Much as she and Jack had done from the moment they’d met.
When this was ended, when they’d exonerated James, and saved her brothers and seen them each to the altar, she’d face another choice. To retreat to her previous existence, to choose society’s road, or…
She tried to concentrate, but sleep fogged her mind and drew her down before she could decide whether she actually had another alternative, another unexpected road she could choose…or if she was simply dreaming.
“The bishop expects to convene his court tomorrow. I suggest we see him today.” Jack looked across the table on which he’d spread their accumulated evidence and met Clarice’s gaze.
It was after ten o’clock, and he’d returned from a morning conference with his colleagues at the Bastion Club to lay all they’d gathered before her.
“This”—he gestured to the documents arrayed before him—“is beyond convincing, proof positive that James never attended those three meetings, that the meetings never took place. With that established, the allegations no longer have any foundation. I discussed it with the others—we all feel that if there’s a chance to avoid the matter appearing even in the bishop’s court, we’d be wise to seize it.”
Clarice nodded slowly, thinking it through. “That way, no formal allegations will be recorded, not anywhere.”
“Precisely. So, shall we go and see the bishop?”
She met Jack’s eyes, and nodded. “Let’s.”
Arriving at the palace, they spoke first to Dean Samuels and Deacon Olsen. The dean conveyed their message, their thoughts, directly to the bishop’s ear. Ten minutes later, they were shown into a private audience.
“Well, then.” The bishop looked from Jack to Clarice. “The dean tells me you have news?”
From his expression, it was plain that he was looking to them to help him avoid what for him now loomed as a political quagmire. Jack smiled. Ably assisted by Clarice, he obliged, going through each alleged meeting, citing the witnesses Deacon Humphries had named, in each case proferring the signed and witnessed recanting of their stories and their tales of having been paid by the supposed courier to lie.
“The description of the man who has been meeting with Deacon Humphries, presumably giving him information, matches that of the man who paid the witnesses to swear that they’d seen James Altwood meeting with the courier in those taverns.” Jack paused, then continued, “In addition, we have at least three witnesses for each tavern who will swear no clergyman has ever crossed their threshold, at least not in the last two years.”
Looking up, he met the bishop’s eyes. “Furthermore, we have confirmed information from various persons within the ton placing James at social functions on the same evenings as the alleged meetings.”
Dropping the sheaf of statements onto the small table before him, Jack laid his hand on the last pile of documents. “Lastly, as to the information passed, while most of the details cited James did indeed have, and would be expected, military scholar that he is, to have, the specific information said to have been passed during one of the three recent meetings concerned details of demobilization.” Jack’s smile grew intent. “That, however, was information James Altwood didn’t have.”
Succinctly, he described the exhaustive search Dalziel had conducted. “All of which failed to find any avenue through which James Altwood accessed such information.
”
Clarice stepped forward. “Taken together, the evidence gathered proves conclusively that James did not attend the three meetings with any courier, indeed, was elsewhere at the time, and could not have had at least some of the information he is said to have passed to the enemy. In short, my lord, the allegations made against my relative appear entirely without foundation. More, they appear to have been constructed, either by this supposed courier or someone working through him, to ensnare the authorities, the Church included, in an unjustified trial.”
The bishop blinked, but he wasn’t disappointed. He nodded, his expression stern. “Indeed, Lady Clarice. Your point is well-taken.” From his expression, he was clearly aware of the pitfalls involved in unjustified trials, even in his court.
He looked at Jack. “Lord Warnefleet, the Church is indebted to you, your superiors, and the others who aided you in assembling this evidence so swiftly. You have our thanks. And Lady Clarice, as well. You may convey to your family, dear lady, that there will be no further action taken in this matter.” The bishop glanced at the stack of papers before Jack. “In light of all you’ve presented, I see no benefit in proceeding with a formal hearing. I intend to dismiss the allegations as unfounded. I will inform Whitehall of my decision.”
Clarice beamed. “Thank you, my lord.”
The formality preserved to that point dissolved. The dean and Deacon Olsen came forward to shake Jack’s hand and exclaim over the evidence. Clarice engaged the bishop, who asked rather wistfully after her aunt Camleigh, inquiries Clarice, somewhat to her surprise, was now in a position to satisfy.
Some fifteeen minutes later, in perfect accord, they parted, Jack, Clarice, and Olsen leaving the bishop and dean to explain matters to Humphries, a solution they agreed was best all around.
Olsen left them at the head of the main stairs; delighted, he staggered off to his office, the evidence exonerating James piled in his arms.
Smiling, Jack turned to Clarice. She wound her arm in his. Side by side, they descended the stairs.
“One matter successfully dealt with.” Clarice paused on the palace steps and lifted her face to the sun. “I suppose…” She looked at Jack. “Now we have James saved and that matter off our plate, we should concentrate on my brothers’ futures.” She eyed him appraisingly, assessing, subtly challenging. “Lady Hamilton is holding an al fresco luncheon today. Lady Cowper and Aunt Camleigh, entirely independently, mentioned it as an event I’d be well-advised not to miss.”
Jack raised his brows but said nothing.
Undeterred, Clarice led him down the steps. “Of course,” she confided, “they both want me there for the same reason.” She caught Jack’s eye. “Moira will be there, and so will the Haverlings and the Combertvilles. After Helen’s ball last night, I suspect our aunts want to ensure that Moira comprehends her revised position.”
She grimaced and looked down.
Jack studied her face, what he could see of it. “It’s political, isn’t it? The way the ladies jostle for position and influence, band together in this faction and that?”