Surrender to Love

“She’d been too open in her liaison with the poor colonel’s youngest subaltern, and he happened to be a cousin of ours. Half her age at least. So they tried her in absentia through him—or at least, the appointed defendant supposed to be him—and after that she was fair game, you know.”

“Oyez, oyez, oyez. Be it known to all of ye here present that the court...”

The “courtroom” was more like the set on a theater stage than anything else, with its layered curtains that showed only outlines of bodies and not faces, and its makeshift furniture and scenery. One could see, from a vantage point in the “audience” below the stage, that there was a judges’ bench big enough to hold a panel of five judges and a jury box and witness box and even a box for the defendants. But no one could see each other because of the curtains, which added an air of mystery.

“You see these numbered cards they have given each of us? Presently a servant will come by to look at the number on each card, and if it corroborates with any of the numbers he has been given, that person is one of the chosen few and will be led to one of those boxes to perform his function for the evening.”

“It sounds most intriguing,” Nicholas drawled when he saw the twins’ faces turned to him expectantly. Dammit, what else could he say? Some new adult game combining playacting and charades which everyone would cheer heartily when it was over. And he for one wished it might be over soon.

He had begun to feel relieved when “Barlow vs. Barlow” was over in less than a half hour; the guilt of Mrs. Barlow, who had run off with her rich shopkeeper husband’s groom, having been firmly established—especially after the gentleman who played the groom had described several instances in which he’d done the riding of Mrs.

Barlow in extreme and gross detail, bringing loud guffaws of laughter from the audience.

“Well, everyone knew how that would turn out,” Roger said before adding, “but now is the time for the very latest scandal or piece of gossip to be aired, you know, even if names are never used. And then you will see how everyone begins to guess, and how many wagers are taken as to the outcome.”

“The number on your card please, sir? Ah, yes, sir— you’re one of the lucky ones, you are. If you’ll follow me please, sir?”

“Oh, hell!” Nicholas swore, only half under his breath, when he realized he was supposed to be one of the “lucky ones.” An unwilling and obstinate juror, probably, and he had never enjoyed either watching or engaging in parlor games. He had not expected to be shown into the defendant’s box either.

One thing was for certain—they took themselves seriously, especially when it came to the formalities! “Prisoner at the Bar...you shall be permitted to speak in your own defense...and you will solemnly swear to answer all questions asked by this court with the truth and nothing but the truth....” So now he was supposed to become an actor, for God’s sake!

“We have before us a case—a case of proclaimed rape, and of force used—and on a lady, yet! Let all hear the evidence and weigh it, and let all hear what is accused and what is explained and consider every fact carefully before the jury decides and the judges sentence.”

“Ah... this is

a case of honor put in question, gentlemen. Bear with me. And we shall, with much probing for the Truth, find out if a lady is a whore—or if it’s the whore who plays at being a lady!”

“My Lords—gentlemen—shall we first hear all the evidence that has been presented to us in support of the complaint before we question the defendant?”

“Yes, let us by all means; and let not the smallest detail be spared in the descriptions of the acts that the prisoner defendant is accused of perpetrating on this—was it ladywhore or whore-lady?”

The purpose of their game of charades and impromptu playacting was apparent enough by now, Nicholas thought grimly, but not its real significance—not yet. They wanted salacious detail to relish and lick their lips over and called up their faceless “witnesses” to describe what they thought they had seen or-heard, with the explanation that they were reading, for the benefit of the jury, actual statements that had been made. And for a time it was almost impossible to determine who was actually on trial, the prisoner at the bar or the lady he was accused of misusing.

“‘Tis said, your honors, that she, the lovely Lady Anonymous, enjoys exposing her naked body to the sun and to the eyes of servants and gardeners. Ah, but there’s no story of rape there, where one might say that some provocation existed.”

“There’s some talk of an affinity for bordellos, but only in foreign climes, so we’ve heard; and there’s no proof of that either.”

“Ah, but we do have the proof of our eyes and our own powers of discernment, do we not? The Lady Anonymous is rich, rich, rich! Good manners and deportment in public, good seat on a horse. Carefully well-behaved— chaperoned, even. No scandals and no gossip until...”

Nicholas thought he recognized that voice. Perhaps most of the voices he had heard. Politicians and barristers— actors and painters. But apart from their enjoyment of scandal and ribald tale-telling, what else were they after in this instance? He had no doubts left when, quite abruptly, they began to question him and press him for more details.

“And so, prisoner at the bar, you are now called upon to defend yourself from the charges brought against you. To wit, and most seriously, that you did, with malice aforethought, deliberately seek to turn a lady into a whore by treating her as such. That you did all this against her will and in spite of her pleas, and went to the extent of using force in order to rape her. Even worse, that said lady was in fact still a virgin until you had her.”

“Oh, and still more!” With a strangely high-pitched giggle a voice Nicholas had heard several times that same evening carried on the recital of the “charges” against him while seeming to savor each one. “That not only did you carry her upstairs in her own home to rape her in her own bedroom—did she fight you very hard?—but that you took her off quite publicly to the apartment you keep in a famous brothel and there had to use restraints on her before you could have your way. Did you keep them on her all night? Did you persuade her not to fight in the end?”

“Yes, tell us! How many times did you have this poor abused lady? Did you strip her yourself or have it done for you? Was she also gagged, or not?”

“How did you have her, and was it only you? You kept her there all night, did you not? Was she easily persuaded to obedience in the end?”

“Why did you do it? Did you feel yourself encouraged to take such bold steps—to make such a public display of her?”

“Give the prisoner a chance to speak, I say! And to answer all our questions!”

A gavel was banged down-twice, bringing with it a certain amount of silence, and into the silence Nicholas said inquiringly, “Have I a barrister to defend me and advise me?”

There was a sudden silence before a whispering kind of voice said, “Your barrister advises you that—the Truth shall set you free.”

The truth? Why the hell had Newbury brought him here tonight? Was it to hear something he wanted to hear? He had been tricked against his will into participating in this comedy of theirs, and he’d be damned if he was going to play along tamely for their titillation merely because he seemed to have caused a great scandal as a result of his stupidly precipitate actions a few days ago. “She was fair game after that, of course!” “After she’d gone the rounds.” The little she-cat had really brought it on herself by acting the pious hypocrite and crying rape like Potiphar’s wife; but then he should have left her alone in the first place.