A sneer twisted the major’s features, his beaky nose lending him an uncanny resemblance to a Punch puppet. “Why not?” he snarled, his voice thick with contempt. “What are we even fighting for? It’s not as though the people we’re supposedly protecting are decent Englishmen. Half of them are bloody French, and most of the rest are the descendants of ruffians and rabble-rousers we booted out of England for good reason. We’ve been three months on this godforsaken continent, and for what? The wine is bad, and the women are worse. I haven’t had a decent piece of pussy since we got here. The sooner this pointless war is over, the sooner we can all get back to civilization. I’m just helping things along.”
Geoffrey’s gut twisted. Shelley’s attitudes toward the residents of the Canadian provinces specifically and the Americas more generally were shared by many of the rank and file. Morale was low and bellyaching common, but he would never have imagined any of the men under his command would commit treason on account of their dislike of the mission they’d been sent to perform. Not even Shelley.
“Men will die because of you,” Geoffrey said hoarsely. “Our men.”
Shelley emitted a contemptuous snort. “Or maybe they’ll live because I’ve made sure this farce ends here and now.”
Geoffrey shook his head. “You’re mad.”
“If I’m mad, what are you, standing here alone in the dark, arguing with me while I tighten the noose around your neck?”
And that was when Geoffrey remembered that Shelley had seemed to be expecting to meet someone on the riverbank. A person for whom he’d initially mistaken Geoffrey.
Idiot.
At least he had his answer, though.
Shelley’s expression was one of malicious glee as he reached for the grip of his pistol. Geoffrey could have gone for his own firearm, but there was little point. Even without turning to look, he could feel Shelley’s accomplice closing in behind him.
He expected a bang, a piercing pain, a slow sinking to the earth. What he got was a sudden exploding agony as something thick and hard smacked the back of his head.
And darkness.
Chapter Thirty
“Is the defense ready to rest its case?” General Acton asked after gaveling the courtroom to order.
Laura could tell from the prosecutor’s supercilious expression that he expected the answer to be yes and he was looking forward to delivering his closing argument to seal her husband’s fate. Colonel Hickinbottom was in for a rude awakening, and she was not the least bit sorry for him.
Mr. Bellamy rose to his feet and gave an ostentatious shake of his head. “No, your lordship. The defense would like to recall Lieutenant Colonel Langston to the witness box.”
Acton raised his eyebrows. “To what end, Mr. Bellamy?”
“New information has come to the defense’s attention since the court adjourned yesterday. As the lieutenant colonel is the possessor of this information, we beg the court’s indulgence in this matter.”
The judge advocate turned his gaze on the prosecutor. “I imagine you must have some objection here, Colonel Hickinbottom.”
“I do, my lord.” He glared at Bellamy. “The prosecution has had no opportunity to review this ‘new information’ and therefore we cannot be expected to have a response prepared.”
Acton nodded thoughtfully. “Seems a fair point. What say you, Mr. Bellamy? What is the nature of this new information?”
The solicitor’s lips curved into a smile as cutting as the blade of a scimitar. “Early this morning, the lieutenant colonel recovered his memory of the events leading up to his injury.”
The entire audience stirred at this announcement, but before any disruption could erupt, Acton raised his gavel and gazed sternly around the room. The gallery subsided.
“I am sure,” Bellamy went on, his voice a purr, “that my learned friend is well aware he does not have the right to advance warning as to the content of a defense witness’s testimony.”
The judge advocate agreed that this was the case, Hickinbottom glowered unhappily, and her husband made his way to the witness box.
Goodness, Laura thought, but she did adore Mr. Bellamy. And she was very grateful he was on their side. If he were the prosecutor rather than Hickinbottom, Geoffrey would not stand a chance.
After Geoffrey affirmed his understanding that he remained under oath, Bellamy asked him to recount the events he had remembered that morning. His recitation of the facts was smooth and thorough, for he had already related the story three times: once to Laura herself, a second time to the assembled family at breakfast, and a third to Bellamy as soon as the solicitor had arrived at court. The entire courtroom listened in rapt silence as Geoffrey described his encounter with Major Martin Shelley on the banks on the Saranac, ending with the blow from the unseen assailant that had rendered him unconscious.
While her husband testified, Laura periodically glanced toward Major Shelley, who sat in the witness gallery in the event he was recalled to the stand. His expression remained neutral but a telltale flush rose in his neck and ears as Geoffrey exposed his duplicity. What she couldn’t tell was whether the color indicated fear, shame, or rage.
When Geoffrey reached the end of his narrative, Bellamy expelled a heavy breath and shook his head as though stunned by these new revelations which were, of course, not the least bit new to him. Though, to be fair, they had been less than an hour earlier, and his reaction then had been roughly the same. It was a clever display, however, for it allowed the spectators who had been all but holding their breaths to do the same.
“Now, Lieutenant Colonel,” Bellamy began once the courtroom seemed to have settled again, “while I am certain no one would wish to cast aspersions on the veracity of your claim that you have only just recalled these events, could you tell the court what prompted the sudden recovery of your memory?”
“My wife received a letter from Major General Alexander Macomb of the United States this morning.”
Several members of the panel exchanged astonished glances with each other at the mention of Macomb’s name. And now Shelley’s face displayed a reaction. That reaction was definitely fear.
“When I read its contents,” Geoffrey continued, “everything came flooding back to me.”
“I see, I see,” Bellamy murmured, nodding earnestly. He then made a show of lifting a piece of parchment from the table in front of him. “May I approach the witness?” he asked the judge advocate.
“By all means,” Acton said.
After handing the paper to Geoffrey, he asked, “Is this the letter in question?”
Her husband answered in the affirmative and handed the missive back to the solicitor.
“My lord,” Bellamy said, “I should like this letter entered into evidence as the defense’s first and, thus far, only exhibit.”
Hickinbottom shot up from his chair just as Bellamy started to hand the parchment to Acton. “Objection. The prosecution demands the right to review this so-called letter and determine its authenticity.”
The judge advocate gave the prosecutor a slightly withering look and said, “And you shall have the chance to do so. But we shall have a look at it first.” After accepting the sheet from Bellamy’s outstretched hand, the general perused it carefully before handing it on to the panelist seated to his right. The very elderly officer took out a quizzing glass to review the document before handing it on to the next officer down the line. This process took several minutes, and when the last judge was finished, he passed the letter on to a court officer, who turned it over to Hickinbottom.
While the prosecutor reviewed the letter, Acton said, “The letter appears to me to be genuine. It bears the seal of the United States War Office and is signed in the proper form for an official document.” He glanced at the rest of the panelists. “Do you concur, my lords?” They all nodded their agreement.
Hickinbottom, meanwhile, had finished reading the letter and was clearly fulminating at what he must see as an attack from his blind side. He shoo
k the parchment angrily. “This doesn’t prove anything. It’s meaningless. Even if it’s really from Major General Macomb, we cannot trust anything he says about the identity of a man who provided him material aid. Of course he would lie to protect such a man.”
The judge advocate merely smiled and nodded. “I agree, Colonel. Authentic or not, we have no reason to accept that any of the statements made in the letter are true. But the letter was not introduced into evidence because its contents either exculpate or inculpate any particular person, but because its contents appear to have been the catalyst for restoring the lieutenant colonel’s memory. And I, for one,” he added, turning to look at Geoffrey with sharp curiosity, “would like to know what it was in this letter that had such a miraculous effect.”
Her husband opened his mouth to answer, but Bellamy forestalled him by saying, “If you will allow the letter to read into the record, I believe the answer to that question can be made clear.”
“Very well, Mr. Bellamy. Proceed.”
Reluctantly, Hickinbottom handed the letter back to Bellamy, who in turn handed it Geoffrey. “Please read it for the court and then explain what it was in the contents that caught your memory.”
“It was Macomb’s reference to the traitor’s wish to return to civilization,” Geoffrey said after he had finished reading the letter, “that brought everything back. I remembered, suddenly and very distinctly, Major Shelley standing on the embankment, his trouser legs soaking wet, and telling me that the sooner the war was over, the sooner we could get back to civilization. And then the rest of what had happened that night seemed to fill in around that memory.”
Bellamy expressed his thanks, took the letter from Geoffrey, and gave it back to General Acton. “I believe we have covered everything, my lord.”
“Thank you, counsellor.” The judge advocate turned a weary gaze to the prosecutor. “I imagine you have questions, Colonel.”
“Yes, by God, I do.” Hickinbottom rose to his feet and fixed Geoffrey with an accusatory stare. “This is all a lie, isn’t it? You realized yesterday that your strategy of claiming memory loss wasn’t working and that you needed to turn the blame on your accuser if you were to get away with your crime. This letter…” he waved a dismissed hand in the direction of the podium on which the document now lay, “…is an excuse to explain how you suddenly remembered so clearly an event you claimed just yesterday was a blank to you.”
“I stand by my testimony.”
“I’m sure you do,” the prosecutor replied, his tone scornful. “But the question is whether you are to be believed. Your story keeps changing. First you don’t remember anything, then you do remember. First you are planning to turn yourself over to the U.S. military, then you are planning to return to Fort York, and yet you wind up doing neither. Really, Lieutenant Colonel, you still have no evidence whatsoever of your innocence, let alone of Major Shelley’s guilt.”
Her husband fixed Hickinbottom with a bland yet polite stare and said nothing, refusing to rise to the bait. Since the prosecutor had not asked an actual question, the silence stretched long enough for the judge advocate to lose patience. “Is this going somewhere, Colonel Hickinbottom?”
The colonel took a few slow breaths and shook his head. “I am finished, my lord.”
Laura suspected that truer words had never been spoken.
Chapter Thirty-One
“What now?” Geoffrey asked his solicitor in a whisper after stepping down from the witness box and returning to his seat.
Bellamy grinned with fierce glee. “You get Shelley to make a mistake.”
Me?
But before Geoffrey could express the question, Bellamy had risen to his feet and asked that Major Martin Shelley be recalled to the witness box. The judge advocate agreed, and Shelley rose and strode from the gallery to the stand. He was trying to project an air of insouciance, but Geoffrey had seen the reddened ears and tight jaw often enough during the months Shelley had been under his command to know what they portended. The major was coldly furious and also very, very afraid. The two emotions often went hand in hand.
After Shelley stepped into the box and affirmed that his understanding that he was still under oath, Bellamy rose to his feet and addressed General Acton. “I beg the court’s indulgence in granting an irregular request. I would like to ask that my client, Lieutenant Colonel Langston, be permitted to question to the witness rather than myself.”
What? Geoffrey stared at his solicitor in alarm, but Bellamy mouthed the words, Trust me.
The judge advocate’s reaction mirrored Geoffrey’s own. He gaped at Bellamy in open astonishment. “Why would you want us to allow that?”
Resting a heavy hand on Geoffrey’s shoulder—no doubt to keep him from leaping out of his seat and proclaiming loudly that he certainly didn’t want the panel to allow it—Bellamy assumed a guilelessly apologetic expression. “As your lordships must be aware, I learned of the events to which my client has just testified only shortly before you yourselves did. This means I have not yet had time to discuss this testimony with him so as to prepare myself to cross-examine Major Shelley on the discrepancies between his earlier statements and these new revelations. My client, however, is intimately familiar both with the facts he has presented to the court as well as with the details of Major Shelley’s service under his own command. It would take me at least a week to achieve a sufficient grasp of the facts and issues for an adequate cross-examination.”
Dear God, had the solicitor gone completely mad? He wanted Geoffrey, who had no training in the law whatsoever, to question the man he had just accused of committing treason and thought this was a good idea?
“Of course, if your lordships wish to grant a week’s continuance in this case,” Bellamy went on, with just the right emphasis on the words “of course” to imply this was absolutely not what they should or would want to do, “well, then perhaps…” He trailed off regretfully.
Geoffrey wanted to say he thought a continuance would be a grand idea, but the solicitor’s hand gave his shoulder an admonitory squeeze. I know what I’m doing, that squeeze said. Have faith.
Acton and the rest of the judges looked at one another, their expressions thoughtful. Hell and damnation, they were actually considering it.
No doubt seeing the same thing as Geoffrey, Hickinbottom sputtered something incoherent and said, “Surely you aren’t considering permitting this. If Mr. Bellamy needed more time to prepare to examine this witness, he should have requested a continuance before presenting Lieutenant Colonel Langston’s testimony. I certainly wasn’t given any time to prepare my cross-examination this morning.”
The judge advocate held up his hand. “Enough, Colonel. You know very well the prosecution is not entitled to examine the claims of the defense prior to their introduction in court. It is not at all the same thing. And as to Mr. Bellamy’s request…well, I can think of no reason to deny it. Provided, of course, the defense promises not to appeal this court’s findings based upon failure of counsel due to this unorthodox tactic. But it is inarguable that Mr. Bellamy is acting as Lieutenant Colonel Langston’s representative in this matter, and as such, should he wish to act on his own behalf in these proceedings, I believe he has a right to do so.” The grooves around Acton’s mouth and eyes deepened, and he fixed an earnest gaze upon Geoffrey. “Is this what you wish to do, Lieutenant Colonel?”
He felt a little queasy, but Bellamy had put on a brilliant performance thus far. Geoffrey would be a damn fool to start questioning his solicitor’s instincts now. And the more he considered it, the more he suspected Bellamy had the right of things. Shelley had no reason to like Bellamy, who’d made him look quite bad during the original cross-examination, but he hated Geoffrey. During the time they’d served together, Geoffrey had been well aware the other man thought him too lax when it came to disciplining the enlisted men and too strict in his demands of the officers. He hadn’t grasped the sheer weight of Shelley’s animus, however, until he’d realized t
hat, as much as Shelley wanted to escape punishment for his crimes, he wanted even more to see Geoffrey, in particular, pay for them.
A man that riddled with that much loathing would not respond well to being questioned by the object of his odium. Not well at all.
And the evidence for that, if he needed any, was the look on Martin Shelley’s face. He looked as if he had swallowed a combination of bile and excrement. As if the very notion of having to answer Geoffrey’s questions made him both furious and physically ill.
“Yes, your lordship,” Geoffrey said. “I would like to question Major Shelley.”
Acton nodded. “Very well. Please begin.”
Bellamy’s hand came off Geoffrey’s shoulder and he said in a low voice, “You’ve been watching me for two days. Ask him questions you know will get under his skin. When he leaves himself open, stick in the knife. You can do this.”
Geoffrey exhaled slowly and rose to his feet. “Major Shelley,” he began, “what did you think when you heard my testimony just now?”
Shelley’s eyes flashed and his nose wrinkled. “I thought it was the biggest pack of lies I ever heard. None of it happened, and we both know it.”
So much for telling the truth under oath, Geoffrey thought. “Does that mean you still hold to the version of a events you related to the court two days ago?”
“Of course I do. It is the truth.”
Geoffrey nodded thoughtfully. He was getting into the spirit of the thing now. “Could you explain again what brought you down to the riverbank on the night of September ninth?”
“I was doing my regular nightly rounds.”
“And when was it, exactly, that you began making regular nightly rounds of the encampment?”
Shelley swallowed. “I don’t recall.”
“But sometime after we set up camp north of the Saranac, yes?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. I’m sure I began doing so before then.”
Sleeping with the Enemy: Lords of Lancashire, Book 4 Page 23
