Chapter 10 #3
"So it seems she had a secret affair," Charles continued, "and that affair followed her to her appointments. We do not know if he was hiding out of social precautions — keeping himself invisible because the relationship was improper — or whether she knew he was there at all."
He paused.
Elizabeth and Damon exchanged a glance—more confusion than triumph.
"The guard and the man outside Franklin's office may be connected," Charles continued. "Perhaps they knew each other."
"Or he is the same person," Elizabeth said.
Charles looked at her. "We do not know that. What we do know is that the guard who vanished from the east wing post and the man outside Franklin's office share a description. The description is vague — it fits a great many people in London. But it is a possibility."
The room went still.
Damon turned looked up sharply, Charles looked up. Neither spoke immediately — the weight of what she had just said settling over the room like a change in pressure before a storm.
Then Damon said, slowly, "If the missing guard and the man outside the physician's office are one and the same — then he was not there by accident. He was following her. Watching her." He paused. "He may have been there to protect her."
He let that sit for a moment.
"Or," his voice going quieter and harder at once, "she had made a decision about the child. And he discovered it. And he—"
He did not finish the sentence.
Charles exhaled. "We are getting ahead of ourselves." His voice was measured but firm. "Before we build a story around this man, we need his name, his history, his whereabouts. Everything else is conjecture until we have the full picture in front of us."
He rose and collected his satchel. Then, before moving toward the door, he stopped.
"There is something else I should have told you both sooner." He looked between them. “But... the truth is, time is not on our side.”
“What do you mean?” Damon asked, voice sharpening.
“The house arrest,” Charles said slowly, “is nearly at its end. Unless we appeal with something substantial, you will be sent back to your cell.”
Damon’s mouth tightened. Elizabeth went rigid beside him.
"We have the man secretly watching Lady Sarah," Elizabeth said. "And we have Devlin's testimony. That has to count for something."
"We have nothing concrete yet," Charles said plainly. "We have unofficial information passed through a doctor's secretary, and the promise of a testimony that has not yet been given under oath. That is not nothing — but it is not enough to compel a judge."
Damon was quiet for a moment. Then: "If I am to return to that cell, so be it." His voice was steady, unhurried. "I will cherish every moment here. With you both."
Elizabeth looked at him. The fear was there in her eyes — not concealed, not managed. Just present.
Charles watched them both.
"However," he said, after a beat, "we have the benefit of the doubt working in our favor.
This case is far more complicated and far more extended than anything presented at the first trial.
The original prosecution was neat — too neat.
And complexity, properly presented, creates reasonable doubt.
" He paused. "I know this judge. He is a pragmatist. He does not make decisions out of sentiment, and he does not yield to pressure.
But if he hears all of this — the missing guard, Devlin's account, the man outside Franklin's office, the connection to the pregnancy — he will see that the picture is incomplete.
And a pragmatist does not close a case he knows is incomplete. "
He picked up his satchel.
"He will not be compelled," Charles said. "But he may be persuaded. And that is all we can ask for."
Elizabeth’s brows pulled together. “Why did you not tell us?”
Charles’s face softened slightly as he looked at her. “Because I did not want to destroy the momentum Damon’s finally found. He has been more focused, more helpful—more himself. And you…” he gave her a meaningful look, “you were recovering. I made a call. I thought it was best.”
For a moment, the room was still.
Then Charles rose, brushing down the front of his coat. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to speak with the magistrate and make some arrangements. If we are lucky, the judge will grant us the time we need.”
He moved toward the door.
At the threshold he stopped, and turned back, and looked at Elizabeth for a moment with the particular expression he reserved for the things he did not say aloud.
Then he crossed to her, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Whatever comes of today," he said quietly, "do not push yourself. The evidence will still be there tomorrow. So will the case. So will he." A pause. "Rest. That is not a suggestion."
She looked up at him.
He held her gaze a moment longer. Then he straightened, nodded once to Damon, and left.
The door closed softly behind him.
Damon stood slowly, thoughtful, his hands tucked into his pockets. Elizabeth remained seated, her mind racing through timelines, names, faces—the implications of the missing guard, the man who had haunted the edges of Sarah’s life and, possibly, her death.
She looked up at Damon.
“We are closer than ever,” she whispered.
He nodded, but his expression was unreadable. “We will get there. One thread at a time.”