Chapter Sixteen #2
Sir Giles read the endorsement again. When he looked at Roland, thirty years of acquaintance had not vanished from his face, but it had begun to contend with something stronger.
“I granted the order upon your sworn assurance that the child was in immediate danger.”
“She was.”
“From what?”
“From an unstable household and a man whose violence is well known.”
“The violence Crayle states he was paid to provoke?”
Roland’s patience thinned.
“You cannot mean to credit that creature over a family you have known all your life.”
“I mean to credit the evidence sufficiently to require an answer.”
“You owe my family better than this.”
The words escaped before Roland could recall them.
Sir Giles sat back.
“No,” he said slowly. “I owed you an honest hearing. I gave you rather more when I granted your application without hearing the mother. Do not mistake old friendship for an obligation to persist in an error.”
He set the draft carefully upon the table.
“If this evidence is borne out,” Sir Giles said, looking directly at Roland, “the order was obtained upon false representations to the court.” He paused. “Why, Hemsworth? You have land, position, and the guardianship named in the will. What was there to gain that justified any part of this?”
Roland did not answer.
Victoria had held her tongue while the papers did what fury could not. This question, however, belonged to her.
“My late husband left a substantial portion of his estate in trust for Sophy,” she said.
“Sir Roland was named among those entrusted with its management during her minority, and appointed her guardian besides. Possession of the child would not give him ownership of the fund, but it would place both her person and much of her fortune within his influence.”
Sir Giles turned towards her.
“And your own provision?”
“My jointure was withheld for more than a year. Whenever I asked after it, I was told the estate was complicated and that I ought not to trouble myself with figures.”
Cole drew another paper from the case.
“The settlement made her entitlement plain. The delay had no proper basis.”
“A widow’s jointure is not a favour which a family may grant or withhold at pleasure,” Sir Giles said.
“No,” Victoria replied. “But a widow without her own money cannot easily employ a solicitor, oppose a guardian, or refuse the terms offered to her. Sir Roland did not merely intend to take Sophy. He first made certain I should be too poor to prevent him.”
Sir Giles looked again at Roland.
“Is this true?”
Roland’s expression altered. The patience remained, but only as an arrangement of features.
“You have been very thorough,” he said to Victoria.
“I have had cause.”
“But you have overlooked the one fact which matters. The child is here. Whatever argument follows, she remains in my keeping until a court decides otherwise.”
“There seems to be an order directing her return,” Sir Giles said.
“Obtained in London upon their account alone. Surely you do not propose to surrender the child merely because another judge has been persuaded to proceed in haste.”
“I propose to examine the evidence now before me.”
“And while you examine it?” Victoria asked.
Roland looked at her. “She remains here. Possession is not easily undone, cousin. You may bring your papers and your solicitors. You may spend months proving whatever story you choose. In time, you will grow tired. You will become frightened. There will come a point at which a private settlement appears kinder than another hearing.”
There it was at last: the confidence beneath every move he had made. Not that the law would vindicate him, but that delay would exhaust her before it reached the truth.
Victoria regarded him across the room.
“You still believe I am the woman you began with.”
Roland’s mouth shifted.
“I know precisely what you are.”
“No. You knew a widow trained to doubt her own judgment and kept too poor to oppose you. You arranged every part of this upon the belief that she would remain so.”
She stepped nearer to the table.
“That woman did grow tired. She was frightened. But you have spent these weeks teaching her the cost of surrender, and surrounding her with people who returned every choice you meant to take away.”
Roland’s gaze flicked towards Elias.
Victoria saw it and understood.
“Do not look at my husband. He did not make this case. He did not speak for me before the judge, confront Crayle, write the message that opened your gates, or bring your own hand into this room. He stood beside me while I did those things. That is why you have lost.”
Elias said nothing. He did not need to.
Sir Giles rose.
“The order directing the child’s return is valid upon its face. The evidence now before me gives ample reason to believe that your own application was procured through false statements and that the child ought not to remain in your custody while the matter is examined.”
Roland looked at him.
“You would turn against my family upon the word of these people?”
“I would correct an order I should never have granted without hearing both sides.”
“You granted it lawfully.”
“I granted it trustingly. I begin to regret my confidence.”
Sir Giles placed one hand upon the table.
“The child is to be restored to Lady Harwood immediately. You will produce her now. The remaining allegations will be referred to the proper court, where you may answer them under oath.”
Roland’s face had gone grey.
“You will ruin me.”
“No,” Victoria said. “You did that to yourself before we arrived.”
The drawing-room door opened.
Lady Agatha Hemsworth stood upon the threshold, upright and cold as the house behind her. From the stillness of her face, she had heard enough.
“Roland,” she said, “you will say nothing further.”