At least someone was enjoying themselves.
“Madame Regina is prepared to testify that she has employed this woman who claims to be Farah Townsend as Lucy Boggs in her establishment some five months, before turning her employ to Warrington for a large sum.” Dorian gestured to the sheaf of paper in the woman’s silk-gloved hand.
Warrington pounded the table, but barely restrained himself.
“Is this true?” Justice Whidbey asked of the woman known as Madame Regina.
“It is, my lord,” she purred in a sultry Italian accent. “I have brought you the documents of legitimacy I demand from my employees, and also the receipt for money exchanged between Mr. Warrington and me.”
Whidbey held out his hand for them, and she glided toward him, handing over the crisp, official papers.
Warrington’s lawyer stood. “This is a joke. This story, these documents, they could both be forgeries produced by the infamous Blackheart of Ben More and this purveyor of filth and sin!” He gestured to Regina, who only quirked one dark eyebrow.
“He makes an excellent argument, Blackwell,” Lord Chief Justice Cockburn stated.
“I suppose he does.” Blackwell gave a very serious, meaningful look to Whidbey and Cockburn, ignoring Rowe. “Madame Regina has many, many stories to tell. Who’s to decide whether they’re truth or slander?”
Was it her imagination, Farah wondered, or did the two men behind the bench pale a little? Had Dorian just issued a veiled threat to the highest judiciary branch of government in the British Empire? In front of everyone? Farah felt like she might be sick.
In the silence that followed, Dorian gestured to another woman in the pew. “If you’re in need of another witness, how about this one?”
Another rumble of surprise mirrored Farah’s inner feelings as a stooped old woman in a black-and-white habit shuffled toward them. “Sister Margaret?” she breathed.
“Its Mother Superior now,” the woman corrected in her unmistakable crisp tone of cold piety.
Farah narrowed her eyes at the woman, remembering all of the harsh words and even harsher beatings she’d piled upon Dougan. Farah didn’t want to look at her, couldn’t fathom why the crotchety nun would speak in her defense.
“That is your witnessing signature on the death certificate of Farah Leigh Townsend dated seventeen years ago, is it not?” Dorian asked in a voice that had lost all of its prior mockery or even brash arrogance. His gloved hands fisted.
“Aye,” she affirmed.
“Explain to the court, then, why you falsified this official document,” Dorian ordered, returning the nun’s sharp look with a jagged one of his own.
“She was a precocious, heathen child.” Though the nun referred to her, she spoke of Farah as though she didn’t stand right in front of her. “She always followed the troublemakers and ruffians, one in particular, who had the very devil in him.”
“He did not,” Farah defended.
“He killed a priest!” the woman hissed. “Even ye canna deny that. Ye were there in my arms whilst he did it. Screaming his name like a possessed banshee.”
“You knew that priest was a—”
“That isn’t relevant,” Dorian interrupted them both, his voice hard and cold. “What is pertinent to the moment is that you knew Farah Leigh Townsend wasn’t dead.”
“She ran off after that devil Dougan Mackenzie when the police took him away.” Margaret sneered. “I had fifty other children in my care. I couldna risk the reputation of Applecross over one missing girl. And so, yes, I falsified the document at the request of Sir Warrington.” She pointed her gnarled, arthritic finger at the man.
Those congregated in the courtroom gasped, and turned their collective heads toward the accused.
“Lies! I married Farah Townsend! The Northwalk fortune belongs to me!” Warrington exclaimed, leaping up again. “Tell them, Farah, tell them who you are!” With crazed eyes, he shook Lucy’s shoulders with bruising force, and she uttered a soft cry of fear.
The lord justice’s gavel pounded a deafening repeat against the dais. “I warned you, Warrington, you will be removed at once!” He motioned to the queen’s guard who seized a shouting Warrington and removed him from the room.
“I will have what’s mine! I will have justice!” Warrington threatened. “Farah, prove your worth! Prove to them who you are!”
Lucy stood, her blue eyes wide with fear and tears, looking like she wanted to bolt.
The chief lord justice pointed his gavel at her, his large head swiveling on his almost comically diminutive shoulders. “The next word spoken out of turn will earn the speaker a week behind bars, is that understood?”
Lucy nodded mutely, and the court’s notice seemed to return to the nun in tandem.
“Tell me,” the lord chief justice began. “You might be stripped of your habit and honorable name within your papist church for your lies. Not to mention the likelihood you’ll be brought up on charges of fraud. Why come forward now?”
Sister Margaret glanced at Dorian before answering. “When one lives as long as I have, one realizes it is almost time to face God and answer for my sins. This is one less mark against my soul. I care not for earthly things. I only want peace with the Lord.”
“And it is your sworn oath that the woman standing before us here is Farah Leigh Townsend?” Justice Rowe asked, gesturing to Farah.
“Yes, she hasna changed in almost twenty years.” The nun flicked a glance full of hatred at Dorian. “Still canna resist the draw of the devil.”