Chapter 72
“Throughout my tenure at the Preston estate, I never witnessed a single moment of warmth between them—not during dinner, nor even over tea. They didn’t behave like uncle and nephew; they were more like strangers who happened to share a roof.”
A heavy silence smothered the courtroom as the gallery held its collective breath. A few spectators risked a glance toward the defendant’s chair, where Windsor sat impassively.
Gallup, who had started his testimony with a cautious eye on Windsor’s reaction, found his stride. His confidence surged until he spoke with the fervor of a martyr exposing a great national betrayal. His voice, rich and commanding, filled every corner of the room.
“Lord Preston’s interest in Master Benjamin began and ended with the boy’s schooling. We are talking about a six-year-old child—a boy who craved the affection of his guardian. Having only recently lost his father, he was carrying profound emotional scars. Yet, while Lord Preston never raised a hand to him, he practiced a form of total emotional neglect. I did everything in my power for the boy, but I could not fill the void of loneliness left by his kinsman.”
“I see.”
Parker offered a sympathetic nod, his features twisted into a mask of pity.
“So, if I understand your testimony, Mr. Mayor, you are asserting that Lord Preston abandoned his moral obligations. You’re saying he was an unfit guardian who viewed the boy as a scholar rather than a nephew, offering him no warmth whatsoever.”
“Precisely.”
Gallup nodded emphatically. Parker gave a small, satisfied bow, signaling he was finished.
“I commend you, Mr. Mayor, for the bravery it took to stand against Lord Preston in this court. No further questions.”
From his seat, Roman glared at the witness stand. “The gall of that man,” he hissed under his breath. The judge, peering over the rim of his spectacles, looked toward Evan.
“Does the defense wish to cross-examine?”
“I do, Your Honor.”
Evan stood and began the walk toward the witness stand. In the sudden quiet, the rhythmic click of his boots against the floor sounded like a countdown.
Gallup’s posture stiffened. Evan caught the flash of defensive wariness in the man’s eyes and suppressed a bitter smile. He knew Gallup wouldn’t break easily, but he couldn’t let the testimony stand unchallenged. He stopped before the stand and locked eyes with the witness.
“Mr. Mayor Gallup.”
“Yes?”
“How long, exactly, were you employed as Master Benjamin’s tutor?”
“Roughly two months.”
“To be precise, it was sixty-eight days, was it not?”
“I suppose… that sounds accurate enough.” Gallup’s lip curled, dismissing the detail as a pedantic trifle.
“When you applied for the position, which institution did you claim as your alma mater?”
“…Yorkshire Boarding School.”
Gallup’s volume ebbed slightly. Evan maintained a gentle, encouraging smile as he pressed forward.
“And you are quite certain you graduated from Yorkshire Boarding School?”
“I am.”
“Which class?”
“The 252nd.”
At that, Evan’s smile brightened into something dazzling. He stepped closer, reaching out a hand as if to offer a friendly greeting. Gallup flinched, leaning back instinctively.
“What a marvelous coincidence! It is a pleasure to meet a fellow alumnus. I, too, am a graduate of the 252nd class.”
Gallup stared at the offered hand but did not take it. Evan gave a small, expected shrug and withdrew his hand, turning instead to face the gallery.
“Please, do not think the Mayor’s refusal to shake my hand is a sign of a cold temperament.”
The spectators leaned in, their curiosity piqued. Evan waited for the tension to ripen before delivering the blow.
“He refuses because Mr. Mayor Gallup was never my classmate.”
A wave of confusion rippled through the audience. They looked at one another, trying to grasp the significance of the claim.
In the defendant’s chair, Windsor watched Evan with keen interest. He noted how the attorney was skillfully inflating a small lie into a catastrophic character flaw. It appeared his choice of counsel had been inspired.
“The man standing before you graduated from Yorkshire Middle Boarding School. While the names differ by only a single word, they are entirely different worlds—a fact I am sure the esteemed ladies and gentlemen in this room understand perfectly.”
The gaze of the gallery shifted, turning like a slow tide toward Gallup. Parker, sensing the shift in momentum, jumped to his feet.
“Objection! Counsel is wasting the court’s time with irrelevant biographical trivia!”
Evan turned to him with practiced calm. “It is hardly irrelevant, Mr. Parker. I am establishing the credibility—or lack thereof—of the witness.”
“You may proceed,” the judge ruled.
Parker sat down with a scowl. Evan returned his attention to the man on the stand. Gallup scrambled to recover.
“Yorkshire Middle Boarding School is colloquially known as Yorkshire Boarding School! I didn’t lie. Any discrepancy was likely a clerical error by whoever drafted my recommendation.”
“Very well. Let us move on to your time at the Preston estate. Tell us of your experience: the compensation, the behavior of the staff, and your relationship with young Master Benjamin.”
Gallup’s face became a rigid mask of determination. He was clearly resolved to stay on script.
“The position was excellent in many respects. The pay was far above the standard, and my accommodations were beyond reproach. The servants were clinical but efficient. As for Master Benjamin, he was a brilliant pupil who took to my lessons well. We shared a bond that transcended the simple roles of teacher and student.”
“It sounds like an ideal post. Why, then, did you leave such a favorable situation?”
“…I was dismissed without a clear reason,” Gallup replied, his eyes darting toward the floor.
Evan took a final, imposing step forward. His voice dropped an octave, becoming sharp and accusatory.
“What was the true reason for your termination?”
“Lord Preston is a temperamental man! Eight other tutors were dismissed before they even hit the two-month mark—”
“No, Mr. Mayor.”
Evan’s interruption was like a physical blow. Parker watched the exchange with growing dread, wondering if there was a hidden trap he had failed to spot.
Evan spoke with ringing clarity.
“You were dismissed because Lord Preston caught you attempting to kidnap Master Benjamin.”
Gallup’s denial was immediate, but it was drowned out by the roar of the gallery.
“Kidnapping? In heaven’s name!”
“Is this true?”
The judge hammered his gavel, shouting for order several times before the room finally settled into a vibrating, expectant silence. Rubbing his temples, the judge looked at Evan with weary frustration. This was precisely why he loathed public trials, regardless of Chief Justice Adams’ insistence.
“Continue.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
Evan gave a respectful nod to Judge Harrison and resumed, his expression grim.
“On the afternoon of your dismissal—at 3:13 p.m., to be exact—Lord Windsor Preston went to the study. It was the scheduled hour for mathematics, yet the room was vacant. Despite the witness’s claim that Lord Preston was indifferent, he knew the boy’s schedule by heart.”
Evan paused, letting that detail sink in before addressing the spectators.
“He questioned the staff, but no one knew where they were; they assumed the lesson was ongoing. Lord Preston immediately initiated a search of the grounds himself.”
“How terrifying…” a noblewoman in the front row whispered. Evan caught her eye and gave a somber, brief smile before continuing.
“Preston Manor is a fortress. No one enters or leaves unnoticed. Lord Preston eventually found them on a secluded forest path—where he discovered the Mayor attempting to flee with a sleeping Benjamin on his back.”
The courtroom erupted in gasps. Parker scrambled to his feet. “The defense is presenting wild, uncorroborated allegations as if they were established fact!”
Gallup’s face was a frantic shade of crimson as he shook his head. “Lies! None of that happened!”
“I will allow the line of questioning,” Judge Harrison said, though his eyes held a warning for Evan.
Evan simply smiled, a sharp, knowing tilt of the lips. “Given the witness’s proven track record with the truth today, I leave it to the court to decide how much weight his denials carry.”
The audience murmured, remembering the earlier exposure of Gallup’s academic fraud. Evan had built his trap piece by piece.
Parker ground his teeth. “Counselor, show the witness some modicum of respect!”
“Respect? Of course. Oh—Lord Preston, if you would be so kind?”
At the prompt, Windsor reached into the breast pocket of his coat. Every eye in the room followed the movement. Windsor possessed a natural, gravity-like presence that commanded the room’s attention without effort—a quality Evan was now using to maximum effect.
Windsor produced an envelope and handed it to Evan. Evan took it and walked slowly toward the bench.
“One might ask why a man of Lord Preston’s standing didn’t report such a crime immediately.”
Nods of agreement rippled through the gallery. Many remembered Windsor’s testimony for James Hammington; it seemed out of character for such a man to show mercy to a kidnapper.
Evan handed the envelope to the judge. Harrison took it gingerly, as if suspecting it might be a trick.
“This is a letter written by the late Viscount Mayor to Lord Windsor Preston. At the time, the Viscount was on his deathbed. Having learned of his son’s shameful actions, he wrote to Lord Preston, pleading for mercy and forgiveness. Out of respect for a dying man’s final wish, Lord Preston chose to simply banish the son from his lands. It is a tragedy that Mr. Mayor Gallup has chosen to repay that mercy with perjury.”
Evan shook his head with a look of profound disappointment. Then, his voice hardened as he looked to the judge.
“I submit this letter as evidence. It will prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the witness’s testimony is a fabrication.”
“…Admitted,” the judge muttered. He opened the envelope, and as he read the contents, his brow furrowed into a deep, grim line.
