Unlikely Traitors by Clare Langley-Hawthorne Read Free Book Online Page A

is?”
    “Yes, though I have only just received the preliminary papers in the case. That much, at least, is clear.”
    “And what of Mr. McTiernay’s role in the case?” Ursula asked.
    Pemberton shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Only information I have is that he is an Irish Nationalist hell-bent on the idea of an Irish Free State. He’s listed as a co-conspirator but, as far as I’m aware, he has not been found or arrested, as yet.”
    Ursula had to bite her tongue—the corridors of Brixton were hardly the place to interrogate Pemberton on the intricacies of Lord Wrotham’s case but, nonetheless, she needed both his assistance and his advice to know what further investigations needed to be undertaken.
    “If I am going to help ‘drive some sense’ into Lord Wrotham,” Ursula started, “I should know what you think is required. Would you be able to write me up a summary of the law pertaining to treason, perhaps?”
    Pemberton’s eyebrows disappeared into hair. “Good Lord,” he exclaimed. “I’ve never had the future wife of a defendant ask for that. I’d be happy to provide a summary of the law as it pertains to treason but, my dear, who is going to read and explain it to you?”
    “Well,” Ursula replied, failing to restrain her sarcasm. “I was rather hoping I’d be able to do that all by myself.”
    Pemberton looked at her incredulously but, before he could make any further comment, he caught sight of the clock mounted on the wall. “Is it really quarter to ten?! Good Lord!” He pulled his fob watch from his waistcoat pocket and confirmed the time. “I’m going to be late for court, if I don’t leave now.” Pemberton fussed with pulling on his leather gloves. “You should also know,” he said, “that I’ve had no luck getting bail issued, I’m afraid. Judge won’t budge. I’m filing a motion this afternoon though, trying to suppress the newspapers from printing anything prejudicial Lord Wrotham’s trial—Although after reading the scare-mongering in the Daily Mail this morning, I’m not holding out much hope. Now if you will excuse me”—Pemberton tipped his top hat—“I’ll telephone you tonight if I hear anything further. Good luck with Wrotham. Tell him to stop being an idiot.”
    He turned and walked swiftly away. Ursula walked down the bleak central corridor and gave her name at the visitors’ desk. After being subjected to a rough search by one of the female prison wardens, she was escorted to one of the small, airless, visiting rooms. She sat down on one of the wooden chairs provided and, after nearly fifteen minutes, Lord Wrotham was finally brought in to see her. He was still wearing the same suit he was arrested in and, unable to shave, already had a dark shadow of stubble. There were circles beneath his eyes, and haggard lines had begun to form at the corners of his mouth.
    “What the hell are you doing here?!” he demanded.
    “Lovely to see you too,” Ursula responded, placing her hands demurely in her lap.
    “Didn’t you get my note? I asked Pemberton to make sure you got it as soon as possible.”
    “I got your note,” she confirmed.
    “Then why did you come?! It will be in every newspaper by this evening.” Lord Wrotham’s tone was sharp and Ursula flushed.
    “You think I don’t know that?” she snapped. “But I had to see you all the same.”
    Lord Wrotham sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. Ursula felt the old tension rise between them—the way it had been during Freddie’s incarceration—when she would rail against his admonitions. Had so little changed? She clenched her fists, reminding herself that things were different now. She was different now.
    “Don’t worry,” Ursula said, in measured tones. “I plan to issue a statement from the prison steps as I leave here today. I’m sure a swarm of reporters is already gathering outside. I thought if I told them I felt it was my Christian duty to visit you, they might look