Page 53 of Becoming Lady Dalton
“Think about what you would tell your grandson, if Viola hangs for a crime she didn’t commit,” Piers finished softly.
“What if she is proven guilty?” demanded the baroness. But she had collapsed, slowly, into a chair. Her cane rested against the arm.
“Then I will not stand in the way of justice.” Piers stopped pacing. “But until that moment, your granddaughter needs us.”
Baroness Landor stiffened as if he’d struck her.
“Thank you for your time. Good day, my lord.”
The baroness levered herself out of the chair with her cane and stomped away stiffly.
“Madam. If I may accost you on one last point.”
She stopped. But she did not turn to face him. “Yes?”
“I need your assurances that you will press for leniency with the magistrate.”
For a long moment she left him waiting, until Piers began to think his visit was all for naught.
“I make no promises.”
This time, he didn’t have the heart to stop her as the broken-hearted baroness tapped away from him. Doubt wormed his way into Piers’ heart. He was in love with Viola. It was exhilarating and frightening because not only did he stand to lose her, he could not control the outcome of her case. The risk of being made a fool was high, and he would have to live with the consequences along with the heartbreak.
Oh, Viola. What damage you’ll have wrought if you are, in fact, a thief.
Day bledinto night without clear distinction. Viola waited. When her legs and back ached from sitting on the hard, wooden bench, she paced. She tried singing, only to be startled when an ill-tempered guard banged on the iron bars of her door with a set of keys. The sound was loud enough to make her ears ring.
“Stop that noise!” he shouted, before his boot steps thudded away.
Contrary creature that she was, Viola continued to hum the words and tune under her breath as she walked. She remembered the tickle of her father’s beard against her ear and smiled into the darkness.
Virtually any day was happier than one spent in this cell. She’d used a clump of dirt to mark the wall when her daily meal was served. Stale bread best not examined too closely in the dull light, lest one find weevils. An egg. A bowl of broth too thin and tasteless to qualify as soup.
In the corner, her bucket reeked.
Three marks. Three days. She’d rather go to the gallows tomorrow than endure much more of this. How had Samuel withstood such conditions for six years?
Because you made the journey every month to bring him fresh clothing, a bit of meat, and a new book.
A full day of travel by post, followed by a few hours of recrimination and tense obligation, then another long journey home. Matthew stayed with the neighbors. It had been lonely, but she’d had purpose and a degree of freedom unavailable to her when her husband was present.
Now, he couldn’t make the journey to visit her even once. He was ill, but he’d made it to London. Surely, if he wanted to, Sam could make it across town in a cab to give her a few words of comfort. If not, he could write. The man knew his letters. Instead, the only person who had come to see her since her grandmother’s visit had been that Thomas Belden fellow, peppering her with questions as though he believed her the leader of a jewel fencing ring.
Even Piers had abandoned her.
A splinter of betrayal lodged in her chest. It hurt to think his name. It worked deeper every time she thought of the way she’d come so close to betraying her marriage vows for a man who couldn’t be relied upon. Really, she had the worst taste in men. If the truth came to light, and she somehow escaped transport or the gallows, Viola would never tie herself to a man again.
The shriek of rusty cell hinges made her whirl.
“Come with me, Mrs. Cartwright. Lord Briarcliff’s here to see you.”
She rushed to the door, eager to escape her cold, fetid cage.
“Not so fast,” the guard admonished, though, the man’s tone was less snarling than before. Viola forced her footsteps to slow. The guard led her to a small room with a large window, a table, and three chairs. It might be the same one where Reed and his henchmen had interrogated her upon arrival. Or where that awful Belden had done the same.
How had she ever believed hiring that awful man would help her? Viola scolded herself for being thrice the fool. All she’d managed to do was rain calamity down over her lovely new life.
For the moment, she was alone and warm in a clean room. The lone downside of this improvement over her cell was that she became acutely conscious of the stink that clung to her person. The door swung open, and before Viola could register the new arrival, a large man in a black jacket and blue waistcoat attacked her with an embrace.
