Page 85 of The Vagabond Viscount
Augusta let out a soul-piercing cry of anguish.
But Flynn couldn’t go to her; instead, he was helped from the bed and to his feet. Then he was led out of the room and downstairs to a waiting carriage. No one from his family was allowed to come with him. The only blessing was that he was permitted to take an overcoat and a warm scarf.
The door of the carriage closed, and a shell-shocked Flynn turned to the man who had arrested him. “Where are you taking me?”
“Earl Bramshaw, you are to be tried for murder in the House of Lords by a jury of your peers. In the meantime, you will be taken by boat along the River Thames to the Tower of London and received through Traitors’ Gate.”
The Tower of London?
Flynn had heard of the right of privilege, where nobles could be excused for their crimes if they were found guilty in the English parliament, but he wasn’t entirely clear on how it actually worked.
“So, what happens if I am found guilty? Do I have to go and live abroad? Or do I pay a substantial fine?” Not that he was guilty, but Flynn wanted to be fully aware of what punishment might lay ahead for him if things did go awry.
The arresting officer turned to his companion, who nodded. “I’m afraid that there are two offenses where the law of noble privilege do not apply. Treason is one. The other is murder. If you are found guilty of the murder of your father, then you, Earl Bramshaw, will hang.”
ChapterFifty-Two
“Quite a few famous people have been housed in the Tower of London,” noted the guard. The gray-bearded, well-intended guard loved to play tour guide. He just didn’t seem to appreciate that for Flynn and Augusta, this wasn’t home. “This place has seen the best and the worst. Queen Elizabeth. Sir Walter Raleigh. Several of King Henry the Eighth’s wives—”
“Yes, thank you. You certainly know your history of the Tower of London. Do you think perhaps my wife and I might have a moment’s privacy?” asked Flynn.
He was being held in the Beauchamp Tower, which at least had some windows affording light. The rooms Flynn had been assigned were comfortable. Not the warmest, but they were far preferable to a prison cell. Having more than one room also meant that Augusta was able to come and stay.
Not that he had been in favor of her doing so, but his wife was stubborn. And he could confess to a degree of relief when he woke during the night to find her sleeping beside him.
The prison guard gave Flynn a knowing wink and took his leave. He left the door open, for which Flynn was most grateful. They were still bound by the outer walls of the Tower of London but being able to enjoy the sunshine instead of sitting staring at dark stone walls was something Flynn welcomed. Walks around the castle grounds with Augusta helped to keep him sane.
While he was doing his best not to go mad, his wife was busy working on his defense.
“Now, I spoke to several people this morning while I was out,” she began. Augusta hadn’t been charged with any crime, so she could come and go as she pleased. As could the rest of his many visitors. Friends and family were a constant in his life, for which Flynn was grateful. He had never fully embraced the loneliness of his existence in Italy.
“I have employed the services of a special agent. He is making discreet enquiries as to the staff at Bramshaw House and what happened when you disappeared. Money was apparently exchanged with several parties.”
Flynn scowled. “What has that to do with the charge of murder?”
Augusta shifted in her seat. It was now a month after the death of the earl, and her baby bump was beginning to show. If there were any justice in the world, his wife would be at home knitting baby booties, not dealing with his murder trial.
“Your defense counsel, who I also saw this morning and who is coming to visit later today, thinks that any evidence we can put together that might discredit the witnesses for the prosecution is worth chasing down. If the jury hears that the Bramshaw House servants were in on your kidnapping last year, then they won’t place much faith in what might be said by those same people in court.”
Augusta was like a dog with a bone; she wouldn’t let go. Not until she had got what she wanted.
And she wants me, along with our baby, to live happily ever after.
* * *
She had always viewed her stubbornness as a character fault, but over the past weeks, Augusta had found that it was her strongest asset. Where other women might have given up and broken down in tears, she was determined to keep going. There had to be a way to save her husband.
When Flynn’s defense counsel, along with her father, arrived later that day, she had a long list of questions ready.
“Has the prosecution given you a list of the witnesses they intend to call? Who are they, and what do they have to do with this case? Is there anyone else we should be calling? Are we going with a plea of manslaughter or not guilty?”
The lawyer cleared his throat. “I think we should be going with a plea of not guilty. I am going to press the case of self-defense. The earl attacked Flynn first.”
Across the old wooden table, the Duke of Mowbray nodded his approval. “What happens if the jury finds Earl Bramshaw guilty of manslaughter?”
“Well, then he can claim the right of privilege, and they will have to release him.”
A few heads were nodding at these words. Flynn’s oddly did not.
