the other hand—well, talk about smiling villains. There is a Shakespeare quote about them somewhere. Can’t remember where. Did I understand correctly, Gabe? Did the man commit crimes and then try to blame them upon you? Would he have sent you to the gallows in his place? Would he still if he could get away with it? We have to do something. And if there is something I can do to help . . . Well, it is why I came.”
“I am glad you did,” Gabriel assured him.
No one else came, though all the younger men of the Westcott family and a number of the women had apparently wanted to. But they had been persuaded to remain at home. So ten settings were exactly enough.
The English aristocracy was a remarkable breed, Gabriel discovered over the next half hour while they partook of a sumptuous breakfast—the hotel cooks and kitchen staff had probably been up half the night preparing it, he guessed with a twinge of guilt. They conversed easily and with apparent interest on a number of topics, which ranged from politics to foreign affairs, from the newest books and pamphlets to the opera, from the state of the crops on their various estates to—yes—the weather. Anyone listening in, as the manager and waiters no doubt did as they carried in an endless supply of food and removed plates and dishes and poured coffee, would have assumed that this was a mere social gathering.
It was not until the table had been cleared of all except their coffee cups and the cream and sugar and a large pot of fresh coffee that they got down to business.
“First things first,” Riverdale said. “Those papers are locked up in the safe in your study, Netherby?”
“I can safely report,” Netherby said, “that they are quite perfectly safe in the safe.”
Bertie smirked and Dirkson chuckled.
“And Miss Beck and the groom from Brierley—Ned Higgins, I believe?—are prepared to testify in a court of law if necessary, Lyndale?” Riverdale asked. “And Mrs. Clark?”
“I would not allow Mrs. Clark to be called in person as a witness,” Gabriel said. “Her letter, witnessed by her father and her husband, will have to do.”
“Yes,” Jessica said. “I agree.”
“Oh,” Anna said. “And so do I. One knows very well what would happen if she were dragged into court. Soon everything that happened would be her fault.”
Netherby’s well-manicured, beringed hand covered hers briefly on the table, Gabriel noticed.
“Mrs. Clark’s letter—in her own handwriting, I assume, Lyndale?” the Marquess of Dorchester began, and paused, eyebrows raised.
Gabriel nodded.
“And witnessed by her male relatives,” Dorchester continued, “is surely proof enough first that Lyndale did not ravish her or father her child, and second that Manley Rochford did—by overpowering her and proceeding without her consent. You are safe on that charge. On the second you are safe too since you have an alibi, to which two witnesses are prepared to testify. But—is there any proof that Manley Rochford committed the murder?”
“It was almost certainly either Manley or Philip Rochford, my cousin,” Gabriel said. “He died seven years ago. Hence my title and my return to England. His version of events died with him, though both he and Manley swore to my uncle that they had seen me commit the crime. Both joined him in urging me to flee. Perhaps they were afraid their story would not hold up in court. But I am afraid probability would not bring a conviction in court. There were no other witnesses that I know of and therefore there is no proof beyond all reasonable doubt that one or the other of them shot Orson Ginsberg in the back.”
“And so,” Wren said, “even if he can be convicted on the one charge, on the other he cannot be. Which is exactly why we all came here this morning, Gabriel. If justice is to be meted out, or an approximation of justice, then it must be done in a different way.”
“A bloodthirsty wife you have there, Alexander,” Molenor said, but he was nodding approvingly at her.
“I like to see justice done, Uncle Thomas,” she told him. “Not only is Mr. Manley Rochford a—a ravisher and a murderer, but he is also willing to commit a second, judicial, murder by framing Gabriel and sending him to the gallows. He must not be allowed to creep home, his only punishment being his disappointment over not gaining the earldom. And he is still the heir to that earldom. You had better watch your back, Gabriel.”