Once the Dunstans and the Martins put their power and prestige behind condemning Pleasance, he could do nothing. No one would listen to him now and he did not have the time to get the help he would need to fight such high standing Worcester citizens.
He did have one plan, but he was loath to use it. Pleasance would hate him even more. It would, however, save her from public humiliation or corporal punishment. She might not think so at first, but it would be far better than any of the alternatives if her family continued to ignore her.
She looked wan and tired. The dark gray gown she had worn the night of her arrest was now wrinkled and stained. Her ivory skin had lost the healthy warm glow he had always admired. All the color was washed from her bright blue-green eyes, and her rich chestnut hair was dull. There was a bruised look to her eyes, dark shadows encircling them. The sight renewed his anger at himself for even starting the game. It also increased his fury with her family. He found their behavior not only hard to comprehend but also deeply distasteful.
His fury at the Dunstans grew when John Martin, the epitome of a fine respectable gentleman from the top of his crisp white wig to the tip of his silver-buckled shoes, stepped forward. The man’s claim that he would speak for his fiancée, Letitia, because she was far too delicate to endure the questioning, and much too distraught over her sister’s actions, nearly made Tearlach gag. He wondered if John truly believed the lies he was telling or had joined willingly in the Dunstans’ conspiracy to ruin Pleasance in order to save Letitia from scandal. And he wondered how Pleasance felt about it all.
Pleasance nearly gasped aloud as John began to speak. Her attempt to rescue Letitia from the mire was to be rewarded by her being tossed into it so deeply she would never be clean. This was a betrayal beyond her comprehension, beyond her ability to forgive.
“This tankard is yours then, Master Martin? You are certain?” Corbin Matthias pressed.
“Aye, very certain. My fiancée reported it missing a fortnight past.”
“At that time did she explain how it had come to leave her keeping?”
“Nay. She wished to protect her sister.”
With such protection, Pleasance mused bitterly to herself, I will have a very short life.
“You are saying Mistress Pleasance Dunstan had taken the tankard?”
“Aye. She gave it to Master O’Duine, calling it a gift.”
Dully, Pleasance listened as John accused her of being a thief—and worse, a woman of no morals—implying that her chastity had been discarded years ago. He made her sound like a whore, a burden her family had endured for years. He described her rash action as a desperate need to impress Tearlach O’Duine since, at one and twenty, she was still lacking any marriage prospects. Pleasance found that being portrayed as a spinster so desperate for a man that she would stoop to stealing from her own family was almost as painful to bear as being called a thief. It hurt to see so many people nod in agreement.
She suffered yet another devastating blow when other people rose to testify against her; they also depicted her as loose of morals. Various patrons from the inn testified that she had been carrying on a torrid affair with Tearlach. In her trysts with him, Letitia had made everyone believe that it was actually Pleasance Dunstan creeping into Tearlach’s room at the inn. Pleasance was stunned to realize that her sister had protected her own name by thoroughly blackening hers.
The trial was halted so everyone could eat their midday meal. Pleasance was escorted to a small room at the rear of the meetinghouse. Young Luther Cranston was left to stand guard over her as she ate. Although the cold pigeon pie and cider tasted like ashes in her mouth and her bound wrists made it difficult to eat she forced the plain but hearty fare down her throat. It would give her the strength that she would need.
When the trial resumed she was confronted with more lies. Several of Letitia’s friends dutifully repeated the lies Letitia had told them. It was all hearsay, but Pleasance could see in the faces of the listeners that they believed this libel. These witnesses were followed by the people who had been in the tavern the night she had been arrested, who luridly related how they had seen her viciously attack Tearlach O’Duine. She numbly wondered why they were bothering with the ceremony of a trial, since she had been caught red-handed. They could have declared her guilty without all the damning speeches and hurtful lies. It seemed an added cruelty to make her endure it all.
Throughout the trial Tearlach remained silent. She knew he could dispute every lie being uttered, but he made no effort to do so. He had obviously decided to let her family destroy her. Since her own family had decided to let her take full blame, he was not going to dispute it. The letters Letitia had written could probably have saved her, but they had disappeared. Despite the way her family had turned against her, she began to worry that Tearlach O’Duine planned even more trouble for them. Perhaps he considered her ruin as but one step toward the ruin of her entire family.
The time for her to say something in her own defense finally came. She lifted her eyes toward her family. For the first time since the trial had begun they were all looking at her, as were the Martins. Pleasance fixed her gaze upon her parents.
“Do you intend to completely desert me then?” she asked them.
“You must face the punishment you deserve,” her father replied.
“I deserve? Yes, perhaps I do deserve some punishment. Stupidity might not be a crime, but I begin to think it should be.” She looked at Letitia. “And you? Is this how you mean to play this game?”
Letitia’s expression was one of deep sorrow. “How can you call this a game? I fear that reveals your contempt for the law. We cannot protect you any more. Just know that I forgive you.”
“How kind.”
“Mistress Dunstan?” called Corbin, bringing her attention back to him. “Do you have anything to say in your own defense?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to spit out the whole truth, but she did not. She doubted that anyone would believe her anyway. The Martins and the Dunstans had spoken out against her, and their words would be the ones taken as the truth. Since the plan she had devised with her sister was known only to her and Letitia, there were no witnesses she could call in her own defense. For one brief moment she thought to demand that Tearlach tell the truth, then decided against it. People would not heed the word of a poor trapper and fur trader over that of Worcester’s more prominent citizens. Despite what they had done to her, she could not bring herself to speak the words that would free her. Although her family had shown little loyalty toward her, there was her brother Nathan to consider. He had not turned against her, and, although she felt sure he would urge her to tell the truth if he were there, he did not deserve to be dragged down with the others.
As Corbin Matthias questioned her, she replied evasively, further convicting herself. As a clearly uncomfortable Corbin began to pronounce sentence upon her, Tearlach O’Duine finally stepped forward, and she wondered sadly what further blow he might strike against her.
“What fine do ye mean to levy?” Tearlach demanded of Corbin.
“I hesitate to levy a fine, for the girl has no funds. Unless”—Corbin looked toward the Dunstans—“you are willing to pay any penalties, Master Dunstan?”
“Nay, sir, I am not willing,” her father replied.
Corbin sighed. “Do you possess any funds, Mistress Dunstan?”
“Not a farthing.”
“Then it seems a useless gesture to impose a fine,” Corbin began.
“I will pay whatever fine ye levy,” Tearlach offered.
Pleasance’s astonishment was followed by a swift flare of anger. “I wish no charity from you. You have done more than enough for me, thank ye kindly.”