Duchess For A Day

Rising to her feet, Claire looked around, searching in vain for the aging hack barrister the crown had appointed as her counsel. She turned back to address the judge.

“No one, I fear, milord.”

At that moment a large hand came to rest on her shoulder. She turned and looked up to see a giant of a man, resplendent in legal raiment bearing the Old Queen’s own colors. The powdered wig only added to his towering height.

“I kindly beg to differ.” The giant’s voice was low and surprisingly soft. “I speak for the accused, your worship.”

Cecil Twiggs paled and the slim prosecution brief slipped from his fingers. He bent and picked it up, his hand visibly shaking.

The judge sat upright, imperious in his tall-backed leather chair. He adjusted his spectacles, leaned forward and asked, “To what happy circumstance do we have the honor of the Queen’s own Counsel gracing our humble criminal court? Welcome, Lord Northway.”

Lord Northway thanked the judge and smiled at the awed Claire. He was an impressive man in both stature and manner and well known for his keen legal mind.

Lord Northway’s father, Henderson Northway, had been elevated by Queen Victoria forty-five years ago for the outstanding legal, diplomatic and political advice he had given as the Queen’s Counsel on affairs both domestic and foreign. Most notable was his opinion that the Queen’s highly opposed recognition of the Republic of Texas would, if done, be unchallenged.

The grateful Queen had rewarded him with a peerage.

Claire was as puzzled as the learned judge and the nervous prosecution that Lord Northway had come to her defense.

From his bench above, Judge Knowlton nodded toward Twiggs. “State the charge.”

“Grand theft, milord.” Twiggs opened the brief. “To be specific, jewelry belonging to Lord Nardees’s wife, valued by these appraisals in the amount of three thousand pounds.”

“Any witness besides the good baron?” asked the judge, a noticeable frown on his face.

Twiggs shook his head.

“What say you, Lord Northway? State your case.”

“No case, milord, but a few questions for the crown, perhaps.”

“We are honored to take questions of the Queen’s Counsel.” The judge waved a permissive hand.

“Thank you, milord.” The tall barrister turned to Cecil Twiggs. “These appraisals you have before you in the amount of three thousand pounds?”

“Yes,” Twiggs eagerly responded.

“How many separate appraisals and who made the appraisals?”

“There are six separate appraisals all made by Lloyd’s of London, of course.”

The quality and power of his voice demanding total attention, Lord Northway promptly pointed out that Claire Orwell’s accuser had not filed any claims with Lloyd’s of London.

“Your honor, Joseph Phillips, Esquire, of Lloyd’s of London waits just outside. He will testify to the fact that no claims have been made by Lord Nardees. May I add that Lloyd’s of London has insured the lord’s belongings for thirty-five years.” Lord Northway turned to Cecil Twiggs. “Over the last ten years, how many charges has Lord Nardees brought against his servants?”

Twiggs blanched, looking to the bench for help and direction.

“Answer,” said the judge with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Twiggs spread the brief before him on the prosecution table. “Perhaps four accusations.”

“Perhaps six,” Lord Northway softly corrected.

“Possible,” said Twiggs. “I have only—”

“Lord Northway, are you calling Lord Nardees a liar?” asked the judge. “That’s your defense?”

“Not at all, your honor. I’m simply pointing out that perhaps a mistake has been made. Honorable people can disagree and—”

“Approach the bench,” the judge interrupted.

Lord Northway again stated, “Nardees has filed no claims on past charges. Perhaps the items Lord Nardees thought were stolen have only been misplaced. And subsequently found.” Lord Northway paused and drew himself up to his full, imposing height. “Are we to send this poor young woman—” he nodded to Claire “—who has no history of committing any crimes, to twenty-five years and ruin her life—or more accurately, end her life? She may not survive…” Again he paused, then said, “I respectably ask for all charges to be dismissed.”

The judge looked intently at Lord Northway. “I will rule later today.”

At 6:00 p.m. the judge told the prosecutor that he had dismissed the charges. He also considered the failure on the part of Lord Nardees to file insurance claims. He told the barristers he was going to deny a true bill and that Claire Orwell was to be set free. Claire and the barristers rose to their feet. The judge asked Lord Northway to stay. Claire turned to thank her gallant defender.

Lord Northway smiled warmly and said, “If you’ll wait just outside, I must speak with you before you go. I won’t be long.”

Claire nodded and walked out with the prosecutor.

“Tell me, old man,” the judge beseeched when the two were alone, “what in the name of God brings you to defend this poor woman?”

Lord Northway smiled, reached into his weskit pocket and extracted a large gold hunter-case watch. He gave the stem a slight twist and the case opened, revealing a yellowing enameled miniature.

The judge gasped audibly.

“Yes,” acknowledged Lord Northway, “an exact likeness of Claire Orwell.”

“Painted years before Claire was born,” the judge said.

Lord Northway nodded. “My father handed me this watch on his deathbed.” He looked at the faded miniature. “She was the love of his life.”

“I see,” the judge sat back in his chair.

“Father instructed me to help her daughter, Claire, if ever she needed me.”

“How did you hear about her being in trouble?”

“A timely missive from a miscreant in Newgate known as Green Tooth,” said Lord Northway.

Claire looked up, smiled and rose from the bench in the corridor as Lord Northway approached. Still puzzled that he had come to her defense, she was even more puzzled when the stately lord handed her an envelope.

“My dear,” he said in that rich baritone voice, “I’ve a bit of good news for you.”

Claire listened and learned that she was being offered the opportunity to sail to America to open up the Saratoga Springs, New York, summer house of Britain’s flamboyant Duchess of Beaumont. The young, blond widow was one of Britain’s more colorful royals, a woman who cared not one whit what the gossips said about her.

Claire had read of the duchess’s exploits and her photograph had often appeared in the London Times.