The magistrate’s court in Cambridge rarely saw more than college pranks conducted under the auspices of cheap wine, or thefts from the aforementioned inebriates.
These magistrates had no doubt had more than their share of run-ins with the aristocracy, but this—a charge laid against a countess, and on such grounds—was a novelty, and novelty drew crowds. People lined the wooden benches, chattering amongst themselves. They were packed so close that the temperature in the room was not just summer-morning uncomfortable; it was hellishly hot.
Violet didn’t look at him—not even a hint of a glance, a reassuring flicker of her eyes in his direction. She sat ten feet in front of him, but she felt desperately distant.
The morning started precisely as Sebastian had predicted. The magistrates entered; the crowd rose. Court was called into session, and the eldest of the three men stood.
“While it is true that the Countess of Cambury, a peeress of the realm, is not subject to our jurisdiction on matters of felony charges, the privileges of peerage do not extend to misdemeanors. Upon agreement of the prosecutor, the indictment has been amended to reflect only the lesser charges.”
There was a flurry. A paper was passed to the barrister; Violet peered at it over the man’s shoulder. Sebastian’s shoulders tensed. This was precisely what they had most worried about, after all—that they would choose to charge Violet with something mild rather than allow her to slip through their fingers.
And that was when Sebastian realized that something was deeply wrong. He had known Violet was uneasy—sitting too straight, pinching her lips together. He’d expected her to be even more unsettled by this development. But when the magistrate announced that, she smiled—a tight, fierce smile.
Under the circumstances, it was completely baffling. This was the worst possible outcome. Why was she smiling?
“How does the accused plead?” the magistrate asked.
The barrister beside her blew out his breath. Violet stood.
“As I have just been presented with an amended indictment,” she said, “I should like to make sure I understand the charges.”
This wasn’t what they’d talked about. She wasn’t supposed to say that. She was supposed to blame him, to throw herself on their mercy. It made no sense for her to say that.
Her voice was clear and carrying. It reminded him of the way she’d spoken last night: confident and strong. Her head was held high; her hands were relaxed at her sides.
She looked marvelous, but Sebastian felt a cold pit growing in his stomach. Something was wrong. Horrifically wrong.
“You may ask questions,” the magistrate said.
“I see now only two charges on the indictment,” Violet said. “The first is that I did speak of lewd and lascivious subjects in a public gathering yesterday evening.”
“Yes.”
“Am I to understand, then,” Violet said, “that I am no longer being charged with the lecture that was given here in October of 1862?”
“Yes, Your Ladyship,” the magistrate said with a touch of deference. “You are not.”
“How odd.” Violet raised her chin. “I was responsible for that, too.”
Sebastian felt his heart squeeze. No. She hadn’t said that. She could not have said that. What did she think she was doing?
“In fact, over the years of 1862 through 1867, there were ninety-seven lectures given by Malheur. I am not being charged in connection with those, either. Do I understand that correctly?”
The magistrate leaned back in his chair, looking a little annoyed. “No, Your Ladyship. You are not being charged in connection with those events.”
“Strange,” she said. “Because those were my ideas he presented.”
“Are you trying to expand the indictment?” asked the wigged man to the right in confusion.
“I am merely trying to understand the charges, so that I might appropriately enter a plea,” Violet said.
Sebastian had a bad feeling—a very bad feeling—about what was about to transpire. He squeezed his hands together, but no matter how hard he compressed them, it didn’t help.
Violet glanced down at the paper in front of her. “As to the charge of disturbing the peace. I understand that presenting my work to an audience in Leicester in 1864 caused a near-riot involving a herd of goats. That incident is not included on this indictment?”
“No,” the magistrate responded. “I think you understand the charges fairly well by now, Your Ladyship. How do you plead?”
Violet’s chin went up in defiance. “Are you asking me if I announced yesterday that I had uncovered the mechanism by which sexual reproduction transmits inherited traits? Are you asking me if I showed a crowd a sketch of the male sperm cell, magnified several thousandfold to show the material inside the nucleus?”