Agent of the Crown (48 page)

And Liam, Liam who was in almost as many of
her memories of Longbourne as Ben, Liam lifting her to put the last
touches on her tent of lights, Liam laughing as he pressed the
button on his watch and heard her voice teasing him. She pressed
her face into the side of her mattress and screamed out her pain.
And they had died thinking she’d used them.

She almost couldn’t bear to go back to the
list after that, but she had to know. She leaned against the bed,
weak from crying, and made herself read the rest of the list. Too
many friends. Too many she needed to mourn.

She already knew what she’d find, but she
turned to the second list. Ben’s name was at the top.

“Serious injury,” it was titled, as if that
were enough, as if people wouldn’t want to know exactly what kind
of serious injury they should worry about or if it was something a
person might die of. Without Jeffy’s story, her imagination would
have tortured her with the possibilities.

She forced herself to focus on the list.
There was her old adversary Irv Tanner. Both the Andersons. At
least twenty other people she knew as more than acquaintances. Jack
Taylor’s name was absent, and so was Isabel Colton’s. Small
mercies.

She crumpled the pages, then smoothed and
refolded them and put them on her bedside table. She went into her
bathroom and washed her face, then stared into the mirror to see
how ravaged her grief had made her. Her eyes were slightly red and
puffy, that was all. It seemed unfair that someone like Liam
Richardson could die and that loss didn’t show up on her face.

I have to testify,
she silently told
her reflection.
The Baron did this. He killed Liam and Trey and
Ed and all the others. His death won’t bring them back, but it
might bring them justice.

The idea terrified her. She had seen trials,
seen those pitiable figures sit in front of hundreds of their peers
and be questioned and cross-questioned until they almost forgot
their own names. She would be unable to hide behind the Princess’s
mask, and the nobles of the entire kingdom would join Longbourne in
hating her, though they would have better reason to do so, since
the Princess really had manipulated most of them.

But what else could she do, and retain her
honor? She was used to losing things by now. She’d lost Lainie
Bricker. She was about to lose the Princess. It seemed she was
going to find out who Telaine North Hunter was, because that would
be the only identity left to her.

Graham Belcote’s
office looked like a tidier version of her uncle’s, though the
chief questioner for the Crown preferred landscapes in oils and his
windows were smaller. Belcote was a small, fussy-looking man whose
thin lips and prissy expression concealed a sharp mind and a kind
heart. Telaine sat opposite him in a chair whose cushions were too
soft to be comfortable and said, “Go ahead and explain, Mister
Belcote.”

“The procedure is simple,” Belcote said.
“You’ll sit before the grand jury, which includes the King and six
randomly chosen men and women of the accused’s peers, and tell your
story. Then I’ll ask you a few questions to clarify what you’ve
said, or draw attention to something I think will be particularly
damning. Then the chief cross-questioner will try to show holes or
inconsistencies in your statement. After all the witnesses have
testified, the grand jury will deliberate and return with a
verdict.”

“If they find the Baron guilty, how long will
it be before he’s executed?” Telaine asked.

“The sentence is handed down immediately. For
a capital trial like this, it’s only a matter of days before it’s
carried out.”

Telaine let out a deep breath. “I’m ready for
it all to be over,” she said.

“There’s nothing for you to worry about. Evan
Kirkpatrick is a ruthless cross-questioner, but you don’t appear
easily rattled.”

“I hope you’re right. What worries me is that
my testimony is going to be the key to the Baron’s conviction.”

“You’re not the only witness. Count Harroden
can attest to the smuggling operation.”

“But you said the cross-questioner would tear
him apart.”

“He’s weak-willed, true, but we’re working
with him. Really, your Highness, you’ve nothing to worry
about.”

She might not have anything to fear from the
cross-questioner, but she could admit to herself in the darkness of
her bedroom that she was terrified of facing the public barefaced,
as it were. Having the Princess exposed as a spy wasn’t as hard, in
most ways, as having Lainie Bricker exposed as a spy and a fraud.
She didn’t care for most of the Princess’s acquaintances, though
she did feel a pang at the idea of someone like Michael Cosgrove
believing she’d made a mockery of him.

But the political repercussions…how many
landed houses, how many noble estates, had she infiltrated in her
career? How many people would now revile her for stealing their
secrets, or assume she’d made such thefts when she hadn’t?

She’d had this discussion with her uncle two
days before the trial. “I’m still not convinced it’s a good idea to
admit I’ve been spying on them for so long,” she’d said. “Won’t
that open you up to a possible rebellion? The fact that you don’t
trust your nobles, I mean.”

“Not in this generation,” the King had
replied. “Some of them will use it as an excuse to challenge me in
the Council, which is a problem I’ll deal with, and others will
want me to reveal who my other spies are, which isn’t going to
happen. What it opens me up to is a lot of noise and self-righteous
chest-pounding. Everyone spies on everyone else, Telaine, it’s not
a secret. They all know I have spies. They just won’t like the idea
that you were one of them.”

“I hope this is all worth it. If Harstow gets
away with this…I made promises that he’d receive justice.”

“It’s true, there’s a chance he’ll be
exonerated. All I can tell you is that without your testimony, the
possibility of that happening increases dramatically. It’s worth
the political fallout.”

“I know you’re right.” But she still worried.
It gave her no comfort to know the King was dealing with most of
this; she would be facing the world naked, without her Princess’s
mask to hide behind.

The day of the trial, she wore a new gown,
fashionable but not frivolous, did her face with the bare minimum
of cosmetics, and had Posy style her hair in an elegant fashion she
hoped made her look self-possessed and confident. She looked in the
mirror and saw, as if for the first time, neither the Princess nor
Lainie Bricker but Telaine North Hunter. Herself.

The assembly hall of the Justiciary, dimly
lit with traditional torches rather than Devices, was a steeply
tiered auditorium that resembled a funnel, lined with unpadded
benches. It wasn’t a comfortable place, cold and with a draft
strong enough to ruffle Telaine’s hair. Despite the torches, which
smoked somewhat, the room smelled of nothing, not even the perfumes
and colognes the audience surely wore. A plain, unvarnished
platform at the bottom of the funnel held seven chairs, ordinary
armchairs with no padding, for the grand jury. There wasn’t even a
throne; the King was one among equals for this, though Telaine
guessed his opinion still carried extra weight.

To each side of the platform stood tables,
again ordinary ones that might have come from someone’s kitchen.
The whole thing looked so… ‘ordinary’ was still the word that came
to Telaine’s mind. It seemed no one was encouraged to think of the
job of determining someone’s guilt or innocence as glamorous or
deserving of public acclaim.

But it was the chair in the middle of the
platform her eye kept returning to. This one was padded, if
lightly, and the ends of its armrests were a lighter color than the
rest of it, as if people had gripped them tightly and worn the
varnish off them over the course of many years. It was where
witnesses sat—where Telaine would sit soon enough, to testify of
the Baron’s guilt and to reveal her best-kept secret. It was only
her imagination that it looked back at her.

Telaine looked around when she was led to her
seat on the witness row, the lowest tier of seats; she didn’t see
the Baron anywhere. He would be giving testimony first, but when he
wasn’t on the stand he had to be isolated, so he could observe the
proceedings but not put undue influence on the other witnesses. She
hoped she could bear listening to him speak without leaping to her
feet and denouncing him again.

It was worse than she’d imagined. The Baron’s
questioner—not Belcote; legally he couldn’t question both the
defendant and the witnesses against him—was a smooth-spoken,
reasonable man who made the Baron’s crimes seem either trivial or
nonexistent. Telaine’s name didn’t come up at all. The Baron was
impeccably dressed in a pale blue morning coat and a cravat pinned
with the same ruby he was wearing the first time she’d met him. He
was poised and calm regardless of how pointed the
cross-questioner’s inquiries were.

Master cross-questioner Evan Kirkpatrick, a
tall man in his early thirties with a strong chin and fierce
eyebrows, seemed not put off by this. Telaine had expected
Kirkpatrick to rant, try to break down the witnesses with sarcasm
and verbal violence, but he simply asked questions until the
Baron’s self-control cracked and he began answering questions more
rapidly.

Eventually Kirkpatrick dismissed him, though
Telaine had no idea what he’d gotten out of the Baron, because it
sounded as if he hadn’t been proved guilty of anything. Probably it
was more important what the grand jury made of it.

The Count of Harroden broke down completely
on the stand and had to be helped out of the assembly hall.
Kirkpatrick looked almost sorry about it. He was definitely a
ruthless cross-questioner, and Telaine determined he would not
reduce her to tears, or even rattle her composure as he had the
Baron’s. If the Baron, guilty as he was, could stand up to
questioning, she certainly could.

The questioner’s assistant called her name.
She heard a rustling of sound pass through the audience. Her
presence was a total surprise. Uncle had done his work well.

Graham Belcote stepped forward and said,
“Your Highness, will you tell this court why you are testifying
today?”

She took a deep breath. “Master questioner, I
am an agent of the Crown and I uncovered Baron Steepridge’s
treasonous plot.”

There was a moment of absolute silence. Then
the room erupted into argument and shouting at her. Voices
challenged the King, those words tangled in one another into
unintelligibility. The King allowed the furor to continue for half
a minute, then stood and walked forward. Silence fell.

“Princess Telaine North Hunter’s role as an
agent of the Crown is not the subject of this court. She has
consented to testify in order that justice may be achieved.
Inquiries regarding her status may be directed to the Crown at a
later time. Anyone who cannot maintain silence now is invited to
withdraw.”

No one left. They might be outraged, but they
wanted far more to hear what she had to say.

Telaine told her story as rehearsed, which
had included practice in not sounding rehearsed, and answered a few
questions from Belcote, also scripted. Then Evan Kirkpatrick stood,
placed both his hands on the cross-questioner’s table, and leaned
slightly forward. “Your Highness, how long have you been an agent
of the Crown?”

“Nine years. I was forcibly retired about
three weeks ago.” Quiet gasps, a few murmurs from the audience.

“So you became incapable of performing those
duties?”

“A spy whose identity is known is no longer a
useful spy.”

“Your Highness, you have a reputation as a
frivolous socialite. Up until now, in what way have you served the
Crown?”

Telaine was prepared for this question.
“Master cross-questioner, I am not at liberty to discuss the
details of my previous assignments.”

“Then speak generally. Explain to this court
what kind of agent you are.”

Here it came. “I listened to people. I
visited homes to investigate rumors the Crown might need to be
aware of. I flirted and danced with the right people and avoided
the wrong ones. I shone in the foreground so no one would notice me
moving through the background.”

People started calling out accusations,
swearing and shouting. The guards moved through the audience and
collected the disruptive. Kirkpatrick waited for the commotion to
end. “Do you expect us to believe this background has prepared you
to perform the kind of espionage you claim to have engaged in in
Longbourne?”

“I have no expectations of this court
whatsoever, except that the grand jury discovers the truth.”

Kirkpatrick rubbed his chin. “Will your
Highness allow me to rephrase my last question?”

“I was not aware the cross-questioner
required my permission.” A muted laugh ran through the hall.

“I repeat, what training does a frivolous
socialite have to perform this kind of undercover espionage? What
are your qualifications?”

“Master cross-questioner, I am not at liberty
to reveal the details of my training. The King is responsible for
determining whether I am qualified to perform a mission. That is,
if he sends me, I must be qualified. And with all due respect, sir,
the fact that you think me a frivolous socialite only shows how
good I was at my job.”

She’d said it. She’d confirmed to everyone
present that she’d been playing a game, that every interaction
they’d had with the Princess must now be revisited and
reconsidered. She had discussed this ploy with her uncle, and he’d
been the one to insist on total openness. “Trying to conceal this
will only make things worse,” he’d said. “Better to be honest now
and weather the storm. And I think saying it will do you good.” He
was right.