Chapter 18
Jean and Derek walked to the stable. “Do you think you can rescue Jonathan?” Derek asked.
“Oui, but it will take some planning and a little luck, of course,” Jean boasted and then, upon seeing his first mate, he called, “Dominic!”
When Dominic reached him, Jean started issuing orders. “Go to the ship and tell them to be prepared to sail at a moment’s notice. Check the sails and don’t forget the supplies.”
“I’ll have it done. What else?” Dominic asked.
“Gather five of our best men and then come back here and get horses. I’ll talk to the stableman and make sure the horses are saddled and ready for you.”
“Horses, Jean?” Dominic asked with a frown. “Most of the blokes never been on a horse.”
“If they give you any trouble, remind them that they could spend the rest of their days below deck. A horse is a dumb animal. The men will get the knack,” Jean said and started toward the horses they’d ridden in on.
“I’ll ride with Elizabeth to London and you can catch up to us. That way we will not waste any time.”
“Remember, Jean, when you said we’d go see Jonathan and have a little fun? We really didn’t realize how much fun, eh?” Dominic chuckled.
“You are right, my friend. Now, hurry.”
Elizabeth rode with Jean in the carriage. As they traveled, he told her about Jonathan’s sailing days. She loved hearing how Jonathan had learned to sail, and she really appreciated Jean telling her the things that Jonathan probably never would.
Six hours into their journey, Dominic and his men caught up with them, and they followed behind the carriage on horseback.
Elizabeth had made this trip so many times lately; it seemed to get shorter each time.
Once they were at Trent House, Jean and his men followed her into the foyer, where they were met by Mrs. Greenow, whose eyes had grown large with fright at the sight of Jean and his entourage.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you advance notice that we’d be arriving, but it couldn’t be helped. These gentleman,” Elizabeth swept her hand toward Jean’s men, “will be staying with us while I attend Lord Jonathan’s trial.”
“A trial? I’m sorry. I had not heard,” Mrs. Greenow said. “I hope ’tisn’t serious?”
“I’m afraid it is. It’s the reason for my haste.”
“Where shall I put these gen...men?” Mrs. Greenow couldn’t quite get the word “gentleman” out. And Elizabeth could see why—because of the way they were dressed. She was certain Mrs. Greenow would sleep with a butcher knife under her pillow until the men departed.
Jean bowed and kissed Mrs. Greenow’s hand.
The woman gasped.
“My name is Jean Lafitte, beautiful lady. My men might look, how shall I say... a little rough around the edges, and the word ‘gentleman’ does not quite fit them, but, I guarantee, they are the salt of the earth and would lay their lives down to protect one so beautiful as yourself,” Jean said with a wicked smile.
Mrs. Greenow blushed and bowed her head. “I’m sorry if I have offended you, sir. It’s just that you’re dressed in a peculiar manner that I’ve not seen before. I—I didn’t know who you were.”
“Thank you for the compliment. My men are supposed to look frightful, and I can understand that you’ve never seen privateers before,” Jean said, releasing her hand. “Your apology is accepted.”
It was apparent that Jean had quickly won Mrs. Greenow over.
“Please put Mr. Lafitte in Adam’s room and find suitable accommodations for his crew.”
Mrs. Greenow gave all the men a skeptical look, but Elizabeth nodded, showing that she would tolerate no argument. Jean had the woman charmed and, after a moment’s hesitation, she asked no more questions.
Elizabeth retired to her room to freshen up.
When she had changed clothes, she went to Adam’s chamber and rapped quickly on the door.
“Cherie,” Jean greeted with a grin. “You appear troubled. What have we forgotten?”
“Clothes,” Elizabeth stated and swept past Jean.
“Clothes?”
Elizabeth went to the wardrobe. “You must look English when we go to court.”
“I resist that statement.” Jean placed his hands on his hips. “I am but a Frenchman.”
Elizabeth swung around and frowned. “Then you can look like a Frenchman, but not a pirate. How about this?” she asked as she pulled out one of Adam’s jackets.
As she held the jacket out Jean stared at the garment and rubbed his chin. “The color is nice. And the cut isn’t bad.”
Elizabeth shoved the jacket toward him. “Why don’t you try it on? You’re about the same size as Adam.”
Jean finally relented and slipped into the royal blue jacket. “Nice fabric,” he commented as he rubbed his hand down the sleeve.
“It looks good on you.”
“Better than Adam?”
Elizabeth smiled. Jean had some ego. “Much better.”
“Then I shall wear this tomorrow,” he said. “I will even find some appropriate trousers to complement the jacket.”
“I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”
Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief when she was on the other side of the door. The next hurdle would be persuading Jean to leave his sword at home. She could just picture him losing his temper and drawing his sword in the courtroom.
The morning of the trial, gray clouds obscured the sun. Expecting rain, they went across the street to get Lord Middlesex. Jeffrey peered doubtfully at Jean and Elizabeth felt obliged to introduce him.
After a moment, Jeffrey escorted them in and presented them to the marquess. Elizabeth made the introduction. “Lord Middlesex, I would like you to meet a very good friend of our family and Earl Longdale’s. This is Monsieur Jean Lafitte.”
“Who?” Jean asked, clearly confused by the name Longdale.
“That is Jonathan’s title,” Elizabeth said to Jean, but looked at the marquess. “Jean is the man Jonathan sailed with.”
“A pleasure,” the marquess said with a nod.
“My boy is going to need all the help he can get. I’m not looking forward to today.
” He sighed heavily, his voice filled with anguish as he hobbled toward Jean, his gait slow.
“I will follow in my own carriage, since I must take that blasted chair. Let us make haste. We must not be late.”
Jean nodded and escorted Elizabeth back to the carriage. They rode down several streets, and in just a few minutes they arrived at the Old Bailey.
Jean helped Elizabeth out of the carriage; they stood to the side to await Jonathan’s father and the barrister.
“I rather like old Middlesex,” Jean commented. “Direct and to the point. My kind of man.”
Elizabeth smiled. “He isn’t retiring, if that’s what you mean.”
Jean laughed. “I see much of Middlesex in Jonathan.”
“I do, too,” Elizabeth said as the marquess’s coach came to a halt behind their carriage. A footman scrambled down to assist the marquess into his chair.
A second coach soon arrived, and another gentleman emerged. He was a respectable-looking man, perhaps middle-aged, with slightly graying hair and excellent black, tailored clothing. He went immediately to the marquess’s side.
Seeing that Elizabeth and Jean didn’t know the man the marquess made the introductions. “Elizabeth and Monsieur Lafitte, this is Edward Turner, my barrister,” Lord Middlesex said. Then he abruptly asked Turner, “Have we found out who is testifying against my son?”
Turner tucked a handful of papers under his arm. “No, my lord, but we shall soon enough. He will have to stand in open court and make his statement.” Turner reached in his watch pocket and pulled out a timepiece. “We should go in.”
After the barrister and Middlesex had walked ahead, Jean leaned over Elizabeth’s shoulder and whispered, “And I shall run him through.”
Elizabeth smiled and whispered back, “And then Jonathan will have company in prison,” she said through a grim smile. “You must control your temper in the courtroom.”
Elizabeth hurried to catch up with Edward Turner before they entered the building. “Excuse me, Mr. Turner. I don’t know if it matters, but Jonathan was wounded in the Battle of New Orleans. He never did fight with the Americans.”
Turner’s brows arched. “Jonathan has said as much. Do we have any witnesses?”
“Oui, we do,” Jean spoke up. “I was fighting with the Americans. I saw Jonathan myself when he was shot down, and by his own countrymen, too, I might add.”
“I’m not sure what to do with this information.” Turner seemed to be thinking out loud. “Would a British court look upon someone who fought against Britain worthy of testifying?”
Jean huffed at the insult. “Mon Dieu, you are a pompous lot,” Jean muttered, then added, “No offense, my friend.”
“None taken.”
“Shall we go in and see what transpires?” Turner said, and motioned to the footman to push Lord Middlesex’s wheelchair.
“What’s wrong with going in there and fighting?” Jean mumbled for Elizabeth’s ears only.
“Jean, you’re in a different country. You must behave according to the rules here,” Elizabeth insisted.
“But cherie, I believe in action.”
“I know, but now is not the time. Let’s go.”
The courtroom was much larger than Elizabeth had expected.
There was a high semicircle bench at the back wall.
In front behind a wooden barrier, were the rows of seats with crimson cushions.
Over the center of the bench was a wooden canopy, surmounted by a carving of the royal arms. When Elizabeth saw the sword, the first thing she thought was that Jean would now have a weapon to use if the proceedings tested his temper.
As they found seats, the bailiff called them to stand.
He introduced the Assize judge, who came in and took a seat in the middle of the semicircle.
The judge was flanked on either side by other men.
Each man wore a scarlet robe and a white powdered wig.
Below them, another group of men dressed exactly the same were also seated.
In front of the judges were several long tables and then a platform where the accused would stand. The jury box was to the right, but was currently empty.