The Barrister and the Letter of Marque

by Todd M Johnson

  Edmund waited until he was outside, then followed him.

  The man was a block from the gambling hall, making his way up the rain-doused street, when Edmund drew near. “Hardacre!” he called.

  The man slowed, turning. His eyes took in Edmund and widened. He began to run.

  Edmund was younger and much faster. In four strides he’d caught the lapel of Hardacre’s coat and dragged him back against the brick wall of a nearby building.

  “Why so shy now?” Edmund demanded. “That article in the Courier about my senior, I take it that was yours?”

  “Nah. Not me.”

  “Hard to believe. It’s your beat and your sloppy style.”

  “Come on, Eddie. Even if it was, have a thicker skin.”

  Edmund slammed him against the wall again. “What’s this slander about Mr. Snopes? ‘Disowned son of Lord Snopes.’ ‘Relies on perjury in the courtroom.’ ‘Enemy to the Crown’?”

  “You’ve got your sources; I’ve got mine.”

  Edmund’s breath was ragged. “I’ll forgive you, Hardacre, this once. If you tell me who’s behind this. Tell me who kept the Padget out of the papers until now, then pushed this crock of a story in the Courier. Convince me or you’ll be crawling home.”

  “You’re seeing ghosts, boyo. There’s nobody pulling strings here.”

  “Really? Then why’d they print Snopes’s home address? With everything you accused him of, you might as well have torched the place.”

  “Aw, come on. Even if there was somebody pushing this, you think I’d know them? I write the stories; I don’t hobnob with the editors or their pals.”

  Edmund braced the man’s neck against the wall with his forearm. “All right, then, if that’s your plea, I won’t beat you after all. But I’ll make it so you can’t show your face in a card hall from here to Manchester. I’ll spread word that you cheat. Want to bet that the Nash brothers you beat at brag last month won’t come looking for their money back?”

  Hardacre blinked, gasping for air. “Who’ll believe your word?” he croaked. “You lose every time you go into the place.”

  Edmund stared at his prey for a moment. “You read that penny dreadful about the Padget and Captain Tuttle?”

  “’Course I did. Everyone did.”

  “I helped write that. And I’ll tell you the title of the next one: The Gambling Courier Journalist and His Sleight of Hand at Brag. I know enough about you and how it’s done to make it stick. See who believes it then.”

  The journalist’s eyes widened. “I’d sue you.”

  Edmund grinned. “Take me to court? Please! You’ll be dancing in my hall then. In fact, I’ll start writing the piece tonight. I can have it on the street by Sunday.”

  Some of the defiance went out of Hardacre’s eyes.

  Edmund released him. “Fly away, little bird. See you in print.”

  “Ah, just slow it down, Eddie,” the man muttered. He leaned down to retrieve his battered hat. “Give me a few. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  With a final hard glance at Edmund, he hurried up the street.

  25

  OFFICE OF MANDY BRISTOL

  MAYFAIR DISTRICT

  LONDON

  William watched as short, stout Solicitor Bristol alighted from his cab, paid the fare, and marched across the street to the building housing his office. The solicitor’s dress today was even gaudier than the last time he’d seen him, the waist and neckline too high, the suit cut too short. A bright red waistcoat and French cuffs. Shoulders padded. The man had become an undeniable dandy in the years since William tried the case for him.

  William waited only long enough to be assured that Mandy had ascended the stairs to his office, then followed him in.

  The solicitor was visible in his back office as William entered the foyer. “Mandy?” he called.

  The solicitor turned. The light in his eyes went dark. “What do you want?”

  “We need to talk.”

  Mandy came out and stood beside the desk. “I don’t think so.”

  “You never got back to me about your investor clients.”

  “What investor clients?”

  “That won’t do, Mandy. I’ve got witnesses ready to attest to the Letter of Marque your clients gave to Captain Tuttle. There’s no point hiding the investors any longer.”

  “Really? Witnesses? And who might they be?”

  Was there a hint of gloating there?

  “That’s my business. But I have a proposition for you and your clients, Mandy. I’ll represent them and their interests as to the Padget, in this or any future legal proceeding, and I’ll do so without charge. I’ll also see that my clients increase your clients’ percentage of the profit from the Padget’s voyage to thirty percent. In exchange, they simply need to come forward and tell the truth about the Letter of Marque and attest to its authenticity.”

  Mandy ran a hand along his chin and sideburn. “You continue to miss the point, William. I deny any knowledge of these investors you say were involved in your captain’s sordid affair.”

  “Based on all that you told him, Captain Tuttle will say otherwise.”

  “Captain Tuttle is a pirate.”

  “Very well. Then hear this. I think your investors provided a forged document to Captain Tuttle. I also know that a young boy was killed during the boarding of the Padget, a lad by the name of Simon Ladner. I intend to prosecute that death, including the liability of your investors, based on their interest in the Padget. When I make those charges, I’m confident the court will force you to go under oath to divulge your clients’ identities.”

  There were so many twists in the logic of his statement that even William had to concentrate to sound resolved.

  Mandy went silent for a moment before shaking his head.

  “What tripe!” he burst out. “Where is this magical Letter of Marque you claim my mystery clients forged? And if you prosecuted these investors for the boy’s death, you’d have to prosecute your own clients on the same grounds. We’re done here, William. And I’ll thank you to make an appointment the next time you want to see me. I won’t have you barging in as you please. Good luck with that trial, eh? Just eight days I hear?”

  There was movement behind him. William turned.

  It was the boy who’d served the contempt of court papers on him only days before, and now William realized he’d first seen the boy in the street when the urchin had given him directions to Mandy’s office. He stood nervously in the doorway, a stack of newspapers under his arm. William wondered how long he’d been there.

  “Get out, Tad!” Mandy shouted at the boy. “Now!”

  The boy scampered away. From the speed of his exit, William guessed he’d felt the back of Mandy’s hand before.

  “Good day, Barrister,” Mandy said tightly.

  William refused to be dismissed. “There’s a man’s life at stake, Mandy. And a family’s fortune. I don’t know what you and your clients’ full purpose is in this scheme, but I’ll find them. When I do, I will not only destroy the scheme, I’ll burn this filthy practice of yours down around your ears.”

  William marched back down the stairs to the street. Stepping outside, he realized that he hadn’t even removed his coat.

  He took a deep breath to calm himself. Glancing up, he saw thick clouds crowding directly overhead. Whether rain or a wet snow, William didn’t care. He’d walk home despite not having an umbrella with him. He needed the time to think. He needed the time to cool off.

  Something bumped him and he looked that way.

  The boy from Mandy’s office was standing beside him. His eyes were wide and looked as though he’d been crying.

  “He can be impatient, can’t he, son?” William said. “Tad, is it?”

  Tad turned and raced away up the street.

  Watching him disappear, William thought about Mandy’s reaction in their brief argument. He hadn’t learned much, but two key points became clear. Mandy hadn’t even blinked at hearing
about the murdered boy, even though the news hadn’t appeared in a single paper or in the penny dreadful he and Edmund had published before learning of the event. Only one person not present at the Padget that night had admitted to knowing of the shooting: Sir Barnabas.

  Then there was Mandy’s knowledge of the trial date.

  It all spelled a passage of information between the Crown’s prosecuting counsel and Mandy. But why?

  He couldn’t imagine.

  He’d instinctively assumed Mandy’s involvement with the prosecution. This was the first direct proof of it.

  The confirmation worried him greatly.

  Nerves still lit, William decided to hail a cab after all. As he stepped inside, he reached to confirm the location of his wallet in his breast pocket.

  It wasn’t there.

  He searched throughout his pockets but without success.

  He must have left it at home. Unless . . .

  William looked off in the direction of the disappeared boy.

  Had the scamp dipped his pocket? Was he that sort? If so, he’d get little for his effort, as William carried little of value in his wallet.

  He should be angry, but William couldn’t help but feel sorry for the boy, seemingly a street thief as well as in Mandy’s employ. He thought again of the child’s tears.

  Strange. From all appearances, young though he was, the boy seemed too hardened to be brought to tears by a single shout from Mandy Bristol.

  HOME OF OBADIAH AND SUZANNE CUMMINGS

  “Are you certain, my lady?”

  Davidson looked his usual calm self, save perhaps for the skepticism in his eyes. Alone, seated in the small, tidy sitting room of Obadiah and Suzanne’s home, Madeleine nodded her response.

  “Yes, Davidson. You know as well as I that the back staircase is better informed about social goings-on than their employers. I’d like you to speak with any friends and acquaintances among staff in London for the winter. Learn whatever you can about aristocratic knowledge or interest in the Padget or my family’s affairs. I’d also like you to glean what you can about Solicitor Mandy Bristol and the social circles he keeps.”

  “Aye, my lady. Am I to leave immediately?”

  “Yes, though first I’d like you to drop me at Dame Baltimore’s.”

  Her servant’s eyes widened. “Dame Baltimore? Are you sure, my lady?”

  “Yes. We both know she’s the spider at the center of the social web of London, gathering gossip from her wheeled chair. She’ll have picked up any vibrations on these topics within fifty miles of London.”

  “Yes, my lady. If she’ll accept you in her parlor, of course.”

  “She’ll see me, Davidson. If only hoping to learn some juicy tidbits for herself.”

  Davidson cleared his throat, then proceeded gently. “May I suggest, my lady, that you prepare yourself for what you must be willing to give away?”

  26

  HOME OF MANDY BRISTOL

  THE STRAND

  LONDON

  The broad yellow carriage, inlaid with the Brummell coat of arms, slowed to a stop on the street in front of Mandy Bristol’s town home. Watching from an upstairs window, Mandy thought it resembled a massive lemon tart. No one could possibly mistake it for anyone else’s transport than that of Lord Brummell—which was almost certainly the point.

  That fact, and Mandy’s anticipation of soon being inside it, made this evening that much sweeter. He headed downstairs.

  Lord Brummell was the origin of nearly all of Mandy’s social invitations, but never before tonight had he offered to ride together to an event. Only weeks ago, Mandy had worried about a falling out with his client and benefactor. But tonight’s gesture signaled that he’d clearly misread the man. If Lord Brummell was angry about the Padget, why take him to a dinner where the lord had also arranged Mandy’s invitation?

  “Tad!” Mandy cried out as he descended the staircase. “You’d better have finished shining those boots!”

  The boy came running into the foyer, boots in hand, worry on his face. Mandy snatched them away and examined them carefully.

  The leather was creaseless and supple. Mandy’s face looked back at him in the deep shine. “It’ll do,” he muttered. Pulling them on hastily, he shouted to his servant that he’d be returning late, then pulled his cape across his shoulders before stepping out into the chilly evening.

  He was at the carriage door when the boy’s footsteps approached from behind.

  Mandy whirled, enraged that Lord Brummell might see the ragged child emerge from his home.

  “What is it, boy?” he shouted.

  Tad held a briefcase in his hand. “Your servant, sir, said you wouldn’t want to forget this.”

  Mandy snatched it away. “I don’t want you here when I return. Get back to Mr. McPherson. Tell Lonny I’ve no other tasks for you this week.”

  He grabbed the pull to enter the carriage, taking a seat with a smile for his benefactor.

  The carriage seated six comfortably, though only Mandy and Lord Brummell were to ride tonight. Which was why Mandy was startled at the third person present.

  “Solicitor Bristol,” Lord Brummell said, “this is Princess Charlotte.”

  Mandy was speechless.

  “I’m so honored to meet you, Your Highness,” he managed.

  The princess nodded back at Mandy, then looked out the window.

  The carriage rocked along the London streets for nearly a mile without a single word exchanged. It scarcely mattered to Mandy. Lord Brummell was introducing him now to royalty. The pinnacle of society.

  What could it mean? At the very least, Brummell had fully forgiven him. More optimistically, the lord was making a show of his full confidence in his solicitor.

  Mandy looked again to the princess.

  Only twenty, Prince Regent George’s only child was next in line for the Crown after her mad grandfather and her father who ruled in his stead. Now that he was becoming an expert in fashion through Lord Brummell’s tutelage, Mandy marveled at the princess’s green gown with its low waistband, the fitted bodice and boat-style neckline, all so magnificent and modern. Jewels—green, red, and gold—encircled both wrists and neck. So transcendent! How her youth accentuated her beauty!

  He could barely remove his eyes from her.

  The princess turned to face him.

  “Solicitor Bristol?” her voice commanded.

  “Yes, Your Highness?”

  “Would you grant me a favor?”

  “Of course, Your Highness. You need only name it. Anything at all.”

  “Would you please explain how you managed to cock up this business of the Padget so completely?”

  He mustn’t have heard that right. “Your Highness?”

  “It is a feat I would have thought impossible. Your stupidity rivals that of my grandfather, the king. He, at least, has the excuse of insanity.”

  Mandy sat back. “I . . . don’t understand.” He looked to Lord Brummell. “What does she know?”

  The princess looked to the lord as well. “What kennel did you find this one in, Lord Brummell?”

  Brummell fixed his own withering stare on Mandy. “Mr. Bristol, don’t look so stupefied. Given the present troubles, I suggested to the princess that it was time you met my investment partner. The princess agreed only to help you to understand the gravity of the situation you’ve created.”

  Mandy’s stomach turned to liquid. “The princess is your partner? Your partner in the Padget matter?”

  “In all the ventures that you’ve managed for us, including the Padget. How else do you think we were able to arrange access to the documents we needed? How do you think we were able to arrange your communications with Sir Barnabas?”

  “You two? I . . . I mean, sir, I thought—no disrespect my lady—it’s just that I thought, after all this time, that your partner was a fiction.”

  “Close your mouth, Mandy. No. It’s always been we two.”

  A growing fog in Mandy’s mi
nd was displaced by crushing disappointment. So his introduction to the princess was an instructional moment. Nothing more.

  “I . . . I don’t even know what to say,” he stammered.

  “Nor what to do, apparently,” the princess said. “In only a few weeks, you’ve managed to put a four-year venture at risk and turn a highly profitable business into a debacle which now threatens to destroy us all.”

  “But, Your Highness,” Mandy rushed to defend himself, “it wasn’t my fault that the boy’s shooting stiffened Captain Tuttle’s resolve. Such a thing had never happened before. And I assure you that matters are still firmly in our control. We’ve kept the trial on a very short schedule. Mr. Snopes won’t have nearly enough time to properly prepare. And—”

  “Enough,” Lord Brummell intervened. “I have other sources than yourself, Mr. Bristol. I know what transpired at the court hearing.”

  “Then you must know that—”

  “Mr. Bristol,” the princess interrupted, “do you grasp how important it is that the Letter of Marque, the cargo, the taking of the ship not be in the public eye?”

  “Of course I’ve understood that, Your Highness. And I know that this whole public airing is truly unfortunate. But the Crown’s prosecution is certain to win the day. In the end, the public will place no credit on Captain Tuttle’s claim about a Letter of Marque. I’m sure you’re disappointed with the complications of the arrest and the release of that book by Snopes and his bunch. But I believe—”

  “Disappointed?” The princess rolled her eyes, and Mandy felt the last of his infatuation with her beauty and appearance of innocence dissolve. “Why it appears that we’ve discovered your intellectual gift after all, Solicitor: a marvelous talent for understatement. You don’t seem to comprehend that the Crown’s prosecution has dragged Lord Brummell and me too close to the heat and light of the fire—something you and those you’ve employed were to prevent. Are you aware that Barrister Snopes visited the Padget a few days ago—and was let aboard?”