PROLOGUE
The elderly judge looked on with a face of stone as the jury of Cornishmen returned to the box. Despite their being sworn to "faithfully try the defendant and render a true verdict," the judge's sharp ears had picked up the sound of muffled laughter from the jury room during their deliberations.
Bumpkins and idlers, the lot of them. He watched with thinly veiled distaste as they resumed their seats.
At least the Quarter Sessions were nearly over. He'd be off to London, and the sooner the better. Clearly, this remote, backward county softened the wits of anyone forced to live there. That was the only possible explanation for a discovery he'd made that morning.
Before donning his judicial robes, he had scanned the list of causes to be tried. At the end, one familiar name stood out.
"Nina Bitter? What the devil is this?" he had spluttered, pointing at the entry. "The Bitters are a fine old family – her grandfather was JP for Pencarren in my youth. There must be some mistake!"
"No mistake, m'lud," the clerk replied. "She's charged with smugglin' rum and was caught whilst landin' the cargo."
"She must have taken leave of her senses!"
The clerk coughed. "They say she heads a ring of Free Traders, as the locals call 'em." With a wink he added, "And she's the one they call 'Wild Nina'."
It was too much. A gentlewoman of good breeding, even holding a minor position at court, lowering herself in that way! The entire business was a personal affront.
"Then this Wild Nina person shall be brought in guilty," the judge retorted. "The weight of the evidence is overwhelming."
But that had been hours ago. Now, surveying the crowd of smirking spectators - thick as thieves, they looked - he was less confident.
Tightening his jaw, he glanced towards the dock. The accused woman stood there calmly, politely, taking no more notice of him than if he had been a buzzing gnat. Her dream-like gaze was distant, as though looking out to sea. Uneasily, he recalled the words of a colleague who held that "no Cornish jury will ever convict a smuggler."
Nonsense.
He addressed the jury. "Have you reached a verdict upon which you all are agreed?"
"We have, m'lud," said the foreman.