Page 56 of Becoming Lady Dalton
The room laughed.
“Furthermore, I call Mr. Reed of Bow Street to testify as to Mrs. Cartwright’s likelihood as a suspect.”
Reed?
Viola blinked. Her heart sank. The man could condemn her with a few words. But if Belden had called him as a witness … a spark of hope flared within her.
“Mr. Reed, I understand the rash of thefts begins prior to Mrs. Cartwright’s arrival in London?”
“We believe so, sir.”
“Can you be more precise as to who ‘we’ are?”
“To some extent, yes. Bow Street has been privately engaged for several months, now, investigating the disappearance of a valuable gold necklace of African origin from a small house party given last November the twenty-second.”
“And do you believe this theft is connected to the recent rash of missing jewels from London’s finest families?” Belden clarified.
Reed adopted an avuncular posture. In contrast to Mackey’s surliness, Reed’s openness invited the audience to give him credence.
“I cannot speak more about the case, as it involves a person of higher rank than anyone in this room, including Lord Woolryte. It is my belief that Mrs. Cartwright merely had the bad luck of being present at the same time as the actual thief. The prior instance of larceny proves she cannot be the perpetrator, as Mrs. Cartwright arrived in London on December sixth.”
When he was finished speaking, Reed looked over to her and winked.
Winking was a good sign, wasn’t it? Viola could scarcely breathe.
“This is an extraordinary amount of bad luck to befall a single woman. Yet, we are falling behind and have many cases to hear this morning. Move to deliberations.”
There was a rustle and hush as the jurors conferred. Viola clasped her hands before her, a supplicant. What did innocence look like? Not like Matthew when he’d tried to claim he hadn’t been the one to eat all the meat pie as a little boy, and it had been smeared all over his little chin. Not like Samuel, when he’d been caught cheating someone out of a few shillings and tried to lie his way out of it.
Like Harper, who looked at the world and the people in it with love and generosity. Viola let her shoulders relax. She raised her chin and met the gazes of the jurors straight on. After what seemed like forever, but must have been a few minutes at most, the magistrate conferred with the bench and announced, “We have a verdict.”
Belden, Woolryte, Reed and Mackey all pushed their chairs back and rose as one body.
“Mrs. Cartwright, you are found innocent of the charges leveled against you. I order you released immediately.”
The gavel banged twice.
Viola wept. Unrestrained tears rolled down her cheeks. She sank to her knees with relief.
“Get up, woman,” Thomas Belden demanded at her side. The room had burst into a cacophony of protests. Lord Woolryte leaned over the balustrade, his face red as he berated the hapless Bow Street Runner who’d pounded the table at Viola during her interrogation. The ugly man bore the abuse with slumped shoulders and a weary expression.
Viola barely registered the scene. But the outrage simmering all around her held the tint of danger. The magistrate glared at her as if she’d escaped justice, not been proven innocent. Disoriented, Viola obeyed Belden’s tug at her arm. With wobbly steps, she cleared the courtroom threshold and collapsed into Edward’s arms.
“Come. Your son awaits in the carriage.”
“Matthew. Thank goodness.” Her legs firmed instantly. Viola would have rushed to the exit had her way not been blocked by a phalanx of reporters and disappointed onlookers hoping for a hanging.Herhanging.
It had been such a near thing.
Edward’s footmen made a path. A warm arm dropped around her shoulders, forming a protective barrier.
“Stay close,” Piers murmured. “The Runners are preparing for a riot.”
“Oh, no.”
Viola’s whispered wail was swallowed by the roar of a crowd. Winter sunlight stabbed her eyes. Edward flanked her as the two men shuffled her forward. Six steps. Ten steps. Someone jostled Edward, and he turned away briefly. Piers’ arm tightened around her waist. There as a shout, a step, and Viola barely lifted her skirts in time to tumble into the coach. Small hands circled her forearms, and Viola hauled herself onto the seat.
“Mama!”
