“I’m shocked,” said Elizabeth, pressing a hand to her bosom. “Shocked, I tell you.”
“The best part,” Adrian added, “is that Uppington merely has a courtesy title. He cannot claim ‘privilege of peerage’ to weasel out of the charges. His trial will be scandal fodder for months.”
“And ruin his despicable father by association at the same time,” Faircliffe concluded with satisfaction.
The loud sound of a popping cork made them all jump.
Tommy grinned as she held up a foaming bottle. “Pre-celebration champagne, family?”
35
An hour later, the teeming crowd at Vauxhall surprised Viv. She’d known Adrian and Marjorie’s art studio had become something of an institution, and she’d known Marjorie had been tutoring and giving classes for years before she’d met Adrian. But Viv hadn’t realized until now just how many lives Marjorie’s art had touched.
At least a thousand people had paid the garden’s four-shilling admission for the school’s anniversary celebration. There were children, and parents, and grandparents. Former students, aspiring students, happy customers with framed art in their parlors, and hundreds of admirers who had browsed the various galleries and exhibitions over the years.
In fact, behind the raised wooden dais upon which stood twelve easels covered in dark cloth, a large section of the pleasure garden had been converted into a temporary gallery of sorts. Visitors could stroll through the walking paths and admire paintings and sculptures on loan from current and former art students. At least as many onlookers wandered the paths as sat before the stage awaiting the ceremony.
“It’s time,” Adrian said to Marjorie.
The Wynchester clan were to sit single file in reserved seating at the very front of the audience, before the grand dais.
Marjorie turned to Jacob. “Don’t worry. We can introduce ourselves if you don’t feel comfortable.”
To Viv’s surprise, Jacob shook his head and took a deep breath. “I’ll do it.”
Marjorie bounced on her feet in glee.
“Take the floor for as long as you like,” she gushed, then somewhat lowered her voice to a stage whisper that could be heard all the way to the Dark Walk. “Feel free to announce anything you please.”
“But maybe don’t mention Leisterdale and Uppington just yet,” Graham advised. “Best to wait until tomorrow’s newspaper is on every breakfast table in London.”
Jacob looked more likely to vomit than to smile. “I know what to say.”
“Of course you do.” Marjorie squeezed his arms. “You probably spent all night editing every word into perfection.”
“Go on,” said Tommy. “We’ll cheer you on from the front row.”
Jacob, Marjorie, and Adrian took the stage. Marjorie, gamboling like an excited bunny. Adrian, loping beside her. Jacob, as stiff-legged as if trudging to his own execution.
Viv could not have been prouder. She knew how hard this was for him. How brave he was being. Jacob feared the public’s reaction. That he’d agreed at all was testament to how much he loved his sister.
Adrian handed Jacob a speaking-trumpet to amplify his voice.
“Oh, Lord,” Viv murmured beneath her breath. “He’s going to hate that.”
Jacob indeed accepted the speaking-trumpet as though he’d just been handed a rotting corpse for Christmas. For a moment, Viv feared he might fling the trumpet aside and flee from the dais, never to emerge from his barn again.
But then he drew the trumpet to his lips and began to speak.
The crowd fell silent.
At first, Jacob’s words were halting. Then he gained confidence and volume. His moving introduction of his sister and brother-in-law and theirartistic endeavors in the community was so eloquent, it was practically a work of poetry. He had very much edited every word to perfection.
The entire audience was rapt. When he finished speaking, there was a moment of silence, as if the crowd had hoped he would go on talking forever. Followed by thunderous applause and whoops of congratulations.
“Before we continue,” Marjorie said loudly, without any need of a speaking-trumpet, “is there anything else you’d like to get off your chest?”
Jacob shot her a sour look.
