The Countess Conspiracy
Page 75“Yes.”
“Am I to understand, then,” Violet said, “that I am no longer being charged with the lecture that was given here in October of 1862?”
“Yes, Your Ladyship,” the magistrate said with a touch of deference. “You are not.”
“How odd.” Violet raised her chin. “I was responsible for that, too.”
Sebastian felt his heart squeeze. No. She hadn’t said that. She could not have said that. What did she think she was doing?
“In fact, over the years of 1862 through 1867, there were ninety-seven lectures given by Malheur. I am not being charged in connection with those, either. Do I understand that correctly?”
The magistrate leaned back in his chair, looking a little annoyed. “No, Your Ladyship. You are not being charged in connection with those events.”
“Strange,” she said. “Because those were my ideas he presented.”
“Are you trying to expand the indictment?” asked the wigged man to the right in confusion.
“I am merely trying to understand the charges, so that I might appropriately enter a plea,” Violet said.
Sebastian had a bad feeling—a very bad feeling—about what was about to transpire. He squeezed his hands together, but no matter how hard he compressed them, it didn’t help.
“No,” the magistrate responded. “I think you understand the charges fairly well by now, Your Ladyship. How do you plead?”
Violet’s chin went up in defiance. “Are you asking me if I announced yesterday that I had uncovered the mechanism by which sexual reproduction transmits inherited traits? Are you asking me if I showed a crowd a sketch of the male sperm cell, magnified several thousandfold to show the material inside the nucleus?”
“No,” the magistrate responded with a touch of impatience. “I am asking you to enter a plea. You may remain silent, and your plea will be presumed to be ‘not guilty’; you may plead guilty or not guilty. But what you may not do is continue with a recitation of these items. Do so and I’ll hold you in contempt of court.”
“But a plea requires me to consider whether there were mitigating circumstances,” Violet said. “Whether I was subject to undue influence, whether I was the one who instigated these events or if someone else directed me.”
Sebastian held his breath in agony. She had to say it. They’d planned it all last night. He’d sealed her participation with her marble, for God’s sake.
“A plea requires you to say if you are guilty or not guilty,” the magistrate snapped back.
“The answer,” Violet said, “is no.”
Oh, thank God. She hadn’t completely lost her mind.
“No,” Violet continued, “there were no mitigating circumstances.”
For a moment, the room was as stunned as Sebastian was, so quiet that he could hear his own breath hissing in utter, betrayed agony.
Sebastian let out a staggered, shaking breath.
“You are in contempt,” the magistrate bellowed. “Now, will you enter a plea?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Violet was standing straight, her eyes flashing. “I’m guilty. Guilty on both counts, Your Worship. I’m guilty, and I’m proud of it.”
Sebastian couldn’t think. He had no idea what to say. Even after everything that she had said, the magistrate paused.
“Are you certain? You are voluntarily entering a plea of guilty of your own free will?” He frowned. “You are aware that there is a term of imprisonment associated with these offenses?”
“Of course I know that,” Violet said scornfully. “But they want to stop me. They want to shut me up—me and everyone associated with my work. If I show fear, they’ll never stop. I shall always be forced to defend myself from ludicrous charges.” Her chin went up. “They need to know that they have no recourse. That I am not afraid of them, not even if they throw the entire weight of the law at me. So yes, Your Worships. I discovered the truth. I told the world.” She straightened and glared at them. “I’m guilty.”
The men withdrew for a moment, murmuring to each other. Sebastian sat frozen in his seat, unable to comprehend what he’d just heard. She’d just… Violet had just…
The magistrates turned back. “Your Ladyship, have you anything to say in your defense?”
“Merely that the years will prove me correct.”
“Then we sentence you to four weeks in prison on the charges in the indictment—and two days for the contempt.” The gavel banged. “This court is adjour—”
Sebastian stood. “Violet!” he called, but the word was swallowed in the din. He took a step toward her, but the crowd was thick. He couldn’t push close enough to do anything more than take hold of her wrist.
“Violet.”
She turned to him. Her face was alight.
“What have you done?” he asked helplessly.
She set her hand atop his, plucked his fingers from her wrist, and turned his palm over. She mouthed something at him, but he couldn’t hear it. And then, with a wry smile, she placed a blue marble in his hand.
Sorry. He knew her precise sentiment even if he couldn’t hear her words. His nerveless fingers seemed unable to grasp. The marble slipped, spilling off his palm.
She smiled at him—a sad smile—and then turned and allowed herself to be conducted away to prison.
Chapter Twenty-five
VIOLET WAS UNDER NO ILLUSIONS: her stay in prison was substantially more pleasant than the lot of most inmates. She was a countess, for one; she knew a great many powerful people, for another. And most importantly, the manner of her conviction would make her the object of curiosity.
She’d counted on that when entering her plea. She had the benefit of expecting favorable treatment; that gave her an obligation to refuse to knuckle under to the contemptible bullying they’d subjected her to.