An application for bail was made by counsel for the accused but was refused on account of the scale of his crime and the serious risk that he might quit the country before the matter could be heard. Mr. Eden remains in custody…
Chapter 44
The London Daily Telegraph
Tuesday, 29 August 1882
THE EDEN TRIAL BEGINS
Confederates Turn Queen’s Evidence Against “Lord Lombard”
At a season when much of fashionable London removes itself to country houses and cooler climates, the galleries of the Old Bailey were filled to suffocation to observe the opening of the trial of Mr. Virgil Eden, once known in society as “Lord Lombard,” and now accused of one of the most extraordinary financial frauds in recent memory.
The first day was occupied chiefly with Mr. Eden’s confederates, who testified to the dealings of Eden & Co. Mr. Thomas Treadway, Mr. Eden’s man of business, described the daily operation of the firm, which included the acquiring of client funds, the issuing of reassuring statements, and the careful postponement of any request that might expose the company’s true condition as sums shuffled from one account to another in order to preserve the appearance of solvency.
Still more damaging was the testimony of Dew and Clapp, “clerks” in Mr. Eden’s employ, who admitted to preparing letters, notices, and investment statements upon paper bearing the names of commercial houses and public undertakings with which Eden & Co. claimed connections. These papers, shown to clients as proof of holdings, were naught but forgeries.
How, then, was such a deception maintained across so many years? The answer suggested by yesterday’s testimony lies in the steady arrival of new capital, with fresh deposits used to satisfy withdrawals, dividends, and the supposed profits of earlier clients. Yet money alone does not explain the imposture. Witnesses also described Mr. Eden’s reputation for severity, his habit of discouraging questions, and his talent for making doubt appear foolish, disloyal, or vulgar until any doubts were dismissed.
In short, Lord Lombard was little more than an emperor in a counting-house, and no one wished to be the first to declare he had no clothes. And it seems certain that our dear Lord Lombard will soon need to change his name to the Baron of the Old Bailey…
Chapter 45
The Illustrated London Courier
Wednesday, 30 August 1882
A DAUGHTER’S BETRAYAL
Startling Disclosure on the Second Day of the Eden Trial
…the already sensational trial of Lord Lombard was thrown into fresh astonishment when counsel for the defense revealed that the unnamed source who first brought this fraud to the public’s attention was none other than the blackguard’s eldest daughter, Miss Nora Eden.
Mrs. Marjorie Eden was in attendance with her younger children, all dressed with that careful propriety by which families in disgrace attempt to remind the world that they are still families of consequence. Mrs. Eden, however, showed little surprise at the revelation. Perhaps this explains the visible distance maintained between Miss Eden and the rest of her family throughout the proceedings—and the notable absence of the eldest son, Mr. Lionel Eden, who has vanished from the public eye.
Though the defense attempted to cast this whole ordeal as naught but the machinations of a silly girl, seeking to denigrateher father after some domestic grievance, such an argument may titillate drawing rooms but does little to answer the mountains of evidence provided by Mr. Eden’s own co-conspirators. Fictitious investments, forged statements, empty accounts, and the testimony of former employees cannot be dismissed as the invention of a spiteful young lady.
Yet the disclosure remains a shocking one. Miss Eden’s honesty may deserve applause, but it is unnatural for a daughter to turn against her father, and yesterday’s revelation has ensured that the Eden trial will be discussed as much in parlors as in the courts…
Chapter 46
The morning air hung thick over the city, stale with dust and the acrid smoke that drifted endlessly from the buildings, turning every breath into something one endured rather than welcomed. Carriages jammed nose to wheel along the approach, their drivers shouting over one another whilst horses tossed their heads and stamped against the stones, bothered by flies, heat, and the restless press of bodies crowding too near.
The great stone building loomed ahead at last, severe and immovable above the confusion gathered at its feet, for it felt as though every person in London had gathered there. Inside those walls, the law was a solemn thing. Outside, it was theater.
Nora sat rigidly inside the cab as it slowed to a crawl, her gloved hands folded so tightly in her lap that the seams bit into her palms. Beyond the window, the crowd churned in every direction as gentlemen in dark coats stood shoulder to shoulder with women who had come with hampers hooked over their arms as though attending a picnic. Newspaper men moved through them like carrion birds with sharpened pencils and watchful eyes, darting toward anyone of consequence the moment a carriage door opened.
More than one face turned toward Nora’s carriage with naked curiosity, and she drew in a breath, though she had nothing left inside to fortify. Nor to hide.
This was foolish. What good was there to be had in attending? The question had plagued Nora every morning of the trial, and she had yet to find a sensible answer. It was not from a sense of filial duty. The very thought was grotesque after all that had passed between them.
It was like worrying at a wound beneath a bandage, knowing perfectly well that touching it would only cause damage yet being unable to resist lifting the edge to see how badly the flesh was torn. The truth had taken on a life beyond that bit of paper she’d given to Mr. Pell, and however much it pained her to witness it, Nora could not bear to remain at home.
The cab jolted to a halt, drawing attention, and though she leaned out of sight, the front of the hansom was open to view. Thankfully, the angle of the crowd allowed her to hide for a moment longer.
A shout rose somewhere near the entrance, followed by a ripple of movement as people surged forward, only to be checked by constables forcing them back into some semblance of order. Their dark uniforms stood like scattered posts amid the human tide, arms outstretched, voices raised, trying to carve a passage through the crowd that had come not merely for justice but for spectacle.
For one brief moment, Nora remained seated, studying the front steps and the mass of bodies clustered on them, unable to make her limbs obey. But the driver opened the small hatch in the roof, so Nora raised the fare through, and he tugged on the lever that opened the door.