Chapter 22

"That is final. I will take matters further, if you do not agree to this."

Sebastian felt his heart race, rage and frustration making his blood rush through his veins. He had been arguing with Judge Westgate for the last ten minutes, and he felt as though he was not making the slightest indent on the man's brick-like stubbornness.

"And how, pray? You might be an earl, my lord, but I represent the law of this land." The judge spoke calmly.

Sebastian took a breath. "And even you know that the law of this land makes no mention of money being lost in bad investments. Perhaps Montague is foolish, but he is not a liar."

The judge sighed. "This case is old," he said slowly. "It was aired over a month ago. I have no need to discuss it again."

"Was the fellow tried?" Sebastian demanded.

"Well, no," the judge admitted wearily. "He was meant to be, but he evaded the law. So, what must I do? I have no choice but to condemn him to prison."

"Oh, for..." Sebastian ran a hand through his hair. It was morning, around eleven o' clock. He had arrived in London at six o' clock in the morning, and managed to find an inn where he could still accommodate himself and his horse. He had tried to sleep for two hours, then eaten a late breakfast of cold bread and jam, and ridden straight to the courthouse, where he'd been kept waiting to see the judge for almost an hour. He stood in front of the fellow's desk and tried to rein in his temper.

"I am aware that Montague might not have stolen," the judge continued. "But he still ran from the trial. That is proof enough of guilt, one could say."

"One could," Sebastian argued wearily. "But must one? Could you not take another view? The fellow is innocent. I believe there is not sufficient evidence to decide in either direction, however. So, might you not acquit him? You have no evidence with which you could sentence him anyway."

The judge sighed. He ran a weary hand down his face and peered at Sebastian.

"You make a wearisome argument, young Glenfield," he said with another sigh. "I have not the evidence, no. But his running proves his guilt."

"How so?" Sebastian demanded. He knew that he was being tiresome, and he wished he did not have to be. But every time he thought he was failing to convince the judge, he recalled Eleanor, weeping, saying that the children would go to the workhouse and that she would give anything to avoid that.

The judge looked at him. "You are no fool, Glenfield. You can see that. I know you can."

Sebastian drew a breath. "I will pay for a solicitor," he began. "I will pay my own solicitor to look into the dealings with this shipping organization Montague claims to have invested in. If it can be proved that he did so, would you agree to drop the charges?" He hadn't intended to involve his own solicitor, and the fees would be considerable—the fellow was one of the most expensive lawyers in the country. But he was prepared to stop at almost nothing to acquit Mr. Montague. He promised Eleanor.

The judge took a deep breath. "You are not going to give up," he stated.

"No," Sebastian agreed.

The two of them gazed at each other.

Sebastian held the judge's gaze. He was much older than Sebastian, around Papa's age. His skin was gray, his eyes set in deep wrinkles. His mouth was hard, but the overall impression he made was not of sternness but tiredness. He looked like he spent every day fighting for justice in a society where it very rarely existed—which, Sebastian reflected, was probably exactly what he did do. He took a deep breath.

"Please," he said softly. "Help this man."

The judge held his stare. He was thinking, Sebastian could see the way his eyes, brown and intelligent, darted about. He continued.

"I know your father, young man," he said slowly. "He is a sensible man. Not a hotheaded one. And he would not plead a man's case if he did not believe in his innocence."

Sebastian held his breath.

"Your father must believe that this fellow is innocent. I will agree to one thing." Sebastian drew a breath, and the judge lifted a hand. "I will agree to confer with my learned colleague, to find out if it would be possible for a fine to be paid in lieu of Montague being jailed."

"You would?" Sebastian asked. His heart soared. He had not even considered a fine. He felt himself smile, but the judge held up a hand.

"If my learned colleague has gone early to luncheon, we might have to discuss the matter tomorrow."

"Oh." Sebastian felt his heart thud. He had hoped to ride to Ramsgate again in the afternoon. He wanted to share the good news with Eleanor at once. It was folly, he knew, as he was so exhausted he could barely stand up, and riding when he was so tired would be quite perilous. But he had to try.

"Well, we shall see," the judge said, and stood up slowly. "Come," he added, gesturing to Sebastian. "He is in the office across from mine."

"Oh," Sebastian said again. He felt his mood ease somewhat and he followed the judge out of the door and into the hallway.

"Camberly?" the judge called through the door, tapping on it. Sebastian held his breath. He prayed inwardly that the man was there. As he stood there, he heard someone call out and his heart raced.

"Who is there?" the voice asked. He could have been angry or neutral. It was impossible to tell. He wasn't overjoyed about being interrupted, that much was obvious in the brisk, swift tone.

"It's me," Judge Westgate said mildly. "Alford. I'm surprised you don't know I'm the only one in this building. It's teatime."

The door opened abruptly, and a tall man with a straight back appeared. He was smiling.

"Alford! Come in. What is it?" he asked. Then he saw Sebastian and frowned. "What is the matter?"

"This young fellow is here. He's Randall Thornton's boy," Judge Westgate explained. "He has a matter to discuss. Shouldn't we go in? We're not supposed to air legal matters in the general public, you know."

"We're in a corridor," the man whose name was Camberly replied lightly.

"We are. And in this building, the corridor pays more attention than a dozen ears. You know people listen."

Camberly nodded. "Come in."

He stood back to let them into his office, which smelled of dust and bricks, like the rest of the building. An enormous desk of rare hardwood stood in the middle of the floor, and the walls were whitewashed and plain. Sunlight leaked in, illuminating the desk, but the room was cold, and Sebastian drew his coat around him. He thought of Eleanor wearing it and his heart leaped happily. He tried to focus on what the two men were saying.

"Thornton?" Camberly asked.

"Yes. Randall Thornton. You remember him. He read jurisprudence at Cambridge along with us."

"I do," Camberly nodded. This close, it was possible to see that he was the same age as Judge Westgate and Papa; his square-jawed face looked younger, but there was a good measure of gray in his black hair.

"My father thought you could help," Sebastian said, looking at Judge Westgate. The older man sighed.

"I know. Which is why, Hugh, we've come to ask you something," he explained, addressing Camberly.

"What is it?" He asked. Sebastian looked out of the window, aware that Hugh Camberly was watching him with interest. He could vaguely recall the fellow, but he strained to bring the memory to the surface of his thoughts, the memory evading his exhausted brain like fog.

"Recall there was that fellow who evaded the law? Montague, his name was." He glanced at Sebastian, who nodded. "Thornton claims he didn't do it. He's related to him, you see." He looked at Camberly with wide eyes. "But there is evidence to suggest that his story is not fictitious. Montague may well have invested the money. There is evidence for it. In the first hearing, this was discussed. The case was meant to be further discussed next week, but Montague fled before it could be heard." He made a surprised, incredulous face.

Sebastian looked at Camberly. He wished he could remember where he knew him from. It was up to him to decide, and he held his breath, waiting for him to speak.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked Judge Westgate. He sounded unsure, his voice cold as if he did not want to be part of any illegal agreements, whatever they were.

"Well, we can't let the fellow off entirely," Judge Westgate began. "Not now, certainly." He paused. "But we could lessen the penalty. He could pay a fine. That would save him going to jail." He looked at Sebastian, who nodded.

"He could pay a fine?" Camberly asked.

"I can," Sebastian said. His throat was tight. He had not known until that moment what he was going to say. He held Camberly's gaze. "I can. I will pay for it for his family. He has children. They will be condemned to the workhouse if he goes to jail. I will not let it happen." His voice was harsh with emotion.

Camberly studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Yes," he said.

"What?" Sebastian blinked. After arguing with Judge Westgate for a quarter of an hour, he had expected to have to do the same once more. He stared at Camberly in amazement. The fellow nodded.

"I will accept. If you think it's acceptable, Alford, then I cannot disagree with you. After all, you are the judge." Camberly smiled briefly.

Judge Westgate inclined his head. "Well, I agree. I don't want to see this mess continued. We all want children to live full, happy lives. Do we not?"

Sebastian nodded. "My lord judge, thank you." He swallowed hard. He had never felt more grateful for anything—or, not since Papa had survived and regained his health, he had not.

"No matter," Judge Westgate said tiredly. He turned in the doorway. "Just don't come and plead for anyone else—you argue like a bull charging a barn door."

Sebastian smiled. "Thank you, my lord. Thank you for helping us. I am most grateful."

"No need," the judge repeated. "It's almost midday," he added, looking at Camberly.

"Luncheon?" Camberly asked.

"Mm." The judge nodded. "I'll be at the Bull and Sparrow."

"Good," Camberly agreed. He looked at Sebastian for a long moment and Sebastian swallowed hard. He felt uncomfortable under that studying gaze.

"Thank you," he said politely, unsure of how to address Camberly, who might have been a nobleman like Papa and Judge Westgate, or who might not be.

"You remind me of Randall," Camberly said slowly, as he shut and locked a cupboard and reached for his coat by the door. Sebastian stood back and they went into the corridor together.

"Thank you," Sebastian repeated. He walked with the fellow towards the front door, keeping pace with his swift walk.

"You've grown up," Camberly said, studying Sebastian carefully. "I remember you when you were a boy. You've grown up a great deal."

Sebastian swallowed hard. He had grown up—since he was a youth, he had obviously grown up, but in the last month he felt as though he had grown up a great deal, and he knew why. It was Eleanor's influence. In knowing her, he had seen what it could be like to be sensible and mature—it wasn't boring at all. It was terrific.

"Thank you," he answered again. "I believe you are right."

Camberly smiled, the briefest lift of the corner of his lips. "Give my regards to Randall," he said, then frowned. "Will you be in town tomorrow? Alford and I will have the day off."

"No, regrettably not," Sebastian said, with a small smile. "I have an important appointment in the countryside."

"And what is that?" Camberly asked, walking briskly alongside him. They had reached the front door and were walking down into the street.

"Teaching a young lady to ride a horse," he said with a smile.

Camberly looked surprised but didn't comment. "Stay well, young fellow," he said.

"I shall. You too," Sebastian answered. "And thank you."

"No need."

Camberly inclined his head politely and walked off down the street. Sebastian stood where he was. He was so tired that he barely knew where he was. He blinked, his gaze swimming with weariness, trying to orientate himself within the larger city. He was outside the judge's offices at the courthouse.

He gazed about, realizing that it was not too far away from his family's London residence, and, as he stood there, his eyes widened. Aunt Tessa was on the pavement, hurrying towards him.