madhouse bride 24

 

Chapter 24

 

The malicious slander case was examined last. Denver smirked at Julian, until Julian called Dr. Clement; then Denver’s face slumped in a horrible mortar-coloured hue, and he fell in on himself.

“State your name and your involvement with Mr. Denver,” said Julian.

“I am Doctor Henry Clement, an alienist,” said the doctor. “I was approached by Mr. Denver to help him to make it seem that his niece was insane so he could confine her and have the use of her inheritance from his brother-in-law since she was less tractable than he had hoped after he had sabotaged the coach causing the accident which killed his sister and brother-in-law, which he told me about of his own free will.”

Denver fainted.

“For the record, what is the state of mind of Lady Ravenscar, née Anne Bonnet?” asked Henbury.

“Remarkably well adjusted, sane, and strong minded to the point that she resisted all attempts to confuse her about her identity, and refused to sign anything, and managed to escape the asylum which I run on her own, before managing to find her betrothed husband, about whom I had no knowledge,” said Clement. “If I confess to providing this service to sundry other families and testify, may I ask if I will get a consideration in my sentencing?”

“Your co-operation will be taken into account,” said Henbury.

 

The jury withdrew.

 

“If he isn’t found guilty, I will have to say that the jury have been asleep the last three days,” said Julian to Matheson. “Dine with us tonight? It’s pot luck, my cook’s in the gallery, and so is my housekeeper, but Anne hasn’t wanted to attend, and she’s a fine provider.”

“I don’t mind if I do; for the company, and to apologise in person to her for even doubting for a moment that she was sane,” said Matheson. “I will be composing a strong sermon on jumping to conclusions and the work of the wicked amongst us pulling wool over the eyes of the righteous.”

“You’re a fine speaker, we’ll likely attend,” said Julian. “Then we’ll be back to our rural retreat until after Christmas, and I shall be deciding who I will be inviting for Christmas, and who believed the rumours even when I explained privately to them what was happening.”

 

The jury were only out for an hour.

“Have you reached a conclusion on each charge?” asked Henbury.

“We have, your honour,” said the chief juror. “We unanimously found Mr. Thomas Evelyn Denver guilty as charged on all counts, and on two counts of murder not entered into the indictment.”

Henbury bowed, and picked up his black cap.

Denver passed out again.

Knightley waved smelling salts under his nose.

“Thomas Evelyn Denver,” said Henbury. “You have been found guilty on numerous charges, most of them relatively minor;  many counts of fraud, any one of which must have ended in transportation, and I must discount the Jury’s findings on the case of murder which you have not had a chance to answer. But for the count of arson, and attempted murder for gain through arson, I sentence you to death. You will be returned from here to the place from which you came, and from thence to a place of lawful execution where you will be hanged by the neck until you be dead. And may God have mercy upon your soul.”

“Your honour, will I inherit?” cried Amelia Denver, shrilly.

“Take it up with your solicitor,” snapped Henbury, who hated pronouncing the death penalty.

 

oOoOo

 

Anne waved Matheson’s apology aside.

“You are forgiven, of course; he did a good job and I am not surprised people were taken in,” she said. “You must forgive the sparse repast; I got in raised pies from Fortnum and Mason, and cooked a Davenport fowl, and a fricassee of left over pork with apple and onion stuffing broken up in it, and a nice onion soup to start with.  I did a plum duff for pudding, and ice-cream from Gunther’s to go with it. I trust that will suffice?”

“Eminently,” said Matheson, well aware that what awaited him in his own home would be scrag end of mutton.

 

oOoOo

 

Denver was hanged the next day, with a huge crowd. Julian and Anne did not attend. They did attend Matheson’s service on Sunday, after which Anne found herself much lionised.

“Did you notice something?” said Anne to Julian, later.

“That the decent folk apologised, and the social climbers said that they never believed it?” said Julian.

“You did notice,” said Anne. “I want to go home.”

“Of course you do,” said Julian.

 

oOoOo

 

Julian was rather concerned that Anne seemed listless in the coach and banged on the wall several times to pull over, where she was sick on the verge.

“My darling, have you eaten anything which disagreed with you?” he asked. “I have eaten the same as you, and I am not unwell.”

“Not quite,” said Anne. “‘His fruit was sweet to my taste,’ as you should know when we looked deeply into the Song of Songs, but I fancy it’s not by way of the mouth that I am currently a trifle hors de combat.”

“You are with child?” gasped Julian.

“Mon vieux, it happens when people lay together in holy matrimony,” said Anne. “Or as I understand it that such things are taught in Britain, where l’amour is something to apologise for, when a honeybee loves a flower very much indeed….”

Her husband gave a shout of joy.

“I’m going to be a father!” he cried.

“Shout a little louder, my lord, I don’t think they heard it as far as Cumbria,” said Robbie.

“I’m going to be a father!” said Julian, reverently.

“Yes, my love, but unless you are going to have the morning sickness for me as well, let us get back to Raven’s Knebworth where I can be comfortable,” said Anne.

 

oOoOo

 

An afterword must be made about Wilcox, who considered himself very well out of the embroglio which he had himself set in motion. Unfortunately for him, he had got used to high living, and was caught stealing from the next master he went to work for. More unfortunately for him, his master was a retired admiral, and Wilcox woke up with a headache and a sick stomach as the room he was in heaved. So did Wilcox. He was shouted at, and made to swab the deck, having been signed on to the HMS Warlord as an ordinary seaman.

 

oOoOo

 

An heir to Ravenscar was born the following August, a good sign for the harvest, the locals agreed, and he was named ‘Henry,’ for his grandfather, and ‘Julian’ for his father, and grew up under the soubriquet of Harry, bilingual and contrary enough to speak only English to French masters and only French to English masters when he was in a Stormcrow mood. He had auburn hair, his mother’s eyes, his father’s nose, and was every inch a sleeping raven until poked.

 

and that's all, folks; I have been having a distressing bout of writer's block on everything so when I shall be back, I don't know. However, I have been pleased to accept the aid from someone at Bookbub over revamping the keywords on 'Snowdrift' which I hope will make it easier to find for those people who have not read it and are looking for a nice cosy Christmas Regency love story. Please forgive me my lack of industry this year, I've only completed 10 books this year, two of them non-fiction, and helped Simon with his three this year. Of those written, I'm hoping to publish 'Adele Varens' and 'poetry and peregrinations' soon, and for Simon 'A surfeit of Wizards'