Chapter Twenty-Three
Mickey’s heart plummeted to his boots. If that look was anything to go by, the man would happily deliver a death sentence for an offence as trivial as a misplaced button on a waistcoat.
Valentin stood accused of a hell of a lot more than that.
With a deliberately cultivated air of solemnity, Campbell-Allen made his opening remarks.
“Your Grace, my lords, my ladies. Gentlemen of the Jury. You are here today to witness the fair trial of Valentin Beauregard of Verdille, France, whereupon you twelve men shall determine his guilt pertaining to the offence of Grand Larceny.
“Valentin Beauregard was apprehended on December 31st, 1825, in the grounds of a property belonging to the Marquess of Talybridge. He was subsequently accused of the theft of goods from a locked safe in a downstairs study of the same property.”
The judge peered at his notes. It occurred to Mickey that the omission of Valentin’s title was a deliberate attempt to lessen his lover even further in the eyes of the jury.
“Firstly,” Campbell-Allen continued, “a necklace constructed of a gold chain and decorated with diamonds and sapphires with a combined value estimated at twenty thousand pounds.” He paused, frowning disapprovingly as a ripple of excitement echoed around the courtroom, bouncing off the high vaulted ceiling.
“Secondly, a set of gold earbobs constructed of two sapphires estimated at a value of five thousand pounds, matching the necklace. The total value of items stolen is therefore valued at twenty-five thousand pounds.”
In the dock, Valentin’s face remained impassive as he listened intently to the incomprehensible sums of money.
“Furthermore, the defendant is accused on a second count of the lesser crime of damage to property, also belonging to the Marquess of Talybridge, specifically damage to a large glass window and the surrounding frame. He is also accused on a third count of engaging in activities suggestive of intent to commit a crime—namely running from the scene of a crime and being found in possession of a picklock key fitting a safe, also belonging to the Marquess of Talybridge. The safe is situated in the room whereupon the window was found to be broken and, on the night in question, was discovered unlocked and open. The items of jewellery previously described were missing from within. Over the course of this case against Mr Beauregard, you will hear evidence regarding his arrest whilst fleeing the scene of the crime, his possession of a picklock specifically manufactured to open a safe belonging to the Marquess of Talybridge, a description of an accomplice who remains at large, and that the priceless items of jewellery remain unfound.”
Valentin was hung, drawn, and quartered before Talybridge even opened his mouth. Suffused with heat, Mickey loosened his cravat.
“Stay strong,” Rossingley whispered as Mickey stifled a hopeless groan.
“If you imagined Beauregard would receive a fair trial, then you have found yourself in the wrong courthouse. We must let this thing unroll as the judge intends for a while. The great unwashed behind us are here to see a handsome French vicomte hang.” He smiled grimly.
“Whereas we, my darling, are here to see a dead duchess avenged and a handsome French vicomte walk free. And, trust me, those latter two scenarios are not mutually exclusive events.”
Mickey prayed to God he was right.
“My lord.” Campbell-Allen acknowledged Talybridge with a deferential incline of his head. “You have dispensed with your legal representation?”
“I deemed it unnecessary,” Talybridge responded highhandedly. “They tend to slow proceedings down, do they not?”
Music to the judge’s ears. He nodded his approval. “Quite. In which case, my lord, I invite you to call your first witness.”
“Indeed. My butler, Havens.”
As the servant scuttled to the witness stand, Mickey shot a glance at Valentin. Once more, he muttered to his guards, only one eye on the trim fellow arranging himself at the stand. He seemed calm, at peace even. Whereas Mickey’s every inhaled gasp felt tortured.
“Your full account of the night of the 31st, if you will, Havens,” prompted Talybridge.
Mickey’s heart sank further still as Havens began his tale. As befitting the head butler of a marquess, the man spoke with a quiet assurance, every sparse word landing precisely where it was meant to, smoothing across any edges of doubt.
“I am head butler in the employ of the Marquess of Talybridge, a role I have held for twenty-two years. At approximately a quarter past eight on the eve of the New Year, I was alerted by a housemaid that a window had been broken in the marquess’s study, and that two men were making their escape through the rear garden.
I gave chase immediately, calling, ‘Stop thief!’ and caught up with them both in time to observe one of the gentlemen assist the other over a stone wall into the mews beyond.
Though the second gentleman escaped via the mews, I apprehended the first gentleman—with the aid of several other members of the household and two invited guests—until the Guard was summoned. ”
“And is the gentleman you apprehended in court today?” enquired Talybridge.
“He is, my lord.” Havens raised his finger, pointing to the dock. “He is that gentleman standing there.”
“Objection,” called Valentin lightly, cutting through a wave of muted chattering from the gallery. “The garden was in darkness. I doubt one could see farther than one’s nose.”
The judge intervened. “You are certain that the gentleman you chased and apprehended was this gentleman?”
“Yes, I am certain.” Havens gave a brisk nod.
“I have a good memory for faces, my lord. An hour earlier, on his arrival in the ballroom, I served him with a small balloon of cognac. It was notable as he refused my offer of ratafia, thus I sent a member of my staff to retrieve the brandy. Moreover, he has—” The butler hesitated, tilting his head up to where Valentin’s own head was cocked to one side as he listened carefully.
“—striking features and a memorable accent.”
Valentin’s objection had demonstrated the latter beautifully. The former was self-evident.
“You may cross-examine the witness, Mr Beauregard,” offered the judge with a sigh, leaving no ambiguity about his opinion regarding the futility of it. Nonetheless, Valentin stood; he even threw the butler a charming smile.
“You recall my features and foreign accent, and you apprehended me in the garden. And yet you found nothing in my possession to suggest I had stolen valuables from your employer.”
“You were behaving in a manner unfit for a guest and were seen running away from a broken window and an open safe,” answered Havens stiffly. “I was merely performing my duties to my employer.”
Valentin nodded thoughtfully at the unruffled butler. “And you say you saw me assist another gentleman over a wall. Yet this unknown man has never been found. The garden was dark.”
“The drapes pushed back from the ballroom window illuminated it well enough. And I know what I saw.”
Valentin sat down again, the chain on his wrist jangling. “No more questions, my lord.”
Next came three more witnesses, all long-serving members of Talybridge’s household and all delivering their own versions of the same story, give or take a few embellishments.
As each witness came to the end of their tale, Valentin posed the same questions, his shoulders sagging lower as each loyal servant stepped away from the witness stand.
No matter that only one of them remarked on Mickey’s limp, nor that the second described him as short and fat and the third as tall and thin.
Mickey already read the verdict on the sober faces of the twelve men of the jury, on the faces of the rapt audience, even on the earnest mien of the judge.
Talybridge’s expression was so thickly smug, one could spread it on toast.
As the case dragged on, guilt settled on Valentin’s shoulders—persistent and unyielding. Mickey couldn’t see any path to escaping it, no breaking free of the tightening noose wrapping around his lover’s neck.
Talybridge’s final witness was Mr Harold Pearson, the Bow Street runner who’d so petrified Mickey when he’d come sniffing around at Squire’s. He instilled the same fear now as he described his arrest of Valentin and his subsequent discovery of the open safe.
“In the course of my investigation, I visited the premises of Chubb and Sons, situated in St Paul’s Church Yard.
The safe in the marquess’s study is fitted with a Chubb detector lock.
I discovered that a picklock key fitting this safe was reported as missing one month earlier.
I shall spare you all the details, but a young man previously in the employ of Chubb is now a guest of Marshalsea Prison, awaiting trial for the theft of one picklock key from his employer under the aggregated category of crimes labelled Theft from a Specified Place.
On direct questioning, this individual confessed to receiving ten pounds from an unidentified foreign gentleman in exchange for the theft of the key. ”
Talybridge shot Valentin a long, satisfied look. “Did the Chubb thief describe that gentleman?”
“Tall, thin, and dark,” confirmed Pearson.
“Persuasive and charming. I took the liberty of bringing the prisoner from Marshalsea to Newgate, and he confirmed that the accused in the dock today is the man who gave him money in exchange for the key. I have his signed statement here, if the judge and jury would care to examine it.”
“That shan’t be necessary.” Campbell-Allen gave a wave of his hand. “I think we can all agree?”
“Quite,” barked Talybridge. “In your esteemed opinion, Mr Pearson, how do you believe the events of New Year’s Eve unfolded?”