Never Land the First Fish

Chapter Twenty-Nine, Part 1

The Duke of Wellbridge had sat through Julia's testimony, glowering more deeply at each of her revelations and swearing in fluent Italian when she explained the reason for her final beating. But when she said that she fully expected to die at Athol's hands, he leapt to his feet, his face flushed with anger, cursing Athol to all seven circles of Hell in equally adept Greek.

He and his duchess had invited Emily and Maddox to join them in the seats that had been reserved for the ducal party at the front of the public area, since Maddox would be giving testimony this afternoon, and the duchess ("Call me Sally") said Emily should not be left to sit alone.

Maddox had turned white; as white as the knuckles on the hands he had clenched into fists. Emily touched his arm and murmured, "She survived, Maddox. Julia survived and Athol is dead."

The clerk was shouting for silence, and Sally was tugging on the duke's arm, but it took several minutes for order to be restored and for the Chief Justice to give the prosecutor the nod to continue.

He nodded at the clerk, who signaled to an usher, who approached the duke's party. "You need to leave the Court, Lord Maddox. You must wait outside until you are called."

A warder was escorting Gills from the room, too. Julia must be feeling very alone, but she showed no sign of it, standing there in front of all of those people, pale but composed, and every inch a lady in her demure grey gown.

The prosecutor floundered to get his questions back on track once Maddox and Gills had been removed. He must have known that Julia had the sympathy of the jury and the public. At least for now, and perhaps the emotion she'd evoked would last long enough to keep her neck from a noose.

But she was also on trial before a Society who had already judged and condemned her once before. She had just admitted on a witness stand that her husband had intended to use her as a whore. Once the vultures and harpies got their teeth into what was left of her reputation, the story would grow and get worse. Emily glanced at the duchess, wondering if she saw the danger.

Sally met her eyes and nodded. "She will always be accepted by anyone who wishes the favour of my family," she whispered.

The prosecutor, nasty little man, had moved on to making insinuations about her relationship with Gills, whom he referred to as 'Lord Joseph Gildeforte, known rake and cisesbo'. Julia patiently repeated several times that she had been faithful to her marriage vows, that she had had no lovers, that she barely knew Lord Joseph before his rescue and that she rather thought he didn't like her.

The Chief Justice must have become as impatient as Emily with the prosecutor's trick of repeating the same question over and over, disguised in different words, since he instructed the man to move on.

"Come, come, Lady Athol," he sneered. "Are you trying to tell us that Lord Joseph rescued you from a beating out of the goodness of his heart? The man is a known villain."

For the first time, some colour came into Julia's face. "Since he rescued me from my husband's attempt to murder me out of the goodness of his heart, sir," she replied, "and then took care of me until I recovered my health even though he did not at all like what he knew of me, I cannot agree with your assessment. I consider him a hero."

"You are, in a nutshell, in love with him." The prosecutor's face lit with triumph.

"I consider him a hero," Julia repeated, firmly.

The man abandoned that line of questioning and turned instead to the rescue and escape. When Julia failed to answer as fully as he pleased, he accused her of lying to cover up her lover's infamy. Julia apologised to the Justices. "I remember only a little, and that in bits and pieces. I was unconscious for much of the time."

Again, the Chief Justice ordered the prosecutor to leave that line of questioning. The duke and duchess exchanged glances and smiled at one another, and Emily agreed. Julia had won over the Chief Justice, at least.

The prosecutor pressed his lips together and then moved on to the trip to America and the stay in New York, and Julia remained calm and confident however insulting his insinuations, however invasive his questions.

He read into evidence a record of bills Maddox and Gills had paid—for her clothing, her food, her hotel room and later the deposit on her boarding house. "Would it not be true to say that these men were your protectors? That you were in their keeping?"

Julia ignored the insinuation, and instead explained that the money had been loaned to her, and that she had paid both men back from her earnings as maid and later as companion to the daughter of Baron Rookscombe. "Sir Thomas has a signed affidavit from Miss Kilbrierry, and also the receipts that the two gentlemen gave me when I made repayments," she said.

In the end, the prosecutor asked her outright. "Did you or did you not take Lord Joseph Gildeforte or Lord Maddox, or both, as your lover during your travels to, from, or in the United States of America?"

Julia did not hesitate. "I did not."

"Are you telling us that you have not been intimate with either gentleman?"

"I am telling you that both have been perfect gentlemen in my presence. I was not physically intimate with either of them during my travels to, from, or in the United States of America. And before you ask, you know full well that, since we returned to England, Lord Joseph Gildeforte and I have been confined to a house belonging to the Duke of Wellbridge, under the chaperonage of the Marquis and Marchioness of Coventon. With, if I must spell it out for the Court, separate bedchambers."

The prosecutor must have lost heart after that, because he soon sat down, and Sir Thomas stood.

When Emily heard his question, she wondered if he intended to undo the good impression Julia had made.

"Lady Julia, would you please tell the Court how you feel about the man you call a hero, and what future you see with him."

The colour flamed into Julia's face, and she turned to look at the door behind with Gills waited. Then she lifted her chin and replied. "I respect and admire him, Sir Thomas. He saved my life. He has been my friend when I needed one."

"And how does he feel about you?" Sir Thomas insisted.

"You would have to ask him that." She took a deep breath, then added, "The Court has heard about the state of my marriage. You will understand that I do not believe I would make any man a good wife. And I will not be any man's plaything or in any man's control. Not ever again."

Emily, who had been sitting on the edge of her seat, relaxed again. Sir Thomas had been right to ask the question.