The Mysterious Lady Law (11 page)

“Come now, Miss Law—you mean to tell this court that you cannot see the guilt in your actions? Bear in mind you have been charged with two counts of murder, one of attempted murder, one of conspiracy to commit murder, and over six hundred instances of fraud.” The old, bewigged crown prosecutor adjusted his pince-nez on the bridge of his nose. His dissection of the case had so far been masterful in terms of evidence. He had expertly questioned Julia, Al and Holly; a selection of Harriet Law’s previous cases now lay scrutinized, skewered and unraveled in a haphazard pile on the evidence table, but the prosecutor had yet to elicit a confession from her.

With customary arrogance, she’d opted to mount her own defence. “You can charge me with poisoning Alexander the Great if it makes you feel better. It doesn’t change the fact that my investigations, temporal or otherwise, have uncovered evidence beyond the means of Scotland Yard. As a time traveller, all I did was discreetly observe the crimes being committed. As far as possible, I did not interfere, for the fabric of time is much too unpredictable. What is done is done and to meddle with that would not be scientific. I merely made notes on the crimes and brought that evidence back to the present, in essence no different than a forensic investigator.”

She continued haughtily, “Where you cry fraud, sir, I proclaim justice—justice for the victims of these heinous crimes. My methods of procuring evidence ought not to be under scrutiny when I have achieved such undeniable success. A rational society would embrace the use of a time machine to protect its citizens. Indeed, the very knowledge of such a device would serve as the ultimate deterrent for criminals everywhere. If they knew they had
no chance whatsoever
of escaping arrest, none would dare consider breaking the law. Think on it, gentlemen of the jury. A crime-free London, overnight and at no cost to anyone. How can—”

The prosecutor slapped his desk and weighed in, thrusting an adamant finger at her. “Yet, you yourself have admitted to tampering with certain events of the past to ensure this so-called ‘evidence’ matches
your
version of what happened. This is more than silent observation, Miss Law. I submit this is a deluded attempt to procure fame and fortune, to hoodwink all parties into believing you have simply
deduced
these facts, unaided. And how can we possibly trust the word of someone who, by her own admission, has willfully changed the past to satisfy her own ambition?”

Pursing her lips, she turned to the judge. “If I may be permitted to answer without the gentleman’s soapbox tactics.”

“Go ahead, Miss Law,” answered the judge. He eyed the barrister. “Prosecution will resist the urge to preach from now on. He is here to question, not to answer for the witness.”

The prosecutor cleared his throat and straightened his collar. “My apologies, Your Honour.”

“Thank you.” Harriet Law’s beautiful face was cold and inscrutable. “As I was saying, the how and the why of my strategies are beside the point. First and foremost, I have proved the guilt of over six hundred and fifty dangerous criminals. My evidence is incontrovertible. Disputing that is to dispute the veracity of every police officer and Scotland Yard detective who ever gave testimony in a trial. Impugning the integrity of a time travelling detective, merely because she travels through time, is illogical. My method is no different than a Scotland Yard official traipsing through a crime scene and picking out evidence. He can tamper with that evidence just as easily as I can.”

“But that man is licensed to investigate by the Crown,” argued the judge.

“Bad form, Your Honour,” she replied. “You forget I am a private detective and am therefore also licensed to an extent.”

“Hmm. Proceed.”

“And need I remind everyone here present that no law exists to govern the legality of time travel. Apart from the charge of attempted murder on Miss Bairstow, which I emphatically deny, this entire trial is unconstitutional. Fraud? Whom did I defraud? My clients paid for a service I rendered to their satisfaction. His Honour and his distinguished colleagues passed sentence on every one of those culprits I brought before them. If I am to be held to account, then certain implications must also arise.”

The judge’s birdlike head pivot tickled a man sitting in front of Julia, as did the hammering he gave his gavel. “Be careful, Miss Law, before I find you in contempt.”

“Sorry, Your Honour. I’ll move on.”

“Please do so.”

“And now, as a point of order, I must dispel the prosecutor’s claim that I have solved these crimes merely to satisfy my own ambition. In my own time, crime detection was so advanced that I was nothing more than an amateur. But my father served as a police officer all his life, as did his father. It was his one wish that I should follow in his footsteps, to uphold the family tradition. Eleven times my application was rejected. I never found out why—not until after he died, when I discovered a curious item in his will. It was listed as ‘the heirloom’ and was located in an underground storage locker beneath our tower block. I learned that my father had been under investigation for years, but no one could ever explain his leaps of logic or his intuition. He died penniless and ostracised. A life spent removing criminals from the streets and what did he have to show for it? A misfit daughter and an empty copper time machine.”

Her voice threatened to break, but after dabbing her eyes, she held her composure. “I never found out how he came by the machine or who gave it to him, but I
did
realise that that was his legacy. And whatever else I did in my life, I would have to perpetuate that legacy. So I chose Victorian London and the advent of modern science. He often spoke of his fondness for this era. Here I could learn to blend in, to start from scratch and using the deductive talent bequeathed me by my father, to make a difference. After I solved the riddle of Jack the Ripper, fame and money came swiftly. People love a celebrity. At least at first. And it is true that I sought this prominence, this notoriety, though not for the reasons the gentleman implies. Put simply, the more famous I became, and the more impressive my record, the more I hoped criminals might think twice about crossing the line. Alas,” she quieted, looked down to her lap, “it never worked out that way.”

As Harriet Law gazed up into the reserved spectators’ gallery, perhaps pleading for a little empathy, Julia glowered back remorselessly. There was that absence of hope in the woman’s big, chilling eyes again that Julia had first perceived after their church meeting—as though Harriet Law had carved out the last of her compassion long ago, and a hollow, ladylike facsimile was all that remained. She was all cogs and gears beneath the porcelain aspect.

Julia shuddered, and then tightened her fists. If she’d had a noose in her hand, she would have tossed it down onto Harriet Law’s lap and insisted the bitch do the honours herself. This testimony was all misdirection—justifying her plight by focusing on the crime-fighting, not the murders. And given her oratory skills, and the fact she was by far the cleverest person in the courtroom, she might well escape without punishment.

Julia had heard enough. Before her hatred exploded, she prodded Al’s good arm and whispered, “I need to get some air. Come with me?”

“Yes. After you. I don’t like where this is going either.”

The crowd outside the Old Bailey had grown to an angry multitude. Placards declared Thou Shalt Not Suffer a Witch to Live, Time Travel is the Devil, Evil Begets Evil and Side with Lady Justice, not Lady Law.

“I think we’d better wait inside.” Al eased his arm around her waist, coaxing her away from the steps.

A familiar squat figure stood to greet them from a bench in one of the secluded alcoves. He threw down his newspaper and flicked them both a salute.

“Holly!” Julia gushed, saluting him back. “I didn’t think you’d stay.”

“Oh, I’m as much a prisoner as Harriet Law, at least for this afternoon.” He nodded in the direction of the mob. “They have the appetite of piranhas…and the teeth. How goes the trial? I’m afraid I rather gave up when she pleaded her innocence for the hundredth time. The words
wall
,
brick
and
head
sprang to mind. She’s still at it, I presume?”

“Like a terrier on a leash,” Julia replied. “She even claimed her henchmen weren’t from the future at all—that they were hired bodyguards from Manchester and that they were taking sexual advantage of
her
when you broke into the bedroom.”

Holly gave a mirthless laugh. “The nerve! It was the furthest thing from rape I’ve ever seen. One woman pleasured by three men at once, and she was
still
the one orchestrating…I beg your pardon, Julia. It was a terribly sordid what have you. Best we leave it at that, right Grant?”

“Absolutely.” Al looked neither of them in the eye. It reminded Julia of the time he’d described Georgy’s murder to her—reluctantly and with as little eye contact as possible. She loved that concern he had for what a lady should and should not hear.

She broke the uncomfortable silence for his sake. “But I think the jury is having a hard time grasping her last-ditch time travel. Between her in the bedroom and her at the bottom of the road, it all rather wrings the brain.”

Holly chuckled. “I’ll say.”

“I think I’ve untangled it, though. Hey, they should ask me back to the stand,” Julia boasted. “See if I get this right.”

The men shared a knowing smile, then listened intently.

“You caught the four of them in debauch,” she explained, “whereupon they opened fire with…what do you call them…automatic guns?” Simultaneous nods. “The standoff continued for five, ten minutes? Meanwhile, a
second
Lady Law attacked me on the staircase. I fought her off and followed her down to the basement to her time machine. After tying her up, I left the house with Al. My poor Al.”

She patted his stomach.

“Upstairs,” she went on, “Lady Law—the
first
Lady Law—escaped into a dumbwaiter in the back bedroom. From there she lowered herself into the basement, freed her
other self,
who I’d tied to a chair and then entered the time machine. She travelled back ten minutes, to before we’d arrived, changed into her black stealth outfit, and surprised to find me barring her escape, she tried to strangle me on the stairs. So
her
time travel had completed its loop.”

“Except that her
other self,
now in the future, freed from being tied up, was able to gather her henchmen and chase us down the street. They went out the back window, round the
top
of the street and followed us in the carriage. That was how they got by Holly. One of them shot our automobile, exploding the steam cylinder. But in the nick of time, good old Holly saved us from a sure execution.”

Breathless, Julia palmed her chest. “Did I get it right?”

“Succinctly and lucidly,” affirmed Holly, a little distracted.

“Bravo,” added Al. “And I must thank you once again, Holly, for your brave show. You’re a handy man to have around.”

“And with that rifle, a regular Quatermain.” Julia let go of Al, moved toward Holly. Waves of emotion furrowed the old man’s brow and he went to turn, to hide it from them. She caught him by the shoulders and held him in a tight embrace, her dear friend, her saviour.

“I swore I’d never fire another shot,” he confessed quietly.

Julia wanted to ask why but it was his affair. She wouldn’t press if he wasn’t forthcoming. “Well, it’s all over now,” she whispered. “And we’ll always be thankful that you picked up that rifle. Always.” Her tender kiss on his whiskered cheek felt like the seal on a friendship that would last a long time.

“As will I,” he said proudly as he recovered.

When she finally let go, Al stepped in and treated him to a manlier handshake. “What say we make a run for it,” Al proposed with a defiant glint in his eyes.

Julia shivered all over. With each passing gesture, he seemed to grow more irresistible, to fit ever more snugly into her most improbable dreams of what a man could be. Only he wasn’t a dream. Nor was he perfect. Al Grant bore scars that would perhaps never heal.

But, more and more, she was learning those scars by heart. For they were her scars now, as well.

“Very well. On three…if we stick together, we’ve proved we can get through anything,” Holly urged, readying himself between his two friends, grabbing each of them by the arm. “One…two…
tallyho.
”

“
…and so begins a lifetime of incarceration for a woman who, less than three years ago, became a peer of the realm by special invitation from Queen Victoria herself. For her role in the murder of two young Londoners, Harriet Law has received a twenty-seven-year prison sentence; a caveat from the judge, however, stated that Miss Law would be eligible for early parole if she cooperated in the instruction of a new Scotland Yard detective bureau. Nicknamed ‘The Back Yarders’ for their time traveling role—specifically into the past, to gather evidence using Miss Law’s repaired machine—this unit and its implementation is to be strictly monitored by the Ministry of Defence in the Leviacrum.

“In an exclusive, given to this newspaper by the MOD, those names selected to the task force so far are: Messrs. Talbot, Pearce, Umbize, Vaughn-Britton and Holmes. More details to be published soon.”

Julia stopped reading and shielded her eyes from the blinding African sun. “So that’s that.” She shrugged and handed her copy of
The Times
to Holly, who immediately flicked to the cricket scores.

“They’re wrongheaded and there’s no more to be said. Bloody wrongheaded,” he snapped, futilely waving away a squall of Africa’s peskiest flying insects from the entrance to his tent.

“It’s damned irregular.” Al chomped on another cigar. “Tossing her in the clink and immediately emulating what got her into that mess in the first place.”

Julia reached over and caressed the back of his hand. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, it’s all in the past.”

“Literally,” scoffed Holly, throwing jabs at the mosquitoes. “Oh, hell, this is intolerable. What say we press on? Shouldn’t be too far now. A few more hours, I dare say, Al?”

“Something like that.”

“And we can brainstorm on the way.” Holly clapped for his native bearers to pack their supplies for the final outward leg of their journey. “Josh and I had our whole epic worked out—more surprises per chapter than a halfpenny comic. But this is
our
story now. Let’s make it a good one.”

By the time Tangeni, their trail guide, hacked away the last of the bracken to reveal a vast, rolling red desert cotton-budded with low clouds, the sun had dipped into a cavity between two high dunes—the gateway to the bowl of Sossusvlei. A florescent sky tide of pinks and reds and violets signalled it was time to camp for the night. Holly dabbed his brow with the end of a kerchief, then stood, gawping at the view.

It had been a long slog across Africa, insect-ridden and mostly uncomfortable, but Julia would not have missed it for the world. It had gifted her several precious months with the man she loved. Al Grant spoke often of the future—when they would marry, where they might live and what Horace would make of their expedition in his new adventure book—but he rarely mentioned the past.

That had been Africa’s gift to them. The passage of time—the great healer. They’d been alone in a lost world, with only an old-school adventurer and the natives’ easygoing ways to keep them company. A world beyond maps and technology. Indeed the new century had birthed over a continent behind them, for Africa’s only timepiece was the sun, and its nature was more flamboyant and unpredictable than anything she’d ever set eyes upon.

“We’ll make camp here.” Holly began bellowing instructions to the Ovambo in their own tongue.

“We’re almost there, according to the map,” Al explained to Julia. “We’ve almost reached Holly’s fictional treasure trove.”

“Oh? And what will you take back with you,” she teased, “besides a pocketful of sand?”

He dropped his rucksack and reached to her waist. Tucking his fingers inside her belt, he pulled her toward him, his brown eyes unblinking, overflowing with desire.

Julia gasped, rode the thumping rhythm of her heart. With a gentle but firm hand he cupped the back of her neck, caressed and eased her toward his lips. She touched the waist of his khaki jacket and closed her eyes. Their lips met and a distant bird caw she’d never heard before, high up, sank subliminally into the kiss, and not even the whooping and applause from a dozen giddy Ovambo could break the promise of passion.

“To Africa,” Al toasted over the embers of their campfire later that night, for which he had invited all the natives as well. They all sipped a little grog from their earthenware cups. “May she never change.”

Julia stood and raised her cup. “And to the sweet adventurers we left behind, who would have both loved to be here with us…indeed, who
are
here with us. To Georgy and Josh. This expedition is for you.”

They all drank another sip and laughter broke out when one of the natives coughed up his grog.

“And last but not least…” Holly leapt to his feet, raised his hip flask. “To the new century! May it be filled with hot air, cool horizons and, just for Julia, the most undrinkable beverage ever inflicted upon man. To the posset!”

“
To the posset,
” they all shouted.