Free Never Call It Love by Veronica Jason Page A

He would not be the
judge at Christopher's trial, nor a member of the jury.
    "That
is your privilege, Miss Montlow." After a moment he added, "You might
be interested to know that we have questioned the four youths who were sent
down from Oxford along with your brother. Oh, yes," he said, almost as if he
could see the start she gave, "we know the circumstances of their having
been sent down."
    She
sat there in silence, heart pounding. Could one of those boys, out of some sort
of malice, have tried to implicate Christopher?
    He
went on, "All of them, including Lord Stanley's son, say that they have
spent every night since being sent down at Lord Stanley's house here in London.
A manservant confirms their story."
    From
his tone, she could not tell whether he himself believed it.
    "Each
of them says that at no time were they near the Montlow house on Kingman
Street. But they also say that your brother, although he stayed with them for
the first two nights after they left Oxford, was not with them Wednesday
night."
    "Of
course he was not! He was at our house in the country."
    "So
you have told me."
    A
silence lengthened. Then Elizabeth said. "The girl. Has she been
identified?"
    "Yes.
She was an Irish girl, Anne Reardon. She was seventeen. Her guardian had
brought her to London to arrange her marriage to an ironmonger's son."
    Pity
swelled Elizabeth's heart. Only seventeen. And a respectable girl, apparently.
Whoever they were, those youths who had savaged her until she went screaming to
her death—they deserved hanging.
    "Was
it her betrothed who identified her?"
    "No,
her guardian."
    "Who
is he?"
    "An
Irish baronet, with lands near County Cork. His name is Sir Patrick
Stanford."
    She
stiffened. Patrick Stanford, that tall, graceful man who, in a ballroom filled
with clashing perfumes, had somehow made her think of green fields, and cool
fresh air,and waves pounding on a rocky coast. That rugged-faced man whose
touch as they moved through the figures of the dance, and whose dark gaze,
moving from her face to rest on her almost bare bosom, had stirred her senses.
    Would
he, like John Fielding, not believe the testimony she was determined to give?
    She
said, eager to end the interview, "May I take some money to my
brother?"
    "I
am afraid you cannot see him today. Certain formalities, necessary whenever a
new prisoner is admitted, will not have been completed as yet."
    She
reached into her reticule and drew out a small chamois bag. "Then you will
see to it that he gets these five sovereigns?"
    "Certainly.
I will send for a clerk and have him make you out a receipt."
    Five
minutes later, as the carriage moved down the Strand toward the Inns of Court,
Elizabeth no longer felt lighthearted. She was troubled by the thought that the
housemaid's evidence, although obviously mistaken, might count against
Christopher. Too, now that she knew more about that young girl, she felt doubly
oppressed by the thought of her cruel death. And in her mind's eye she kept
seeing Patrick Stanford's dark face. It had worn a smile at their first
meeting. She did not like to imagine how his face would look the next time she
saw it.
    But
at least her interview with the family solicitor, when she reached his gloomy
office in the Inns of Court, was more comforting than that with the blind man.
No look of skepticism crossed Mr. Fairchild's thin old face when Elizabeth
explained why Christopher could not possibly be guilty.
    "Dear,
dear!" he said. "What a shocking ordeal for you and your dear mother.
But don't worry, my child. No jury will convict him after you and Mrs. Montlow
testify that he was with you that night."
    "Nevertheless,
I want him to have the best defense possible."
    "Of
course. I was about to suggest Sir Archibald Wade, a most able barrister for
this sort of case. True, we could engage someone whose fees are lower..."
    "No."
This was no time to economize. "Please get in touch with Sir
Archibald." She rose. "I must leave now, Mr. Fairchild, if I'm