"Run away?" the Chancellor prompted. "Why was the boy running away?"
"He was trying to save Lady Celine, Your Lordship," Flora said softly. "The Earl wanted to use his daughter for the benefit of his business. Edward planned to take Lady Celine away in the middle of the night and travel to Scotland."
"Now, Miss Flora," the Chancellor said, his voice dropping slightly. "I want you to tell this House exactly what happened on the night of the planned escape. Where were you?"
"And what did you witness from your hiding spot?" the Chancellor asked.
"Lady Celine and Edward were standing near the stable doors," Flora recalled, her voice trembling with the dark mory. "Suddenly, Lord Farrington stepped out from the dark shadows. He had been waiting for them."
"No, Your Lordship," Flora shook her head. "He did not say a single word. He did not ask questions."
"Oh, no, Your Lordship!" Flora gasped, completely horrified by the thought. "Edward was a gentle boy. He had absolutely nothing in his hands. He just stepped in front of Lady Celine to shield her from her father."
"Tell us what the Earl did next, Miss Flora," the Chancellor commanded.
"The Earl raised his arm," Flora wept softly. "He held a rifle. And without a single word of warning, he shot Edward directly in the chest. Edward fell backward on the ground. He was bleeding terribly."
"Was the boy dead?" the Chancellor asked.
"And what did Lord Farrington do with the body of the boy he had just slaughtered?" the Chancellor asked, delivering the final, strategic question.
The High Chancellor slowly sat back in his large, carved chair. The picture was completely, perfectly painted.
Miss Flora bowed deeply and respectfully to the Chancellor. She turned and walked quickly out of the grand chamber, looking imnsely relieved to be free of her terrible, heavy burden.
With a final, deeply dignified nod of respect to the High Chancellor, Celine turned her back completely on her father. Her dark gray woolen skirts swished softly against the wooden floorboards as she walked out of the viewing gallery.
His ultimate control was entirely gone. His family was gone. His reputation was completely, utterly destroyed.
"Please!" Farrington begged, his voice cracking into a high, pathetic whine.
"Please, Your Lordship!" Farrington cried out, tears of absolute fear finally spilling from his eyes. "I have gold! I have massive, hidden bank accounts in France! I have jewels! I will give the Crown absolutely everything I own! Just let live in exile! Strip my title, take my lands, but please do not take my life!"
The lords in the room turned their faces away in profound, absolute disgust. To see an Earl beg and weep on the floor, offering dirty bribes to escape the hangman’s rope, was a complete disgrace to the entire nobility.
"You are a terrible, permanent stain to your fellow peers and on this entire nation, Lord Farrington," the High Chancellor said softly, but the words echoed with undeniable power. "Your gold cannot buy the life of the innocent boy you slaughtered nor will it erase what you have done to the Crown.
"You are found entirely guilty of high treason against the Crown, and the brutal murder of Edward Fitz," the High Chancellor declared. "You shall be taken from this place to the dark cells of the Tower of London. And there, you shall be hanged by the neck until you are dead. May God have rcy on your black soul."
The wooden gavel struck the block with a loud, final crack.
The two large Crown Guards marched forward. They grabbed the weeping Earl roughly by the collar of his coat. They hauled him up from the floor and dragged him backward down the long center aisle, his pathetic cries echoing in the grand hall until the heavy oak doors slamd shut behind him.
The High Chancellor sat back down. He arranged his papers, his face remaining perfectly stern. He picked up his gavel and struck the block one single ti to call the room to order.
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