Treachery at Lancaster Gate

Chapter 14

When the trial resumed, Pitt took the stand immediately. He climbed the steps, faced the court, and swore to his name, rank, and occupation. He was aware of Alexander in the dock, white-faced and motionless. He knew that Cecily would be in the front seats of the gallery, with Emily beside her, somewhere that Alexander could see her.

Pitt glanced at Charlotte once; she was sitting with Vespasia. Then he turned all his concentration on Abercorn as he stepped forward and began what was intended to be his cornerstone of the prosecution.

“My lord,” Abercorn addressed the judge, “I shall not ask Commander Pitt more than necessary about the terrible carnage he saw when he arrived at Lancaster Gate on the day of the bombing. We already know exactly what happened from the two victims who survived that atrocity. Nothing could be more immediate or more accurate than their accounts. We have heard from the firemen, from the ambulance men, and from the hospital doctors. We need no more retelling of the horror and the pain.”

He gestured toward Pitt on the stand. “What I will ask Commander Pitt to tell you is how he investigated the crime, how he put together all the evidence and came to the inevitable and terrible conclusion that Alexander Duncannon was responsible for it. He, and he alone, did this thing. I have no doubt whatever that you will reach the same conclusion.” He gave a very slight bow, a tiny gesture of courtesy, and then he looked up directly at Pitt.

“This must have been extraordinarily distressing for you, Commander,” he began, his voice filled with sympathy. “You will have seen many disasters, many crimes, but these men whose shattered corpses you found were fellow police officers! Men exactly as you were yourself only a few years ago.”

Pitt thought of Newman’s body hunched up, broken. He could smell the charred flesh as if it had been moments since it had happened. His throat was so tight it was hard to speak. The question had come without warning, and he knew Abercorn had done this on purpose. It was brilliant theater. He appreciated it and hated him for it at the same moment. Please God Narraway would be as good at it when it was his turn.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Did you actually know any of the victims?” Abercorn asked.

There was silence in the courtroom. No one even fidgeted. Pitt was aware that the jurors were all watching him minutely, enthralled, and he had barely begun. He hated it. Everything depended upon him.

“Yes, I had heard the names of all of them, and I knew Newman and Hobbs personally,” he answered.

“It must have been terrible for you,” Abercorn dwelt on it for a moment, allowing the imagery to sink in. He did not leave it long enough for Narraway to object that it was not a question. “After you had seen the bodies,” he continued, “and made sure the survivors had been taken to hospital, and that the fires were out and the structure of the building, what was left of it, was safe to examine, what did you do next?”

“Looked for passersby, possible witnesses,” Pitt answered. “Unfortunately we learned very little of value. We also did all we could to find any remnants of the bomb, and to work out from the wreckage exactly where it had been placed.”

“Why? What difference did that make?” Abercorn sounded interested. He was not following the pattern he had discussed with Pitt. Maybe he did not wish it to sound rehearsed.

“The more you know about an explosion, the more likely you are to be able to deduce the ingredients of a bomb, the amount of dynamite used, the container, how it was detonated.”

“What good does that do?”

“There are not many sources of dynamite.” Pitt went on to explain the various types of bomb, how they were constructed and used. Abercorn did not interrupt him, and neither did Narraway. The public in the gallery were watching a drama unfold, whether or not they understood where it was leading.

Abercorn nodded. “The source of this dynamite, Commander-were you able to trace it, in this instance?”

“Yes-”

“Is one lot of dynamite different from another?” Abercorn interrupted.

“Not that you can tell, once it has exploded. But it is very carefully controlled,” Pitt explained. “No one can prevent the occasional theft, especially from quarries where it is used frequently. One doesn’t trace the dynamite so much as the men who steal it, sell it, or buy it. They are usually recognizable.”

“And Special Branch knows who deals in stolen dynamite?”

“Yes.” He did not qualify it. How many dealers they did not know was a matter of calculation. Abercorn had insisted that his testimony remain simple. Complication would confuse the jury. Not that Pitt needed telling that.

Abercorn paced two or three steps from the place where he had begun.

“And you traced the thief, the seller, and the purchaser of this particular dynamite?”

“As far as we could.” Carefully, in simple detail, Pitt recounted how they had traced the dynamite from the quarry from which it had been stolen, through the thief, his contacts among the anarchists. No one interrupted him. Narraway sat as if paralyzed. Pitt was careful not to look at him, except momentarily, out of the corner of his eye. He knew Vespasia was beside Charlotte, but he dared not even imagine what she was feeling.

“And it led you to Alexander Duncannon,” Abercorn said, unable to keep the victory out of his voice.

“Not quite. It led us to a description, one that could easily match Alexander Duncannon,” Pitt said.

Abercorn was not quite as comfortable as before. He resumed after walking a little less gracefully back to his original position in front of the witness stand.

“Did you question the accused about the bomb, the explosion, the fire, the deaths, and the appalling injuries, Commander Pitt? Did he deny that he was responsible?”

“Yes, I did question him, and he did not deny it,” Pitt replied.

“So you arrested him?”

“Not at that time. I looked for further proof.”

Abercorn’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?”

“He was ill, and I thought perhaps unstable,” Pitt answered. “I wanted to be perfectly sure, independently of his words, that he was actually guilty.” He took a breath. “And of his connections with any possible anarchists.”

“Ill?” Abercorn asked. “Do you mean insane?”

Narraway moved in his seat.

The judge leaned forward.

The jury, as a man, stared at Pitt.

Narraway said nothing.

Someone in the gallery coughed and choked.

“Commander!” Abercorn said loudly.

“I am not a doctor to know the answer to that,” Pitt measured his words carefully. “But it did not seem so to me, then or since.”

Abercorn smiled. “Quite so. Thank you.” He turned away, as if to go back to his seat. Then suddenly he swiveled around and faced Pitt again. “And may we assume that you found all the proof you wished for?”

“Yes.”

“And connections to any anarchists?”

“No, sir, other than the possible purchase of the dynamite.”

“But Alexander did lead a somewhat dissolute lifestyle…such as gave him acquaintance with anarchists, or he would not have known where to purchase dynamite?” Abercorn persisted. It was barely a question, more a conclusion.

“That would seem unarguable,” Pitt agreed.

“Thank you, sir. You have been most helpful.” Abercorn’s smile was that of a shark who had just eaten very well. “Your witness, Lord Narraway.”

Narraway rose to his feet and walked gracefully to the center of the floor in front of the witness stand.

“Thank you, Mr. Abercorn. Commander Pitt, your evidence has been commendably clear and concise. Nevertheless, there are a few points I would like to go over, and perhaps make clearer still.”

Pitt waited.

There was a silence so intense that one almost imagined one could hear the creak of stays as women breathed in and out, or the scrape of a boot sole on the floor as a foot moved an inch.

Narraway spoke quietly, as if all emotion were knotted up inside him.

“Your evidence as to the explosion in the house at Lancaster Gate is perfectly clear, and of the appalling injuries to the five policemen who attended the event in pursuit of an opium sale, which apparently never took place. It didn’t, did it?”

“No, sir.”

“But you pursued it? You attempted to find out if it had ever been a genuine piece of information?”

Abercorn rose to his feet. “My lord, surely it is clear to Lord Narraway that there was never any such sale intended? It was a feint, a lure to get the police to Lancaster Gate!”

The judge looked at him with an expression of impatience. “I think since we have heard so little from Lord Narraway, we should allow him to make this point.” He turned to Narraway. “Please continue, and if you have a point to make that is pertinent to the issue, then please let us hear it.”

“Yes, my lord.” Narraway looked at Pitt again. “Did you investigate this person known as A.D., and his information, Commander?”

“Yes, sir. It seems that he had supplied information regarding sales of opium on at least three earlier occasions, and on all of them his information had proven correct.”

“What relevance does this have to this case?” Narraway asked innocently.

“I did not appreciate how much at the time,” Pitt admitted. “It was a routine thing to check. But it did occur to me straightaway that since his earlier information had resulted in the arrests of several dealers, the police would expect the same to be true this time and send along a fairly large body of men to effect an arrest. Possibly they would be the same men as on the earlier occasions.”

“Seems reasonable,” Narraway agreed.

Abercorn moved restively in his seat, as if to stand up, and then changed his mind.

“And were they the same men?” Narraway asked Pitt.

“Probably. It wouldn’t be difficult to ascertain-”

This time Abercorn rose immediately. “My lord, I object most strenuously to Commander Pitt’s assumption. He seems to be suggesting that the dead and injured men were somehow responsible for their own fate. That is beyond appalling! It is inexcusable.”

“Really?” The judge looked surprised. “All I understood from the question was that they could have been a target, the cause of which might have been anything, but the most likely to my mind is revenge, possibly for any of their previous successes. They were very successful in their jobs, I understand?”

“Yes, my lord, but-”

“Your objection is heard, and denied, Mr. Abercorn. Please continue, Lord Narraway. Your point is made.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Narraway’s face was almost expressionless, nothing visible in it but concentration. He looked again at Pitt. “So these investigations, which my learned friend had you recount for the court, led you to the conclusion that the officers, both dead and wounded, were deliberately lured to the house in Lancaster Gate where the bomb was detonated?”

“Yes, sir,” Pitt agreed.

“And you discovered what materials were used in the bomb?”

“Yes, sir.”

Again Abercorn was on his feet. “My lord, I am happy to save the court’s time by stipulating to all the evidence previously given in his capacity as my own witness for the prosecution. Commander Pitt of Special Branch is an officer Lord Narraway knows very well, and when he retired he personally recommended Pitt to take his place. Is he now suggesting that Commander Pitt is in some way either incompetent or dishonest?”

There was a rustle of movement in the gallery and several audible murmurs of surprise, and dissent.

The judge looked at Narraway questioningly.

A flicker of apprehension shadowed Narraway’s face for an instant, and then he banished it. “Not at all, my lord,” he said to the judge. “But as any witness is required to do, he answered only the questions asked him. I would like him to explain a little further, with the court’s permission. I have not so far wasted the court’s time, my lord…”

“Indeed, it is more than time you took up a little of it,” the judge agreed. “But please make sure it is relevant. Do not use our time simply to make it appear that Mr. Duncannon has had adequate defense.” His tone was sharp, a reminder of his authority.

Narraway acquiesced with a gesture, and continued speaking to Pitt.

“You told my learned friend Mr. Abercorn that you followed all the lines of inquiry open to you regarding the source of the dynamite used in the bomb, and also the device used to detonate it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you questioned the anarchists known to you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you discover anything at all, any shred of evidence whatsoever, to indicate that they were involved, or could have been?”

“No, sir, nothing at all.”

There was a sigh around the room.

Abercorn smiled and leaned back in his seat, as if the danger had passed.

“You were led irrevocably, fact by fact, each one tested, to the conclusion that the bomber was Alexander Duncannon?” Narraway went on.

“Yes, sir, I was.”

Now the atmosphere in the court was electric. There were gasps of indrawn breath. Abercorn looked for an instant as if he could barely believe what he had heard.

The jury stared at Pitt, then at Narraway, then back to Pitt.

The judge was puzzled and unhappy. It was obvious that he was embarrassed for Narraway.

Pitt did not dare look at Charlotte, still less at Vespasia.

“Were you satisfied with the evidence against him?” Narraway smiled, looking deceptively innocent.

The judge frowned, waiting for the answer.

Pitt hesitated.

“Commander?” Narraway prompted him. “Was there some question in the evidence?”

“No. I was asked not to pursue the case against Alexander Duncannon by Commissioner Bradshaw,” Pitt replied. He had hoped to avoid saying this. He was convinced that Bradshaw had done so because his wife was also addicted to opium for pain relief, and he was afraid the prosecution of Alexander might reveal that. Perhaps they had the same supplier, and Alexander would be pressured to reveal him, and in so doing also cut off Bradshaw’s wife’s supply. The suppliers had the perfect weapon to blackmail the commissioner into anything! And God alone knew how many others. It might be incidental to Bradshaw that his own career would be ruined. He would face disgrace, but not financial ruin. He had considerable private means. Pitt believed it was genuinely his wife he feared for. For the first time since he had mounted the witness stand, Pitt was deeply worried about the unknown.

“Did he say why?” Narraway asked.

“It was a political matter which I am aware of but prefer not to discuss,” Pitt replied. That was not the truth, but he hoped Narraway would leave it alone. The danger was that Abercorn was aware of the truth and would use the exposure to discredit both Narraway and Pitt himself. He could feel the sweat of fear prickle his skin, and then go cold.

“Indeed.” Narraway gave a slight shrug and appeared to dismiss the subject. He walked back a few steps toward his seat, and then turned round. “From the time you first suspected Alexander Duncannon of the bombing that killed the three policemen, did Mr. Duncannon take any further action, so far as you know, Commander Pitt?”

Pitt swallowed. They were coming into the most dangerous territory at last. Everything depended on this.

“Yes. He set off another bomb in the Lancaster Gate area, but this time no one was injured.”

Narraway affected to look surprised.

“The evidence led conclusively to him? You are perfectly sure of that?”

Abercorn sat back in his seat and smiled. Now he thought he knew what Narraway was attempting to do, and was doomed to failure. Pitt would avoid that trap. He could not blame anyone else and thereby raise reasonable doubt as to Alexander’s guilt.

There was a palpable tension in the courtroom. Several jurors looked at one another and a couple even passed whispered comments.

The judge looked even more concerned. He waited for Pitt’s reply.

“There was very little conclusive evidence,” Pitt replied. “Not all the stolen dynamite had been used in the first explosion-at least that’s how it appeared.”

“That’s how it appeared?” Narraway said instantly. “That is hardly proof, Commander Pitt. Yet you say that Alexander Duncannon was guilty. Please explain yourself.”

Pitt was faced with accusing stares. This was the moment. Should he mention the beautifully initialed handkerchief? It was proof to him, as Alexander had meant it to be, but was it in law?

“He admitted that he set off the second bomb in the same area,” Pitt said simply.

Narraway’s eyes opened wide. “You asked him, and he admitted it,” he repeated. “Do you expect us to believe that?”

Now there were rustles, hasty whispers, and hisses.

“Silence!” the judge ordered sharply.

“I expect you to believe it, my lord.” Pitt looked straight at Narraway. “I believe your client will have told you the same. Whether the court does or not, I don’t know, and I can’t help.”

The judge leaned as far forward over the magnificent bench as he was able to.

“Lord Narraway, are you perfectly sure you are aware of what you are doing? I have told you before, no matter what…extraordinary behavior you exhibit, you have taken considerable pains to assure this court that you are competent to defend your client. I accepted your assurances, and your qualifications. I will not grant a mistrial because of your…eccentric conduct now! Do I make myself clear?”

Narraway was stiff, the tension in him like an electric charge in the air.

“Yes, my lord. I understand perfectly. I have no intention whatsoever of asking you for any kind of mistrial on such a basis…or any other.”

“Then proceed.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Narraway walked back a couple of paces toward the witness stand. “Commander Pitt, can you explain this…extraordinary statement? My client has given me leave to ask you this question. It will not be grounds for any plea on his behalf.”

Pitt took a long, deep breath, and then another. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. It was all up to him now. No one else could help Alexander, or find any kind of justice or even mercy.

“He had already admitted to setting the original bomb, which killed three police and terribly injured two more…”

There were gasps around the court.

Godfrey Duncannon was in the gallery today, apparently released from any possibility of being called to the stand. He rose to his feet, protesting, but his voice was drowned in the hubbub.

“I will have order!” the judge shouted furiously. “Lord Narraway, for the love of heaven, defend your client, or I shall be obliged to call for someone to replace you. This has become absurd!”

The tide of noise subsided.

Narraway stood pale-faced. “With the greatest respect, my lord, I am acting in what my client believes is his best interest.”

“You have not had him plead insanity,” the judge reminded him.

Abercorn was smiling.

“No, my lord,” Narraway agreed. “I do not think Mr. Duncannon was insane within the definition of the law.”

“I don’t know what you are playing at, man, but get it over with,” the judge said wearily.

Narraway looked up at Pitt. “He admitted to setting the bomb in the house in Lancaster Gate, the first one?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ask him why he had done such a…monstrous thing?”

“Of course I did. And why the second also.”

“And his reply?”

Abercorn rose to his feet quickly. There was now a distinct pallor to his face, as if he had at last seen the shadow on the horizon. “My lord, this has descended to farce! We cannot give the accused a platform to air his wild political opinions.”

“Sit down, Mr. Abercorn,” the judge ordered. “Commander Pitt is answering a perfectly reasonable question. You did not offer any motive for this abominable act. It is in order that his defense should offer it, destructive to his case as it may be. I cannot imagine anything that could be a justification. Can you?”

“Absolutely not, my lord!”

“Good. Then sit down and be quiet, so we can get this over with as quickly as possible. Narraway?”

“Yes, my lord. Please continue, Commander Pitt.”

“Yes, I did ask him,” Pitt answered. He was acutely aware that he might well get only one chance to say what he had to. Abercorn would do all he could to stop him. One slip and he would be silenced.

“And his reply?” Narraway prompted.

“I thought at first it was revenge,” Pitt began. He gripped the rail in front of him, aware that his knuckles were white, but it helped to hold onto it. “He was injured very badly in a riding accident and had been given opium by his doctor, to offer some ease for the appalling pain. He became addicted to it, as I am afraid often happens, especially when the pain itself will be for life.”

Abercorn stirred, but the judge glared at him, and he subsided.

Pitt went on quickly, “Nearly two and a half years ago he and a close friend found in affliction, also addicted to opium for pain, set up a meeting to purchase a further supply. When they got to the appointed place, they were met by a police ambush. Five men: Ednam, Newman, Hobbs, Bossiney, and Yarcombe. The drug dealer never appeared. It developed into a brief but fatal battle. A passerby, James Tyndale, a totally innocent man, was shot dead. Alexander Duncannon told me it was by one of the police. Alexander escaped. His companion, Dylan Lezant, who was close behind him, was less fortunate. He was tackled by the police and knocked senseless.”

“Really,” Abercorn began. “This is-”

“Be quiet!” the judge ordered. “Continue, Commander Pitt.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Pitt replied. “The police account of the incident said that Lezant was guilty of the murder of Tyndale. He was tried for it and, on police testimony, found guilty and hanged. Alexander said he was innocent. Neither he nor Lezant carried weapons of any sort. They had no need of them. The last thing a man desperately addicted to opium is likely to do is quarrel with the man who supplies him with the only release he knows from his agony.”

“And did you believe this…story?” Narraway asked.

“Not at first,” Pitt replied. “I and the policeman I most trusted, Inspector Samuel Tellman, investigated at some length. It was extremely disturbing. I was in the police for many years, and Inspector Tellman is still in the force. But we both found Duncannon’s story to be substantially true. Indeed, Inspector Tellman was personally attacked for his part in the investigation, and shot! He is still recovering from his injuries.”

Abercorn was on his feet and shouting now. “My lord, this is all hearsay! Pitt used to work with Tellman. It is-”

The judge held up his hand and Abercorn restrained himself with difficulty and ill-concealed fury.

“Is this hearsay, Commander Pitt?” the judge asked.

“No, my lord. I was informed of the battle by one of my own men and I went to the scene immediately. I took Mr. Jack Radley, MP, with me because he was visiting me at the time. When we arrived Inspector Tellman was cornered in an alley by several armed police and there was a great deal of shooting going on. We managed to rescue him, during which battle Mr. Radley was wounded in the arm. However, I’m sure he would testify to this knowledge of the event if you wanted to call him.”

The judge shook his head, his lips pursed. “It will not be necessary. I am far more concerned with your account of the battle two years ago in which James Tyndale was killed. If what you say is true, then there was a deliberate judicial murder of a man possibly guilty of being addicted to opium, but most certainly not of murder. This will require an extremely grave inquiry. An innocent man may have been hanged by police perjury and corruption.”

“Yes, my lord, I believe so,” Pitt agreed. “I have no doubt whatsoever that that is what Alexander Duncannon believes, and that he wished to be tried in this court in order to expose it.”

Abercorn would not be silenced any longer. He began to speak even as he was straightening to stand.

“That is absolute rubbish, my lord! No sane man would believe it. Why didn’t he protest to the court at the time of Lezant’s trial? Why was he not called as a witness for him? The answer is obvious. He was part of the crime, an accomplice at the very least. How can you give credence to any of this?”

Pitt answered before the judge had time to rule, or Narraway to ask.

“He was not called to testify at the trial,” he answered, speaking to Abercorn directly as if no one else in the huge room were there. “He wished to and was not allowed. Lezant refused, in order to protect him, and the prosecutor did not need him. I have that from the lawyer concerned. And he did try to take up the issue with the judiciary numerous times, and no one would listen to him.”

“He’s a drug addict, for God’s sake!” Abercorn all but shouted back. “Have you ever looked at where he lives? What he does? The gin-sodden alleys he sleeps in when he’s too far gone to find his own home? The drunken, drug-crazed company he keeps?”

“Yes, I have.” Pitt raised his voice back. “But far more important than that, and far more relevant, I’ve followed the course of the investigation into Tyndale’s death. I’ve seen how the police lied, mostly led by Inspector Ednam. I’ve followed the facts, and their story doesn’t make sense with the evidence-Alexander’s does. He tried over and over again to make someone listen to him, and they closed in a wall of lies or silence to cover their own disastrous error in shooting Tyndale. He was an innocent passerby, no more. The drug dealer never turned up, and was never caught.”

Abercorn was pale, a sheen of sweat on his skin.

“None of that, even if it is true, excuses what Duncannon did to these five policemen!”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Narraway agreed. “He knows that, and is prepared to answer with whatever remains of his life. He has kept his word to his friend, and his own honor. You cannot raise the dead, but Dylan Lezant will be pardoned. What a ridiculous expression! We will pardon him that we hanged him by the neck until he was dead-on the perjury and corruption of five policemen! Three of whom are also dead now, and the two others punished even more terribly.

“Alexander himself has been in excruciating pain of body since his accident, and will soon die, either on the end of a rope himself or in prison. Unless his lordship sees fit to put him in a hospital where at least some of his agony may be relieved.” Narraway’s face was filled with pity and his voice was hushed. “I am not sure if that is justice, but it is the best we have left to us.”

There was a silence of shock, grief, and perhaps fear in the room.

It was Pitt, remembering something from only a few moments ago, and then other things from further back, who spoke then.

“My lord, may I have permission to ask Mr. Abercorn a question, or if not, then to speak with Lord Narraway so that he may?”

“If it is brief, and has some relevance to this tragic matter,” the judge replied.

“Thank you.” Pitt turned to Abercorn. “Sir, you said that Alexander Duncannon lived a life of depravity, in gin-sodden alleys, half-crazed with drugs, filthy and desperate. If I quote your words out of order, I apologize.”

“Do you dispute it?” Abercorn challenged.

“No. No, I don’t. Opium addiction is a terrible thing. What I wanted to ask you was how you knew that?”

Abercorn froze for an instant, almost too small to notice. Then he let out his breath slowly.

“I have had occasion to observe opium addicts now and then, even to do what I could to help them.” His expression was one of torn emotions, rage and pity and deep, scouring pain. “I have learned that it is useless…” He stopped. For a moment grief overwhelmed him.

Pitt would have liked to give him the dignity of silence, but he would never again have this chance, and it must be taken. Other words came back to his memory, something Bradshaw had said about his wife.

“Your mother,” he said. “She died of opium addiction. You watched as a boy and could not help.”

Abercorn threw his head back and glared at Pitt with a hatred that was inflamed by grief and humiliation.

“It wasn’t her fault!” He almost choked on the words. “She was seduced by a promise of marriage, lied to, and betrayed for a woman with far more money. She was left with child, and disgraced. It was a hard birth and the pain never left her! I watched her die by inches. What would you have done?”

“Probably the same,” Pitt admitted. “And I would have hated my own father too. But, please God, I would not have taken it out on his son, your half brother.”

There were gasps. No one moved.

“You knew Alexander was addicted because you supplied him, as indeed you did Dylan Lezant and God knows how many more. You blackmailed him so he would never expose you. How much did you use Ednam to do your dirtiest work? You learned as a youth how to find opium, for your mother,” Pitt went on. It must be done now. There would never be another chance. Even so, the judge could stop him at any moment. “Ever more and more powerful doses. Did you really hate him so much, because he was Godfrey’s legitimate son, the heir to all that should have been yours?”

Now people were moving in the body of the court. Godfrey Duncannon was on his feet, his face purple with fury, but uncertain what to do. Beside him Cecily was staring at him as though she had never really seen him before, not clearly, not like this.

Then Cecily turned away and Emily put her arms around her, letting her hide her face.

Charlotte was on her feet too, holding Jack’s hand hard, not allowing him to interrupt Emily at this terrible moment.

Abercorn was dazed. At least he understood. The entire edifice of his dreams had crashed around him and lay in wreckage on the floor, and he knew who had done it, and how, and that there was nothing he could do.

It was Vespasia, ignoring everyone else, who walked gracefully across the floor to Narraway, signaling that the trial was over.

“You were quite brilliant, my dear,” she said quietly, but distinctly enough that those close to her could hear. “With Thomas’s help, I think you have achieved all the justice that is possible.” She looked up at the judge. “I daresay his lordship will accept your suggestion of a hospital for Alexander to live out whatever days he has left. Won’t you, Algernon?”

The judge blushed very faintly, and did his best to retain his composure.

“You are excused, Commander Pitt,” he said a little hoarsely. “I hope not to see you in my court again. You have made a complete shambles of this trial.”

“Yes, my lord,” Pitt agreed humbly, but he was smiling in spite of the pity that tore him apart.

“But you did it rather well, I suppose,” the judge added.

Pitt bowed his head in acknowledgment, and then made his way down the steps and across the floor to Charlotte.

She took his hand. “Very well,” she said softly. “Brilliantly.”