Chapter 1
One
Providence, according to the Oxford English Dictionary:
Foresight; anticipation of and preparation for the future; prudent management, government, or guidance.
Old Bailey, London
“This man, John Granger, did nothing but run an errand for his mistress. He works at a mews and has a family of five. Who wouldn’t run an errand for some extra coin?
” Mr. William Page paced before the lackluster jury, shaking his head.
His robe billowed around his legs as he turned around to the men.
“Yet because he is not privileged, like Lady Henshaw, he is automatically under suspicion.”
The defendant’s hands shook visibly as he pushed back his mop of brown curls, and Will’s heart went out to him. He wore his best homespun and had tried to make a joke when they shook hands. “Just in case I can’t go home, I want to be buried in my Sunday best.”
A guilty verdict for Grand Larceny received capital punishment at worst, transport to Botany Bay at best. His gaze strayed to the distraught woman at the back of the room, her young face lined with worry, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Will was their only hope.
The widowed viscountess seated in the courtroom wore an air of confidence, pulling on a blonde curl against her cheek.
Her dark eyes shone with victory and impatience, confident she would get away with her crime of nonpayment.
Confident this lowly man would be served the justice she herself deserved.
For she was not on trial here. Lady Henshaw had instructed the poor man to bring back an extensive order for her and her daughters.
Pretending she’d never received the package of cloth and lace, the haberdasher had brought charges against the courier for the hefty sum.
“I ask you to consider this. Why would a man, employed for almost ten years for this household, risk his position on such a fool’s errand?
” Will rolled his eyes to the ceiling, as if asking for divine patience.
“Gentlemen, he makes a decent wage and has a family and a loving wife. He has never been accused of any mischief. Why would he chance the scaffold and leave his loved ones hungry and penniless?”
Will had taken the case because without a decent barrister, the man would hang. When it came to what a peer said versus a commoner, the nobility always prevailed. “I call Mr. Givens as a witness.”
The judge, his bushy gray brows slanting beneath his white wig, asked, “Did you not hear the last witness state the letter asking for the goods was not in Lady Henshaw’s handwriting but in the stable boy’s? Is this not merely dragging out the verdict?”
“Yes, my lord, and no, my lord. I plan to discredit the testimony of Lady Henshaw’s butler.
Then we will place the blame where it truly lies.
” Will clasped his hands behind his back as a short, balding, rotund man took the chair, holding a piece of paper in his thick fingers.
He silently thanked his good fortune for having Sir George Sowley Holroyd as the presiding judge.
The knight was known for his sharp intellect and had a reputation as a fair man with integrity who valued justice.
“Very well, but let’s not waste the jurors’ time.”
Will nodded and continued, “Sir, tell us who you are and how you know the prisoner?”
“My name is Givens. I live on Watling Street, and I’m Mr. Granger’s landlord. I’ve rented to him these past five years.”
“And how many times has Mr. Granger been late on the rent?”
The man scratched his mottled face. “Twice, I’d reckon. Once when his missus needed a doctor for the last birth, and the other when he was injured and off work for a week.”
“When Mr. Granger was tardy with his payment, what did he do?” Will checked the countenance of the jury and saw the sudden interest on their faces.
“He gave me his vowels and promised to pay by the following week.” The landlord raised his hand that held the paper. “I have one of them here. Me wife kept it, sayin’ we’d ne’er had such a good tenant, and she wanted to show it to her sister.”
“May I see it?” asked Will. He took the paper, pretending to study it, and gave the viscountess a side-glance. Her face had paled. He then retrieved the note written to the haberdasher and pretended to study it again and compare it to the small piece of paper in his other hand.
With a long, loud sigh, Will approached the bench, showed the sheets to the judge, and then stood before the jurors. “Gentlemen, please look at these two pieces of evidence and tell me if the writing looks similar.”
As the men passed the notes around, some peering over the shoulders of those in front of them, the murmurs grew louder. Will collected the evidence, thanked Mr. Givens, and promised to return the note to him after the trial concluded.
“I would like to call—”
“A reminder we’ve been on this case almost twenty minutes,” interrupted Sir George. “Please expedite this in any way you can.”
Will closed his eyes briefly and nodded again.
The judge was correct; this had lasted longer than most trials at the Old Bailey.
“I have a list of names here that are ready to testify that Lady Henshaw owed them money and had been cut off from any further credit. To save time, I’ll ask them all at once. With your permission, my lord?”
“Thank you,” murmured the judge with a nod, his eyes narrowed on Will. “I appreciate your diligence. It has, however, already been a long day.”
Calling the names, five men stood. Two milliners, a jeweler, another haberdasher, and two butchers. “Are there any of you to whom Lady Henshaw does not owe money?”
They all shook their heads.
“Have all of you refused to allow any more credit be given to the lady?”
They all nodded.
“I will call one more witness, my lord,” Will said, knowing he was close to angering the judge. “Lady Tillerby, the sister-in-law of Lady Henshaw.”
“Mr. Page,” began the judge, “Lady Henshaw is not accused of any wrongdoing here.”
“Not yet, my lord,” said Will with a half smile. A slender woman rose, her hair a lovely auburn with streaks of gray. As she passed by Lady Henshaw, they exchanged glares. The whispers in the courtroom hit a crescendo as the countess took the chair.
“I am Lady Tillerby, sister of Lord Henshaw. I live in Mayfair, not far from my brother’s home.” She cast a disgusted look at her sister-in-law. “The woman spends money like an elephant drinks water. She put my brother in an early grave with her expensive tastes and ridiculous purchases.”
“Yes, ma’am,” responded Will. “Would you look at this note to the haberdasher and tell me if you recognize the writing?”
Lady Tillerby took a pair of spectacles from her satin reticule. She perched them on her nose and studied the paper. “Yes, it is her writing. And I believe she wrote this after I refused her request for another loan.”
The judge to slam his gavel several times to stem the gasps and comments of surprise growing louder. “Silence!”
As Lady Tillerby returned to her seat, the battle of glares began again between the two sisters-in-law. The judge banged his gavel once more, and the room fell fairly silent. The jurors gathered against the wall, whispering and gesturing, then returned to their seats.
When the verdict came back “Not guilty,” Mr. Granger dropped his head in his hands, hidden tears falling into his palms as his shoulders shook.
Will patted the man’s back. “It’s all over. You can go home with your wife now.”
Mr. Granger wiped his face with his sleeve and rose on shaky legs. “I don’t know how to thank you,” he said, holding out his hand.
Will shook it and smiled over Granger’s shoulder at his wife, who gave him a watery smile. “Seeing a wrong righted is payment enough today. Go now, your family has been missing you.”
“Yes, sir,” Granger said, bobbing his head. Then he walked away quickly, collecting his wife and rushing from the courtroom.
Lady Henshaw rose, fury on her round, sagging face.
Will wished he could prosecute the scheming woman, but he knew she would go unscathed.
Financially. Word would get out, the on-dits delightfully retelling the events of today.
Her reputation would be ruined, and her daughters would be given the cut-direct.
Perhaps for a woman such as her, that would be punishment enough.
Being on the outskirts of society for a viscountess could be a cruel life indeed, especially without funds.
Outside the Old Bailey, the heaviness he dreaded descended upon his shoulders once again.
It had gotten worse lately. For each case he took on for one of the downtrodden, the depression would lift briefly if he was successful, then creep back afterwards.
Reminding him how many souls would be hanged, transported, or sent to debtors’ prison through no real fault of their own.
His burden of responsibility pressed against his chest, knowing he could not save them all.
Yet, he realized he wasn’t alone. Other men—and women—also joined the fight to help the oppressed. He should celebrate his successes rather than dwell on the bottomless pit that always loomed before him. His sister’s words echoed in his ears.
What good does your charity work do if it sucks the joy from your own life?
Not charity, I’m part of the scale that always seems to be tipped, he reminded her.
But Willie, if your heart remains so heavy, how will you hop onto that scale to continue righting the wrongs within your power?
Annette was right, of course. If he let himself dwell on the negative, he would soon be swallowed up in defeat. Will decided what he needed was something positive, something entertaining to occupy his mind outside of his law practice.