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chapter 28
The trial of Count Keith Dalmore, lord of Ebony, began in the First Court of the High Court, with over fifty nobles from Fanshow summoned by Her Majesty the Queen in attendance.
The examiner overseeing the defendant was Marquis Favia, head of the “Queen’s Eye,” tasked with thoroughly investigating the defendant’s charges of treason on behalf of Her Majesty. As is customary in treason trials, the defendant could not hire a lawyer, though he was allowed up to three witnesses to testify on his behalf. On this day, Count Dalmore’s witnesses were only his direct superior, Marquis Seymour, and his ex-wife, Briony Arlington. Naturally, all eyes among the summoned nobles were focused on the latter witness.
In fact, this scrutiny extended equally to Count Keith Dalmore himself.
Three years ago, he had captured public attention by marrying a far wealthier wife, both in title and appearance. Even in Ebony, so close to Fanshow, he rarely appeared in society, giving rise to countless rumors surrounding the Dalmore household. Perhaps even more scandalous than accusations of collusion with enemy states was the fact that he had divorced such a wealthy wife—his personal life was a favorite topic among the nobles.
When he finally appeared in court, a stir ran through the audience. The murmur persisted even as the examiner, his aides, and the presiding High Court judge entered. Only the sound of the gavel signaling the start of the trial finally brought silence.
Yet even as the examiner recited the charges against the defendant, the crowd was more engaged in exchanging glances than listening. Particularly, the noblewomen who had insisted their husbands bring them along were whispering among themselves:
“What a handsome young man.”
“Isn’t the charge adultery rather than treason?”
“His wife must have divorced him out of sheer frustration.”
“If it were me, I’d just endure it.”
Conversely, the husbands who had brought their wives glared at Count Dalmore with narrow eyes:
“Fortune in looks, downfall in substance. How could he let go of that fortune?”
“With that pale complexion, can he even manage at night?”
“Complicated women’s affairs must have led to the divorce.”
His beauty was overwhelming, enough to make any rumor about him plausible.
Even his slightly thinner face did not conceal the radiance and nobility beneath his skin. Dark amber hair partially shaded well-shaped brows, beneath which lay long lashes and deep, cool gray eyes, a noble nose and cheekbones enhancing his aloof expression, and thin, richly colored lips—every feature perfectly balanced.
His cream-colored velvet suit, seemingly tailored for the occasion, supported not only his dignity but also an impression of innocence. The young man, perhaps looking slightly haggard from hardship, was enough to elicit sympathy from the noblewomen.
Marquis Favia cleared his throat.
“We shall proceed. Defendant, state your name and age.”
Favia was a sharp-eyed man in his early forties, head of the “Queen’s Eye” investigative division. If the Royal Guard was the Queen’s sword, the Queen’s Eye was her all-seeing lens. Every noble present shared the unease that their lives might be exposed through that lens at any time, so this role was a considerable burden even for Favia.
Count Dalmore answered:
“I am Count Keith Dalmore, lord of Ebony. I am twenty-five years old.”
“Quite young indeed…” a sigh of admiration passed through the audience.
The examiner continued:
“Considering your status, I shall address you as Count Dalmore. Count Dalmore, do you recall what you did on December 24 last year?”
“I came to work as usual, performed my duties, and then left at the end of the day.”
“How can you remember so precisely after over two months?”
“The year-end is busy, so I commuted daily. On that day, I stopped by Gemstone Street on my way home, so I remember. My attendance records for December were submitted by my superior, Marquis Seymour.”
The examiner’s aides retrieved documents from the stacks in front of them and handed them to Favia. Favia frowned as he read.
“December 24, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.; December 25, 9 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. That street has shops, does it not? What did you do there?”
Dalmore hesitated briefly.
“…I had a lady’s hat made.”
“A lady’s hat?”
“It was a gift for my wife.”
“Oh my,” murmured several noblewomen. Favia glanced irritably at the audience, and only after the judge struck the gavel did the excitement settle.
Favia circled the questioning podium and stood before Count Dalmore.
“Yet, Count, you divorced in January, and I hear you returned all her dowry as alimony—buying a hat for a soon-to-be ex-wife is rather generous.”
“It was a divorce gift. It was completed too late to give her, though.”
“Do you have proof?”
“I have a receipt from the store. It should be among the most recently submitted evidence.”
The aides handed another document to Favia, who read it aloud.
“One lady’s Orlov-style hat… Count Dalmore?”
“I am listening.”
“You were summoned here for charges of colluding with Orlov, yet how do you explain this ‘Orlov-style hat’?”
“As you can see, I am a man and know little of ladies’ hats. The boutique’s madam said it was fashionable among noblewomen, so I requested the latest style.”
Though the room was not hot, several noblewomen fanned themselves lightly with their hand fans. Of course, they had hats following the same trend.
Though called an enemy, Orlov was a winter country. Its fashions could only be enjoyed at certain times. The principality’s regions varied under their rulers, offering enough novelty to excite noblewomen sensitive to exotic trends. Social events overflowed each season, and no one could wear the same attire repeatedly, making each design a careful consideration.
Favia frowned.
“The price on this receipt is far too high for a single hat… Do you have the actual hat?”
“I haven’t retrieved it yet.”
Dalmore suddenly looked up at the nearest noblewoman with a fan.
“Madam, I apologize for the intrusion, but the hat I saw at the store seems very similar to the one you are wearing. Could you show it briefly?”
His tone was endlessly polite, and his smooth, resonant voice carried to the back of the gallery. Lady Seymour rose from her seat. The hat, with peacock feathers, colorful ribbons, and lace veil, was indeed not Algonquin style.
“This hat is from Madam Fantine’s store,” she shyly added without being asked. The receipt Dalmore presented was from the same shop. Favia waved his hand.
“Very well, Madam. Please sit. Count Dalmore, I understand about the hat. Now, tell me, in chronological order, how long you were at the shop and where you went afterward.”
“Leaving work at 5:30, twenty minutes by carriage to the shop, twenty minutes there, and then home. I should have arrived in Ebony by 7:30. On the way, I remember meeting my wife and riding together in the carriage.”
“Did you remain at home afterward?”
“Yes.”
As the audience wondered why Favia was so fixated on Dalmore’s daily movements, he provided an explanation.
“Count Dalmore, listen carefully. Around 6 a.m. on December 25 last year, a body presumed to be Orlovian was found outside Fanshow’s eastern walls. It had been mangled by a carriage, too gruesome to behold. The body was dumped in a secluded thicket along Fanshow Road outside the east gate. Do you know anything about this?”
“I do not understand why you think I would.”
“Among the four-wheeled carriages crossing the east gate that evening, only a few carried young, strong men capable of committing and concealing such an act. Count, your carriage was one of them.”
“Wasn’t this just a common hit-and-run? I did not commit it, of course.”
“The Queen’s Eye and the Fanshow Guard consider it more likely to be intentional murder.”
“I know nothing about it.”
Favia shrugged. Then he turned to the judge.
“Your Honor, we will conclude questioning of the defendant here and summon a witness.”
“Who is the witness?”
The judge asked.
“Mistress Briony Arlington, former Countess Dalmore.”
