The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (83 page)

Charlotte entered the room through the adjoining door, carrying a cup of coffee. Cullen gasped inaudibly at the sight of the bruises on her face, now a deeper purple, extending from the left side of her eye down to her chin.

She stopped and smiled slightly. “You look dashing. The female spectators won’t be able to take their eyes off of you.”

Braham kissed her on the lips, and Cullen smiled inwardly, longing for his wife. They started every day with long kisses, and he missed them terribly, especially today, when he felt a strong need for Kit’s tender touch and understanding.

Braham pushed aside Charlotte’s hair, revealing a bandaged ear. “How do you feel this morning?”

“Sore, but very grateful. My head still throbs, but it’s on the mend. I probably had a concussion last night, but I’m thinking more clearly this morning. I have scratches, but only two bad bites. I cleaned them both and smeared antibiotic ointment over them. All in all, I’m pretty good.”

She turned to Cullen and gave him a quick hug. Her vanilla-scented hair reminded him of Kit, and he missed his wife even more.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done,” she said.

“I would never have forgiven myself if I hadn’t come, and likely Kit wouldn’t have forgiven me either.”

Braham tucked Charlotte into his arms. “We’ll send you news as soon as we can.” She lifted her face and they gazed into each other’s eyes. Cullen was so touched by the love he saw there he glanced away, not wanting to intrude.

“Half of Gaylord’s men are stationed here, both outside the house and inside. You’ll not be alone. You’re not a prisoner, but for your own safety, you’re not allowed to leave, even if you beg for a walk in the park. If any of the guards surrenders to your wiles, they’ll be drawn and quartered. So spare the men and behave.”

She gave him a demure look.

Cullen turned toward the window to hide another smile and inhaled the morning air, heavily scented with honeysuckle from the garden below. He knew Braham would surrender to Charlotte’s charm within seconds. Charlotte was a beautiful and intriguing woman, and from Cullen’s experience with strong-willed women, she’d damn well go outside, threats notwithstanding, if she needed a bit of air and exercise.

“How do you feel about today?” Her brow creased, and her voice was soft, with a curious emphasis in her tone.

Braham softly touched the crease in her forehead. “We’ve planned for every contingency. There’ll be no surprises.”

Cullen smiled again, shaking his head, his index finger gently tapping his chin. Charlotte had completely ignored Braham’s admonishment, and he allowed it. As Kit would say, Charlotte had Braham wrapped around her little finger. And it would tickle Kit to see it.

Edward gave a final brushing to Braham’s jacket and trousers, flicking off small wisps of lint. “You’re ready now to face the enemy, Colonel.”

Cullen, Braham, and Charlotte followed Edward in an orderly procession down the stairs. Saber and spurs clinked with Braham’s easy stride. At the door he collected his revolver, hat, and gauntlets.

She gave Braham one last goodbye kiss. “Good luck, soldier.”

Braham cleared his throat and stood ramrod straight. “I’ll bring your brother home, or die trying.”

Cullen tucked his briefcase under his arm, took Charlotte’s hand, and kissed it. “I know you’ll worry, regardless of what I say. So I’ll leave with one of Kit’s favorite ditties, a Shaker hymn I believe.”

Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,

Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

Twill be in the valley of love and delight

When true simplicity is gain’d,

To bow and to bend we shan’t be asham’d,

To turn, turn will be our delight,

Till by turning, turning we come round right.

“What a beautiful song. There’s a message there, but I’m missing it today,” Charlotte said.

“Turn, Charlotte, and you’ll find yourself in a
place just right.
Kit did, and I know you will, too.”

90

Washington City, 1865

T
he courtroom already
buzzed with speculation about the identities of the prosecution’s star witnesses against Jack. There were opinions bandied about, but no one knew for sure, including the defense, or so the prosecutor believed.

Heads turned as eyes followed Braham to his chair. There was no mistaking the spectators’ looks of admiration. Several newspaper articles had appeared yesterday describing Braham’s exploits as a master spy. Somehow the public now knew about his near-death experiences in Richmond.

Folks were curious about the hero lawyer representing a conspirator, wondering why he would risk his reputation for such a distasteful assignment. Cullen and Braham were betting if the citizenry’s consciousness was aroused, they might take another look at the evidence against their client. It had been part of the defense’s strategy from the beginning, including leaking certain information. After today, the defense team hoped to have the press firmly on its side, and with the press came public opinion.

Braham and Cullen took their seats at the defense table, put their briefcases aside, and then sat quietly, with hands clasped on top of the table. When General Holt entered, he scanned the table, noting the absence of law books and papers usually stacked in front of Braham. He glared, giving Braham a questioning lift of his brow.

Once the commissioners were seated, the defendants were brought into the courtroom and their hoods were removed. Jack blinked at the sudden bombardment of light in his eyes. Braham nodded with only a slight dip of his chin while raising his thumb. Jack blinked again, gave Braham a quick nod, and settled into his seat.

Cullen had never seen his client outside of the courtroom, but Jack’s demeanor when compared with the other defendants clearly set him apart. The press commented on his intelligence and compassion, and his proper courtroom demeanor. Press reports attributed it to his pose, which drew attention to his best attributes: penetrating blue eyes, sculpted features, muscular frame, and large, relaxed hands. To Cullen, the lines around Jack’s eyes and mouth made him look tired. Otherwise, he appeared to be holding up well enough, although his clothes and hair were more and more disheveled. Braham and Cullen had always before insisted their clients dress in their best Sunday clothes for court appearances. It wasn’t possible for Jack.

General Hunter pounded his gavel and Cullen turned in his chair. Today his assignment was to observe the commissioners, members of the press, and spectators, and to note their body language and facial expressions.

If the defense would ever completely win over the commissioners and the press, it would happen today. Later, the arguments which triggered favorable reactions would be the ones Braham stressed during closing arguments.

“General Holt, call your first witness in the case against Jack Mallory,” General Hunter said.

Holt pointed to the guard standing next to the witness room. “Send in the witness.”

A man worn down by life and age shuffled into the room swiping at shanks of thinning, dirty gray hair. His pursed lips and shuttered eyes gave him a sinister appearance. Holt directed him to the witness stand where he stood, holding tightly to the rail, whether for balance or fear, Cullen couldn’t tell. A combination of both, most likely. After being sworn in, Holt asked him to state his name and occupation.

“Name’s Troy Stroker. I’m a hackney driver.”

“Who is your employer?” Holt asked.

Stroker licked his lips. “John Howard. It’s his livery stables where I rent my carriage.”

“Do you recognize any of the defendants in this case?”

Stroker turned, wobbled a bit, then pointed at Jack.

“Let the record show the witness identified Jack Mallory. Now, Mr. Stroker, did you have an occasion to pick up Mr. Mallory and deliver him to his requested destination?”

The witness wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Yes, sir. It was in March. I picked him and Mr. Booth up at a residence next to the Lafayette Park. I remember because the Booth fella called the defendant there…” Stroker pointed over his shoulder toward Jack. “Called him Mr. Jack Mallory. I thought it was odd.”

“Where did they ask you to take them?” General Holt asked.

“To the National Hotel.”

“Did you hear any of their conversation?”

Stroker shrugged. “Just a word or two. Theys was goin’ to celebrate their April plan.”

“Their April plan?” Holt raised his brow, glancing at the commissioners for effect. “You remember those words specifically?”

“I do, sir. I do. Thought it were odd. But I remember. Came to tell you right away after the shooting and all.”

“Did anyone ask you to make the report?”

“Oh, no. No. No. No one asked me. I did it on my own.”

“Thank you for being such a good citizen, Mr. Stroker. No more questions for this witness.”

“Colonel McCabe, your witness,” General Hunter said.

Braham stood. He tapped his fingertips on top of the table, looking straight ahead. Several members of the commission leaned forward slightly, waiting. The press also waited with pencils poised. Finally Braham said, “Who’s your employer, did you say?”

“John Howard.”

“And how long have you worked for him?”

“A few weeks.”

“Who did you work for previously?”

“Ah,” Stroker licked his lips, swallowed.

Braham rubbed a finger down his nose, thinking. “You did have an employer, didn’t you? A former employer?”

“James Pumphrey,” Stroker said under his breath.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear the name.” Braham kept his face impassive.

Stroker was rather flushed, and he said, loudly, “James Pumphrey.”

“Do you know if Mr. Pumphrey has any connection to this case?”

Stroker gripped the railing, released his fingers, then gripped again and again. “He rented Booth the horse he rode the night of the shootin’.
But I wasn’t working for him then.
” Stroker’s excuses spilled out so quickly his statement sounded like one long word.

“I believe you testified your employer before Howard was Pumphrey. If you weren’t working for either of those men the night in question, then who were you working for?”

“I was driving for several people.”

“Isn’t it true, Mr. Stroker that you were driving for only one customer?”

Stroker went pale and his eyebrows shot up. “No.”

“Maybe you have your dates confused, and you were driving for Mr. Howard. Is that correct?”

The spectators were leaning forward in their seats now.

“No, he done fired me.”

“Then who?” Braham hissed, low voiced but emphatic. “Mr. Stroker, who were you working for?”

Stroker gnawed on his lower lip. His eyes flitted between Braham and General Holt. “I was drivin’ fer Colonel Henly.”

“Colonel Gordon Henly?” Braham asked.

“Yes sir.”

Gasps erupted from the spectators. The buzz turned into a loud rumbling which quieted with Braham’s next question. “How long had you been driving for the Colonel?”

“Since last year.”

“So in the last year, you didn’t work for either Mr. Pumphrey or Mr. Howard. Is this your testimony?”

“No. I mean—” Stroker broke off in the middle of the sentence and shot Braham a startled look. “Yes. It’s what I mean to say.”

“You testified earlier you drove Mr. Mallory and Mr. Booth to the National Hotel. Did you have other fares that evening?”

“Yes,” Stroker said, his eyes cast down.

“And who did you pick up?”

“I drove the colonel to the theatre.”

“Was he alone?”

Stroker’s lips trembled. He compressed them briefly before saying, “He was with a lady.”

“After the theater, where did you take them?”

“To dinner at the Willard Hotel.”

“After dinner, where did they ask to be taken?”

“To a residence—” Stroker stopped, appearing to consider his next statement. Apparently, he found no alternative but to tell the truth. “A residence across from Lafayette Park.”

Braham’s eyebrows rose for effect. “Is it the same location where you testified earlier you picked up the defendant and Mr. Booth?”

Stroker nodded.

“Speak up, Mr. Stroker. The court reporter can’t hear nods,” Braham said with a hint of wry humor.

Cullen kept his eyes on the commissioners. No one needed to cup their ears to hear. Braham’s booming voice carried clearly throughout the courtroom.

“Yes, the same location.”

Many of the spectators whispered to each other now.

“Is there anything about your previous testimony you would like to change at this time?”

Stroker, blinking, glanced between Braham and General Holt. “I might have been mistaken about my passengers.”

General Holt’s arm rested on the table at his side. His fist opened and closed repeatedly.

“So,” Braham said, “would like to tell the court who you actually picked up that night and where you delivered them?”

Stroker ran a hand over his hair, looking around the room like a ferret searching for an escape route. “After the colonel dropped the lady off, I took the colonel and Mr. Mallory to the Willard.”