It was just after ten o’clock when Simon made his way to Huntley House. He hadn’t slept, and he’d had enough coffee by now for his heart to feel like it had been struck by lightning. In his jacket pocket was the additional piece of evidence he’d finally found against Mr. St. John a couple of hours earlier. It wasn’t enough on its own, but Simon hoped it would serve as extra ammunition.
Simon studied Fletcher, who sat across from him in the carriage. The man looked like he was being suffocated. “Try to relax. And remember to breathe. I won’t let Mr. St. John harm you in any way. Understood?”
Fletcher took a few breaths and nodded, but his anxiety was clear.
“Were you able to ensure the attendance of all the men you invited?” Simon asked Huntley once he and Fletcher had been shown into the parlor at Huntley House a short while later. A tea tray arrived, as did a coffee pot. Simon dismissed both for fear that his pulse would start vibrating faster than the plucked string of a violin. He took a sandwich instead, glad for the food since he’d not taken time to eat any breakfast.
“All have responded in the affirmative. Including Mr. St. John.”
Simon breathed a sigh of relief. “Excellent.”
“And the chief magistrate?’ Huntley inquired.
“He sent word that he would be here by eleven thirty,” Simon said. He offered the plate of sandwiches to Fletcher. Maybe focusing on the food would help him relax.
“Thank you.” Fletcher selected not only one sandwich but two.
Simon nodded. “You’re welcome.”
“I bet you’re anxious to have this over with,” Huntley murmured.
Simon met his solemn gaze. “You’ve no idea how pleased I’ll be once all of this is behind us and Ida is safe.”
The Huntley butler announced Guthrie’s arrival. The duke entered with the confidence of a man who’d taken charge of his own fate. “Good morning, gentlemen.” He dropped into a vacant armchair and looked at Simon. “You’ll be happy to know that I managed to encourage six men who’ve been witness to one or two dubious things at the Shadwell Gun Works to speak up. One even claims to have overheard Mr. St. John’s meeting with Baker.”
Simon blinked. “That’s excellent news.”
“The others insist Baker feared for his life.” Guthrie poured himself a cup of coffee. “I suspect Baker made the mistake of trying to get more money for the seals he made by blackmailing Mr. St. John with threats.”
“And these men are willing to come forward and make the claims official?” Simon couldn’t quite believe it.
“In exchange for payment of course.” Setting his cup to his lips, Guthrie took a long sip.
Simon waited until he’d returned the cup to his saucer before he said, “I’ll have to reimburse you.”
“Absolutely not.” Guthrie’s eyebrows drew together. His forehead creased. “I pledged myself to Ida’s cause after I learned of her plight, and I swore I’d do everything in my power to help and protect her. So consider this me doing my part.”
“Very well.” Simon wouldn’t argue. “Thank you. All of you. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.”
“Think nothing of it,” Huntley murmured.
On the contrary, Simon thought a great deal of the lengths these men were going to on his and Ida’s behalf. They weren’t related, he and Huntley hadn’t even been speaking with each other until recently, and yet here they were, eager to move both heaven and earth in order to help. It just went to show that people ought to be judged not based on a first impression, nor even by how they spoke or how educated they were, but by the nature of their character.
Ida had taught him that. She’d made him realize that he himself could be misjudged by those who chose not to venture beyond the façade he’d created. Beneath the stiff polish of perfection, he was a man with fears and flaws who relentlessly strove to do the right thing. That was what he’d always attempted to do, however misguided his goals might have been, or his blindness toward what mattered. Uncertain of himself, he’d allowed others to influence his opinions and his choices. He’d believed in a life he hadn’t wanted, a future destined to make him unhappy. Until she’d come along and opened his eyes.
God, how he missed her.
“It’s almost eleven,” Huntley said. His voice prompted Simon to shake himself out of his reverie. “Our guests will be arriving soon so we ought to start getting ready. If you’ll please come with me, gentlemen, I’ll show you into my study where you can be comfortable until it’s time for you to make your appearances.”
Fifteen minutes later, the butler escorted them back to the parlor.
Simon gave Fletcher a few last words of encouragement since the poor man was starting to look a bit green around the gills. The door was opened, the butler stepped aside, and Simon entered the room.
He strode forward, propelled by anger and frustration and a deep desire for justice. “Uncle, Kirksdale, Elmwood.” He greeted each man with a curt nod before directing the frostiest stare he could manage at Mr. St. John.
“I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us,” Elliot said. His expression was guarded and strained – a reminder of their disagreement and the anger they harbored toward each other. “And Windham is here too, I see. Whatever have we done to deserve such excellent company?”
“In case you’re unaware, the duke and earl are friends of mine,” Huntley said. “As such, I’m sure you’ll find a way to tolerate their presence.”
“Of course,” Kirksdale said while Elliot merely gave a tight smile. They served Fletcher a questioning look. All except Mr. St. John, who kept his face purposefully averted.
“Let’s pull up a few more chairs, shall we?” Elmwood suggested. He’d already gotten up and was looking around for the chairs in question, as if they might simply materialize from thin air.
“That’s quite all right,” Guthrie muttered. “I prefer to remain on my feet, over here by the door.
Mr. St. John rose. “I’ve actually just recalled a prior engagement, so I really must get going.”
“But you only just got here,” Kirksdale said.
“Feel free to use my chair, Lord Fielding.” Mr. St. John moved to step past Simon, only to find his path blocked.
“Sit. Down,” Simon snarled, his patience with the man facing him so far gone it might as well have travelled to the opposite end of the universe.
“Now see here,” Elliot said, pushing himself to his feet. “If Mr. St. John wishes to leave you’ll allow him to do so this instant. Really, I must apologize for my nephew’s lack of good manners. He’s been keeping bad company lately and it seems—”
“Be quiet,” Simon snapped. “If you’d listen rather than speak, you might actually learn a thing or two.”
Elliot blustered. “Well, I never. Your poor mother would be dev—”
“Enough!” Stepping back, Simon crossed his arms and glared at the assembled group. He took a few breaths to calm himself. Already his uncle and Mr. St. John had pricked his nerves, which wouldn’t help him at all. What he needed right now was a cool head. He glanced at Guthrie who merely shrugged.
Right.
“The doors have been locked,” Simon added in a more even tone. “Guards have been placed outside. Nobody leaves until the matter I wish to discuss with you has been settled.”
“You clearly have a great deal on your mind,” Kirksdale said, “but we’re here to listen to a business proposal of Huntley’s, not to your lamentations, so if you don’t mind, I’d like for the duke to begin his presentation.”
Elmwood coughed. “I have a sneaking feeling there isn’t going to be one.”
Kirksdale frowned. “Am I to understand we’ve been brought here under false pretenses, Huntley?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Well, that does it. You know, my instinct said not to trust you.” Kirksdale snorted. “You really are a disgrace to your title.”
“I’m sure you think so,” Huntley said with impressive calmness. He looked at Simon. “Go ahead and say your piece, Fielding. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner these men can be on their way.”
Simon straightened his back. “Four years ago, a man by the name of Matthew Strong was found guilty of treason. This past month, his daughter and I have been working to prove his innocence. Based on his own suspicions, we centered our investigation around the assumption that one of you,” Simon met Kirksdale’s eyes, then Elmwood’s, and finally Elliot’s, “had betrayed him. We assumed one of you was the real traitor, only to learn that we’d also been deceived.”
“Because Matthew Strong was guilty,” Kirksdale said. “And you were trying to prove the impossible.”
“On the contrary,” Simon said. “It was because we were following the wrong breadcrumbs. Matthew Strong was innocent. He never sent the forged letters that got him tried for treason. But neither did you. As it turns out, the man who aided in Napoleon’s escape was none other than Mr. St. John.”
“That’s a damned lie,” Mr. St. John snapped.
“As it happens, I have the evidence to prove it.” Simon gestured for Fletcher to step forward just as a knock sounded at the door. Guthrie opened it and the chief magistrate entered. Simon acknowledged his presence with a nod. “Excellent timing, sir. We’re just about to hear from the courier who passed the forged letters to Captain Murdoch. Please, Fletcher, tell us what you know.”
“This is a waste of time,” Mr. St. John said.
“We’ll see about that,” the chief magistrate said. “Fletcher, you may proceed.”
“Well, Mr. St. John here asked if I’d like to earn some more blunt. I used to work for him you see, at the Shadwell Gun Works.” Fletcher seemed to hesitate. He glanced at Simon who gave him an encouraging nod. Swallowing, he said, “When I agreed, he gave me two letters and asked me to make sure they reached the captains of the French and British guard ships positioned near Elba. It made sense to enlist the help of a British captain, so that’s what I did. A list of instructions was included.”
“What utter nonsense,” Mr. St. John said. “How much are you getting paid to say this?”
“Here’s that list of instructions,” Simon said. He handed the paper to the chief magistrate. “There are six other men outside in the hallway who are willing to add weight to Fletcher’s claim.”
“Preposterous,” Mr. St. John declared.
“A plan two years in the making and so crafty you almost managed to get away with it,” Simon said. “Matthew Strong believed one of his new friends, either Kirksdale, Elmwood, or Nugent, was to blame. He had no reason to suspect anyone else. Hell, I’m not even sure he knew who you were, Mr. St. John.”
Silence settled over the room. And then…
“Are you saying we enabled Mr. St. John’s plan simply by befriending Matthew Strong?” Elmwood asked with a hint of dawning insight.
“Don’t listen to him,” Mr. St. John said. “None of this is true.”
“We were your insurance,” Kirksdale muttered with a deepening frown. “The subsequent group of suspects in case Matthew Strong somehow managed to dispute the charges. One of us would have been the next likely suspect simply based on our association with him.”
“Thinking back,” Elmwood said, “I recall you saying that it would improve a man’s reputation if he were to befriend an uprising solider of Matthew Strong’s renown.”
“Of course it would,” Mr. St. John said. “The man was a hero. Until his greed got the better of him.”
“You can stop the charade,” Simon said. “Everything ties back to you.”
“We were manipulated right from the start,” Elliot said. He glared at Mr. St. John, who was looking remarkably relaxed for a man who was moments away from being arrested for numerous crimes.
“You were the first to suggest Matthew Strong be promoted, were you not?” Simon asked Mr. St. John. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he retrieved the newspaper clipping he’d found. He and Ida had looked it over countless times and dismissed it because they’d been looking for references made to Kirksdale, Elmwood, and Elliot.
“He deserved to be recognized for his military actions,” Mr. St. John said with a shrug.
“I don’t disagree. But that wasn’t really your motive, was it?” Simon noted the flicker of unease in Mr. St. John’s eyes and smirked. “You needed to place the man who’d take the fall for you in a higher position of power. The more well-liked he was, the greater the admiration for him, the more influential his circle of friends, the bigger the scandal once he was accused and the less likely people would be to look elsewhere. Isn’t that true?”
“Of course not.”
“You took advantage of Society’s biggest flaw – namely the fact that it cannot abide those who rise through its ranks out of nothing. The ton will do all it can to tear such people down if given the chance, which was exactly what you were counting on.”
Mr. St. John was back on his feet, red-faced and practically foaming at the mouth. “This is outrageous. I ought to call you out for defamation of my character.”
“My God,” Elliot murmured. “That’s why you sent me that note.”
“What note?” Simon’s head jerked around so he faced his uncle.
Elliot stared up at him, bewildered. “I told you I received news about Miss Strong from a friend.”
Simon shook his head, unable to recall the mention, perhaps because he’d latched onto something else instead. “You said you had her investigated.”
“And so I did. The note of warning I received about her sticking her nose where it didn’t belong and suggesting I’d played a part in her father’s conviction just confirmed what I’d discovered on my own.”
“I received a note as well,” Elmwood said.
“So did I,” Kirksdale muttered. “I have to say I was quite relieved to hear of her arrest.”
“I know that’s the real reason you chose to press charges,” Simon told Elliot harshly.
Elliot nodded. “You’re right. I got worried and grasped at the chance to stop her. But what I failed to mention because it didn’t seem relevant until now was that the note was written by Mr. St. John.”
“I was merely concerned for my friends’ wellbeing,” Mr. St. John told them.
“You needed a war so your business would prosper,” Simon told him harshly. “The only wellbeing you were concerned for was your own.”
“I think you ought to arrest this man,” Elmwood told the chief magistrate. “I never did think Matthew Strong was a traitor, and knowing he died for a crime you committed, Mr. St. John, makes me want to kill you myself.”
“You ought to know that the forger he used, a former employee of his by the name of Harold Baker, died immediately after he completed the seals,” Simon said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. St. John played a part in that too.”
“I think it’s time we removed ourselves to Bow Street, Mr. St. John,” The chief magistrate said. He took a step in Mr. St. John’s direction.
The man stood firm. “I’m not going anywhere other than to my own house. These accusations are entirely baseless and—”
“I’m happy to escort you to Newgate instead, if you prefer,” the chief magistrate said. He stepped aside and gestured toward the door which Guthrie had opened. “My men are waiting outside so I would suggest you come peacefully.”
“My solicitors will see that all of you pay for this,” Mr. St. John said as he left the room.
“Thank you for bringing Mr. St. John’s transgressions to light,” the chief magistrate said. “I’m just sorry it couldn’t have happened sooner and that an innocent man had to die.”
“I can only hope his daughter, Miss Strong, will be compensated somehow for her loss. Which brings me to another matter – namely the one regarding her recent arrest.” Simon turned to his uncle. “I hope you’re willing to drop the charges you made against her.”
Elliot stared back at Simon. “Nothing we’ve just learned changes the fact that she shot me. I could have died, Simon.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“She cannot be allowed to walk away unpunished. I won’t allow it.”
Everything inside Simon tightened to the point of snapping. “You won’t allow it?”
Elliot crossed his arms. “I’m not dropping the charges.”
“She was defending herself against you, a man who entered her home uninvited – one of three men she had every right to believe was trying to kill her. You’re lucky she only shot you in the leg. In fact, I’m beginning to wish she’d aimed for your head because then we would not be having this ridiculous discussion.”
“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.