Page 67 of Highland Sword
“And you two,” he snapped. “Journalists?”
“Aye, my lord,” they answered in unison.
“The Manchester Observer.”
“The Times of London, Your Lordship.”
Ruthven swung his killing stare to Aidan. “Your work, I presume.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, sir. But freedom of the press is one of bulwarks upon which our society exists. Even though certain branches of our current government see fit to manipulate and place restraints on our newspapers, the traditions of our noble land pertaining to such a valuable and venerable institution—”
“Enough! I need no lecture from you, Mr. Grant.”
The judge adjusted his gown and, resting his elbows on the table, shot a look at Sir Rupert over his clasped hands. He was not difficult to read. Ruthven was trying to see how this could be turned to his own advantage.
When the judge spoke again, he suddenly sounded like a gracious host.
“This court welcomes the members of the press whohave come so far to bear witness to the justice of our system, and who will undoubtedly report the fair and impartial treatment that these defendants receive. And you may quote me, gentlemen.”
“If I may proceed then, Your Lordship.”
“The court is looking forward to hearing your defense, Mr. Grant.”
Aidan gestured to the bailiff. “I’d like to call Robert Wemys to the stand.”
At the back of the courtroom, the door opened, and the bailiff called for the witness.
A low rumble of murmur and whispered questions swept through the gallery. The pitch and volume rose, and Aidan didn’t need to turn around to know that Sebastian had entered, supporting Wemys.
“I believe this witness will shed a great deal of light on this case, my lord, as well as a number of other cases.”
Aidan looked up in time to see Sir Rupert Burney quietly whispering directions into the ear of a clerk, who immediately slipped out of the courtroom.
Lord Ruthven was staring at the spymaster, unsure of what threat this witness presented, but astute enough to realize that a problem had arisen.
Aidan watched as Sir Rupert’s eyes slid expressively from the judge toward the press section.
Sebastian and Wemys reached the defense table. The journey to Inverness had taken its toll on the dying man. His face was grey, his breathing shallow and forced. His body seemed to have collapsed in on itself, and his clothing hung loosely from his bony shoulders. Sebastian leaned him against the defense table.
“Brace yourself, Wemys,” Aidan whispered. “This is the moment in which you redeem your entire miserable life.”
“If that were only so,” he rasped.
Across the aisle, the prosecutor looked on blankly, unaware of who Wemys was but clearly unconcerned by the appearance of the surprise witness.
On the far side of the gallery, the motioning of Sir Rupert’s hand toward the door of the judge’s chambers was discreet but effective. Rising calmly, as if he’d just remembered another engagement, he sauntered out of the courtroom. But as he left, Sir Rupert directed a momentary and deadly glance at Aidan.
“The court will take a brief recess,” the judge announced, standing and hurrying from the courtroom before anyone could move.
Aidan helped lower Wemys into a chair at the defense table. Minutes ticked by.
The audience in the gallery was growing louder, and the clearly bewildered members of the jury were glancing at the judge’s door, wondering what was causing the delay. In the dock, the faces of the Chattan brothers showed their confusion.
Searc Mackintosh was sitting toward the back with the shipowner Captain Kenedy and another man that Aidan didn’t know. Searc’s bristly eyebrows were darting around the courtroom, taking in everything.
Finally, the door of the judge’s chambers opened, and Lord Ruthven reappeared, looking like he’d been struck by lightning. He staggered to his chair and sat down heavily. Silence fell like a blanket over the room. Every eye was on him. He looked vaguely at the members of the press and pushed a stack of papers around on his table. Gathering himself, he was all business when he finally addressed the prosecutor.
“I must say that I am appalled, sir, by the shoddy preparation of this case. In fact, it has become abundantly clearthat evidence of wrongdoing on the part of these two weavers has been tragically exaggerated.” He straightened his judicial wig and then shook his head. “I’ll not allow these proceedings to continue. Edmund Chattan. George Chattan. The charges against you are dismissed. You are free to go. Bailiff, release the jury. Court is adjourned. God save the King.”
