SEVENTEEN

As Mrs. Marlowe pointed out,” the lanky lawyer continued, “the plaintiff, Miss Nora Turner, has nothing concrete with which to substantiate her allegations. Her delicate condition is irrelevant to the case at hand. Her only weapon against young Simon Longford—the only one—is credibility. If she were a married woman of proven moral rectitude, that weapon would be formidable. However, that is not the case.”

The word rectitude reminded Letty of Mr. Pettibone’s accusations about the unsavory character of the residents of New Hope. The lawyer’s next words made her shake with anger.

“Several of Nora Turner’s acquaintances are willing to testify that she is not a young lady of virtue, as she pretends to be. As a result, the jury must consider her allegations suspect.”

“No.” Letty scarcely recognized her own strangled voice. She leapt to her feet, hands curled into fists. “I will not ruin the girl’s reputation in order to win the case.”

Both men turned surprised eyes on her.

“Nora’s former life in Telford has nothing to do with what happened at New Hope,” Letty insisted. “She was given a clean start there, just like everyone else. If we dredge up mistakes from the past, it makes a joke of everything I’ve tried to accomplish this past year.”

“Madam, it is standard procedure in cases of this nature to attack the character of the accuser,” Mr. Wilkinson pointed out.

She shook her head stubbornly. “No. We will not win our case that way.”

Patrick studied Letty’s set face. Then he turned his attention back to the lawyer. “What other options do we have?”

Letty looked at him gratefully. Mr. Wilkinson picked up his pen and rotated it thoughtfully between his fingers. “The only one that might succeed is to offer the young woman a settlement. It certainly would be the quickest way to resolve the dispute—which, I assume, is what you prefer.”

Letty looked hopefully at Patrick, but now he was the one with the stubborn expression.

“Money might make Nora go away,” her husband said. “But if, as we suspect, another person is orchestrating this attack, he will simply find another way to besmirch us. Let the case go to trial and let the public decide who is guilty and who is innocent. If Simon is found innocent, the fact will clear not only his name, but ours.”

“But we are not on trial,” Letty interrupted heatedly. “Simon is. A helpless seventeen-year-old boy whose entire future hangs in the balance.”

“I disagree.” Patrick turned toward her. “It is very much we who are on trial—we, and our unorthodox ideas. Simon is merely a scapegoat for daring to be different.”

“Perhaps the choice should be his,” Letty argued. “After all, Simon is the one who stands to go to gaol when this is over.”

Patrick nodded reluctantly. “Very well. You are right, Leticia. We shall abide by his decision.”

Letty’s mouth was already open to argue further. She shut it with a snap. Patrick—agreeing with her suggestion? He certainly was an unusual man, she thought. Unlike her father, or any other male she knew. She looked at him with increased fondness. Maybe more than fondness. Her heart was beating quickly.

X

The lawyer accompanied them to the nearest gaol, which happened to be in Telford, a town that seemed even more dismal than it had on her previous visits. The cell door swung open to reveal a small room with Simon curled up on a stone bench built into the wall. At the screech of the metal door hinges, the youth jumped up, his face showing surprise.

“Mrs. Marlowe.” His eyes darted to the men behind her.

“Yes, Simon. My husband has brought someone from London to help you. This is Mr. Wilkinson, your lawyer.”

A glimmer of hope crossed the young face, mixed with caution. It was clear he did not dare expect too much.

Mr. Wilkinson settled himself on a chair the gaoler brought in. “Well, my lad, Mr. and Mrs. Marlowe have agreed to offer Nora a generous settlement if she will drop the charges against you. That is the only way to avoid a trial.”

Simon looked up with a glimmer of hope. Then a shuttered look came over his young face. “If I do, will Nora admit she lied?”

“We won’t know until we approach her with the offer. However, it is doubtful.”

Simon turned away as he considered the lawyer’s words. When he turned back, his face was set determinedly. “If I am innocent, I have nothing to be afraid of from a trial. Is that right?”

“Nothing is ever certain in a courtroom.” The lawyer’s words were as blunt as blows from a hammer. “The outcome is, after all, in the hands of the twelve men who sit on the jury. Unfortunately, Mr. Marlowe seems to think that because of the publicity surrounding New Hope, the jurors may be biased against you. The community has been portrayed as a den of licentiousness where no young woman is safe.”

Letty’s heart contracted as Simon’s face grew white. “Then offering her money to drop the case would make people think I was at fault in this … er … situation?” he said slowly.

“Not necessarily. If you are innocent, the young lady must think she stands to gain something by accusing you. By paying her, we ensure that she gains more by leaving you alone. Guilt has nothing to do with it.”

Simon’s eyes caught Letty’s. “I’m sorry for all the trouble, Mrs. Marlowe.” His voice was quiet. “What do you think I should do, ma’am?”

Once again, Letty felt the crushing weight of responsibility. How on earth could she decide for the boy? But he was waiting expectantly for her answer, and she could not let him down. “I would make the offer.”

Mr. Wilkinson nodded, pleased with her decision. Letty did not look at Patrick. She knew he would have chosen differently.

After they exited the gaol, Mr. Wilkinson took his leave of the Marlowes, explaining that he would seek out Nora Turner in private and make her the offer.

“Do you think I was wrong?” Letty asked Patrick. She had made what seemed the sensible choice, but inside she was not at peace. The bribe may keep Simon from the gallows, but it would mean tacitly admitting guilt to a crime he had not committed.

His answer did nothing to relieve her worry. “We shall soon find out.”

As they approached the waiting carriage, her eye fell on the small stone church where, only a year ago, she had persuaded Mr. Paley to help find people for her farm. Had the clergyman heard of the lawsuit? Did he regret having become involved in all this?

“I should like to pay our respects to the rector,” she told her husband.

“Visit a rector? No, thank you. I have a horror of clergymen, at least those I have heretofore met. Do as you please, but I shall visit that fine-looking bookshop over there. With luck, it may sell London newspapers.” Patrick took off with long strides, leaving her to visit Mr. Paley alone.

The clergyman’s pink cheeks and smile were as cherubic as she remembered. “So glad to see you,” he exclaimed, when she was ushered into his study. “What a shame about this terrible trial, and the bad publicity it has generated for you and your husband. I warned you, Mrs. Marlowe, did I not? But perhaps things will settle down eventually.”

“Yes,” Letty agreed, regretting her impulse to drop in. He was a friendly man, but not, perhaps, an altogether tactful one. She declined offers of cakes and tea, and after a short visit, left to rejoin Patrick. While crossing the graveyard next to the rectory, a bouquet of roses lying before one of the newer tombstones caught her attention. Particularly large and beautiful blooms, the flowers were of an unusual silver-pink color that, in Letty’s admittedly limited travels, she had only seen in one other place: Blackgrave Manor. The old gardener, Henry, told her they’d been hybridized on the estate and that they existed nowhere else.

Drawn by curiosity, she approached the tombstone. Who could have placed the flowers there? She stooped and read the inscription on the modest marker. It was brief: the woman’s name, and the date of death. Next to it was a small, nameless child’s marker, almost overgrown by grass.

Letty caught her breath. The date on which the woman and child had died was her own birthdate, June 23, 1824. With a quicker beating heart, she read the woman’s name again. Flora Chambers. Chambers.

Letty forgot her annoyance at Mr. Paley’s clumsy attempts to comfort her. The last name was the same as that of her old nurse, Susan Chambers. Another coincidence?

Her mind began to spin. Might these graves hold the answer to questions that had plagued her for so long, questions that had brought her to Grayton and led to the building of New Hope? The flower-bedecked headstone might hold the key to everything she had been searching for since that night, so long ago, when she had dreamed—or not dreamed—that Susan pulled her out of bed and taken her on a journey in a smelly donkey cart.

A few yards away, across the small graveyard, an old man was raking leaves. Letty made her way toward him.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you …” She cleared her throat. “Do you know any relatives of the woman who is buried over there? Flora Chambers?”

He looked at her with surprised red-rimmed eyes, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Flora Chambers? Why yes. A pretty young woman, she was. She passed away nigh on twenty years ago, and ’twas I who dug her grave. Her sister lives not half a mile from here, in a cottage just on the outskirts of town.”

“Her sister?” Letty swallowed. “Do you know her sister’s name?”

“Why, of course I do. Susan Martin, the butcher’s widow.”

“Su—” Letty could not get the word out. She took several breaths before being able to continue. “Susan, you say? Susan Martin?”

“Well, her name was Susan Chambers before she married fifteen years ago. The couple was very happy together till he died a year past. That’s his grave, yonder.” He pointed.

X

After getting directions from the groundskeeper, Letty wanted to rush to Susan’s house immediately and confront her old nurse—for she was certain that was who Susan Martin was. But fear held her back. After all this time, did she really want to know the truth? The discovery might upset everything about her world. Rather than act precipitately, perhaps it was better to sleep on the decision. Yes, she decided. It was better to wait and think about what to do next.

“What’s wrong?” asked Patrick, looking at her face when Letty returned.

“N-nothing.” She did not want to let on how shaken she felt, or why. Patrick accepted her response, shaking out the newspaper he’d just purchased and reading in silence as the carriage rattled homeward. Thoughts and emotions roiled inside Letty’s head, however, until finally, without preamble, she blurted out, “What do you think of mixed marriages, Patrick?”

Frowning, he lowered the newspaper. “Mixed marriages? What do you mean?”

“Those between the high and lowborn in station.”

“What an odd question. It’s not something I have frequently considered, since such alliances are extremely rare. They are not altogether unheard of, of course; I have heard of marriages between widowers and their housekeepers, for example. Some of those unions have allegedly been successful, despite society’s disapprobation. However, I can’t say I approve of them myself.”

Letty bit back another question and shrank back in her seat. “I see,” she muttered.

“What is it, Leticia? It is clear that something is bothering you.”

“You are mistaken.” Letty’s voice was small. In silent misery, she stared out the window at the landscape rocking by.

X

To their disappointment, a message from the lawyer, Mr. Wilkinson, arrived saying that Nora had turned down the offer for a settlement. As far as Letty was concerned, that left only one explanation for the girl’s actions. Nora was in love with Lord Clapham—or whoever the guilty party was—and the girl was willing to do whatever the older man asked.

She remembered that Mary had said the “strange gen’lmun” had promised to wed Nora as soon as he completed his unnamed business. No wonder the young woman had felt confident enough to turn down the settlement. Perhaps Nora naively believed her rich suitor’s empty promise, expecting loyalty to be rewarded by marriage. Letty almost felt sorry for her. Almost. At any rate, now there was no turning back. The trial was set, and the course of events was out of Letty’s hands.

But the trial was not the only thing on her mind. She could not forget the grave with the name Flora Chambers, or that the groundskeeper had said Susan was alive, the only person who might be able to reveal any secrets about her past.

The next morning, while Patrick was writing in his office, she left a note saying that she had taken a carriage to Telford. He would think it odd that she’d taken such a long journey again so soon, but she could wait no longer.

Letty asked the coachman to drop her off in town, and walked the last distance so no one would know where she had gone. This part of Telford was cleaner than the streets near the factory, the homes prosperous and tidy. Susan Martin’s thatch-roofed cottage was set apart by a small gated garden and a cherry tree covered with fragrant pink blossoms.

Letty stood in front, her pulse pounding. Several times she turned away, but at the last moment something kept drawing her back. Finally, she gathered her courage and knocked at the door.

The gray-haired woman who answered with a puzzled look seemed so familiar that Letty almost broke down weeping. “Susan! Don’t you know who I am? It’s me, Letty Leighton.”

The woman stared. Then she gathered Letty into her arms, and the years fell away.

X

Ensconced in an overstuffed chintz chair and plied with tea and scones, Letty studied her former nurse. “Why did you never tell me that you lived so close by?” Letty asked after they had caught up on the years that had passed by. So far, she had not mentioned a word about the other question that burned underneath.

Susan paused before answering. “I … I did not think it was wise to contact you again. But I thought of you often over the years, my dear.”

“Oh Susan! You must tell me the truth. Who was that dead woman buried in the churchyard, Flora Chambers?”

Susan grew pale, and she set down her tea cup so abruptly that it clattered in the saucer. “Now, Mrs. Marlowe, why would you ask such a question?”

“Please, you must call me Letty, like you did when I was small. I’ve never forgotten that ride in the donkey cart, Susan, or that poor old woman who said she was my grandmother. You told me that it was only a dream, and I tried to make myself believe so, but deep inside, I knew.”

Susan rose and took the tea things into the other room. After a few minutes she returned, sat next to Letty, and took her hand into her own, searching Letty’s eyes deeply.

“I suppose you’ve a right to know. Flora Chambers was your mother, my dear. My sister.”

Letty couldn’t breathe. It was what she had suspected, but to have it confirmed felt like a blow to her stomach.

Susan was still speaking. “I was against taking you to visit your dying grandmother that night, my dear, but she insisted. Said she had a right to lay eyes on the wee child who carried our blood. ’Twas her last wish, and I could not refuse. I hoped you were too young to remember.” Susan sighed deeply. “Ah, lambkin, you must never tell a soul. Imagine what would happen. The scandal, the unhappiness for everyone—especially for you.”

So it was true. She was born as part of the lower class. Endless questions whirled in Letty’s mind as she thought about how different her life would be if she had been raised in Telford.

Then her thoughts turned to Patrick. What would his reaction be if he found out? He was a good man, but hadn’t he said he did not approve of marriage between those of different classes?

Letty swallowed. “How did it happen, Susan?”

Susan hesitated again. “Your mother never told us who your father was, and she died giving you birth. I had been hired as a nurse to Mrs. Leighton’s child, but as fate would have it, that very night she died in childbirth too. The lady’s poor babe, a wee girl, drew only a few breaths before it perished. In all the commotion as the doctor tried in vain to save Mrs. Leighton, no one noticed except me.”

Susan let go of Letty’s hands. “Perhaps ’twas the devil that put the idea in my heart, but I couldn’t help but think, ‘There at my home lies a newborn girl-child with no parents to raise it now that my dear sister is dead. And poor Mr. Leighton will have such heartbreak when he finds out that his own child is gone, along with his wife.’ It seemed best for all parties, so I took the dead child with me, placed her with my sister, and brought back the living one. No one ever knew, except me mum and me cousin, Jim, God rest him, who helped me make the exchange.”

Susan smiled at Letty with sad eyes. “So now you know I’m your auntie, my sweet, and have loved you dearly all these years. But I’d give anything for you not to have discovered the truth.”

“Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free,” Letty quoted under her breath from the New Testament. But how could this truth set her free? If anything, she felt like a prisoner, holding in secrets that must never be told.

After a long visit, she fondly kissed Susan farewell. It was not up to her to judge the actions of the former nurse—her aunt—for good or ill. Susan had done what she thought was best, and Letty knew she should be grateful to have grown up with the privileges a child of her rank would otherwise have lacked.

One thing she was sure of, however. Patrick must never find out. If he learned who she was, he would either divorce her or stay married to her out of pity. The thought of either fate made her writhe inwardly. Perhaps her entire life had been revealed to be a lie, but at all costs it must continue as such, not for her own sake, but for Patrick’s. His reputation, already shaken, would be ruined if the truth got out.

At least, Letty thought, twisting her fingers anxiously in her lap, her undeservedly lofty position might help save a young boy whom she had unwittingly exposed to ruin.

X

Several weeks passed without event, until the circuit judge arrived. The night before Simon’s trial began, Letty tossed and turned all night. She was determined to attend, although Patrick had suggested they stay home. “Being there will only show our interest in the case,” he pointed out. “Perhaps it is better to feign detachment.”

But Letty would not consider staying home. Simon needed friends, and besides, Mr. Wilkinson hinted he might wish to use her as a character witness. Aunt Caroline would be chagrined to see her niece appear in a public courtroom, especially in a sordid case like this, but Letty knew that she could not in good conscience stay away.

She was up and dressed before the sun rose, and was pleasantly surprised to find Patrick waiting by the carriage in the courtyard when she emerged from the house. From the dark circles under his eyes, she suspected he had slept as little as she had. After all, Letty remembered, the outcome of the trial stood to affect him far more than it did her.

Another surge of guilt passed through her. So many other people’s lives had been changed by the choices she had blithely made, so sure that everything would be for the best!

Patrick supported her elbow as she stepped into the coach, and she threw him a grateful glance. He had been surprisingly helpful through the whole ordeal, she thought, with a feeling of warmth. Another husband might have been angry about her dragging his family’s name through the mud. She could hardly imagine how she could have managed without his calm optimism.

X

The courthouse, a two-story structure with broad front steps that was no grander than befitted a medium-sized factory town of middling importance, was packed with curious onlookers, including a few members of the gentry.

Familiar faces from New Hope mingled in the crowd, including those of Frank Hazell, Eliza Hobhouse, Antoine, and Miss Woods. They turned to smile at her. Letty knew it was Simon whom they had come to support. Nora Turner’s arrogance and selfishness had cost her the sympathy of her former friends and those who otherwise might have supported her.

At the front, Simon Longford sat next to his attorney, head bowed, seemingly unaware of the presence of friends and detractors alike. He looked tired as he gazed at the floor. Behind him, his sister, Ada, bit her lip, sitting next to their stoic father, Jim Longford, who was wearing an ill-fitting city jacket and trousers that he must have borrowed from someone, perhaps Antoine. The fabric pulled tight across his powerful shoulders, and showed several inches of tanned wrist, but he looked dignified for all that.

He whispered something in his daughter’s ear—words of comfort, perhaps. Ada nodded, but her clenched hands did not relax.

Patrick guided Letty to a bench in the back, where they had barely settled themselves when the noisy chatter died down and all arose. The magistrate entered in his flowing black robes, his sharp gray eyes set in a network of fine wrinkles under the tightly curled horsehair wig.

Then the battle began. It was worse than she had expected. Mr. Pettibone was one of the first to testify. Under the prosecutor’s encouraging questions, he hurled the same invective as before. As the accusations spewed, he turned and looked over the audience as if searching for something. Then his cold gray eyes found Letty and skewered her.

She had no doubt that by now he believed she had deliberately corrupted the denizens of New Hope. She had not attended church services since the day of his first fiery sermon, and if the vicar had once been willing to believe her innocent of the “crimes” of her followers, he was no longer.

When he finished, Mr. Wilkinson rose to his feet. “May I ask what are the sources of your information?” he asked, his tone deferential.

“Why, my own eyes. Many a time, I’ve seen men from that devil’s playground frequent the pub in Grayton, and stagger out stinking drunk.”

George Speakman and his friends, Letty thought with a sinking feeling. The fact that those incidents had been long ago would sway no one.

Fortunately Mr. Wilkinson was not finished. “Have you witnessed any drunkards leave the pub who were not from New Hope?” he demanded.

Mr. Pettibone blustered. “Well, of course. It was a pub, after all.”

The barrister turned to the jury. “The vicar has made my point. The failings of some of New Hope’s residents are no different in degree or kind than those of the residents of Grayton.”

Mr. Wilkinson moved on. “As for the looseness of moral character of the women of New Hope, Mr. Pettibone, is that something you also had occasion to witness for yourself?”

The prosecutor roared his objection. The tall attorney apologized and rephrased the question more gracefully, but his black eyes twinkled irreverently.

“Of course not.” Mr. Pettibone harrumphed. “But I’ve heard it on good authority.”

“On whose authority, exactly?”

“Well … it is common knowledge.”

“Gentlemen of the jury, I have established that the vicar has nothing to contribute but hearsay and prejudice.” Mr. Wilkinson dismissed his blustering witness. Then he turned his eyes in Letty’s direction. “If it please your honor, I should like to call Mrs. Marlowe to the stand.”

Letty had been prepared for this moment, but a feeling of apprehension swept over her nevertheless as she stood and made her way toward the front. She took the oath, and sat herself, looking apprehensively at the curious spectators. The last thing she wanted to do was to add to the notoriety of the occasion, but her appearance today would certainly do so. She could imagine how the newspapers would report her presence. “Female Cult Leader Defends Depraved Follower” would be the mildest of the headlines.

A couple of men in rumpled and stained frockcoats scribbled madly in their notebooks, and she had no doubt they were newspaper reporters from Fleet Street.

“Mrs. Marlowe, how many people reside in the settlement you call “New Hope?” Mr. Wilkinson inquired, stepping before her.

“Thirty-four at present, including three infants.”

“Are any of those infants ‘natural’ children?” He deliberately used the euphemism for the offspring of unwed parents in order not to offend the ears of respectable women who were present.

Letty glared at Mr. Wilkinson. “Indeed not. In spite of what Mr. Pettibone stated, we strictly uphold the sanctity of marriage.”

“Is it true that conduct at New Hope is of a coarse, crude nature, and that you encourage its people to ‘indolence’ and ‘depravity’?”

“Just the opposite.” Her fingers tightened on her lace-edged handkerchief. “Before any residents were allowed to live at New Hope, I required them to sign a contract promising they would live by the highest standards, including honesty, virtuous behavior, and hard work. Overall, I believe most of them have done their best to uphold those standards.”

“Then, madam, are any of the allegations about New Hope that we have heard today true?”

“Not one of them.”

Mr. Wilkinson asked her several specific questions with regard to the rules and activities at the farm. After a brief cross-examination by the prosecutor, which failed to disprove anything that Mr. Wilkinson had shown, Letty swept down the aisle, hoping the London barrister had successfully established that, if not perfect, at least New Hope was not the den of vice that it was reported to be.

Patrick squeezed her hand warmly as she took her seat.

“Spectacularly done,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ve never seen such a marvelous display of moral indignation. I quite shuddered with it myself.”

Letty’s tension lifted as she found herself smiling back at him. His eyes were very deep blue, like a midnight sky. Feeling a surge of that strange emotion that confused her whenever Patrick touched her, she drew her hand away and began to fan herself with her handkerchief. The room had grown quite warm.

When Nora Turner was put on the stand, Letty’s rising confidence vanished. The normally bold young woman appeared vulnerable and shy. Her bright red-gold hair was pulled into a neat coil at the nape of her long neck, and she wore a modest, high-collared dress. Nora dissolved into uncharacteristic tears as the prosecutor apologized for the necessity of offending her delicate sensibilities by making her relive the traumatic events in public.

“Please tell the jury what happened that night, Miss Turner,” Mr. Davies said.

Letty sat up straighter. It was the first time she had heard the details of Nora’s story firsthand.

Nora faltered. “Simon … the defendant, sir … he was always chasing after me. But I wouldn’t have none of him, sir. He was too young, for one thing, and for another … his intentions weren’t honorable. One night, when I’d turned him down again, he got angry. He grabbed me and …” She burst into tears.

Simon buried his face in his hands. Unmoved by Nora’s story, Letty was coldly impressed with the girl’s command of histrionics. Nora was an incredible actress, who would have done well on the London stage.

The prosecutor apologized again, and handed Nora a large handkerchief from his own pocket.

She dabbed at her eyes. “Must I go on, sir?”

“I quite understand your reluctance to proceed. May we call a recess, your honor, to spare this young woman’s dignity?”

“It’s all right, sir,” said Nora, abruptly putting down the handkerchief. “There isn’t much else to tell. I had hoped to put it all behind me, but when I realized the consequences …” She glanced down at her rounding waistline … “I couldn’t ignore it no longer. That’s when I decided to press charges.”

The lanky London defense attorney, Mr. Wilkinson, rose for the cross examination.

“Miss Turner, you claim that Simon Longford followed you everywhere, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then why can’t the prosecutor produce a single witness who will testify to that fact?”

There was a stir of interest in the courtroom.

“Well, sir, he didn’t try nothing when other people were around.”

“But there were always people around, is that not so? After all, New Hope is a communal society.”

“I’d often go for a walk by myself. Or he’d wait until I was in a dark corner.”

“But no one ever saw him with you alone? Not even one time?”

Nora shrugged.

“And when did the attack allegedly take place?”

Her eyes narrowed at the word allegedly. “I don’t know the exact date. It must have been about three months ago.” Nora touched the slight curve of her belly.

“Did you tell anyone about the attack immediately after it took place?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

She looked uncomfortable. “I … suppose I was ashamed. It’s not the kind of thing you want to tell people about.”

Letty looked at the girl more closely. It was the first thing Nora had said that had the ring of truth. Surprised, she felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy.

“Did you save anything from the attack? A torn frock, anything that would prove your story? Did anyone notice any bruises, or other marks? Who can come forward to substantiate your story?”

Nora was silent. Several of the jurors glanced at each other or leaned forward to study her face. It had been a careless lapse on the part of whoever had put her up to this, Letty thought, not to invent some sort of evidence. A torn dress or bruises should have been easy to supply, authentic or not, and they would have bolstered her case.

Mr. Wilkinson lowered his notes and looked directly into the girl’s eyes. “Miss Turner, remember you are under oath. You had a lover, did you not? Someone who was not from New Hope. Who was he?”

Her pause was almost imperceptible. “There was no one, sir.”

He pressed her more, but it was clear Nora would say no more. Finally Mr. Wilkinson turned away with contempt. “Thank you, Miss Turner.”

The last witness was Simon Longford. Pale and disheveled from his long weeks in prison, untrimmed golden hair curling over his ears, the boy fidgeted nervously in his seat and was unable to meet anyone’s eyes. Although Letty was convinced of his innocence, she noted with worry that Simon must look the picture of guilt to everyone else.

“Mr. Longford,” the prosecutor said, consulting his notes, perhaps for theatrical effect, “Miss Turner claims that you often pestered her for—er—displays of affection. Is that true?”

“No, sir,” said Simon promptly, his voice unexpectedly firm.

“Why would she say such a thing if it weren’t true?”

“I don’t know, sir. I’ve been wondering that myself.”

“She is pretty, isn’t she?”

“I …” He looked confused. “Yes, of course she is. Very pretty.”

“Then why weren’t you interested in her? Don’t you like pretty young ladies?”

Simon looked bewildered. “Of course. It’s just that … I haven’t time to get involved with that sort of thing right now. Because of my ambitions.”

“Ambitions.” Mr. Davies made an exaggerated look of surprise for the amusement of the audience and the jury.

“Yes, sir. Mrs. Marlowe offered me a chance for an education,” Simon explained in a low voice almost drowned out by their laughter, “and so everything else must wait.”

“An education! Tell me, Mr. Longford. Is it not true that before coming to New Hope, you were a stable boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You speak of an ‘education.’” Once again the barrister’s voice dripped contempt. “Do you plan to attend a charity school, then?”

“No sir.” Pride charged Simon’s voice. For the first time he raised his chin and looked at the lawyer directly. “I have already been accepted at a university in the north of England.”

Patrick turned and looked at Letty, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

Shrugging, she whispered, “We’ll find the funds somehow.”

To her relief, Patrick did not seem overly upset. Once again, Letty marveled that she had married a man so different than all the others she had known. “I thought I was marrying an heiress.” Humor tinged his voice. “Instead, I do believe you will bankrupt me with your acts of charity, my dear.”

Mr. Davies raised his eyebrows as well as he addressed Simon. “You have been accepted to a university?”

“As I said, Mrs. Marlowe has offered to pay, sir, but I plan to reimburse her later, when I am employed.” Simon searched for Letty in the audience, and sent her a grateful smile.

“Reimburse her? A university costs more than a few tuppence, my lad. I highly doubt you will manage it on a stable boy’s wages.”

The courtroom erupted in laughter. Simon’s face turned scarlet, but to Letty’s relief, he did not respond to Mr. Davies’ taunts. The prosecutor’s face grew serious again, and he picked up a large, black leather-bound Bible and dramatically brandished it for all to see. He flipped through its pages, and read aloud.

“Servants, be obedient to them that are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in singleness of your heart, as unto Christ.” He set the book down with a flourish. “Do you not agree, Mr. Longford, that the duty of a servant is to remain in his station? After all, it is necessary that some should be above others in this world—it is the nature of things. Was it not the will of the Almighty to place you in a state of servitude?”

Simon did not answer. His jaw jutted out and his sandy brows descended into a rebellious line.

“You decline to answer?”

“No sir, I simply don’t agree. Mrs. Marlowe told me the Bible doesn’t forbid anyone from trying to improve his situation.”

Another gasp went through the courtroom. The defendant and his mentor had seemingly contradicted the Holy Bible.

The prosecutor turned, holding his palms upward. “I submit to you, members of the jury, what happens when a servant forgets his place—and may it serve as a warning to us all. When one sets aside the order of things, it frees one to all manner of hellish abuses.”

Mr. Wilkinson was on his feet in an instant, and the magistrate upheld the London lawyer’s bellowed objection. Still, the prosecutor’s comment had had its effect on the middle-class members of the jury, who turned to peer balefully at the defendant. The line of questioning continued, consisting of little more than humiliating Simon, who was reduced to monosyllabic answers.

Finally the prosecutor was done, and Mr. Wilkinson stepped up to the rail. Under his gentler questions, Simon began to relax.

“Is it true that you pursued Nora?”

“No.”

“How would you describe her attitude toward you?”

“At first, she’d often come up and talk to me when we were working. She’d hint that …” Simon broke off, and blushed.

“That… ?” Mr. Wilkinson prompted.

“I thought she was interested in me as a … as a lover,” Simon muttered. “But after a while, she left off.”

“Did that bother you?”

“No,’ the youth said promptly. “I thought she must have found someone else.”

“Who was this other person?”

“To be honest, I never wondered. It was a relief to be left alone.”

“Thank you, Simon. That is all.”

The defendant was the last witness of the day. The magistrate thumped his gavel, saying that the trial would continue the next day, followed by the jury’s decision. The crowd, disappointed to have to wait, began to file out the narrow aisle, loudly debating what they had seen.

If not for Mr. Wilkinson’s expert defense, Letty was sure the trial would have lasted an hour or less, with swift judgment against Simon. Perhaps the intervention of two of the most influential people in the district had encouraged the judge to extend the trial far longer than such an unimportant crime would usually warrant. Even so, she felt the day had not gone well. Nora’s dramatics had been effective, and the jury seemed critical of Simon. Had she not known the boy so well, she would probably have come down on the girl’s side herself.

X

Back home, Patrick’s face was strained when they parted and he headed upstairs. She knew he would likely be up late making the final revisions to his manuscript before leaving for London, only four days from now. As for Letty, she was too nervous to sit still. One of the new parlor maids looked up curiously from her dusting when her mistress walked into the parlor for the fourth time for no apparent reason, and, embarrassed, Letty turned and escaped outside.

Her steps took her down the long winding garden path, to the edge of the lake where she had spoken in private with Mary. The reeds were tall there, and Letty thought it made sense that Nora had chosen the spot to meet her lover. It was lovely and secluded. She sat on one of the rocks to rest, then quickly stood up, realizing it was the one Mary had pointed out as where the “strange gentleman” had sat while waiting for Nora to arrive.

Just then Letty saw a glitter among the reeds. At first she thought it was golden sunlight dancing on the water, but the object glittered again, and she realized it was something metallic lodged between the tall green stalks.

Curious, she swept them apart with her hands to investigate. By luck, the sun struck it again: a slender chain coiled at the base of one of the plants. If the sun had passed behind a cloud, it would have remained invisible. Draping the necklace across her palm, Letty admired its beauty. The chain was braided and twisted in a fanciful way, with a carved locket hanging from its end.

Wondering what was inside, she opened it and found two coiled locks of hair, one red-gold, the other brown. She turned it over and saw the back was inscribed, “To my beloved.” There were no initials.

“Ye’ve found it then.”

The deep, cracked voice made her jump. Letty twirled, clutching the locket closer.

Henry chuckled. “Just now, ye looked as she did. Desperately crawlin’ on your hands through the reeds, as if everything depended on it. But ye’re the one who found it, while the other lass went home empty-handed. But that be the way of things, ain’t it? Nothin’s fair, not in this life nor the next.”

“She?”

“One of yer new ones, there, what ye brought here.” He nodded his grizzled head toward New Hope. “The lively one with the red hair. Her gentleman friend did give the trinket to her, and no sooner had he left than she took it off to look at it and dropped it in the reeds. Careless of her.”

Henry seemed to read Letty’s thoughts, as if her face was registering every emotion. “Yes, I saw them in this very spot, many a time, her and her fellow, but never did they know it. I’ve been watching you these ten minutes past, nor did you ever know it neither. Not till I wanted you to.”

She wanted to curse his secrecy, his malicious mischievous trickery. Henry was able to remain invisible until he seemingly popped out of nowhere. Then his words slowly penetrated.

“You saw Nora’s lover? Who was it?”

She had spoken too excitedly. Henry’s eyes creased back into their usual expression of distrust, and he took a leisurely step back. “I don’t ’spect it’s any more of your business than ’tis of mine.” He turned to leave.

“No, Henry. Stop.” Bounding after him, she grabbed his arm, feeling hard knotted sinews under his filthy, threadbare jacket. He looked at her hand with disapproval, and reluctantly Letty released him.

“Henry, you must testify about what you saw. You can’t stand by and let that innocent boy be convicted, not when another man is responsible for what they say Simon did.”

“Why? What’s it to me?” He began to walk away again.

Desperately, she ran in front of him, and blocked his way. “You must help, Henry. You simply must.”

He eyed her coldly. “I’ll do naught for any Marlowe, nor any of their class.”

“But you once helped me.”

Looking uncomfortable, he spat on the ground. “I’d leave nothing to bleed to death on the ground, not even vermin,” he growled.

Letty decided to overlook the comment. “You might hate Mr. Marlowe and his ancestors for whatever wrong they’ve done you.” Her tone communicated urgency. “But that poor young boy has done nothing amiss, no more than you or I have. It is not fair that Simon be punished for another’s selfishness.”

Letty thought her words might have reached the old man, but he did not respond. As time stretched out, a thought occurred to Letty—an idea so daring that it made her weak at the knees. Letty knew she was about to put her entire future in the hands of this sour, brutish man. But it was the only way she could think of to change his mind.

“Perhaps you hate me, like the Marlowes, because I am married to one of them, a member of the upper classes. But that is not true. I beg you to do this favor, not because I am your superior, but rather because I am your equal.”

The shaggy brows rose. Whatever he had expected her to say, this was not it.

“The truth is, I was born no higher than you,” she said, holding his eyes intently with her own. “I was raised as the daughter of gentlefolk, but my true mother was in service, and my father … well, I suppose I shall never know who my birth father was.”

Letty hoped she was not making a terrible mistake. She felt as vulnerable as if she had bared her neck under the sharp blade of a guillotine with a wild-eyed Jacobin at the lever. But she could think of no other way to reach the bitter old man.

“It is the truth,” she bumbled on. “My nurse, a woman named Susan Chambers, was in reality my birth mother’s sister. She brought me to Leighton Hall, the house where I was raised, to replace the master and mistress’s own newborn infant who had just died. No one knew the truth except Susan, and only recently, me. And now … you.”

The expression on Henry’s face changed. He stared deeply into her face. But now his gaze lingered, moving over every inch of her brow, eyes, and cheekbones as if searching for something. As silence lengthened, her hope began to grow. At least the groundskeeper hadn’t said no.

“Keep the locket.” Letty closed his gnarled fingers around the slender chain. “If you can, Henry, bring it to the court at Telford tomorrow and tell them your story. I would be grateful.”

Henry tucked the chain in the pocket of his grimy jacket. Without a word of farewell, he turned and hobbled down the dirt path that led to his den-like cottage, half-hidden in the underbrush.

Letty had no idea what the old man intended to do. He might sell the gold locket, or keep it for himself, or even return it to Nora. Whatever Henry did, she thought wearily, the matter was now out of her hands.

X

The second day of the trial wore on, more tedious and depressing than the first. Henry had not made an appearance. Several more witnesses took the stand to testify of minor details that, to Letty, seemed to have nothing to do with the case at hand. As Patrick had implied, New Hope itself was on trial. Was the community a refuge of decency and second chances, as Letty claimed, or a den of liars and wastrels, as Mr. Pettibone described it?

The answer depended, apparently, on who was testifying at the moment. Predictably, the witnesses from New Hope, with the exception of Nora, sided with Letty and Simon. Those from Grayton sided with the vicar. “And now,” Mr. Wilkinson said at last, turning and scanning the audience with a piercing gaze, “I call Eliza Hobhouse to the stand.”

The rawboned girl avoided Nora’s eyes as she took the oath. Letty wondered what Mr. Wilkinson had said to gain the cooperation of Nora’s best friend.

Miss Hobhouse awaited the barrister’s questions with an air of resignation. She had known Nora for five years, she said. They had been shop girls together—she hesitated when she used the word—in Telford, but times were bad, and when Nora had told her of Mrs. Marlowe’s advertisement, they had thought it was worth investigating. “Me and my friend just wanted a place with food to eat and a warm place to sleep at night.”

“Did you ever see the defendant behave in a way that was dishonorable toward any woman?” Mr. Wilkinson questioned.

“Oh, no, sir. He was a perfect gentleman, even bein’ so young and all.”

“Then why would your friend say otherwise?”

Eliza glanced quickly at her friend, then looked away again. “I b’lieve someone must have told her to, sir.”

“Who?”

“Well—”

“Objection. Hearsay. The witness has admitted that her statement is her own opinion.”

The judge upheld the prosecutor’s objection. Letty slumped back in her seat, disappointed, as Eliza descended from the stand. She was sure that the opportunity to hear the truth had been lost. As the judge lifted his gavel, about to slam it down. Letty searched the courtroom helplessly.

Patrick’s quick intake of breath caused Letty to look up. Henry’s bent form had appeared from nowhere and was halfway up the aisle before she or the judge noticed him.

Henry had gone to the trouble of brushing some of the dirt off his foul coat for the occasion, but the craggy face still expressed contempt for the proceedings. “Me name is Henry Lemley.” He addressed the judge boldly, without calling him “sir.” “I got somethin’ to say.”

Frowning, the judge looked at both lawyers and then at Simon, as if thinking the interruption would make him late for lunch. It had been a long morning already. Indecision crossed his features. Then he shrugged, and tossed down the gavel with a small clatter.

“If you feel you can shed light on the case, Mr. Lemley, I suppose we can spare a couple of minutes before the jury deliberates.”

Henry stepped up and took the oath with an unexpectedly dignified air.

Mr. Wilkinson glanced at Letty, who nodded. She had told him she hoped Henry would appear today, and the lanky lawyer turned back to the old gardener. “You say your name is Henry Lemley?”

“’Tis been me name all me life. Got no reason to think it’s changed.”

“Is it true that you are the groundskeeper at Marlowe Hall?”

“Have been for near thirty years, as was me father before me.”

“Do you have anything to tell us that may have a bearing on this trial?”

Henry paused. Letty leaned forward, hoping he wouldn’t change his mind. The old man cleared his throat. “Maybe. This was found yesterday, amongst the reeds of the lake by New Hope.” He pulled the locket from his pocket and held it aloft.

Nora gasped and jumped to her feet, then just as suddenly collapsed, yanked back into her seat by her lawyer, Mr. Davies

Mr. Wilkinson took the locket from Henry’s grasp and held it high. It twirled slowly from its long, golden chain, first in one direction, then in the other, gleaming in the light from the windows. “Can you describe this object, Mr. Lemley?”

“Why, ye can see as well as me that ’tis a woman’s locket. Solid gold, near as I can tell.”

“To whom does it belong?”

“To that wench there.” He pointed a crooked finger to Nora, who glared at him.

“How do you know?”

“I seen her given it by a rich gennelmun. Each of ’em trims off a lock of their hair, and puts it in the locket. When he leaves, the girl takes it off her neck to admire it, but it slips out of her fingers and falls in the reeds. She spends nigh on two hours looking for it, but she never does find it again.”

“Was the man who gave it to her the defendant who sits before you today?”

Henry snorted derisively. He settled back in his chair, seeming to enjoy himself. “’Twasn’t that young lad, that’s for sure. Didn’t I tell ye the other fellow was a gennelmun? A well-built man wearing fine clothes, not that gangly youth.”

“Do you know who the gentleman was, then?”

“Objection!” the prosecuting attorney shouted, jumping to his feet. “The fact that Miss Turner conversed with or did not converse with a male acquaintance has no bearing on the charges before this jury.”

The judge rubbed his long nose. “Objection denied,” he decided. “We are establishing whether Miss Turner has perjured herself before this court, and I find that the question is relevant. Carry on, Mr. Wilkinson.”

The tall lawyer repeated his question, and Henry shook his head.

“No. I never saw the fellow’s face.”

“Well then,” the attorney persisted, “do you have any reason to believe this person was a resident of New Hope?”

Henry cracked a gap-toothed smile. “Ye’re jesting, ain’t ye? Didn’t I just say the bloke was rich? Had fancy clothes and an uppity accent, just like a bloody member of Parliament.”

Mr. Wilkinson opened the locket and inspected the contents. He held the necklace up again, open for all to see.

“The locket contains two locks of hair, one reddish, the other brown. I note for the jury that Nora Turner has hair the exact same shade as the first lock, and, as you can see, Simon Longford has fair hair, not at all the same shade of the second lock.”

A wave of sound passed through the courtroom, as gentle yet profound as a breeze. The implication was not lost on anyone on the jury or in the audience.

Mr. Wilkinson’s voice grew in volume as he turned to the jury. “Our witness states, gentlemen, that this locket belongs to Nora Turner and that it contains her hair and that of her lover. This proves Miss Turner indeed had a suitor other than Simon Longford, who obviously has neither brown hair nor the funds to purchase such an expensive gift. I submit that she accused this young man in order to cover her own dishonor and to protect the identity of her child’s true father.”

The statement roused the audience to its feet. The prosecutor, Mr. Davies, installed Nora on the stand in a last-ditch attempt to claim the locket had in fact belonged to her parents, but no one believed her. Henry’s story had convinced the jury, and soon the round-bellied foreman stood to render the verdict. Simon Longford was found innocent of all charges.

“I hope the London papers carry that,” Letty muttered, as surging bodies swept them out of the courtroom. Her cheek pressed up against the fabric of Patrick’s coat, and his arm came around her protectively.

“They will.” Patrick nodded toward one of the men who had been quietly scribbling notes in the back row. “I pray this will be the end of our troubles.”

Sure enough, a reporter came up to them just then, notebook in hand. “So you’re Patrick Marlowe, eh? I’d like to ask about your African adventures, sir, now this is over. Your heroic attempts to save your colleagues by takin’ on a lion single-handed, and what-not. We’ll sell many a copy of the Gazette when that story comes out, kerblooey if I ain’t right. Why, you’ll be as famous as the other explorer, Dr. Stanley Livingston, when it hits the stands. Prince Albert himself will be standin’ in line to shake your hand.”

Patrick was visibly taken aback. “Thank you, but I have no time to talk about that now. I am on my way home to prepare for my presentation to the Global Society next week. This trial, unfortunately, has taken me away from my other duties.”

The reporter was undeterred. “What d’you say about rumors of a connection between this trial and the upcoming election for the leadership of the Global Society?”

Patrick had taken a step away. Now he froze. Slowly, he turned back toward the reporter. “What did you say?”

The reporter shrugged casually, a cigarillo hanging from the corner of his lips. “’Tisn’t unheard of for other candidates to sling mud before an election. You know … embroil them in a scandal that will reduce their chances of winning.”

“I have no evidence of that,” Patrick said tersely. “I myself am not one to make unverified suggestions in an attempt to bring down an opponent. But I will say this: whoever wins the election of the Global Society will have a profound influence on the future expansion of the British Empire—for better or worse. And no matter who tries to stop me, I intend to win.”

As he spoke, Letty saw a movement from the corner of her eye. A tall male figure detached itself from the back of the crowd and rushed away. There was something familiar about the shape of the head, the set of the shoulders … For a moment, she thought the figure reminded her of Bill Burns, the malingerer who had been sent away from New Hope in the first months of its existence. But what would he be doing at Simon’s trial, after all this time?

No, Letty decided, she must have been mistaken.