“My lord,” William instantly rejoined, “Sir Barnabas hopes to censor us before even knowing what evidence we wish to introduce. Certainly, there are circumstances in which the cold-blooded murder of an innocent child would bear on the allegations against Captain Tuttle.”
“There he goes again, my lord. Playing to passion.”
“I’m not a juror, Sir Barnabas,” the magistrate said with a huff. “I’m not easily swayed by lurid language. But your colleague makes a point, Mr. Snopes. The shooting has no relevance to this piracy trial. It will stay out of my courtroom.”
“Your Honor,” William pleaded, “at least withhold judgment on the matter until more evidence is presented. To allow context for possible admissibility of the boy’s fate.”
“I see no circumstance where that evidence could be relevant to the piracy charges. That’s my decision.”
William left the chambers for the counsel table trying to hide his dejection. Nevertheless, Edmund noticed immediately.
“It’s the Simon Ladner evidence, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” William whispered. “It’s been quashed. For now.”
The bailiff brought in the twelve men of the jury. From their dress and bearing, they were, as usual, from the middle classes. William recognized at least one from a prior jury he’d faced—not an unusual prospect, given the prestige attached to being selected a juror. A schoolteacher, William recalled. Four others had the appearance of shopkeepers or tradesmen. There could be a constable or a soldier among them as well. All would have heard of the case. Many would already hold opinions, most naturally leaning toward supporting the Crown.
Hopefully they could still be swayed.
Captain Tuttle was brought in next. William nearly ground his teeth at his pale appearance, though the man seemed to be trying to muster an air of strength as he’d been instructed.
“William?” a voice called from the bar nearest counsel table.
He turned. Father Thomas stood there. How he’d gotten so close when he should have been confined to the gallery, William had no idea. William stood and walked to his side.
The Father reached out over the bar to give William a bear hug.
Mortified, William accepted the embrace for several seconds before firmly detaching himself. Behind him, he heard the rising murmurs of the gallery and, presumably, the jury box.
“My prayers will be with you and the good Captain Tuttle,” Father Thomas said overly loud.
“Mr. Snopes!” the magistrate called out.
It was overdone, but William was grateful. Even if it only warmed the ice in a single juror, it was worth it.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said, bowing to the magistrate before returning to his seat.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” the magistrate began, fixing the twelve in a gaze perilous with gravity, “the matter which you are about to judge . . .”
The magistrate’s opening description of the case was as predisposed toward guilt as any William had sat through. Or at least it seemed so to him. He longed to stand and demand a rebuttal but knew that none would be permitted. He had to content himself with smiling at his papers as though the good judge were declaring his client to be a reasonable candidate for apostleship.
“Sir Barnabas,” the judge said in conclusion, turning to William’s opponent, “please proceed.”
“Thank you, my lord. The Crown calls Pierre Gourdon, the former captain of the Charlemagne.”
Edmund turned to William, saying low, “You win on the first bet, sir.”
The presentation of the French captain first in his case was a good choice by Sir Barnabas. The man’s English was excellent, his recollections vivid.
“They swooped upon my ship, firing as they came,” the witness testified. “We were startled and unprepared. They flew a British flag. ‘What is this?’ my first mate exclaimed. ‘We’re not at war with the English.’ We could not believe it. It was so unmanly, attacking in this way.”
“And did you overhear their leader once they boarded you?” Sir Barnabas asked.
“Oui. I was amidships when the captain of the Padget boarded and I demanded an explanation.”
“What did the English captain say?”
“‘Your cargo is ours, Frenchman. Man your boats. We’re sinking your ship.’ The seas were high. I said that it would be the death of my entire crew, so far from shore in such weather.”
“And did the English captain relent?”
“Only because his own crew appeared ready to mutiny if he did not.”
“So your ship was spared.”
“Oui.”
“Is the English captain here in the courtroom today?”
“Oui.” The witness pointed to Captain Tuttle. “There the pirate is.”
“Objection.” William rose. “I believe the matter of whether Captain Tuttle is or is not a pirate is to be decided by this good jury rather than our French guest.”
The judge shook his head. “I’ll not censor the witness. Overruled.”
“A final question, Captain Gourdon,” Sir Barnabas picked up. “Did the Englishman offer any explanation for his taking the cargo of a French ship when our two countries are not at war?”
“Oui. He said, ‘Tell your French friends that the war with Napoleon isn’t over where the Padget sails.’”
“They’re making this about revenge?” Edmund leaned over to whisper to William. “Revenge for what?”
“It doesn’t matter,” William whispered in return. “The point they’re making is that Captain Tuttle made no mention of a Letter of Marque to justify his actions.”
“Your witness, Counsel,” Sir Barnabas announced.
William stood. “Captain Gourdon, how many of your crew were killed in the encounter with Captain Tuttle?”
“None,” the witness replied low.
“Could you speak up a bit, Captain Gourdon?”
“None.”
“Thank you. How many wounded?”
“None.”
“None? Not even the grazing of a musket ball? A sliver, perhaps?”
“Objection,” Sir Barnabas called.
“Sustained,” Judge Raleigh answered. “Restrain your sarcasm, Mr. Snopes.”
“Thank you, my lord. Captain Gourdon, no one injured, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Your ship was spared, and you were permitted to sail away?”
“Oui.”
“Does all that strike you as unusual in a pirate attack?”
“We did not resist.”
“Why not?”
“Because I could not believe we were actually being pirated. We thought there was some other reason the English ship had shot a cannonball across our bow.”
“A cannonball? Just a moment ago, you said the Padget swooped upon you, ‘firing as they came.’ In fact, it was a single cannon shot across your bow, was it not?”
“Oui,” the witness replied.
“Is it your understanding that it’s common in pirate attacks for the attacker to at least confiscate the targeted ship as well as her cargo?”
“So I have heard. I have never encountered a pirate attack in my time at sea.”
“Did you think at the time, perhaps, that you were being boarded as a policing action?”
“A what?”
“A policing action. An effort to enforce a legal right. Isn’t it correct that you believed the Padget was challenging you as a policing action and that was the true reason you didn’t resist? After all, monsieur, you were carrying illegal cargo, weren’t you?”
“Objection!” Sir Barnabas bellowed.
“Sustained,” the judge called. “Mr. Snopes, the French crew is not on trial here. And I will judge the legalities in this courtroom, not you.”
“Monsieur,” William picked up instantly, “what exactly was in your hold?”
“Tea.”
“Acquired from where?”
The Frenchman hesitated. “China.”
“You are
aware, aren’t you, that the British East India Company has contracts and a Royal Charter establishing a monopoly on the tea trade in that region?”
The witness muttered something.
“I’m sorry, Captain Gourdon. You’ve grown quiet again. Could you please repeat that?”
The witness’s face radiated hostility. “Just because you claim such rights does not make it true,” he said.
“Oh, then you disagree with the legality of the British East India Company’s position?”
“Everyone knows those agreements were forced on China by the British.”
“Really? Are you aware, Captain Gourdon, that the British Crown wholeheartedly supports the East India Company’s position?”
“I suppose.”
“Are you saying, monsieur, that our English sovereign, King George III, reigning through his son the Prince Regent George, supports illegal trade by its citizens?”
The witness didn’t answer.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Isn’t it true, sir, that Captain Tuttle, when he boarded the Charlemagne, told you that he was taking the cargo because it was smuggled tea, illegally obtained and shipped in violation of the East India Company’s monopoly, and that he had sanction from the British Crown for the taking of the cargo in the form of a Letter of Marque?”
“No!” the witness said, then shrank back. “No. He said what I told you he said.”
“Repeat what you claim Captain Tuttle said.”
“Pardon?”
“Please repeat what you say Captain Tuttle said when he boarded the Charlemagne.”
The witness took a breath. “‘Tell your French friends that the war with Napoleon isn’t over where the Padget sails.’”
“You said it perfectly, monsieur. I wrote it down,” William said, picking up a sheet of paper. “You repeated it the second time exactly as you had the first, word for word. Are you good at memorization?”
“Uh, I don’t know.”
“I’ll wager you are. Particularly at memorizing a statement provided you by prosecuting counsel perhaps?”
“Objection!”
“Sustained. Unless you have proof of any such allegations, Mr. Snopes, you will keep them to yourself.”
“Of course, my lord. No further questions.”
As William sat, Sir Barnabas leaned across counsel table and snarled low, “So that’s how it will be, Mr. Snopes?”
“Exactly as you served it up, Sir Barnabas,” William responded.
When he leaned back in his chair, William saw that Edmund was restraining a satisfied grin.
“It will get much more difficult,” he whispered to his junior. “And you know our greatest peril awaits us in Captain Tuttle’s testimony and cross-examination.”
William’s gaze rose over Edmund’s head. He noticed that Lord Beau Brummell had arrived, seated alone in the gallery in a private box reserved for dignitaries.
He felt a momentary surprise. Not at his presence but at the lord’s face. Especially given the lord’s encouragement at the ball.
Though it was a distance away, William thought he discerned displeasure at William’s cross-examination of the witness.
THE OLD BAILEY
“But, Mr. Smythe,” Edmund pressed, “it’s true, is it not, that at no time did you hear Captain Tuttle express any particular personal animus or hostility toward the French people?”
The Padget sailor smoothed his oiled hair with a thick hand. “Aye, that’s true.”
“And isn’t it also true,” Edmund went on, “that Captain Tuttle informed the crew that they would be sailing under a Letter of Marque from the British Crown?”
“Well, he said it. Never saw it, though.”
“Captain Tuttle never allowed you to see the Letter itself?”
“That’s what I’m sayin’, aye.”
“Did you ask to see the Letter?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I guess the cap’n seemed a straight one.”
“He seemed honest to you?”
“Yah.”
“Treated the crew well?”
“As you say.”
“And isn’t it true that another reason Captain Tuttle may have refrained from showing you the Letter was that you cannot read?”
“Could be.”
“No further questions.”
Sir Barnabas stood. “Captain Tuttle will shortly testify, Mr. Smythe, that he had a Letter of Marque but that it was stolen the hour that you reached London Harbor. Does that seem a likely thing to have happened?”
The sailor hesitated. “Well, I don’t see how it could’ve. Cap’n’s quarters are next to our’n. If someone went into the cap’n’s cabin that didn’t belong, any of the crew awake belowdecks would’ve seen ’em.”
“Is there anyone among the crew you believe capable of such an act of thievery?”
“No. I mean, it was a good crew. No real troublemakers.”
“Thank you.” Sir Barnabas turned to address the judge. “My lord, I suggest we break for the day. It’s likely that the prosecution will rest in the morning.”
The judge nodded. “Very well. Mr. Smythe, you’re excused. We will reconvene at nine.” The gavel fell with a bang.
William watched the crowd in the gallery shuffle out as the jury followed the bailiff to their exit. He looked over each juror carefully.
After the monotony of two more of the French crew repeating Captain Gourdon’s testimony, and nine Padget crew members saying nearly the same as Mr. Smythe, any juror would be sliding toward slumber. But Sir Barnabas knew, as William did too, that monotony had its purpose. It would take powerful evidence to shake the deeply set impressions created this first day.
A messenger approached the bar. “Edmund Shaw?” he called.
The junior went to him.
“Mr. Snopes,” Edmund said after reading the message, “I need to run an important errand. Can I meet you back at your office at Gray’s after supper?”
“Of course. You’re prepared for tomorrow’s examinations? You do recall the order of witnesses?”
“Yes, sir. After you take Captain Tuttle’s testimony, you’ll also take that of Sergeant Rhodes, whom you met on the Padget’s deck—and who should be arriving at the courtroom by midday, accompanied by the constables tasked to deliver him. Then I’ll be questioning our three witnesses from the Padget crew.”
“That’s it, thank you,” William replied. “Please return from your errand as soon after dinner as possible in case there’s need for further consultation this evening.”
“Very well.”
Obadiah appeared just as Edmund rushed out. “What did you think of the first day, sir?”
William considered his sense of mild satisfaction. “Edmund did a fine job with the last of Sir Barnabas’s Padget witnesses,” he said. “Yet we won’t win the case by challenging the reading skills of the crew. The jury is waiting on Captain Tuttle and anyone else who saw the Letter of Marque. It would surely help if Judge Raleigh allowed the testimony regarding the shooting of the boy. Painting the soldiers and constables as dangerous aggressors that night would make Captain Tuttle seem that much more trustworthy in his testimony.”
“I agree, sir. But I don’t think it’s a bad jury. Only two were sleeping this afternoon, and all seemed sober. Still, they’ll need more to side with our poor captain.”
Indeed, William thought. Much more. Like word from the Bow Street Runners that they’d found Lonny and the thief confessed to a role in all this. Or Madeleine showing up with whatever evidence she’d gone chasing. Why would she race off like that? Why hadn’t she told him what it was?
William gathered his papers—at the last grabbing the newspaper Edmund had brought that morning. “Do your very best, pray it to be enough, then your work is done.” A simple saying that Aeron had used often years ago, particularly when William was wrestling with the most important decision of his young life.
He only wished his Irish m
entor could be here now. He longed for the soft sibilance of his reassurances. The power of his humility.
Because, O God, William’s heart cried, what he wouldn’t surrender to win this case.
37
THE ROYAL MEWS
NORTH END OF CHARING CROSS
WESTMINSTER DISTRICT
LONDON
The stallion carrying Princess Charlotte came pounding in, dropping from a canter to a walk in just a few lengths to stop beside Lord Brummell, who stood near a fence, his hat in his hands.
Lord Brummell looked up at the princess as she patted the stallion. She was far from the beauty he’d thought her two years ago, or as people like Solicitor Bristol seemed to observe even now. Perhaps her charms had dimmed for him as the veneer of youthful innocence faded in his sight. Their arrangement these past years had dulled any assumptions he had of such virtue in the young woman. Or, perhaps, he’d simply never been so infatuated with youth as others were. He much preferred the seasoning of years.
“Do you think this was a good idea, Your Highness, summoning me in this way?”
“There’s no one about. I saddled my horse myself. Have you read the papers?”
Always to the point. “Of course.”
“Did you tell your man Bristol to murder the girl?”
Just what he’d expected was the purpose of this demanded appearance. “Of course not, Your Highness. I’ve given him no instructions other than those we both conveyed the night of the carriage ride.”
“I thought it impossible for him to take us deeper down the rabbit hole, yet here we are,” she fumed sharply. “And I having revealed myself to Bristol—on your advice.”
“It seemed the correct course to cement Mr. Bristol’s commitment and fealty. The man has a certain awe for your status, Your Highness, as well he should.”
She ignored the vacuous compliment. “I told you at the time that it was foolhardy to repeat the same scheme at the docks with this Padget brig, no matter the profit we’d enjoyed on the first one. We’ve tempted the fates trying this a second time, and now we must deal with this killing.”
Perhaps a reminder was in order. “At the time that we discussed this, Your Highness, you seemed as interested in replicating our profits as I was,” he replied dryly. “Did I mishear you?”
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