Chapter 46
The morning air hung thick over the city, stale with dust and the acrid smoke that drifted endlessly from the buildings, turning every breath into something one endured rather than welcomed.
Carriages jammed nose to wheel along the approach, their drivers shouting over one another whilst horses tossed their heads and stamped against the stones, bothered by flies, heat, and the restless press of bodies crowding too near.
The great stone building loomed ahead at last, severe and immovable above the confusion gathered at its feet, for it felt as though every person in London had gathered there. Inside those walls, the law was a solemn thing. Outside, it was theater.
Nora sat rigidly inside the cab as it slowed to a crawl, her gloved hands folded so tightly in her lap that the seams bit into her palms. Beyond the window, the crowd churned in every direction as gentlemen in dark coats stood shoulder to shoulder with women who had come with hampers hooked over their arms as though attending a picnic.
Newspaper men moved through them like carrion birds with sharpened pencils and watchful eyes, darting toward anyone of consequence the moment a carriage door opened.
More than one face turned toward Nora’s carriage with naked curiosity, and she drew in a breath, though she had nothing left inside to fortify. Nor to hide.
This was foolish. What good was there to be had in attending? The question had plagued Nora every morning of the trial, and she had yet to find a sensible answer. It was not from a sense of filial duty. The very thought was grotesque after all that had passed between them.
It was like worrying at a wound beneath a bandage, knowing perfectly well that touching it would only cause damage yet being unable to resist lifting the edge to see how badly the flesh was torn.
The truth had taken on a life beyond that bit of paper she’d given to Mr. Pell, and however much it pained her to witness it, Nora could not bear to remain at home.
The cab jolted to a halt, drawing attention, and though she leaned out of sight, the front of the hansom was open to view. Thankfully, the angle of the crowd allowed her to hide for a moment longer.
A shout rose somewhere near the entrance, followed by a ripple of movement as people surged forward, only to be checked by constables forcing them back into some semblance of order.
Their dark uniforms stood like scattered posts amid the human tide, arms outstretched, voices raised, trying to carve a passage through the crowd that had come not merely for justice but for spectacle.
For one brief moment, Nora remained seated, studying the front steps and the mass of bodies clustered on them, unable to make her limbs obey. But the driver opened the small hatch in the roof, so Nora raised the fare through, and he tugged on the lever that opened the door.
The time had come.
A low titter rippled through the onlookers as faces turned and hands lifted to point her out, the sound spreading through the throng faster than any carriage. The crowd compressed around her without quite touching, curiosity drawing bodies closer whilst constables fought to maintain order.
Then the reporters appeared with notebooks ready and pencils lifted, their questions striking from every side in overlapping fragments too numerous for Nora to understand, let alone answer.
The inquiries blurred into a single current of accusation and interest, a hunger manifest in suits with ink-stained cuffs as they probed at matters no stranger had any right to touch.
A laugh broke somewhere to her left, quickly smothered, and Nora’s face heated beneath the weight of so many staring eyes; she kept her gaze fixed upon the entrance ahead, fingers tightening around the folds of her skirt whilst every step seemed longer than the last. And a small part of her hoped and prayed that there wouldn’t be a seat available for her.
That she could retreat to the quiet of her bedchamber with her door closed fast against the world. Against everything.
Inside, the noise reverberated off stone and plaster, and the air held the close, stale smell of damp wool, ink, dust, and too many people shut too long inside walls that had never been intended to hold the whole of London’s curiosity.
Nora kept her head lowered as she followed the narrow path carved ahead of her, though lowering her head did little good, for whispers followed her along as every eye in the building took its fill of her.
Surely there would be no room in the Old Court. The galleries were filled, the benches taken, and the court too swollen with spectators to admit another soul.
It was for the best.
But as she hesitated near the doorway, a court officer stepped forward.
“Miss Eden?”
The sound of her name made her fingers tighten against her reticule. “Yes.”
“This way, if you please.”
Nora stared at him, too startled at first to move. “Is there a seat?”
“Yes, miss.” His expression remained professionally blank, though not unkind. “I was asked to ensure you had one.”
“Asked?” The word left her before she could stop it.
The fellow offered no answer beyond a small inclination of his head, then turned slightly to indicate the way through the press of people waiting near the court.
Nora followed because there seemed nothing else to do, surprise settling uneasily beside dread as he guided her toward the room where every eye, every whisper, and every judgment waited.
The Old Court received her with the same close, airless intensity of the past three days.
The empty judge’s seat waited above them, the symbols of law and the Crown decorating the wood, and below it, the clerks’ places stood in careful order, with their tools and chairs at the ready, and the barristers’ benches awaited the army of men set to argue the case.
Above and behind, the public gallery was already filled to bursting.
People leaned toward one another in murmured conversations that redoubled whenever Nora glanced their way.
Reporters had their notebooks at the ready, heads bent together in that peculiar stillness of men waiting for a feast to be served.
Nora’s gaze caught upon the dock and the rail where Papa had waited each day beneath the watch of the court. Even without him there, it remained the most dreadful point in the room, as though the very air around it rang with accusation.
The officer guided her toward a seat set aside near the front of the public area. Close enough to see, but tucked to the side in a manner that afforded her more privacy than the gallery. Though there was no hiding her entirely.
The brim of one lady’s hat tilted in her direction.
A reporter near the side wall looked up from his notebook just long enough to study her face before scribbling a note.
Every small movement carried meaning now, every glance another quiet measurement of whether she appeared repentant enough, ruined enough, or heartless enough to entertain.
“Surely, she must have known,” murmured the man seated directly behind her.
His companion huffed, his eyes raking over Nora, though she tried her best to ignore it. “I cannot fathom how his kin were ignorant of his crimes. It was so blatant, and I would wager she turned on him out of spite.”
“An unnatural creature to be certain,” replied the first. “A daughter turning on her father flies in the face of all that is good…”
Drawing in a breath, Nora ignored them, but now seated, it was difficult not to listen as the pair picked apart all the business with the wisdom that hindsight afforded.
Their words slipped beneath her skin, and Nora’s hands tightened in her lap.
Keeping her gaze fixed ahead, she forced her chin to lift when every instinct urged her to collapse in on herself until no one could see her at all.
The effort of it consumed every breath. Nora’s shoulders ached from the strain, and the back of her neck prickled beneath the attention gathering behind her.
So lost in her thoughts, Nora paid no mind when someone stepped past her—until he sat in the empty seat beside her. Resting his hat upon his knee, Mr. Jack Hatcher’s broad shoulders filled the space. In fact, the gentleman was of sufficient size that he blocked her from many of the gawkers.
Then his gaze moved to the pair behind her, and their conversation died between one word and the next.
Not faded. Not lowered gradually into discretion.
But halted as thoroughly as if one of them had been slapped.
Mr. Hatcher’s attention passed over the other spectators with the same quiet severity, and it was as though someone cast a spell over that corner of the courtroom, for the hush spread outward, turning attention away from her like a dam diverting a stream.
Was he the mysterious someone who had reserved this seat, or rather bribed the officers to hold it?
Nora’s fingers trembled in her lap, and she squeezed them tight.
For the past three days, she’d spied the elder Mr. Hatcher in the gallery, standing near but never intruding, and some part of her had wondered if that distance was just another acquaintance turning on her.
Heaven knew that the past two months had seen plenty of that.
Yet now he sat beside her without explanation. Forming a solid wall between her and the gawkers.
The consideration nearly undid her. Nora wanted to thank him—the words rose painfully in her throat, pressing there until she could scarcely swallow—but something in the set of his jaw warned her that he did not welcome the acknowledgment.
But the past months had taught her the value of loyal friends, and she could not ignore this gesture altogether.
Turning to look at him, Nora waited until Mr. Hatcher met her gaze, and she did her best to convey the feelings bubbling within her.
Not a grand display that so many were wont to give, but a sign of everything she wished to say.
Nora let it warm her expression as best she could, offering the gratitude he was willing to accept.
The gentleman’s gaze softened the slightest amount, which Nora suspected was tantamount to a smile, and then he faced the court once more, his arms folded. A silent guard.
Nora forced herself to look away before her fragile control cracked, and as the majority were doing their best to pretend they did not see her (lest they draw Mr. Jack Hatcher’s attention), she allowed her gaze to wander the room.
Unconsciously, Nora’s eyes moved to Mama’s seat, which the barrister had reserved for the bits of the family his client had deemed acceptable, so that they might serve as the carefully crafted tableau of domesticity and graceful endurance amidst tragedy.
The wounded wife whose husband was wrongfully accused.
Daughters and sons clinging to one another beneath the weight of a father’s burdens.
Surely a man so beloved ought not to be ripped from the loving embrace of his wife and children.
Yet those seats remained empty today. The vacancy was all the more conspicuous for they were the only ones still unclaimed, and a small tightness gathered low in Nora’s stomach as she stared at them.
Perhaps they were tardy; though old enough to dress themselves, getting the boys in order was an ordeal, and Papa would want them to look like perfect gentlemen.
But a sight in the upper gallery stole her attention and her breath.
Seated below, Nora couldn’t view much of the gallery, but tucked in the one corner she could see was Mr. Jonathan Hatcher.
The angle was poor, and bodies crowded thickly between them, hats and shoulders obscuring him whenever anyone shifted.
Yet she knew him at once. He sat forward enough to watch the proceedings below, his expression grave, his hands folded before him, looking neither toward reporters nor curious spectators but toward the place where the court would soon begin its terrible work.
A pressure gathered behind Nora’s eyes, and she looked quickly down to her lap before anyone might notice. His card remained safely tucked inside her reticule, the edges already softening from how often she had taken it out to read it.
I am proud of you.
Such a small sentence. So plain. Yet she carried it with her like a holy relic, touching it whenever the world became too loud and cruel, reminding herself that somewhere beyond the anger and whispers someone looked upon her with favor, not condemnation.
Her fingers brushed the reticule lightly now, seeking the shape of the card through the fabric. With his father seated like a silent fortress at her side and Mr. Hatcher watching from above, Nora felt for one fragile moment as if she weren’t alone in this world.