.
The Formidable Earl Page 27
