CHAPTER 215: CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN

Sir Thorne, the Captain of the Royal Guards, stood tall and imposing, his scarlet uniform a stark slash of color against the manor’s muted elegance. His duty, however, was nearly done.

As he gave a crisp nod, two other men in more modest, dark blue uniforms entered the house. They were constables of the city’s Criminal and Justice Division, the men who dealt with the city’s dark underbelly of crime.

"Constable Davies and Constable Miller," Sir Thorne said, his voice a formal baritone, acknowledging their arrival.

The older of the two men, Davies, a man with a weary face and the patient eyes of someone who had seen every kind of human failing, answered, "We are here, Sir Thorne."

Sir Thorne’s gaze was sharp. "Where is the head of your division, Inspector Thaddeus Wimbly? I specifically sent him a letter requesting his personal attendance."

Miller, the younger, newly appointed constable with a much stiffer posture, replied respectfully, "He is busy with an urgent investigation on the south side of the city, sir. He sent us here in his stead to handle the arrest."

Thorne nodded, accepting the explanation. The matter was no longer in his hands. He looked at Henry, who sat in his wheelchair, his expression grim but resolute. "I’m sorry, Baron," Sir Thorne said, his tone softening slightly. "But this is not my duty. I work for the crown only, in matters of state and treason. This is a family matter, a criminal one. These two are in the best position to deal with this issue, investigate the Baroness, and charge her for her crimes. After her visit to the Criminal and Justice division, she will be held in Newgate Prison until her trial."

Henry inclined his head. "I understand. I am sorry, Sir Thorne, for dragging you all the way here and into my family’s unfortunate business."

"It is nothing, Baron," Thorne replied, his voice firm. "The King sends his regards. He was most distressed to hear of the situation and promises that justice will be served accordingly."

That was all Henry needed to hear. He gave Sir Thorne a final nod of approval. The Captain of the Royal Guard then shot a look at Davies and Miller. It was time.

The two constables moved forward. Davies took one of Augusta’s arms, and Miller took the other. Their grips were firm and professional.

The reality of her situation finally seemed to pierce through Augusta’s crazed state. "Henry!" she shrieked, struggling against their hold. "Henry! Are you really letting them take me? Your wife?" Her voice then shifted from pleading to outrage as she looked down at the constables’ rough hands on her arms. "Let me go! You are wrinkling my silk gown! Do you know how much this cost? Do you know who I am?" she asked, her voice rising in a hysterical cry of entitlement.

Anne, who had been standing frozen in a state of shock, let out a sob. "Mama!" she cried, taking a step forward as if to go after her. "Mama!"

"Stay right there!" Henry’s voice was like the crack of a whip. Anne froze, her foot hovering in the air. He looked at the girl who was not his daughter, his expression a mixture of pity and hard resolve. "If you leave with her now, if you choose her side after everything you have seen and heard today, then I am done with you, too. You will not be welcome in this house ever again."

Anne slowly drew her foot back, her face a mask of utter despair. She was trapped, forced to choose between her mother and a future she’s not sure of. She looked from her mother’s desperate face to Henry’s unyielding one, and she stayed put, her body trembling with silent sobs.

Augusta let out a last, wounded sound of disappointment. "Anne!" And then the constables began to drag her toward the door and out the courtyard.

"A minute, please."

Delia’s voice was calm and quiet, but it stopped the constables in their tracks. They paused just as they almost reached the carriage. Delia walked towards them, her steps measured and deliberate.

"I want to talk to my ’mother," she said, her voice dripping with ice. She sent a dashing, cold smile to Augusta. The constables held Augusta still in the courtyard, just outside the front door.

"Looking good, Baroness," Delia said, her eyes raking over Augusta’s drenched, disheveled appearance.

Augusta, despite her situation, let out a short, harsh chuckle. She tossed her wet hair back. "Are you happy now?" she asked, her voice full of venom. "Seeing me like this? Is this the victory you wanted?"

"I just want to know why," Delia replied, her voice losing its sarcastic edge and becoming raw with a genuine, painful curiosity. "Why did you try to kill us? Twenty three years ago, and now. Were you that scared of us? Is that why you tried to kill my mother and me? Was your ambition really worth our lives?"

Augusta remained quiet, her eyes darting around as if looking for an escape. Then, she started laughing. It was a wild, unhinged sound that echoed in the quiet courtyard. "What?" she looked at Delia, her eyes gleaming with a mad light. "I did what? That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Now you are accusing me of someone else’s murder? You truly have lost your mind."

Delia was silent, letting her laughter die down.

Augusta leaned forward as much as the constables would allow, her face a mask of condescending pity. "Do you have any evidence of these fantastic claims, you foolish girl?" she hissed. "Any proof at all?"

In a flash of unrestrained anger, Delia lunged forward and grabbed Augusta by the neckline of her wet, ruined dress. Augusta gasped, surprised by the sudden violence.

"I will find it," Delia said through gritted teeth, her face inches from Augusta’s. "I will find every last piece of it."

"We need to keep moving, Your Grace," Constable Miller said, gently but firmly breaking Delia’s hold on the prisoner.

Delia stepped back, her chest heaving, her eyes still locked on Augusta’s. "I will make sure you spend the rest of your life in prison," she vowed.

Augusta’s wild smile returned. "Really?" she taunted, her gaze becoming serious and cold as steel. "Go ahead and try me." She looked at the two constables, her old arrogance returning. "Let’s leave already," she said rudely, as if she were the one in charge.

They took her to a simple, black, box-like carriage waiting at the end of the drive: a prisoner carriage. As they put her inside, she gave Delia one last, defiant look before the door was slammed shut, sealing her away.

Delia stood alone in the courtyard, watching the carriage rattle away, taking with it the woman who had caused her a lifetime of pain. She had won, but her chest was heaving with an anger that was far from satisfied. She still needed justice for what happened Twenty three years ago.