“What? Lady Miriam, my own aunt?” Peter demanded. “Why, who could ever wish such ill will on a woman so dear! Father or not, you are a monster!”
“I had to do it!” the Earl shouted. “Her husband was the monster, and she would never have agreed to leave his home if her mewling brat were still there. He held the very thought of the child over her head from the moment she knew she was carrying his spawn, threatening to send her away and never permit her to lay eyes on her own child if she did not comply with his every whim.”
The judge looked to Prince Aaron, who only shrugged. “He did not tell me the particulars, only that it must be done. I was desperate, and so did not question him further.”
Beatrix’s mind still raced. “But is she—is my mother still alive then?”
“What? Oh yes, quite,” the Earl said, sniffing dismissively. “Her husband ended up dying some years later from a disease the likes of which he caught in a house of ill repute.”
Peter covered his embarrassment with a fit of coughing, turning aside to mutter, “That was information you never deigned to share with me. I thought he was killed in war.”
“So I’m to believe that you’re not a kidnapper,” the judge said, pointing to Aaron, “but you’re the scoundrel who ordered it to be so,” he continued, pointing at Weavington. “What is your part in all this?” he asked Lord Bellton.
“I’m only here as a witness,” the Marquess answered weakly. “The Earl there shot me when I dove in front of his pistol. He intended… to shoot Mr. Risewell to prevent him from… from telling this to his daughter.”
Prince Aaron looked at Lord Bellton gratefully for both his testimony and his use of the word “daughter.” Beatrix, though, looked unconvinced for now.
“Your Honor, what is to be done about all this?” Peter asked, turning to the judge.
“I… I don’t know, to be honest,” the man said. “The charge of murder and its sentence of hanging no longer applies, I can see that. But there is still the matter of the thief’s many crimes over the years, and the Earl’s confession that he paid someone to commit a heinous act.”
“I should think, Your Honor,” Peter said patiently, “that Mr. Risewell’s emotional confession—as well as his swift action in preventing the death of the young Beatrix, as he explained—should suffice to erase his part in the crime, don’t you?”
“What? Erase his part in it and allow him to go unpunished? I’m afraid that’s not how the law works,” the judge replied, shaking his head.
“Ah, but the law does reward those who prevent a greater crime. By taking the infant, Mr. Risewell prevented her eventual death at the hands of the next villain that my father attempted to hire. Surely his good deed far outweighs any nefarious part he played.”
“Hmmm, that may be so,” the judge acknowledged.
“And is his crime of being a thief truly so awful when you consider that he only did so to provide for a child of noble birth, one who had—through no fault of her own—been taken from her family and cast out into wretched poverty?”
“That may be greatly stretching the point,” the judge said, looking pointedly at Peter and smirking in a knowing way. “The law is unbreakable, but it is certainly given to bending when the circumstances allow it. Moreover, as I have none of the actual evidence before me of Prince Aaron’s years of thieving, then I shall not hold him on those charges either. You are free to go, Mr. Risewell, and I do strongly urge you to change your ways at once!”
Despite her earlier misgivings, Beatrix threw her arms around her father, failing to wait for the constable to unlock the manacles about his wrists.
“I’m sorry I doubted you,” she said tearfully, looking up at her father’s face. “I know you thought that you were doing the right thing, and I could never have asked for a better father!”
“And what about me?” Peter asked, pointedly ignoring the scene behind him as the constable placed his own father in chains and led him away. “Do you not have a word for your dear cousin?”
“My cousin,” Beatrix breathed, smiling at Peter. “And… my mother! I have a mother at last!” She laughed through her tears of joy when Peter swept her in his arms and held her tightly.
Such was their celebration that for a moment, Callum was forgotten. Only when Cooke returned with a physician and Pencot ushered them in did Beatrix turn to look at his smiling face.
“I’ve never seen one so close to death appear to be so happy,” she said, taking his hand and holding it for a moment.
“I am happy,” he replied, his voice still unsteady. “You have your true identity returned to you…”
“Well, not that it matters much to me. I’m still Lady Beatrix, daughter of the notorious Prince Aaron!” she said, smiling over at her father who stood conversing with Peter.
“No, you are more than that,” Lord Bellton said, even as the physician waved to an assistant who carried in a stretcher. Cooke and Pencot assisted the men in placing the Marquess on the carrier, and together they lifted him to go out. Lord Bellton held up his hand to stop them and reached for Beatrix’s hand once more. “You are the daughter of the Earl of Saltwood, and a noblewoman… one I wish to marry.”
Beatrix froze, and the men continued on their way out the door. Callum never took his eyes off hers, raising his hand to wave as they carried him out the door.
* * *
“For the last time, daughter, I shall disown you if you break one more dish!” Prince Aaron called out from where he sat by the fire. He looked at her over the top of his book, catching her eye and smiling happily.
“I’m sorry, Father, I’m so clumsy. My mind is elsewhere, I’m afraid,” Beatrix replied.
