Beatrix took off at a steady run, and her two companions raced to follow suit. Pencot came up beside her to gasp, “What is the matter?”
“That man! He is Lord Bellton’s friend, and that is his father with him! Surely they are going to speak to the judge!”
“How can you be certain, Lady Beatrix?” Pencot asked, catching her elbow and pulling her to a stop so that he might pant for great gulps of air.
“Because the older man…” she said, fighting for breath herself, “… he shot Lord Bellton, not Father! And I’m sure he intends to give testimony to the contrary! We must hurry!”
It was no small feat to run after the speeding carriage, but Beatrix was determined not to allow it to fade from her sight. More than once she’d had to duck down a narrow alleyway in order to emerge on another street to keep a close eye on it. Thankfully, she saw the driver halt the vehicle some good distance ahead and two of the men step down.
“Come, I see them! We must hurry!” she called again. Cooke was none the worse for the wear of their hasty footrace, but Pencot clutched at his chest and waved them on.
“I cannot! Go without me, I’ll catch up to ya when I’m able!” he panted, coughing slightly as a great breath of air hit his lungs.
Beatrix hesitated, but Pencot waved her on. She turned and followed Cooke the rest of the way, looking back once or twice to ensure that the older man was still behind them.
“Lady Beatrix?” a man called out as she reached the doorway to the meeting house. “What… what are you doing here?”
Beatrix turned and stared in horror. “Lord Bellton? What is going on, why are you here and in your condition?”
“Oh, don’t mind me. I’ve never felt… better,” he wheezed, coughing slightly. The strain of speaking was almost too much. “I had… I had to come.”
Beatrix reached over the side of the carriage and felt his skin. “You’re ice cold! What were you thinking, getting out of bed and coming all this way? Cooke, ask about for a physician at once!”
The other man turned to run for help, but Callum shook his head. “No!” he called out feebly. “There’s time enough later, I had to come. Please, I know… that you must hate me. But I have to do what’s right.”
“Shhhh, I don’t hate you,” she said, wondering herself if that was close to a lie.
“Well you should,” Callum said. “Please, I have… no right to ask. But can you help me inside?”
“No, you must stay put! You’re gravely injured!” she protested.
“I must. I have to… speak for your father.” Callum’s head fell back against the seat but he implored her with his eyes. “Please.”
Beatrix battled with what to do, then finally nodded. “All right. It would have been a waste to put yourself in this sort of danger and not accomplish something useful from it. Come on.”
She opened the carriage door and held out her arms for the Marquess to lean on. He pitched forward, narrowly catching himself on the side of the carriage before crashing onto Beatrix. She stumbled only slightly under his weight but managed to put his feet down firmly on the street. Ducking her head under his good arm, she let him lean on her as they walked into the meeting house.
“What is this?” Peter asked just as the judge entered the room. “Callum, you’re too weak! You mustn’t!”
“I have to,” Callum argued.
“Would someone please explain what this is all about?” the judge demanded. He still wore a napkin at his neck, his shirt sleeves showing as he wore no coat.
“We have an urgent matter involving your prisoner, Your Honor,” Peter began. “It is a matter of an innocent man who was wrongly accused of a crime that, well, that hasn’t even happened, as Lord Bellton is clearly not dead… at least not yet.”
“Impossible!” the judge said gruffly. “The notorious criminal known as Prince Aaron stood before the court and I heard the evidence against him. It was written in Franklin Grain, Earl of Weavington’s own hand.”
“And I am here to attest that the evidence you read was falsified,” Peter continued. Beatrix gasped, and Peter added, “I have not only brought two witnesses with firsthand knowledge of the crime, but I have brought the Earl himself to retract his claim.”
The judge turned several shades of pink before settling on an angry, unnatural red. He ripped the napkin from the front of his shirt and threw it aside before roaring, “Am I to believe that my court was subjected to perjury? Bring the prisoner to me at once!”
A constable who’d been waiting close to the door scurried away while the judge began to pace angrily. Beatrix helped Callum into a nearby chair and motioned for his friend.
“How long do you suppose this shall take?” she asked. “I’ve sent someone to find a physician, but I fear the journey here was his undoing.”
Peter frowned, looking down at Callum. “Are you up for speaking to the judge?”
He only nodded, but the Earl of Weavington saw a chance to disrupt his son’s plans. “Your Honor, we have established that there was no murder, though I’m not certain that won’t change if we do not remove Lord Bellton immediately. You have heard that I was mistaken in my letter, as I was merely too hasty with my assessment.”
