Edward was about to make matters deviate from the ordinary.
In the back chamber, a man came up to the two of them. “You’re on the list of witnesses?” He brushed his thinning hair away from his eyes and peered at a page in his hand. “Your names?”
“Edward Clark,” Edward said. “And Patrick Shaughnessy. We were sworn in yesterday morning.”
The man nodded, checking them off the list he held. “If they need you, you’ll be called. Until then, you can have a seat.” He gestured at a handful of chairs and bustled off.
Edward recognized the names that were being recited in the other chamber, loud enough for them to hear even in here. There was a deposition referenced from the vicar who’d baptized his brother. A family servant attested to a continuing acquaintance. He wondered if James had noticed the additions to the witness list, or if he’d brushed them aside.
The man droned on. “As to the immediate family, the eldest son of John Delacey, the fourth Viscount Claridge, was Peter Delacey, who died an infant on August 2, 1849. The second eldest son, Edward Delacey, was born on March 15, 1850. He was in Strasbourg at the time that hostilities broke out between France and Prussia; all attempts to discover him after the region once again became stable were fruitless. Hundreds were killed, the bodies not all recovered. The last letter received from Edward Delacey, presented to this body as evidence by James Delacey, was dated July 6, 1870. Under our law, after seven years have passed without word, Edward Delacey is presumed dead. That brings us to the third rightful son of John Delacey, James Delacey, who is before us now.”
There was an indistinct murmur, one that Edward could not make out.
Then a different voice spoke up. “The chair recognizes Baron Lowery.”
“Thank you. As I understand the law, Edward Delacey is merely presumed dead at the moment. Is that correct?”
“For all legal purposes, yes.”
“But that presumption can be rebutted for legal purposes. Including, I suppose, right now.”
There was a pause and then another murmur.
“Do you believe that presumption can be rebutted?” someone asked.
“I believe I am honor-bound to rebut it,” Lowery said. “You see, it has come to my attention that Edward Delacey is alive.”
Edward’s hands were shaking. He pressed them against his trousers, but it didn’t help. He’d avoided this as long as he could. The thought of being called by that name again, of taking his father’s seat…
Yet here he was. It was too late. Even if he stood and left the room, they’d know now, and he’d never escape again.
There was a long pause in the other room.
“I have been presented with evidence to that effect,” Lowery continued, “which I shall present to this body, if I am so allowed.”
He could hear murmured voices in the other room—his brother, no doubt, coming alive and objecting. He couldn’t hear their words, didn’t care about the objections James lodged or the matters of procedure he argued. He just wanted this over with.
After five minutes, the man who had been reciting facts before spoke again, loud enough for him to hear once more. “Lowery may proceed.”
“But—” That was James, speaking loudly enough that Edward was certain of the identification.
“James Delacey, you are not a member of the committee, and may only speak before it when duly called upon.”
Silence. And then, the voice of Baron Lowery. “I call Patrick Shaughnessy, my stable master, to testify.”
Beside him, Patrick shut his eyes and heaved a great breath.
“Go,” Edward said. “It will be all right.”
The man who had greeted them eyed them with a far more avid interest now. The door to the hearing room had been scarcely ajar; he opened it wide and gestured Patrick forward. Patrick stood, clenching his fists. He had never been easy speaking to a crowd. But he marched forward bravely into the high-walled hearing room in the House of Lords.
The greeter didn’t close the door this time. Through the opening, Edward could see Patrick make his way slowly to the front. He lowered himself gingerly into the seat that had been pulled forward.
“State your name, sir.”
Patrick leaned forward; Edward could see his lips moving, but nothing more.
“Loud enough for the lords to hear, if you please.”
“I’m Patrick Shaughnessy,” his friend said more loudly. “If it please you.”
“Can you tell us where you were born?”
“I grew up on the estates of Viscount Claridge.” His back was a rigid line. “My father was stable master there. My mother was a seamstress.”
“Did you know Edward Delacey?”
“We met when I was five, when my parents came over. We became friends almost instantly. My father taught Edward how to ride; Edward taught me how to read. From the time we were young until the day he was sent to school, we were inseparable.”