Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(49)

“Thank you, my lord.”

The moment the cell door closed and the footsteps echoed away, Keats turned to Alastair. “How is Jacynda?”

“She has gone home.”

“You mean…?” Keats began.

“Yes. They gave their word they will care for her.”

“You actually talked to them?”

“Not directly. It was through their marvelous technology. You should have seen it, Keats. Remarkable!”

The wonder in his friend’s voice sounded genuine. “I wish I had. At least she is safe.” When Alastair didn’t reply, Keats pressed. “She is, isn’t she?”

“I believe so,” the doctor sighed. “Her sudden disappearance has required me to claim she’s been sent away, to a specialist in brain diseases. Mrs. Butler accepted the lie, but I’m not so sure if the Wescombs will.”



“Lady Wescomb will probably want to visit her.”

“That is my concern. Unfortunately, this means Jacynda is unavailable to testify on your behalf.”

Keats gave a dispirited shrug. “It wouldn’t matter. If she were still of right mind, she would only say that I was at the hotel until about half past nine. I could have easily returned to Mayfair and throttled Nicci with time to spare.”

“She would at least have been able to indicate your mental state, that you meant Miss Hallcox no harm.”

“I did not tell Jacynda of my decision, nor where I was headed. I didn’t want a lecture.” Keats sank onto the bed. “Now that I think of it, better a lecture than being here.”

When the cell door closed behind his friend, Keats swung himself into the bed and stared upward at nothing. The trial would last two or three days and then his life would rest in the hands of twelve men. If they acquitted him, he would need to rebuild his reputation and his career. If he were found guilty, they would hang him after three Sundays had passed, as was the law.

Twenty-one days in which to regret he’d ever met Nicci Hallcox.

~??~??~??~



“A senior official from the Home Office is waiting in your study, your lordship,” Brown announced the moment Wescomb entered the front door.

“Why is he here?” he grumbled, taking the proffered card. “It’s like I’m some prize hunting dog they can whistle to their side any time they desire. I grow very weary of this.”

“As you say, my lord,” Brown replied tactfully.

Wescomb had barely placed his valise on his desk when his visitor delivered his broadside. For a few seconds his lordship thought he’d misheard. Then the stipulation clicked into place.

“That is not a condition, but a death sentence,” he protested.

The senior official shook his head. “It is not as grave as you make it out.”



“It is imperative the truth be revealed in court.”

“Your concerns will be noted, my lord, but it is our position that the public not be aware that explosives are still in the hands of anarchists. It will cause a panic, especially with Guy Fawkes Day approaching. We cannot risk that.”

“The explosives are the primary reason Sergeant Keats put himself in jeopardy, why he risked his career and did not turn himself into the authorities,” Wescomb argued. “If I am not allowed to submit that point for the jury’s consideration, then my case is as gutted as a fish at Billingsgate Market!”

“I know it’s a blow, but even the Prime Minister agrees—no mention of the explosives may be made, except those that were confiscated last month.”

“Good God,” Wescomb muttered. “You wouldn’t even have those if it weren’t for Keats. The Crown’s gratitude is as thin as a beggar’s shoe leather.”

“He has only himself to blame for being in the dock,” his visitor replied, his expression as unfeeling as his words.

Lord Wescomb stared. “You can’t honestly believe he killed that woman?”

“Guilty or innocent, it really doesn’t matter. Our concern is that the public not be exposed to anything that might generate a panic.”

The fellow paused at the door to Wescomb’s study. “There is one other matter…”

Wescomb glowered. “And that is?”

“It has come to our attention that a number of prominent men were involved with the victim. The mention of their names in open court would be quite damaging to their reputations and…to those within the government. You are to steer away from revealing the identities of those whose cards were found in the victim’s possession.”

Wescomb’s mouth fell open in astonishment.

“Lest you believe we have unduly hamstrung your case, I have already spoken about this matter with the Crown Prosecutor. He will hew to the same restriction. So it is even ground for both parties.”



Wescomb rose. “Why are your masters trying to kill this man?”

The emissary’s face turned grave. He opened his mouth and then closed it.

“Why?” Wescomb challenged.

“In truth, I have no idea, my lord.”

The moment he was alone, Wescomb headed for the drinks cabinet. Very soon Sephora would appear at the door to his study, asking what the commotion had been about.

How do I tell her that I’ve lost the case before it has even begun?