After a little consultation it was found that the Grand Jury had not been dismissed, and could find a true bill against him; and it was decided that the trial should take place after the rest of the criminal cases were disposed of.
This settled, the sorrowful party with the strangely welcomed son were free to return to their quarters at the George. Mr. Cromwell pressed forward to beg that they would make use of his coach. It was a kind thought, for Sir Philip hung feebly on his son’s arm, and to pass through the curious throng would have been distressing. After helping him in, Charles turned and demanded—
“Where is she, the young gentlewoman, Miss Woodford?”
She was just within, her uncle waiting to take her out till the crowd’s attention should be called off. Charles lifted her in, and Sir Edmund and Dr. Woodford followed him, for there was plenty of room in the capacious vehicle.
Nobody spoke in the very short interval the four horses took in getting themselves out of the space in front of the County Hall and down the hill to the George. Only Charles had leant forward, taken Anne’s hand, drawn it to his lips, and then kept fast hold of it.
They were all in the room at the inn at last, they hardly knew how; indeed, as Charles was about to shut the door there was a smack on his back, and there stood Sedley holding out his hand.
“So, Charley, old fellow, you were the sad dog after all. You got me out of it, and I owe you my thanks, but you need not have put your neck into the noose. I should have come off with flying colours, and made them all make fools of themselves, if you had only waited.”
“Do you think I could sit still and see her put to the torture?” said Charles.
“Torture? You are thinking of your barbarous countries. No fear of the boot here, nor even in Scotland nowadays.”
“That’s all the torture you understand,” muttered Sir Edmund Nutley.