In the Barrister's Chambers Read online

  That and the undeniable truth that he was drawn to Evelyn himself.

  Looking into Evelyn’s mesmerizing blue eyes, Jack struggled to hold on to his firm resolve.

  The lady is nothing but trouble, he mused. She had been a minx as a girl—an I-know-it-all-better-than-you-ever-will tormenter—and as a grown woman she was wildly beautiful. His attraction was its own warning. He never mixed business with pleasure. It always led to disastrous results in the courtroom.

  His mind whirled with excuses. He would speak with her father, explain the circumstances to him, and he had no doubt in his mind that Lord Lyndale would understand that he did not have the time to take on a murder client. He would be doing his former pupilmaster a service by informing him of his daughter’s clandestine activities.

  Reaching out, she grasped his hand, her eyes imploring. “If it is a matter of money,” she said, “please be assured that you will be paid.”

  Jack froze, every muscle in his body tensing. His blood always ran hot after a trial, and her touch—however innocent—tempted him to reach out and take the victor’s spoils. A kiss, at the least. He wondered what her reaction would be if she knew the effect she had on him.

  “It has nothing to do with money,” he said tersely. “If I’m to consider taking on your friend’s—Mr. Randolph Sheldon’s—case, then I insist on speaking with your father first.”

  “My father? Why?”

  “I owe him a great deal. I won’t go behind his back and take on a case involving his own daughter, even if you are not the accused.”

  She sat upright as if her laces suddenly had been pulled tight. “Fine. If you insist.”

  “I insist.”

  She stood and turned to leave. “As I’m sure you’re aware, my father is a busy man—”

  He reached for his pocket watch with a flourish, then looked at her. “I’m available now. I had expected Slip Dawson’s trial to take longer and had cleared the remainder of my day. From what I recall, your father never liked to work through the evening meal and should be returning home soon.”

  Jack stood and opened the door for her. He gave her his most charming smile as they returned to the main hall of the Old Bailey. He would meet with Lord Lyndale, enlighten him as to his daughter’s intentions, explain why he could not take on the case, help his daughter find a suitable lawyer to defend her anticipated betrothed, thus fulfilling any ethical obligations. He expected to be in his chambers at Lincoln’s Inn of Court within two hours’ time.

  It was dark outside by the time they arrived at Lord Lyndale’s town house in Piccadilly. They had traveled by separate conveyances, Evelyn choosing to take a hackney cab while Jack traveled in his phaeton. As soon as Jack was alone, he removed his barrister’s wig and gown, laid them beside him on the padded bench, and ran his fingers through his hair. She had been worried about her reputation, traveling unchaperoned with a bachelor, and Jack was more than happy to accommodate her concerns. He didn’t want to learn more than was necessary about her troubles.

  Why bother? He didn’t plan on taking them on.

  They now stood on the front steps while Evelyn rapped on the door.

  “Shouldn’t your father’s butler have opened the door by now?” he asked after a full minute had passed.

  “Hodges is well into his eighties. His hearing isn’t what it used to be,” she explained.

  Just like Lord Lyndale, he thought. He would take troubled students under his wing and keep on an elderly butler when most other members of society would have let the old servant out to pasture years ago.

  Evelyn fished into her reticule, searching for her key. The task was made harder by the dusk, with only the dim glow of the street lamp to aid her. Finally she withdrew the key and was inserting it into the lock, when the door pushed easily open.

  “That’s odd,” she said. “Hodges must have forgotten to lock the door.”

  They stepped inside the vestibule. It was dim here as well, and the lingering scent of a pipe filled the space. The distinctive smell of the tobacco triggered a memory of Emmanuel Darlington at the podium in the classroom, pipe in hand.

  “Father?” Evelyn called out.

  Jack took a step forward and bumped into a long-case clock in the corner. He heard Evelyn shuffle forward, then the sound of flint strike iron as she sought to light a lamp.

  Hands outstretched so as to avoid walking into anything more, he made to reach her side, then tripped over something on the floor. He barely registered what sounded like a low moan, when Evelyn screamed and something shattered across the floor.

  Jack twisted around, just in time to see a figure dart forward. Jack launched himself at the shape, grasping a fistful of coat, when a heavy object came crashing down upon his temple.

  Chapter 3

  Jack fell to his knees, his head pounding in pain. He could hear footsteps racing out the door and down the porch steps.

  “Evelyn!” he shouted.

  “Over here.” Her voice was faint.

  Jack crawled over to her side. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m all right . . . but my arm . . . I think I cut it on something when he pushed me down.”

  “Where is the lamp?”

  “I dropped it.”

  He felt his way across the floor until he found the lamp and the tinderbox. As soon as he lit the lamp, Evelyn cried out, “Hodges!”

  She flew to the side of the fallen butler. A crimson trail of blood oozed down his forehead and stained his white shirtfront. “Is he dead?”

  Jack knelt down and checked the elderly man’s pulse. “No, but he needs a doctor.” Raising the lamp, he studied the door lock. “The door is not damaged. The intruder must have knocked, then forced his way inside when Hodges opened the door.”

  Evelyn’s eyes widened like saucers, and she raised a hand to cover her heart. “Good Lord! What about Father?”

  She scrambled to her feet and started forward when Jack grasped her arm. She cried out in pain, and he realized she was bleeding. Looking around, he spotted a shattered vase on the floor. A jagged shard was embedded in her forearm.

  “We need to get this out and stanch the bleeding.”

  “No . . . my father . . .”

  His gut clenched. “Stay with Hodges. I’ll be right back.”

  “No!”

  Her glazed eyes revealed her panic. He understood her need to find her father. “I’ll be a minute only to summon the constable and a doctor. Then we will go together and search for your father.”

  “Do you think there are more intruders?”

  “No. They would have made their exit in the dark while we were down.”

  She nodded at his explanation.

  He wasted no time taking to the street. It was late, but Piccadilly was a busy, upscale neighborhood. He spotted a hackney cab within seconds and flagged down the driver. “An intruder was just in Lord Lyndale’s house. Summon the constable and the closest doctor,” Jack directed, tossing a coin up to the driver who caught it in midair.

  Jack ran back inside the house.

  “We should check the library first,” Evelyn rushed. “Father always goes to his office after arriving home.”

  Taking her hand, Jack made his way past the drawing room toward the library. He had been here years before, and he remembered that the library was located in the back of the house. It was a good bet that Lord Lyndale would be there.

  It appeared that every candle in the house had been doused, and Jack held the lamp up high. When they came to the library, Evelyn sucked in a breath.

  The room had been ransacked. Books had been ripped off the shelves and papers were scattered across the floor. Armchairs had been turned over and the leather upholstery slashed. Horsehair filling littered the carpet.

  At first glance, Jack thought the room was vacant, but then a movement of the curtains caught his eye. He rushed forward and pulled the drapes aside. Emmanuel Darlington, the current Earl of Lyndale, was bound and gagged and thrust in the corner
.

  “Father!” Evelyn cried out and dashed to his side.

  Jack immediately set to work untying the older man. “Lord Lyndale, are you hurt?” he asked, looking for signs of obvious injury.

  Emmanuel Darlington’s eyes widened as he looked up at Jack. “Jack Harding? What are you doing here?”

  “It’s a long story, my lord. I shall endeavor to explain everything once a doctor sees to you and Hodges.”

  “Hodges? Was he harmed?”

  “Knocked unconscious in the foyer by the intruder who forced his way inside. Where is your manservant, your housekeeper, the rest of your staff?”

  “They have one night off a week, save Hodges,” Evelyn answered. “Father insists that we are quite self-sufficient and the staff deserves a respite.”

  Jack bit his lip at Lyndale’s generosity.

  Lord Lyndale stood with Jack’s assistance and sat in a chair behind the desk. A solid wood chair, it had been spared having its cushions slashed open like the other chairs before the fireplace.

  Evelyn set to lighting the candles in the sconces on the walls. A warm glow illuminated the library, and Jack was shocked to see how much his former teacher and mentor had aged.

  Gone was the full head of dark hair and robust stature. This Lord Lyndale before him was balding with sparse tufts of gray hair, deep frown lines between his eyes. Whereas he used to enjoy a hearty meal and had a sizable paunch, he was now thin and had an unhealthy pallor. Jack mentally calculated Emmanuel Darlington’s age as sixty-five, but he appeared in his midseventies.

  An angry welt marred the back of his scalp, and Jack knew he had been struck from behind.

  “Did you recognize the intruder?” Jack asked him.

  “No. I was searching for a book, my back to the door, when I was attacked. When I stirred, he was still in the library, but I was bound, gagged, and stuck behind the curtains. I could hear him rummaging about, but I could see nothing.”

  Jack motioned to the ransacked room. “Has anything been taken?”

  Evelyn spoke up. “It doesn’t appear so, but it will take me time to sort through this mess and take inventory.”

  They were interrupted by a loud pounding on the front door.

  “It must be the constable,” Jack said. “I’ll see to him; you look about for any missing items. They may give clues to the intruder’s identity.”

  Jack left and opened the front door to find two men standing on the porch.

  “I’m Constable Bridges and this is Lord Lyndale’s personal physician, Dr. Mason. We were told there was a burglary.”

  “Who are you and where’s Hodges?” the doctor asked.

  Jack opened the door wide. “I’m Jack Harding, a fellow barrister and close friend of the family. There was indeed an intruder, and Hodges, Lady Evelyn, and Lord Lyndale all need your medical services.”

  The men stepped inside and soon every candle in the house was alight. Dr. Mason immediately tended to Hodges who had begun to come around. The elderly butler was not critically injured, but had been knocked unconscious when he had been thrown to the floor. Jack and the constable carried him up to his room to rest.

  The doctor next examined Lord Lyndale to check for signs of concussion. Dr. Mason asked the elder man several questions and when he proficiently answered each one, the doctor nodded in satisfaction.

  The doctor then turned his attention to Evelyn. When he rolled back her sleeve to reveal the embedded porcelain shard, she winced and paled.

  Jack sat beside her and held the hand of her uninjured arm. “It must come out, Evie. You can squeeze my hand if you need to.”

  Wide turquoise eyes turned to him. “You used to call me Evie when I exasperated you with my knowledge of criminal procedure. No one’s called me Evie since.”

  Jack grinned. “Good. I wouldn’t want anyone to spoil your memories of me.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. My memories of you are quite vivid.”

  He wanted to ask her to elaborate further, but just then, Dr. Mason pulled out the shard with a pair of tweezers, causing Evelyn to jerk.

  “Ouch!”

  “Hold still, Lady Evelyn.” With the shard removed, the wound started bleeding anew. She squeezed Jack’s hand as the doctor cleansed and bandaged her arm.

  “It hurts more,” she complained.

  Dr. Mason handed her father a small vial. “If the pain persists, give her a little laudanum. If she becomes fevered overnight, send for me immediately.” The doctor then snapped shut his black bag. “I’ll return tomorrow afternoon to check on everyone.”

  Evelyn raised her hand. “Wait! Mr. Harding was injured as well.”

  The doctor’s eyes narrowed at Jack. “Mr. Harding?”

  “It’s nothing,” Jack said. “A slight bump on the temple is all.”

  The doctor set down his bag, his bushy brows furrowed. “Nonetheless, Mr. Harding, I should take a look.”

  Jack was forced to sit still as he was poked and prodded until the doctor was satisfied there was no serious injury. “Perhaps a dram of whiskey will do you good for any pain tonight. I’ll leave now as I’m sure Constable Bridges has questions.”

  Young Bridges, who had been waiting for the doctor to depart, now stood and cleared his throat. In his early twenties, with the air of self-importance that typically surrounded new recruits, Bridges’s spectacles had the thickest lenses Jack had ever seen.

  “I inspected the first floor and no windows were broken. Mr. Harding’s assumption that the burglar forced his way inside past Hodges appears to be correct.” Bridges pushed his spectacles farther up his nose. “I have also conducted a walk-through of the house, Lord Lyndale, and only the library has been disturbed. It appears the burglar was interrupted by Mr. Harding and Lady Evelyn’s arrival.”

  “You think it a common burglary then?” Lord Lyndale asked.

  “I do. There have been two other burglaries in the neighborhood over the past several months. But rest assured, Lord Lyndale, I shall recommend to my superiors that the foot patrols be doubled in Piccadilly.”

  Constable Bridges put his hat on. “I will keep you informed of anything we learn.”

  Lyndale nodded and Bridges made his way out, leaving Jack alone with Evelyn and her father.

  “I don’t agree with the constable that the intruder was a common thief,” Jack said.

  “Why not?” Evelyn asked.

  “Bridges is a new recruit. I’ve seen it time and again in my criminal cases; freshly minted constables are quick to draw conclusions. They lack the sharp instincts that older officials have honed in the field.”

  “But Bridges said there have been burglaries in the neighborhood,” Evelyn pointed out.

  “There very well may have been. But not here. I’ve spent my entire career in criminal court, remember? I’ve picked up a few tips from my hired investigators over the years.”

  Jack strode to Lord Lyndale’s desk and picked up a solid gold letter opener. “A common burglar would not pass this up.” He pointed to an intricately carved silver snuff box in the corner of the desk, and said, “Or this either.” He walked the perimeter of the room, noting other valuables in the library. A small mantel clock of exquisite workmanship, priceless rare books, a walking stick with a gold-tipped crown . . . all would bring a good price on the streets for a common criminal.

  “It’s possible our arrival interrupted the intruder and he fled before he could pilfer such items,” Evelyn said.

  Jack shook his head. “He had ample time to scour the room. The room was ransacked and the upholstery slashed while valuables left out in the open were untouched. He was searching for something, and I don’t think he was successful.”

  “Oh, my,” Evelyn said, visibly shuddering. “What can this mean?”

  Jack looked to his former teacher who had remained silent since the constable had departed. “Do you have any idea, Lord Lyndale?”

  A still-dazed expression clouded Lyndale’s face. “I cannot imagine.
As a professor at Oxford, my life is quite public. I hardly have secrets.”

  Lyndale blinked, focusing his gaze on Jack. “You said you would explain why you had arrived here with Evelyn at this hour, Mr. Harding.”

  Jack ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. “I’m not sure now is the time, Lord Lyndale.”

  Lyndale cocked his head to the side. “I’d be lying if I said I’m not grateful for your presence here tonight, but I’m confused as well.”

  Evelyn came forward and rested a hand on her father’s shoulder. “Perhaps another time—”

  “It has to do with Lady Evelyn’s betrothed, Mr. Randolph Sheldon,” Jack said.

  “Her betrothed!” Lyndale straightened as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on his head. “Is that what Evelyn told you?”

  “Father, I—”

  “My apologies, Lord Lyndale,” Jack interrupted smoothly. “She said her ‘soon-to-be betrothed,’ Mr. Sheldon. She sought me out specifically to represent him.”

  “Randolph Sheldon is one of my Fellows at the university,” Lyndale explained. “We have also been friendly with his family over the years, and that is how Evelyn knows the man.”

  University Fellows, Jack knew, were scholarly students who achieved high marks and were recruited by professors to aid with their research. No wonder Evelyn was fond of the man.

  And yet, by Lyndale’s tone, Jack knew he did not condone the match.

  Lord Lyndale turned to his daughter, his expression tight with strain. “Evelyn, I told you I would see to Randolph’s defense if needed. I know all the criminal masters at the Inns.”

  “But none have Mr. Harding’s trial record!” Evelyn protested.

  At once, Jack saw his way out. He never wanted to get involved, and it appeared now, even more than before, that Emmanuel Darlington did not approve of his daughter’s choice of a marriage partner or of her involvement in Mr. Sheldon’s criminal defense. It would be easy for Jack to take his leave, perhaps send a polite note tomorrow morning inquiring into the Darlingtons’ well-being, and then disappear entirely from their lives and return to immersing himself in his already-full docket.