Chapter 172

After meeting with Mr. Dawson, Cassandra’s next stop was the office of the Justice of the Peace.

She had already presented her findings and the evidence to support them, yet so far, nothing had come of it.

The magistrate had given her the same answer twice. Cassandra was beginning to suspect that the third meeting would produce nothing more useful.

Still, she went anywhere, refusing to be discouraged.

The magistrate’s clerk was seated at his usual desk, sorting through a stack of documents when Cassandra arrived. At the sound of her footsteps, he looked up and quickly rose to his feet, greeting her with a polite bow.

"Good afternoon, my lady. How may I be of assistance?"

"I have come to see the magistrate regarding a matter that remains pending."

"Yes, yes, of course." Recognition dawned on the clerk’s face, and he nodded. "His Worship will attend to you shortly, my lady. If you would be so kind as to wait a moment."

Cassandra took a seat in the waiting area, with Sebastian beside her. After approximately five minutes, the clerk rose from his desk and disappeared into the magistrate’s office. He returned some time later and motioned for them to follow him.

"His Worship is ready to receive you, my lady."

Cassandra rose from her seat, and Sebastian followed as the clerk ushered them into the office. The magistrate stood behind his desk to welcome them, greeting Cassandra with a courteous bow before gesturing towards the chairs arranged before him.

"Lady Cassandra. Please, have a seat."

"Thank you."

She settled into the chair opposite his desk, while Sebastian elected to remain standing beside her. The clerk closed the door behind them, leaving Cassandra and Sebastian alone with the magistrate to discuss the matter that had brought her back to his office.

His office adjoined the courthouse, a narrow suite of rooms furnished with dark wooden desks, cabinets filled with leather-bound volumes, and shelves crowded with records.

A tall window overlooked the street, where carriages and pedestrians passed under the bright afternoon sun.

Magistrate Harland returned to his seat behind his desk, glancing down at the papers Sebastian Reaver placed before him. More documents that Ruth helped them pilfer from Ashford House, proof that Nathaniel bribed an official to bury one of the many mishaps that occurred at his unsafe mine.

He turned one page, returned to the previous one, and then arranged the documents into a neat pile, as though their disorder had been the principal obstacle to his understanding.

Cassandra watched him with growing impatience.

They had already presented him with evidence of her father’s wrongdoings, enough to have him charged.

Harland appeared to disagree.

"There are inconsistencies here," he said at last, tapping the papers with one finger. "Some of these accounts differ in their recollection of events. Others rely upon information obtained from men whose credibility has not been established."

"Then establish it," Cassandra replied. "Speak to the men. Examine the records. Find out why their accounts differ."

The magistrate adjusted his spectacles.

"I appreciate your concern, but these matters cannot be settled without proper due process and for that to happen, you have to be patient. An allegation of this magnitude requires careful examination, particularly when it concerns a man of lord Ashford’s standing."

"My father’s standing does not alter the evidence." Cassandra argued, her eyes narrowing with irritation. She was growing weary of his needless delays. He claimed to be following due process, yet he had done very little to move the case forward.

"No, of course not." Harland’s tone was as calm as ever. "Nevertheless, we must be certain of our position before proceeding against a gentleman with considerable influence. A case of this nature can be difficult to sustain, and a failed prosecution would serve no one."

Cassandra looked at Sebastian. He remained beside the desk, his expression composed, though she knew he was just as annoyed by the Magistrate’s attitude as she was.

They had heard this argument before, dressed in slightly different language. There was always another record to obtain, another discrepancy to resolve, another reason the case could not advance. Harland never said he intended to dismiss their evidence. He merely ensured that it went nowhere.

"What corroboration do you require?" Sebastian asked. "We have supplied the names of the men involved in the original inspection, along with the circumstances surrounding the subsequent payments. If there is a particular deficiency, perhaps you could identify it."

Harland leaned back in his chair. "I will have to further examine this latest submission and get back to you with my findings"

"Then when will they be ready?" Cassandra asked.

"I must remind you that the administration of justice is not conducted according to the convenience of those who bring complaints."

It was an poor excuse and they all knew it.

"And I must remind you that so far over a hundred people have died working in Lord Ashford’s mine. Yet you speak to me of convenience."

Harland’s lips flattened into a thin lip before he smoothed his features into something more professional.

"I understand that this matter is deeply personal to you, Lady Cassandra—"

"Your Grace," She interjected.

"Pardon me?" A wrinkle formed between his brows.

"It is Your Grace to you." She corrected him clippedly.

A flush crept up the magistrate’s neck. He wasn’t pleased by the interruption but he knew he had to conceal his irritation or risk seeming impertinent.

"Of course, Your Grace. My apologies." He gave her a wan smile.

The apology did little to improve her mood or opinion of him. Cassandra could see the irritation he had concealed, and it confirmed what she had suspected throughout the meeting: he disliked being reminded that she was no longer merely Nathaniel Ashford’s daughter, someone he could dismiss with a few soothing assurances.

Now she was a duchess, he would have to pay her a great deal of respect and he did not like it. But that didn’t stop him from pushing his luck.