Page 40 of Echo in the Wind

At the end of the cross-examination, the judge addressed the jury. “Gentlemen of the jury, this indictment is founded on an act of Parliament in order to repress the daring conduct and behavior of the smugglers, who endeavored not only to violate the laws, but to resist them with force. It is for your consideration whether the facts and circumstances fail to show these goods were unaccustomed.” Adding to his final instructions, the judge said, “If a person is stopped and apprehended, and tells a false story, that is evidence of guilt.”

After the judge set forth the evidence and listed the questions for the jury, the group of men retired to consider what they had heard.

Cornelia leaned to Joanna. “I cannot imagine the man will go free, can you?”

“No, I cannot.” Awash in guilt for her part in smuggling that might have led to such an encounter, she vowed to remind her men never to resist should they be captured. They might face gaol but not death. At the back of her mind was the thought she must find a way to help the poor of Chichester without engaging in illegal trade.

The jury returned shortly and the foreman faced the judge. In a loud voice, he proclaimed, “Guilty, death.”

The woman sitting on the bench next to Joanna screamed and the young man shouted, “No!” A loud tumult sounded from the rest of the observers in the gallery, all save Joanna and Cornelia who remained gravely silent.

Joanna’s attention turned to the prisoner, who had been reduced to a pathetic wretch. He brushed away tears from his cheeks and looked up to the gallery where the women and the young man sat next to Joanna. Shaking his head, he looked down at his hands, gripping the railing.

When the noise in the court died down, the foreman of the jury, still standing, added, “My Lord, it is the unanimous and earnest wish of the jury that the prisoner may be humbly recommended as an object of His Majesty’s mercy.”

Joanna doubted, based on the case presented, the prisoner would ever see that mercy.

The whole experience had shaken her. To think she, too, could face such a trial, that Freddie could be in that box where John Shelley stood, made her stomach roil and her heart pound in her chest.

She let out a deep sigh.

One more run. They had committed to one more and then she must find another way to help the villagers. She never wanted to see them at the Old Bailey. She never wanted to be there herself.

The prisoner was led away and the gallery began to empty. The women who had watched the trial beside them were dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs as they stood to leave.

Once they were gone, Cornelia abruptly stood. “Tea, I think, is in order. Twinings?”

Joanna got to her feet, her shoulders sagging with the weight of what she had witnessed. “Some refreshment after that is welcome, though I shouldn’t wonder if we ought to drink something stronger than tea.” Particularly if it were tea she knew might very well be smuggled. But then, so was most of England’s brandy.

Chapter 11

Despite tossing all night with dreams of smuggler John Shelley facing the noose, the next morning Joanna was up early. Fortified with coffee and dressed in her cinnamon-colored riding habit and feathered hat, she was prepared for the arrival of Lord Hugh Seymour.

Up half the night from the ball she had attended, Tillie still slept, so Joanna did not have to answer her younger sister’s prying questions as to why she would ride in Hyde Park with a man rumored to be one of London’s rakes.

As promised, Lord Hugh arrived promptly at ten. She expected no less of a former naval officer, no matter he and the Prince of Wales might have been up all night drinking and gambling in the golden halls of London’s gentlemen’s clubs.

She met him at the door with a cheerful smile. “Good morning, Lord Hugh.” Behind him, a sunny morning presented itself.

He stood tall in his fine set of dark brown riding clothes, his riding boots well polished. Under his beaver tricorne, his nut-brown hair was neatly queued at his nape. Indeed, she had to agree with Richard, the man cut a handsome figure.

He looked her up and down with an approving smile. “By God, I will be the envy of every man on the Row!”

“You flatter me, good sir, but I will take your compliment and say ‘thank you’. Shall we go?”

Outside, Seymour’s chestnut gelding stood next to her white mare that she had earlier asked the groom to bring around to the front.

“We shall have good weather,” he remarked, as he helped her to mount.

Mayfair was only a few streets from Hyde Park, so they were soon trotting down the broad sand-covered road that was once called Route du Roi, now simply known as Rotten Row.

Since it would be a few hours before the ton appeared en masse at midday, they mostly had the park to themselves. From the tall trees on either side of them, robins greeted the cool sun-filled day with vigorous songs.

She glanced across at Lord Hugh and noticed his eyes drooping. “Up late with Prince George?”

He smiled sheepishly. “More like we greeted the dawn together.”

She laughed. “At times, Lord Hugh, you must miss the sea. At least as a captain of one of His Majesty’s ships, you had regular hours.”