Page 88 of The Vagabond Viscount
The agreement Flynn had struck with the duke was for Augusta not to sit through the whole court case, but rather for her to wait somewhere nearby. He didn’t want his wife having to endure the retelling of the bloody violence which had taken place at Bramshaw House.
Flynn rose from his seat and took Augusta in his arms. “Augusta, my love, I need you to be brave for me. Can you do that?”
Her head was resting against his chest, and she gave the merest of nods. He doubted Augusta was capable of much more. He couldn’t blame her. She had already lost him once before. He dared not imagine what was going through her mind now at the prospect of him being found guilty of murder.
Placing a finger under her chin, Flynn lifted Augusta’s face, and she met his gaze. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Her lips were held tightly together. He bent and kissed her.
“I didn’t survive that first attack and then all that time in Italy just to lose to my father now. We will prevail.”
He wanted to tell her that was a promise, but he couldn’t lie to his wife. Nothing was certain. Augusta was bravely trying to maintain her composure as her father led her from the room. The duke gave a nod at Flynn as he left.
A short time later, Flynn was taken into another room where the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod brought him to the Bar. After some minor formalities, Earl Bramshaw was formally arraigned by the Clerk of the Parliaments on the indictment, charged with murder. When asked how he pleaded, Flynn answered in a clear and steady voice, “Not guilty.”
Prior to leaving the Tower of London, he had been informed that there wasn’t much evidence to be presented, and only a handful of witnesses were to be called. He and his father had been the only ones in the room at the time of the bloody encounter, and apart from Christopher and the butler, there were no other witnesses. The trial should be a mercifully short one.
With the charge now laid and read, he was shown to a chair and made to sit facing the jury.
To Flynn’s right, another robed gentleman rose from his seat. His gaze settled on him. This was the man who had been chosen to act on behalf of the prosecution. What he had to say could very well change the course of Flynn’s entire life.
What if I am found guilty? What will I do?
His meeting the hangman’s noose would be the ultimate act of revenge from his late father. The earl reaching out to claim Flynn’s life from beyond the grave.
To his relief, the prosecution first called his cousin. Christopher Cadnam gave a full and honest account of what had happened that morning. For a man who stood to benefit should Flynn hang, Christopher was an impressive and reliable witness.
Then came the Bramshaw House butler. Flynn shifted in his seat. This was a man who had taken particular delight in tormenting him over the years. The butler had clearly been shocked to find Flynn standing on the doorstep that morning. If anyone had a reason to want to see Flynn out of the picture, it was him.
“Did you see the accused stab the victim?”
Flynn focused on the butler. From what he could recall, the man had been outside in the hallway, not entering the room until the earl was already dead.
The butler met his gaze, and Flynn’s heart skipped into a fast, erratic beat. If the butler lied, this could well spell the end for him.
“I was in the hall. Mister Christopher Cadnam was the only one who entered the room. But I think by the time he did, the fight was already over.”
The prosecutor cleared his throat. “So, the accused had already attacked the victim?”
Twisted words. Flynn bit down on his bottom lip. That was not what had happened. He was the victim, not the perpetrator.
“I don’t know. All I know is that when I entered the room, the earl was lying in his nephew’s arms. The viscount was also on the floor—he was bleeding from the chest and the arm. And there was a fire poker on the carpet just behind him.”
The prosecution muttered something under his breath. This line of questioning was clearly not going as well as he had hoped. This witness wasn’t handing him the winning blow.
“So, Viscount Cadnam had also struck his father with the poker?” Now he was fishing, looking for anything that could nail Flynn to the wall.
Flynn sat stony-faced, but all the while he was desperate to leap to his feet and cry,“That’s not what happened!”His gaze shifted to his defense counsel, who gave a mere shake of his head. Their time would be coming.
The butler, to his credit, also shook his head. “No. If anything, it would have been the earl who had hit his son. The poker, along with his cane, was one of the late Earl Bramshaw’s favorite weapons of torture. He was a big man, and he beat his son at every opportunity.”
A gasp of horror echoed in the room. The prosecution turned and wagged a finger at the jury. “That is not in evidence in this case. And, therefore, purely hearsay. You should disregard that last remark.”
The judge nodded his agreement, but from the expressions on the faces of the jury, and the small smile on his lawyer’s lips, Flynn could tell that the damage had been done. The butler had landed a heavy and decisive blow for the defense.
The prosecutor quickly dismissed the witness, then addressed the jury once more. “My Lords, ignoring the thoughts and opinions of witnesses, the simple indisputable fact is that the only person who was responsible for the death of Earl Bramshaw was his son and heir, Viscount Flynn Cadnam. The accused killed his father. You must find him guilty.”
That pretty much sums it up. I was there, and I was the one who wielded the knife which killed my father. But as much as I wished him dead at times, I didn’t murder him.
He glanced up at the judge. Lord Talbot wasn’t paying attention to the prosecutions closing arguments. Instead, his gaze was fixed on something to the right of Flynn.
