Page 65 of Romancing the Scot
“This section contains published records of Scottish legal cases, organized by date. Focus first on the last twenty years. Look for the cases involving deaf-mute defendants, but also look for precedents that are cited that refer to earlier decisions.” Hugh looked to see that she was following. Of course she was, he chided himself. “This next section contains the records of earlier cases. Every case must be combed through carefully. After that, these three rows of shelves contain commentaries on English law as well as published legal records. Since the union of the countries, it’s arguable that those precedents may be applicable in the Scottish courtroom.”
As he crossed the room to his desk, Grace opened the first volume and placed it on her lap.
“And while you’re doing that, I have unpublished records of more recent cases heard in Edinburgh. I’ll go through these.” He stood by his desk. “A woman’s freedom depends on this. What we do here is truly a matter of life or death.”
* * *
Throughout the afternoon hours and into the evening, Grace speedily paged through volumes, asking questions of Hugh and his clerks. The two assistants constantly moved in and out of his study, responding to the lord justice’s calls and bringing in documents for his signature. The clerks openly gaped at her when she first began to recite information from the cases she searched out. She didn’t need to keep notes, but offered summaries of the specific trials and referred to them by volume, page, and line. As Hugh had asked, Grace focused on cases involving deaf defendants. She found more instances than she expected. In nearly every case, the court and the jury needed to be convinced of their condition. Though the references were sometimes oblique, she’d also found that the accused had often been a victim of deception, desertion, and violence.
And the courts were not generally sympathetic to their plight.
Eventually, Hugh dismissed his clerks for the day. Grace herself would have continued through the night if Hugh’s sister hadn’t come to remind them that the Truscotts had arrived. They were to quit whatever they were doing, Jo told them, and they were to come in for their supper.
A light meal was being served in the smaller dining room, and Grace was thankful there was no need to change. She hurriedly pushed to her feet, thinking how horrified she’d be if Hugh tried to carry her in.
“If Grace ever suggests that she’s taking advantage of our hospitality,” Hugh told his sister as he came around his desk, “I want you to remind her of what she’s been doing to assist me.”
She was pleased with his lack of formality and happy to think she was of some use.
“A few hours of reading through some law journals is hardly repayment for all you’ve done for me.”
“You should see how valuable her work has been already, Jo. When we come in here tomorrow,” he added, turning to Grace, “I’ll show you the accounting ledgers and how much it actually costs me to keep my clerks. I think you’ll change your mind.”
He offered one arm to his sister and another to her. Grace was thrilled at the prospect of continuing work on this worthy project tomorrow. He was openly appreciative of her talent and her intellect. Daniel Ware was the only person who really appreciated her abilities. Until today.
Grace had been introduced to Mr. Truscott before. Stern and gentlemanly, he was first cousin to the Earl of Aytoun. The man exuded quiet confidence and was held in high esteem by everyone. She also realized how keenly perceptive he was of his cousin’s preferences when he’d closed the carriage door on her after the attack on the lane, telling her it would be best if she stayed with Hugh. As upset as she was at the moment, she’d had the distinct impression that he was signaling his approval of her.
If Walter Truscott was the stout oak, his wife, Violet, was the bubbling stream. Gushing and friendly in her greeting, she quickly won Grace’s affection. The lines on her round and rosy face and the light-colored hair streaked with bands of gray showed her years to advantage. She had the cheerful, kindly disposition that Grace imagined those young mothers and children taking shelter at the tower house needed in their lives.
In sharing Violet’s history, Jo had explained that she’d arrived at Baronsford destitute and with child. Sadly, she lost her babe and nearly died herself. As in a storybook romance, however, Violet and Truscott fell in love and married. Since then, countless desperate and homeless young ones had been blessed with the love she would have given to her own child.
“I’ll arrange it with Lady Jo,” Violet said when Grace asked about the families staying at the tower house now. “We’ll bring you down and introduce you. The circumstances of each mother are different. Some arrived still expecting. Others had a child in their arms. We’ve even taken in young runaways. In just a few cases, we’ve cared for young ones while the mother sought to establish a stable living before coming back for them. It’s a lively place, to be sure.”
“How do they hear about you?” Grace asked, as dinner was served.
“As you can imagine, we can’t very well advertise,” Jo replied. “Every parish in the country would be sending us their girls. The deluge would be overwhelming.”
“How do they find you?”
“Many of those we’ve helped so far have come through . . .” Jo paused and her gaze moved to her brother who was holding a quiet conversation with Truscott at the end of the table. She lowered her voice. “Often, these young women have run afoul of the law in some way. And a certain lord justice saw a better future for them here than in the Bridewell or the parish poorhouse.”
Grace’s eyes drifted to Hugh. She thought about the positions he’d taken in his court and the effort he was making on behalf of a deaf-mute Irish woman now. His compassion stirred a love deep within her. In every nation, more men like him were needed. It was beginning to frighten her how much she had come to care for him. His mind, his generosity, his courage all moved her.
Her gaze lingered on the long fingers holding a glass of wine. And his body stirred her, as well, but in a far different way.
Violet was telling Jo about a letter she received just that day from a mother who’d left them for a job last autumn. Grace forced her attention back to this end of the table.
This was a dangerous game she was allowing her heart to play.
Bits and pieces of the men’s conversation reached her. An inn on the Jedburgh road. The deserted woodcutter’s cottage on the lane near the attack.
“No question, they were lying in wait there,” Truscott said.
She knew they were talking about the men who’d attacked her and Darby.
“And I’ve no doubt they were from Jedburgh,” he added.
“Jedburgh?” Jo asked, picking up the last of the conversation. She turned to Grace. “Did you know that pugilism is a favored sport of miners? Jedburgh has a limestone mine and a whinstone quarry that is particularly famous for having the most vicious fighters in Scotland.”
