The Bride Hunt (29 page)

Prudence laughed. She couldn’t help it, and even as she did so she saw her father’s gaze swing towards her, his eyes vividly alert. She could not, of course, disguise her laugh. She hadn’t practiced that. But in this case, all to the good.

“You find that amusing,
madame
?” It was clear that her laughter had discomfited the barrister. His accusation, however wild, had been intended to fluster her.

“Very much so,” she said. “I was taught by
ma mère
—forgive me, my mother—to find male pretension . . . ’ow you say . . . amusing . . . ridiculous.” She produced a very Gallic shrug and another careless laugh. It might not make her any friends among the jury but her father had gone very pale and his eyes remained fixed upon her.

Had he understood?

Sir Samuel, of course, had not. He was beaming now, certain that he had the jury in the palm of his hand. “Male pretension,” he said, tapping the broadsheet against the rail. “Quite so,
madame.
Eloquently put. So you maintain that you have no personal knowledge of his lordship. So I ask you again, what could you know of the private business dealings between two men, friends for many years? Two men with whom you have had no dealings, whose characters you know nothing about.”

He turned again to the courtroom. “Lord Duncan sits here, gentlemen of the jury, prepared to stand up as a character witness for his friend. Would he do so if that so-called friend had been dealing the cards behind his back? Would he give a man whom he distrusted a lien on his house? I ask you, gentlemen of the jury, ladies and gentlemen, isn’t that a little far-fetched?” He turned back to the witness box, bowed at its occupant with a mocking flourish, and strode to his table with a nod towards Gideon.

Gideon rose. “I have no questions of this witness, m’lud.”

There was a little collective gasp in the courtroom. The only witness for the defense had just been destroyed and her barrister was doing nothing to repair the damage.

Prudence rose and returned to her seat. Gideon touched her knee, a fleeting gesture, but it told her all she needed to know. She had not dared to look at her father during Sir Samuel’s declamation, but Gideon had been watching him closely.

Sir Samuel declared, “I call Lord Arthur Duncan, m’lud.”

Lord Duncan walked to the witness box.

Chapter 19

P
rudence could barely watch as her father took the oath. His voice was controlled and courteous, and when he sat down his hands rested unmoving on the rail of the witness box.

Sir Samuel approached the box. “Good afternoon, Lord Duncan.” He smiled.

“Good afternoon.”

“You are here to testify on behalf of your friend Lord Barclay.”

“I am here, sir, to testify in a libel suit against a publication known as
The Mayfair Lady,
” Lord Duncan said steadily.

Sir Samuel looked startled. Then he recovered and said, “Quite so, m’lud. That is the business that brings us all here today. Would you tell the gentlemen of the jury how long you and Lord Barclay have been friends.”

“I have known the earl of Barclay for close to ten years.”

“And he is one of your closest friends.” Sir Samuel was now regarding his witness much as a ferret might regard a rabbit hole from which a fox might appear instead of the rabbit.

“I would have called him so, yes.”

Sir Samuel closed his eyes briefly and changed tack. “You and his lordship have shared several business ventures together, as I understand it.”

“Only one of any significance.”

“The matter of the trans-Saharan railway?”

“Yes. A venture that I was persuaded would bring a considerable return on investment.”

“Such ventures often fail, unfortunately.” Sir Samuel shook his head regretfully. “All the investors suffered losses in that instance, I understand.”

“To my knowledge, the only investor involved was myself, sir. And, yes, I suffered losses of some magnitude.”

Again the barrister shook his head. “As indeed did Lord Barclay himself.”

“That I doubt, sir, since at the time of the apparent collapse of this venture, he held a lien on my house. That could not be called a loss.”

Sir Samuel looked up at the dais. “M’lud,” he began, but was interrupted.

“Testimony not going quite as you expected, Sir Samuel?”

“No, m’lud. I request a recess until the morning.”

The judge shook his head. “No time for that. Dismiss the witness if you wish and call your next.”

“I cannot dismiss the witness, m’lud, without making him available to my learned friend, Sir Gideon,” the barrister pointed out in pained tones.

“No, that is certainly true,” the judge said. He sounded as if he was enjoying himself, and Prudence decided she liked him even less than she liked Sir Samuel, even if he did appear to be ruling on their side.

Sir Samuel cleared his throat. “Lord Duncan, you surrendered a lien on your house willingly?”

“I did, because at the time I thought I had no choice. I was unaware, you must understand, that the company I had invested in had no legal standing. My
friend
failed to mention this.” This emphasis was so slight and yet it rang through the now intent and silent courtroom like a peal of bells.

“No further questions, m’lud.” Sir Samuel returned to his seat.

“Sir Gideon?” the judge invited.

Gideon rose. “No questions for this witness, m’lud.”

“You seem to be having rather an easy time of it today, Sir Gideon,” the judge remarked genially.

Gideon merely bowed and sat down.

Lord Duncan left the witness box and walked straight from the courtroom, ignoring the rising whispers, the interested looks that followed his progress.

Prudence half rose as if to follow him, and then resumed her seat when Gideon took her elbow.

The judge looked around the courtroom. “Any further witnesses, Sir Samuel?”

“No, m’lud.”

“Then, Sir Gideon, the court is yours.”

“I have nothing further, m’lud.”

Prudence didn’t hear the rest of the formalities. She paid no attention to the closing arguments to the jury before they were sent off to deliberate, and she registered only distantly the judge’s advice that if they the jurors found the publication not guilty of libel, they could consider awarding
The Mayfair Lady
punitive damages for the distress caused by a frivolous suit.

Prudence could think only that for the last four years they had tried to protect their father, do for him what their mother would have done, and now in the most public and humiliating situation imaginable they had forced reality upon him. It had been Chastity’s idea to use a phrase that their mother had used so often.

Male pretension.
The phrase had always made her husband protest with one breath and laugh in the next. It had told Lord Duncan who was in the witness box. And, of course, it had explained exactly how his private shame was now public knowledge. Would he ever forgive them?

She became aware of Gideon’s hand on her arm. He was ushering her out of the courtroom and into the small antechamber again. Chastity and Constance were already there. They hugged one another fiercely.

“Will he forgive us?” Chastity asked, echoing her sister’s thought.

“How long could he go on living a lie?” The question came from Gideon, who still stood beside the door. They turned on him with livid eyes. He raised his hands defensively and backed out of the chamber. No man in his right mind would face the combined wrath of the Duncan sisters.

“It’s true, though,” Prudence said after an instant’s silence. “How long could it go on?”

“It was already over,” Constance pointed out practically. “Without his testimony we were going to lose and then he’d have to face reality, and with it . . . well . . .” She blew her nose vigorously.

The door opened and they all three spun to face it. Lord Duncan came in, letting it swing shut behind him. “That barrister told me I’d find you in here.” He regarded his daughters in a silence that seemed to stretch like elastic. “How dared you?” he demanded finally. “My private papers? What possible right did you think you had?”

“We didn’t think we had any,” Prudence said. “But we
knew
that we had no choice. Any more than Mother would have had.”

“
The Mayfair Lady
was Mother’s publication,” Constance said gently.

He gave a short laugh. “I realize that now. I should have known it all along.”

“We couldn’t lose it to a man who—” Prudence fell silent as he held up an imperative hand.

“I don’t want to hear it. I’ve heard enough for one day. I’ll see you at home. You too, Constance.” The door closed quietly behind him.

The sisters gave a collective sigh, then Prudence said, “This may sound perverse, but I feel the most amazing sense of release . . . now that he knows, I mean.”

“Yes,” Chastity agreed soberly.

“I imagine Jenkins and Mrs. Hudson will feel it too,” Constance said, just as a tap at the door heralded Gideon’s return.

“The jury’s coming back. Prudence . . .” He gestured to the open door.

“That was quick. Is that good or bad?” she asked.

“I prefer not to speculate. Come along.” His tone was brisk and she sensed for the first time today that he was not as nerveless as he appeared.

The jury filed in. The verdict was read.

“We find the publication.
The Mayfair Lady,
not guilty of libel, my lord.”

Prudence went limp as if she’d lost her skeletal structure. She stared down at the table, at her hands intertwined on its surface. She barely heard the rest of it. The award to the defendant of all costs and one thousand pounds in damages.

Only when it was over did she realize that they were free and clear. All legal costs would be borne by Barclay’s side, so Gideon would get his fee. Presumably. rather more than an eighty-percent share of a thousand pounds would give him, she thought as she tried not to stumble on their walk from the court. People crowded them, questions were shouted at her, but she was barely aware of her surroundings. Gideon’s hand was under her arm, supporting her, and then they were outside in the gray afternoon, and once again a hackney awaited them.

“Get in,” he said, thrusting her inside as a gaggle of newspapermen pressed close, shouting their questions. Prudence half climbed, half tumbled into the gloomy interior, and realized only when she was inside that her sisters were already seated. “How did you get here?”

“Thadeus,” Constance said.

Gideon leaned in through the window and said softly, “The cabbie will take you to a hotel first. We don’t want you followed home. I imagine your father is already besieged. When it’s dark and they’ve given up for the night, Thadeus will escort you home.”

“You think of everything,” Prudence observed.

“That is part of my job. On which subject, if it’s convenient I’ll call upon you in the morning to conclude our business.”

“Oh, yes,” Prudence said. “Our bargain. Of course.”

“Precisely.” He closed the door on them.

“Not much of a bargain for the barrister,” Constance remarked.

“Well, his fee’s covered by Barclay’s costs. I doubt he’s concerned,” Chastity said.

“No,” Constance agreed. “But if not, why’s he so anxious for his pound of flesh?”

“I daresay he wants to put the entire affair behind him completely,” Prudence said from the darkest corner of the cab. “Once the last piece of business is settled, it will be over and he can get on with his normal life without worrying about three contentious and subversive sisters.”

“You mean
one
contentious and subversive sister,” Constance stated.

Prudence shrugged. “What if I do? I’ll not be sorry to have it all over and done with, once and for all.”

“I’m sure it will be a relief,” Chastity agreed in soothing tones. Her eyes sought her eldest sister’s in the dimness. Constance raised her eyebrows in silent comprehension.

Gideon went back to his chambers. He felt none of his usual euphoria after winning a case—in fact, he felt more as if he was about to start trying one. He discarded wig and gown, poured himself a stiff whisky, and sat down at his desk. He had a plan of campaign, just as he always had before starting a trial, but he had no backup plan. There was none to be had. It was a high-stakes throw. All or nothing. And there had been nothing in her manner to encourage making such a move at this juncture. He had hoped for something. He didn’t know what exactly, but some small sign that she had missed him. But she’d given him nothing.

He reached for his cigarette box. He had to make allowances for the fact that she had had so much on her plate today, she probably had no mental or emotional energy for anything else. But all the same, he had watched her like a hawk when she’d first entered his chambers, and she’d given him nothing but that cool greeting. She hadn’t looked well and she was clearly troubled, but that was hardly surprising. She was facing a courtroom and the possible loss of her livelihood and a great deal else besides. Her mind had definitely not been on matters of the heart.

He sighed and stubbed out his cigarette. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt this anxious.

“You look as if you could do with a sherry, Prue,” Constance said when they were ensconced in a private parlor in a discreet establishment in a side street off Piccadilly.

“There seems to be everything here,” Chastity said, turning from her examination of the sideboard. “There’s tea, if you’d rather. Sandwiches and fruitcake . . . cheese and biscuits . . . sherry, wine, even cognac.”

“It’s a little early for cognac,” Prudence said. “But I’ll have a glass of sherry.”

“You were magnificent, Prue,” Constance said, tossing her hat and gloves on a console table. “I don’t know how you managed to keep that accent going without it sounding like a Feydeau farce.”

“I think it did,” Prudence said, taking the sherry Chastity handed her. “It’s the
ze
that always gets to me. I want to laugh every time.” She took a sip of sherry. “Not this afternoon, however. I’ve never felt less like laughing.”

“No, none of us have.” Constance poured sherry for herself. “But it’s over. We won.
The Mayfair Lady
and the Go-Between are safe. And no one knows us from Adam.”

“Except Father.”

“Except Father,” she agreed.

“There’s a pack of cards here,” Chastity said. “How about we play three-handed bridge? We’ve got to do something to pass the time if we’re not to fall into a slough of despond.”

They had been playing for two hours when Thadeus came for them. “There are no newspapermen around the house anymore,” he said.

“And Lord Duncan?”

“He had not left the premises when I came to fetch you,” the clerk said. “He might have gone out since, of course.”

“No, he’s waiting for us,” Prudence said, sliding the cards back into their silver case. “You’re coming back with us, Con?”

“Of course,” her elder sister said. “I’d hardly leave you to face him alone. Max will know what happened in court by now, so he’ll assume I’m with you.”

“The carriage is at the back door,” Thadeus informed them. “I thought it best to avoid the front just in case anyone’s lingering.”

“You think of everything, Thadeus.” Prudence smiled wanly at him. He merely bowed.

They sat in silence during the short ride to Manchester Square. “We’ll go in the back way,” Prudence said as they turned into the square. “Ask him to go to the mews entrance, Thadeus.”