The Wedding Night Affair--An Historical Mystery by L.C. Sharp (i have read the book .TXT) 📗

This time when the cab hurled itself around another corner to enter the narrower streets of the City, she grabbed the frayed leather door handle and steadied herself. She was getting used to it. “What happens now?”

“We’ll talk to the magistrate and find out. Fielding is in control of this process. He will decide what happens next. But I have a few mitigating circumstances I can acquaint him with.”

“What should I tell him?”

“The truth. Do not hold back. He will discover the truth anyway.” He spoke firmly, filling her with confidence she was not sure she should feel. “Henry Fielding and his brother, who works as his assistant, are unlike any other magistrates in the City, and for all I know, the country. They are honest, they take no bribes, only rewards and their salary. Because of that, they have the support of several men in high places. They are showing the world how a true magistrate should act.”

“Incorruptible?”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “I wouldn’t go that far. But better than any other I know, and certainly better than the man who went before them. They cannot be bought off.”

He sounded so sure. “Will you help me?”

“I have said so.”

“Do you believe I killed my husband?”

“If you did, it was without premeditation. You may have felt an instinctive desire to defend yourself. You may have been in fear of your life. You may have been under the influence of strong liquor, which you are not accustomed to. In either of those cases, you do not deserve to die.”

“I did not kill him,” she repeated firmly.

“He could not have killed himself. But if you did not murder him, who did?”

Chapter Eight

Here in the City of London, the cab driver had to slow down. The street was crowded with people going about their business, rather than causing a riot. Chairmen, the sedan chair bouncing between them, trotted up the street, people jumping aside to get out of their way. Others lingered, gazing into the large shop windows that visitors marveled at, the bullseye panes of glass no obstacle to the tempting wares laid out behind them.

Last week, Juliana had done exactly that, wandered around these streets, and the more fashionable ones further west, bought trinkets that cost a month’s wages for the person serving her.

Now she was a felon, facing the real threat of death on the gallows in front of a screaming crowd of bloodthirsty citizens.

Strange, the way the world worked. But it did work that way, and here she was.

The cab turned up the narrow street that led uphill, and stopped halfway, outside a house that was easily overlooked. Tall, like the rest of the establishments in the street, it formed the Bow Street Magistrate’s Court, and the residence of the magistrate. A different kind of court to the one Juliana was used to visiting. But this might be the last one she’d ever grace with her presence.

This street was never still, but as they stepped down and Sir Edmund paid the cab driver, nothing unusual appeared to disturb her. No mobs gathered here, although a few people stared at her curiously as she stepped inside the house.

Rather than a gracious mansion, this was a house of business, small and cramped compared to what she was used to. A maid dropped them a brief curtsey, and gestured to the staircase running up the side of one wall. “Mr. Fielding is expecting you, sir,” she said, and gave Juliana an interested stare.

“I’m pleased to see you well, Mrs. Fielding. How is your husband today?” Sir Edmund asked.

This woman was the wife of the magistrate? Juliana had taken her for a housekeeper. She was dressed plainly, and her linen cap had no lace, not even a small frill, as Juliana would have expected of the lady of the house. And her demeanor was respectful rather than that of a woman welcoming them into a house where she was mistress.

However, Mrs. Fielding’s behavior was none of her business, and after Sir Edmund had exchanged a few polite words with her, they went upstairs. Single file, since these stairs were not wide enough for two to walk abreast. They were covered with the kind of rough drugget her family used in the servants’ quarters, hard wearing and practical. With the number of people who probably climbed these stairs, a soft carpet or even bare treads would not be as serviceable.

Sir Edmund took her into a room at the top of the stairs. They entered a comfortable study. It contained a large desk, meant more for use than fashion. The walls were lined with bookshelves, built for practicality, but a set of matching chairs spoke to somebody’s pretension to gentility. Not the man seated behind the desk. He lifted his head and stared at them, as he rose to greet them. He was staring at nothing. John Fielding saw nothing; he’d been stone-blind for most of his life.

Juliana had read about him, but never met him before. John Fielding had only joined his brother this year, but he had always supported him, especially in his profession as magistrate.

“I regret my brother cannot meet you,” he said, “but he is unwell.”

“So his wife told us downstairs,” Sir Edmund answered. “When I saw him this morning he seemed a little out of sorts. Please convey our heartfelt wishes for his swift recovery.”

“Thank you. I will let him know.” He turned to Juliana, his attitude brisk. “I believe we have some business to pursue.”

“Indeed,” Sir Edmund said and pulled a chair back for her. “I regret to inform you that the mob has gathered at Lady Uppingham’s father’s town house. There is a deal of commotion, and we had to leave quickly by the back door. They were breaking in as we left.”

Mr. Fielding sighed. “The stories circulating are vivid. I dispatched officers to the scene when the crowd reached fifty people, so by now they will be intervening. We have