Chapter Eighteen

The next three days dragged by with no word from Feragus Compton. Aaron was in an agony of misery, unable even to go to the harbor lest he see the hideous gallows being constructed on the village square. The very thought of it nauseated him, and he could neither eat nor sleep. The Carnes were barely able to go about their duties, and all the women were red-eyed from crying and exhaustion.

Tempers grew short. Aaron snapped in frustration at the unflappable Brockton, and Mrs. Carne nagged incessantly at her daughters. Clara was found weeping in the barn by Corey, and he admonished her for frightening the horses. She refused to speak to him for the rest of the day, so he complained to his mother that women were too easily overwrought.

“Am I hearing you correctly?” she inquired acidly. “You would complain about yon Clara weeping over poor Miss Winstead? ’Twould be better if ye wept yourself instead of worrying about horses at such a time!”

Corey slunk away only to be accosted by Captain Clarke’s brother, who demanded to know why the carriage wasn’t ready.

“I did not know you required the carriage,” Corey replied.

Katie appeared looking pale and distressed. “’Tis my fault, sir. I didn’t give Corey your message.”

“Why not?”

Katie began to cry, burying her face in her kerchief. “I-I was washing some frocks, sir, and I remembered Miss…Miss Winstead—how kindly she made dresses for us.” She burst into sobs and ran upstairs.

Corey sighed. “I’ll harness up for you, sir. Do you want the gig or the phaeton?”

Brockton, who called every day, insisted that Aaron make no attempt to contact Compton or his niece.

“She’s going to torment you as much as possible, of course.”

On the evening of the third day, however, the solicitor hurried into River’s Edge without his normally laconic air. Not waiting to be admitted, he entered the hall, tossed his hat on a table, and walked toward the parlor. He met Mrs. Carne, who paled at the expression on his face.

“Get Clarke. Quickly.”

Mrs. Carne hurried away, and Brockton paced the parlor until he heard footsteps. Aaron entered unshaven and rumpled, a pathetic ghost of his former self.

Brockton didn’t waste words. “Clarke, we must act. They hang her at midnight.”

“Dear God!” Aaron cried. He sank into a chair and seemed unable to move.

“Get yourself together, man! You have five minutes to shave and change. Hurry!”

Aaron started to speak but instead staggered from the room. Brockton left the parlor and sought Mrs. Carne.

“Madam,” he hissed, accosting her in the kitchen. “Attend to the captain. You must make him presentable, or tonight Miss Winstead will die!”

Mrs. Carne shrieked at the words. For a few seconds, she was immobile herself, but then, dropping her corn broom, she hurried upstairs. Brockton glanced at his watch.

In short order, the solicitor was driving his dogcart rapidly down the lane with Aaron sitting rigidly beside him.

Gaining the road, Brockton turned to Aaron. “Where is your brother?”

“With Seamus Carne walking about the fields. Why do you ask?”

Brockton only grunted, but when he saw a boy from the village strolling by with his fishing pole over his shoulder, he pulled up his horse.

“Heyo, laddie! Here’s a silver coin to deliver a message to River’s Edge!”

“Aye, sir,” answered the boy, hurrying over.

“Know ye the young hostler, Corey Carne?”

“I know who he is, aye, sir.”

“Give him a message from Mr. Brockton. Tell him to find Mr. Gabriel Clarke and tell him Captain Clarke and I have gone to Colonel Compton’s on urgent business.”

After the boy had repeated the message a few times, Brockton gave him a coin and they drove on. The solicitor glanced uneasily at Aaron as the dogcart rattled through the ruts in the beaten-earth roadway. The man, Brockton mused, needed his wits about him for what was to come, and it seemed he had none at the moment. Thinking of the lovely Hannah Winstead and the vision she made dancing at the village ball, Brockton could understand the man’s grief.

Bella opened the door to them, staring wide-eyed at Aaron as he passed into the hall. She conducted them to the parlor and said she would call her mistress.

“Get your master,” Brockton demanded curtly. “Quick, girl!”

As Aaron stood in the pretty parlor, his mind began to clear. He remembered his dispute with Maria in this very room. But then once again his imagination brought up a vision of the gallows on the green. Tonight Hannah’s body would swing from it…he buried his face in his hands at the image, staggering.

“Get a grip, Clarke! If you want to save her, you’d better put on a perfect performance!”

Colonel Compton entered and began to speak, but Brockton interrupted him. “Miss Winstead dies tonight. Your niece must act, or I’m telling you, man, Captain Clarke will set tongues wagging! She’ll never receive another invitation in this town! Your wife will be affected as well!”

Before the distressed Compton could reply, Maria entered. Brockton could immediately see the situation was delighting her immensely. The color was high on her cheeks, and her smile revealed her satisfaction at her cruel power.

Out of habit, the visitors bowed. A graceful curtsey was returned. Maria swept to a sofa and settled herself.

“My uncle appears to have been struck dumb,” she said lightly. “Pray be seated, gentlemen, and let us discuss this matter of Captain Clarke’s proposal. I don’t need an intermediary; I’m quite capable of speaking for myself.”

Brockton almost admired her as he seated himself. Aaron, seemingly unable to settle into a chair, walked to the fireplace and turned to face her. Compton sank onto a settee, a look of shock on his face.

“It seems I have a choice,” Maria began smilingly. “I’m pleased; I prefer choices to being told what I must or must not do.” She looked around at each of the men who were staring at her and then continued.

“My choices are—pray correct me if I’m in error—that I may have the privilege of becoming Captain Clarke’s wife, or…”

Again, she looked about, smiling at each in turn.

“Or I may have the pleasure of watching Hannah Winstead die.”

“Maria!” cried her uncle. “For God’s sake! If your testimony was false, you must recant!”

Maria turned on him. “Uncle, dear, pray be quiet. I’ll make no pretense of being a fainting maiden this evening, heart-stricken over the death of a friend! I despise the girl. She wheedled her way into Captain Clarke’s home and seduced him with pigtails and innocence—men are such fools for her type.” She shrugged. “As to the truth or falseness of my testimony, what difference does it make?”

Aaron regarded her, unable to wipe the look of hatred from his visage. He began to speak, but Brockton quickly interrupted.

“Madam, I’m charmed at your frankness, charmed indeed. Here you have, as you say, a delightful choice. You can have the pleasure of destroying an innocent life, or you can become the wife of a prominent man.”

“And if I choose the former?” she inquired softly.

“Hannah will die,” he replied. “Then, however, you may have a slight problem. A lady’s reputation is, as Miss Austen wrote, ‘as brittle as it is beautiful.’ We shall set about destroying yours. In addition, I believe your uncle intends to return you to your family.”

Brockton’s eyes narrowed as he watched her. She was pretending nonchalance, but he could tell she was frightened at the threat.

She fanned herself before replying, “My mother will take me to Paris. She has promised to do so.”

“Ah, I see,” answered Brockton. “But will she be amenable to such a plan when she learns you have not only refused a good offer of marriage and managed to once again get your reputation sullied, but also that you’ve been the means of causing the death of an innocent girl?”

Maria’s mouth curled in her feline smile. “There is one factor you don’t understand, Mr. Brockton. My mother will take any excuse to spend time away from my father.”

Brockton was clearly shaken at this, but he managed to conceal his emotion. In the few seconds, it took him to compose his thoughts, Aaron approached Maria.

“Maria, let’s have done with this,” he implored. “I’ll do my best to be a good husband to you. I ask only that you assist me in freeing Hannah.”

Maria openly laughed at him. “Free your mistress? What a charming household we’ll be, the three of us together.”

“Hannah is not my mistress, as you well know. In any case, she’ll be sent away. I’ll never see her again.”

“You’re not convincing me,” she replied, the color rising in her face. “You love her enough to marry a woman whom you do not love in order to save her. Do you really think me such a fool that I’d believe you’d stay away from her?”

“Maria, Captain Clarke has given his word as a gentleman!” interposed Colonel Compton.

“A gentleman?” she sneered. “Would a gentleman threaten to ruin my reputation?”

Brockton glanced at his watch and whispered to Compton, “Excuse me, I’m going to ask your maid for a glass of water.” He was out of the parlor before the other could offer refreshments to be brought in.

He found Bella in the pantry. “Girl, what’s your name?”

“Bella,” she replied in her timid voice. Brockton guessed that she was probably often frightened in a household containing the willful Miss Maria.

“Bella, you must do me a favor. Captain Clarke’s brother may appear at your door. Do not tell him that your master is engaged. Instead, usher him immediately into the parlor.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he replied, slipping a silver dollar into her hand.

“Thank you, sir!”

Brockton returned to the parlor in time to see Maria rise with a haughty air.

“Gentlemen, you must excuse me,” she purred. “It’s been charming chatting with you, but now I must retire for a few hours to think on all I’ve heard and make my decision.”

“Maria!” cried her uncle. “The time! It’s nearly 9:30!”

“Yes, so it is. If I don’t appear in time to save dear Miss Winstead, that in itself will explain my decision.”

With a smile to all of them, she slipped past Brockton and was heard climbing the stairs.

Before anyone could stop him, Aaron bolted after her. The others raced after him, but he was up the staircase in a moment. He seized Maria roughly by the arm, but he himself was accosted by Brockton and the colonel.

“Clarke, let her go!” Brockton cried. Maria reached around with her free hand and slapped Aaron full across the face. Colonel Compton pulled a pistol from his belt and waved it about roaring out threats, and Mrs. Compton appeared at the bottom of the stairs and screamed.

Aaron suddenly released Maria, and he and the two men pulling at him staggered backward down the stairs to the landing. Maria watched them, eyes blazing. When they had regained their footing, she faced them.

“I’ve made my decision,” she hissed. “The little tart can die!” With a swirl of skirts, she was gone.

Aaron pushed the others away from him and ran down the stairs. Brockton caught up with him as he paused to go around the hysterical Mrs. Compton.

“Clarke, what the hell are you doing?”

“What I should have done at the beginning! I’m going to free her! And if Madison tries to stop me, I’ll kill him!”

“Listen to me!” cried Brockton. “Do you think Madison doesn’t have her guarded? The only one who will die is you!”

“Then I’ll die!” Aaron cried. Shaking off Brockton’s clutching hands, he ran down the hall and out the door.

****

Sheriff Bertram Madison heard the great clock in the steeple of the Village Hall strike ten, and he absently pulled forth his watch to verify the time. It was indeed ten o’clock and in two short hours he must perform a duty that he’d become increasingly unwilling to do. His doubts about the guilt of Hannah Winstead had caused him to consult with the mayor and the village council, but not one of those earnest, good men could see a shred of evidence that would call for overturning the jury’s verdict or convincing the judge to delay the hanging.

Mayor Middleburg, a softhearted man whose daughter, it seemed, was Miss Winstead’s friend, thought long and hard on the matter and consulted weighty tomes on law and precedence.

“If you had some evidence, Madison,” he said repeatedly, “but you’ve nothing but a notion that the girl is innocent. We’d be laughed out of the judge’s chambers.”

Madison had to agree. When his investigation had first begun, he was sure he had correctly identified the killer. He’d seen firsthand that Miss Winstead had a temper, and his own wife had told him she herself would feel capable of committing murder if a man forced himself upon her. In addition, there was the prior relationship between killer and victim; there could have been a buildup of murderous rage in the woman against the man as the result of events he, the sheriff, had no knowledge of.

But then he’d seen Maria Compton testify in court. She was faking her shy, downcast demeanor as she put the nail in the Winstead girl’s coffin, or his name wasn’t Bert Madison.

Whether or not Maria was lying about seeing Hannah exit the inn was another matter. He thought she probably was. For one thing, the cloak that Hannah had supposedly wrapped herself in hadn’t been found. Another fact was that Earling was a large man—how could that young, slender woman have overpowered him? Even if he’d been asleep or drunk, the man would’ve awakened when the knife blade touched his throat. Madison sighed, wishing for the hundredth time he’d thought of that before putting into motion the process that would end tonight in the hanging of an innocent girl.

Madison paced his small office, his mind going over all the events of the trial, focusing finally on young Jared Brooks. Mr. Brockton had introduced as evidence the testimony of Jared, who was the sixteen-year-old son of farmer Carton Brooks. Everyone knew that Jared was “simple,” but he’d never been known to lie or make up stories. During the trial, he’d said that Miss Compton was on board the Bonnie Reel the day she claimed to see Hannah.

“She was on the Bonnie Reel durin’ the whole o’ the afternoon day, sir,” the boy had stated, bringing twitters from the jury.

“How do you know?” Brockton had asked.

“I was fishin’ from the rocks under the dock, sir.”

“If you were under the dock, Jared, how could you know that Miss Compton was on the Bonnie Reel?”

“I could see in the porthole, sir, and Miss Compton was in the captain’s cabin wearin’ ’er shift or part o’ the time nothin’ at all.”

This had raised an outcry, and the judge had to bang his gavel to silence the court. The prosecutor had immediately brought Captain Jeremiah Whetherton to the stand to refute the boy’s story. The handsome captain had declared he knew Miss Compton to be a lady above reproach and “the boy should be horsewhipped for his slander!”

What was Whetherton’s motive to protect Maria, Madison wondered. Probably nothing more dramatic than the fact that a dalliance such as that described by Jared would cut him from his social circle and might even affect his ability to gamble on credit. The village gentlemen were not opposed to a man dallying—provided it was not with their own wives and daughters.

Madison absently pulled out his watch again and checked the time. Ten thirty. He stretched and strolled to a window. He could see the gallows with the noose hanging straight in the still air. In the cage downstairs, Hannah Winstead, now restored to health, was awaiting her fate. She had spoken to no one except to ask for a Bible.

Madison sighed. It would soon be over for the poor girl. He had his duty to do, and he had never shirked it.

He would not shirk it now.

****

Aaron Clarke plunged down the front steps of the Compton residence and raced down the lane toward the road to the village. His first mad impulse was to confront Madison and demand Hannah’s release, but he knew as well as Brockton this would be a futile and probably fatal act. Something Corey had told him when he first arrived home from England was haunting him…something that at first he’d considered absurd…the testimony of Jared Brooks.

Could it be the simple farm boy had been telling the truth? If so, Whetherton could save Hannah by recanting his testimony that Maria had not been on the Bonnie Reel during the afternoon in question. That would force Madison to at least admit the possibility Maria had lied about seeing Hannah. Aaron’s heart leapt with hope. He forced his tired legs to run faster, turning his steps toward the harbor.

Aaron bypassed the Bonnie Reel’s gangplank and leapt aboard at the bow. The noise of his landing brought Whetherton hurrying on deck from below, and the two encountered each other at the mainmast.

“Clarke! What are you doing here? Have you forgotten that a gentleman requires an invitation to board another’s ship?”

“I’ve no time for niceties, Whetherton. You’re perhaps unaware Hannah Winstead will hang at midnight!”

Whetherton said nothing, but Aaron could see the shock on his face. Whetherton turned abruptly and led the way below decks.

“Come.”

Aaron followed and soon found himself in the captain’s cabin. Whetherton indicated a bench and poured two glasses of brandy. He seated himself and set the bottle on the table between them.

“Dear God, Clarke. I didn’t think ’twould come to this.”

“Did you not? What did you think would occur when you lied to save Maria Compton’s reputation?”

“You’re calling me a liar? Men have died by my pistol for less.”

“I care little for my own life at the moment, Whetherton. But indeed I don’t want to accuse you of lying, so let me pose it as a question. Were you telling the truth about Maria not being on board the Bonnie Reel?”

“And if I wasn’t?”

“We can still save Hannah. Madison will have to halt the execution if you tell him the truth.”

“You don’t think me such a fool as to go to Sheriff Madison and admit to perjury!”

Aaron slammed his fist on the table. “Can you sit on this ship and look across at the green and watch her die? We haven’t been friends, but I didn’t think so ill of you!”

“Shut up!” cried Whetherton. “Maria is the villain of this piece, not I! She threatened to tell—”

“She blackmailed you? How?” Aaron demanded.

“You haven’t heard I’m engaged.” Whetherton hesitated, staring over his glass at Aaron as he sipped the strong brandy. “I didn’t have your privileges in life, Clarke. Unlike you, I didn’t have a wealthy titled father to assist me in business—”

“I don’t have leisure tonight for listening to your life story!”

“Have patience. The gist is this: I’ve been seeking a woman of means to marry in order to increase my own coffers. I finally found a wealthy, willing, and gullible maiden, but only with difficulty was I able to bring about the engagement. My reputation is not as perfect as a monk’s, and her father is a stuffed turkey, whose idea of pleasure is to attend church. But I have done it.”

“Go on.”

“My little dalliance with Maria took place after I was engaged, so you can see the dilemma that poses.”

“And you’d let Hannah die in order to bring about this hellish arrangement?”

Whetherton shrugged. “Perhaps you yourself could suggest an alternative. You have three ships and a fine house. What are they worth to you compared to Hannah’s life?”

Aaron’s eyes met Whetherton’s, and their look of desperation brought a small smile to the lips of the captain of the Bonnie Reel.