Chapter 23 #2
She followed him several steps before stopping.
“Gabriel.”
He looked back.
She wanted to tell him something that mattered. She wanted to say that she was no longer afraid of what he might think of her, that she believed him, and that she did not want another unfinished conversation between them.
Instead, with the household still watching, she could only say his name again.
“Gabriel, be careful.”
He smiled at that, at least. “I will.”
He mounted his horse moments later. The investigator’s man rode with him as far as the main road, while Eleanor remained in the yard with the dowager, Beatrice, and the anxious household watching Gabriel disappear into the darkness.
The sound of the horses faded gradually. Eleanor stood listening until she could no longer hear them, wanting to believe that the confession would change everything when the trial opened. She wanted to believe that at last the truth was gathering enough strength to withstand Julian.
Then the sound of another carriage approaching the gates broke through the quiet. The guards turned as the carriage entered Ravenscourt at an unhurried pace. Eleanor’s stomach tightened when she saw the man who stepped down.
It was Julian, and he looked entirely at ease.
There was no sign of desperation in his manner, no evidence that one of his closest sources of information had just been exposed.
He handed his gloves to his servant and crossed the yard in the very same way that he entered every drawing room where Eleanor had ever encountered him.
If he was concerned about anything at all, Eleanor certainly could not tell.
He bowed.
“Mrs. Hartley. What an unfortunate hour for a gathering.”
The dowager stepped forward. “You have no business here.”
“On the contrary, ma’am. I have come because there are matters concerning tomorrow’s hearing that I believe your family will wish to understand.”
Eleanor felt the cold return to her chest. “What matters?”
Julian looked at her. “I had hoped you might recognize this.”
He removed a folded document from his coat, but Eleanor did not take it.
“What is it?”
“A letter. From you, in fact.”
The world seemed to tilt beneath her.
“I have written no such thing.”
“I thought you might say that.”
Julian handed the document to the dowager instead. She opened it and read the first lines. Her face hardened in an instant, at which point it was too much for Eleanor to bear, and so she took the page from her.
The handwriting looked like hers.
Her stomach turned as she read the words, each carefully formed line suggesting that she had wished Lord Marbury dead and had felt trapped within her marriage.
It was an ugly distortion of thoughts she had had once or twice but had never written, but the hand, the phrasing, even the small habits of her writing appeared convincing.
“This is forged.”
Julian’s expression remained calm. “That will be for the court to determine.”
Beatrice stepped beside Eleanor. “You cannot possibly expect anyone to believe this.”
“People believe what can be presented convincingly.” Julian’s gaze returned to Eleanor. “And there is other unfortunate news. Alas, Tibbs has disappeared.”
The words fell into the yard like another blow. The apothecary’s man had been their strongest link to the corruption of Julian’s case. If he vanished before the hearing, the evidence they had spent days assembling would become far harder to present.
Julian gave a slight bow.
“I fear it may prove to be an unexpectedly difficult morning for Mrs. Hartley. I wish you luck, and you can decide whether it is good or bad.”
He turned away, and Eleanor watched him go, the forged letter in his hand.
Only hours remained before the trial. Gabriel was riding toward the solicitor with Faulks’s confession, but Julian had arrived with a fabricated admission in Eleanor’s own hand and the disappearance of their most important witness.
And somewhere beyond Ravenscourt, the truth about Lord Marbury’s death still remained with Jem Carter.
Chapter 24
The courtroom was already crowded when Gabriel entered, and the low murmur of conversation followed him across the polished floor.
The morning light was caught on the dark coats and silk gowns of the restless people who had come to witness what promised to be one of Bath’s most discussed proceedings. Gabriel barely noticed them.
His attention went immediately to Eleanor, who sat beside their solicitor with her hands folded carefully before her, her face pale.
Beatrice sat behind her with the dowager, while Cassandra had taken a place farther back.
William had been too weak to attend, but Gabriel felt his absence keenly as he took his place beside Eleanor.
Eleanor looked at him as he sat down, and some of the strain in her eased.
“Thank you for coming,” she whispered.
“I said I would.”
Her fingers shifted against the edge of the table, and Gabriel noticed how tightly she was holding herself together.
“Did the solicitor receive Faulks’s confession?”
“Before dawn, yes.”
“Then we have a chance.”
Gabriel turned his hand beneath the table and briefly touched hers.
“We have more than that. We have evidence.”
Before she could answer, the judge entered, and the courtroom fell silent. Gabriel straightened as the proceedings began, every instinct in him sharpening beneath the calm he had to maintain. Julian’s counsel rose first, a silver-haired barrister who had clearly been in the field for a long time.
“My lord,” he began, “we shall demonstrate that Mrs. Eleanor Hartley was to blame for the tragic death of her doting husband. We shall further demonstrate that her conduct before Lord Marbury’s death reveals a desire to be free of her marriage, and the dastardly way in which she took matters into her own hands. ”
Gabriel could barely contain himself as the counsel described Eleanor’s character in terms so cruel. He glanced toward Eleanor, who remained perfectly still.
Then Julian’s counsel produced the letter.
Gabriel had been made aware of the forged document, but watching it placed before the court made the deception far more dangerous.
He claimed it revealed her state of mind during the weeks preceding Lord Marbury’s death, and when he began to read, those in attendance hung on his every word.
When it ended, Julian’s counsel allowed the silence to linger for a moment.
“My lord, this letter provides the court with a clear indication of the accused’s feelings toward her husband.”
Their solicitor rose at once. “The defense disputes the authenticity of the document.”
A faint smile touched the barrister’s mouth.
He then went on to say that Eleanor had been unhappy in her marriage and had spoken in ways that suggested she wanted Lord Marbury gone.
He claimed she had asked how a person might die without the cause being discovered, and when the words reached the gallery, Gabriel heard the inevitable stir of interest.
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly. Gabriel reached beneath the table and found her hand. Her fingers closed around his. Their solicitor leaned toward her.
“Do not react.”
“I am trying not to.”
Gabriel kept his eyes on the witness, though every part of him wanted to turn toward Eleanor and shield her from the room. Each statement strengthened the picture Julian wanted the court to accept, and for a stretch of the morning Gabriel could feel the courtroom leaning toward it.
Then their solicitor rose.
“My lord, the defense will now demonstrate that the letter presented by the opposing counsel could not have been written by Mrs. Eleanor Hartley.”
The first witness was an older woman who had served Eleanor’s family for many years, and he watched as she approached the witness box with a bundle of letters in her hands. The solicitor placed the forged letter before her.
“Mrs. Finch, how long have you known the lady’s handwriting?”
“Since she was a girl.”
“And would you recognize it?”
“Immediately.”
Mrs. Finch studied the forged document for a mere moment before looking up.
“This was not written by Mrs. Hartley. The capital E is wrong. Mrs. Hartley has always formed the middle stroke differently. She begins it here, rather than here.”
Mrs. Finch indicated the relevant letter before moving to another.
“Her lower-case R is also distinctive, and her spacing is wider than this. Whoever wrote this has studied her hand, but they have not reproduced it accurately.”
Julian’s counsel objected again, calling the differences insignificant. Mrs. Finch looked directly at him.
“They are not insignificant when someone is attempting to imitate another person’s hand in order to accuse them of such a horrific crime.”
Gabriel saw Eleanor breathe more deeply beside him. He could feel the tension in her hand beginning to ease.
The solicitor was not finished.
“Mrs. Finch, do you know where Lady Eleanor was on the date written upon this letter?”
“Yes. She was with my employer in London.”
Julian’s counsel rose sharply. “London? Could you be mistaken?”
Mrs. Finch shook her head.
“No. They had received news concerning Lord Marbury’s health that morning, and I remember the day because she spent the evening writing to her sister. She remained in the house throughout the entire day and did not leave until the following morning.”
Gabriel felt a triumph move through him. The forged letter claimed to have been written on a day when Eleanor had been elsewhere. The solicitor turned toward the judge.
“My lord, we have here a document which differs materially from the accused’s known handwriting and which purports to have been written on a date when the accused was demonstrably elsewhere. The defense submits that the document is a forgery.”
Gabriel looked directly at Julian. His jaw was rigid, and one hand had tightened around the arm of his chair. Gabriel turned back to Eleanor. She was staring at the forged letter, her eyes bright with disbelief and exhaustion.
“It is over,” she whispered. “Well, the matter of the letter is. We still have the rest of the case.”