Unnatural Relations

by Mike Seabroook

  "I have decided that I myself shall accompany you to the hearing..."

  "Oh, good," said Jamie spontaneously. Lane gave a slight smile of gratification. "Thank you very much, sir. It's very kind of you."

  "As I said, I shall come with you, and I shall be responsible for ensuring that you adhere to the family's requests implicitly. You must not - you must not, Jamie - do anything to make things even more difficult and unpleasant for them than they are already. That is clear?" Jamie nodded soberly. "Yes, sir."

  Lane looked keenly at him, but saw nothing in his face but a sober, earnest gravity. His evident happiness at being allowed to attend the hearing was now betrayed only by a faint upward curve of the comers of his mouth. "Very well, then, Jamie," said Lane with a faint sigh. "We'll leave after assembly tomorrow morning." He stood up and came round the desk. Jamie rose also and prepared to leave the study. Lane walked with him to the door.

  As Jamie put his hand on the knob, Lane rested a hand on his shoulder. "I know how unpleasant this has all been for you, my boy," he said. "Try to keep your chin up. Mr Hope-Thomson said that it is in the last degree improbable that Christopher will suffer any terribly serious punishment, and he said most urgently that emotional demonstrations from you in the court would be most unhelpful - such a thing would, indeed, be the worst thing that could possibly happen. So bear up, my boy, and remember it's nearly over now." Very briefly he ruffled Jamie's hair. "Now go back to your form-room," he said, becoming a headmaster once more. Jamie looked up at him and gave him a quick, shy little smile and was gone.

  Lane sighed again, glanced at his watch, and walked across to the wall-cupboard where he kept his visitor's bottle of whisky.

  FOUR

  The next morning Lane, with a scrubbed and immaculately blazered Jamie at his side, crossed the foyer of the Court house to where a fat, middle-aged police constable was pinning some papers to a large green baize covered notice board. "Excuse me, officer," he said courteously. The man half-turned and mumbled something unintelligible through a hedge of long pins with bright plastic heads stuck in his mouth. Jamie giggled, despite the sombreness of his feelings, and even Lane's face twitched. The officer finished his operations with the papers and disgorged the remaining pins into his hand. He glanced down at Jamie and grinned at him. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

  "Could you direct me to the public area of the Court, please?" asked Lane.

  "Straight through there," said the man, gesturing towards a heavy, leather-padded door across the foyer. "Public seats are just inside the door, on the left as you go in."

  "Thank you," said Lane. "I wonder if you may also be able to give me some indication of when the case in which we are interested may be expected to come on."

  "Try, sir," said the man. "What case is it?"

  "The boy's name is Christopher Rowe," said Lane quietly. The officer turned back to the sheets he had been pinning up. "Rowe," he muttered to himself. "Yeah, here it is." His eyebrows rose. "Ah. The buggery. Don't get many of them round here." He swung round and surveyed the two of them with narrowed eyes. "This the victim, by any chance?" he asked, looking very sharply at Jamie. "You realise it's a guilty plea, don't you?" He stared at Lane, with a degree of chill, almost hostility, entering his voice and his face.

  Lane replied, equally quietly, "Yes, he is the other boy involved in the case. Why do you ask?"

  "Well, since it's a plea, there won't be any requirement for anyone to give evidence. I shouldn't have thought it would be necessary to drag the kid along..." He fell silent, continuing to subject Lane to the same severe scrutiny. After a moment, a little impressed by Lane's unruffled demeanour, he added, "I suppose it's no concern of mine, but I'm a little surprised, if you don't mind my saying so. You his father?"

  Lane studied the man for a few seconds. "I am his headmaster, and also his guardian," he said coolly. "And I understand your taking the attitude you do, but you are not fully au fait with the case, I suspect. The boy is here at his own request - I might say, his own demand. I am here to look after him and, if possible, to ensure that he does not allow the proceedings to distress him unavoidably." He returned the constable's gaze and waited. The man gave him a further appraising stare, then shrugged. "Well, sir, I hope you know what you're doing."

  "Perfectly well, thank you, officer," said Lane icily. "Now, perhaps you can give me some idea of when the case is likely to be heard?"

  The man shrugged slightly once again, and said, "You're second in the guilty’ pleas list." He consulted the notice for a minute. "Hmm," he murmured to himself, "yes, that shouldn't take long." He turned back to Lane. "The one in front of you won't take all that long. It's old Pennington today - that's the judge. He doesn't hang about if he can help it. Give it, maybe say, half an hour. Yeah, I'd say about ten-thirty. You'll be on then or soon after."

  "Thank you," said Lane, and he took Jamie by the shoulder and led him to the door the man had indicated. The door swung soundlessly back, and the constable watched them curiously as they went into the courtroom. Inside Lane steered Jamie towards the rearmost bench and directed him to sit down at the end, right beside the door. Both of them looked around curiously, each a little surprised at how small and unmajestically fitted the room was.

  At the far end was a raised platform running the width of the room, panelled in front in some light, honey-coloured wood. Above it they could see the high backs of three chairs of antique design in anomalous dark wood, and above the central and most ornately carved of these was a relief of the royal arms. This and a scarlet curtain round some alcove at one end of the wall behind the chairs were almost the only splashes of colour relieving the pine-wood monotony.

  Around the remaining parts of the room were various booths and boxes of different shapes and sizes. In one of them a nondescript-looking man in early middle age, wearing a dark suit and a blue-striped shirt with a plain white collar, was sorting a mass of papers. A yellowing, moth-eaten looking wig was hung askew on the corner of the box he sat in. He took no notice of them. "A barrister," murmured Lane to Jamie, seeing him looking at the man with interest. He glanced at his watch. "Jamie," he said in a low voice, "we're very early. Would you like to go and have a coffee?"

  Jamie had never been in a court before - nor, for that matter, had Lane - and his interest in the surroundings had enabled him to forget for a moment that he was feeling sick and trembly with apprehension. Lane's enquiry reminded him of the fact. "N-no, thank you, sir," he muttered, looking greenish. Lane stared hard at him. "Are you sure you want to go on with this, Jamie, my boy?" he asked, feeling slightly infected by Jamie's tension himself. "If you're not feeling well..."

  Jamie shook his head, gulped and swallowed hard. "I... I'll be all right, sir. Honestly. I don't feel too good, but I've got to stay. I've got to," he repeated, fiercely. "I couldn't let Chris think I'd deserted." Lane looked hard at him once more, but saw the determination in his face, and nodded. "Of course," he said simply.

  He left Jamie to recover for a few minutes, then, in an attempt to take his mind off his feelings, began pointing to the various boxes, guessing from their size what their functions might be. "You know, Jamie, I'd never thought of this before, but we ought to give some elementary instruction in English law at school. Here am I, a headmaster of nearly twenty years' standing, and I'm having to guess which box is which in a perfectly ordinary courtroom. Ignorance of the law is no defence, Jamie, yet how many of our boys - or any other schoolboys, for that matter, possess the most elementary knowledge of their own country's legal system? Hardly one in a thousand, I'd suspect. I must look into that." He pulled a small diary from his inside pocket and made a note. Jamie looked a little better, and Lane, encouraged, talked to him until a few people began to come in and occupy various positions round the room.

  By a few minutes to ten the room was fairly full. The man with the papers had transferred his scruffy wig from the corner post of the box to the back of his head, where it sat crookedly, looking scru
ffier than ever above his neat clothes. He had also put on an equally scruffy black gown. Jamie thought he looked terrifying. There were other barristers in the same part of the room. Some of them looked hardly older than Christopher, he thought, and immediately began to feel sick with fear once more. He swallowed several times, set his teeth and took a determined interest in the other people, all of whom seemed to be men in dark suits. His own royal blue blazer was the only bit of variety in the room.

  At ten o'clock the red curtain was suddenly swept aside and yet another dark-suited man stepped through it. "Court rise," he called in an incongruously loud bellow, making Jamie jump. He held the curtain back deferentially, and the judge stepped through. He was a small, slender man of about Dr Lane's age, with sharp features, not unkindly looking, and horn-rimmed glasses, but Jamie hardly saw his face at all in his first sight of the scarlet robe with its ermine trim and black sash. His wig was even dirtier than that of the middle-aged barrister. The barrister, Jamie thought, glancing back and forth between him and the judge, was the merest beginner in looking terrifying. Jamie trembled at the thought of Christopher having to face so fearsome a vision.

  The first case was called. Jamie found it very difficult to follow. Someone called something loudly, and several more people filed into the room. Various people uttered unintelligible jargon, mostly addressing the judge. "Charge of burglary, my lord," said someone, and a slim, ordinary looking man of about twenty-five was brought in between two prison officers. He was steered into another box, facing the judge. Jamie goggled at him. He had never thought consciously what a burglar looked like. Seeing one for the first time he felt a twinge of disappointment that he looked so utterly indistinguishable from any other young man.

  The case was over in twenty minutes. Jamie had understood almost nothing of what had taken place, and Dr Lane, who had been watching with a fascination little less than Jamie's own, had gathered very little more. Everything seemed to happen extremely quickly, and few of the voices could be heard clearly at the back of the room. In the end everyone was silent and the judge spoke for almost the first time. Jamie was a little surprised to hear that, though he was perhaps better-spoken than the average person, he had an ordinary, human voice. His voice could be heard at the back. He asked the young man if he had anything to say, and a lawyer spoke briefly and, apparently, from the little they could hear, intensely to the judge. The judge heard him without any apparent emotion, and he sat down.

  "John Mason, you have pleaded guilty to three counts of burglary with intent to steal. I don't intend to waste much time on you. You are a feckless, reckless young man and you clearly have no scruple about following a path of crime whatsoever. You are a professional criminal - not a very successful one, to judge by your record, which for a man of your age is appalling - but a professional never the less. As such I take it that you regard a prison sentence as just another occupational hazard. It has been urged in your behalf that you never resort to violence, and that you never carry any kind of weapon. Well, I take that into account. If you did so, no doubt the charges against you would have been of aggravated burglary, and the sentence of this court would have been a lot heavier. As it is, you will go to prison for five years." The judge made a small motion with his hand, and the prison officers escorted the young man out of the room. Jamie shut his eyes, feeling sick with fear.

  A door swung, and Jamie opened his eyes in time to see Christopher enter through the door by which the burglar had left, with Hope-Thomson beside him. His face, normally pale, was a greenish, fish-belly white, and there were deep black circles under his eyes. Jamie's heart throbbed, and his stomach heaved violently. He fought all his feelings down, and was glad he had done so, for Christopher's eyes, darting round the room, lit on him, and for a fraction of a second a little brightness flashed across his face. He was directed into the dock and stood there, even more youthful than its late occupant Jamie could clearly see that he was trembling all over There was more mumbling from dark-suited men. Then, to Jamie's dismay, the barrister with the yellow wig stood up and began to speak. Apart from the judge, he was the first person whose voice had carried clearly to the back. Lane looked sharply down at Jamie, and kept a close eye on the boy as the barrister addressed the judge.

  Speaking in a rather sneering, high-pitched voice, he described the details of the meetings between Christopher and Jamie, at first in general terms, and then dwelling on "the beginnings of intimacy, at first, it is believed, M'lud, of a purely affectionate nature. It soon developed, however, M'lud, into something far more than affectionate, and far less than pure. It is not certain, M'lud, when precisely this - ah -this affair took on an overtly sexual aspect, but certain it is that it did so, and very quickly. There is no doubt that it did so at the instigation of the prisoner. The fault, in other words, M'lud, was entirely his. The other boy was the blameless dupe and victim of an older and more sophisticated man."

  Jamie began, unconsciously, to rise from the bench, and his mouth opened. "I..." he began to say, but Lane, who had been watching him very closely, was ready for just such a thing. He threw his arm round Jamie's shoulders, forcing him back into his seat and at the same instant clamping his hand over Jamie's mouth. Jamie's eyes swivelled up towards him, and Lane felt a wave of great pity. The boy looked like a terrified animal. He squirmed briefly in Lane's vice-like hold, then subsided.

  Lane glanced rapidly round the room, and was vastly relieved to see that no one seemed to have noticed. He thought he had acted so fast that Jamie's anguished squeak of protest had been strangled before anyone could hear, and breathed silent thanks. Hardening his heart, he glared ferociously at Jamie and mouthed "Silence" at him. Some of the fear ebbed out of the boy's eyes, and he nodded his head. Lane released him and bent to whisper urgently in his ear. Jamie, white-faced, looked guiltily up at him and nodded once more. They turned their attention back to the barrister, who was still recounting the details, as far as they were known, of the sexual encounters between the boys.

  "...at least two occasions when full sexual intercourse, per anum, M'lud, took place. Those are also admitted in Rowe's statement to the police, and they are the substance of the charges of buggery to which he has pleaded guilty." He paused and looked down at his bundle of papers, rifled through them and turned to a general description of Christopher's character, home life and biography. After fifteen minutes of continuous speech he sat down. The judge looked neutrally round the room. He looked at Christopher with no more expression that he gave anyone else, but Lane had a faint and uneasy impression that his gaze did rest on himself and Jamie for rather longer than it rested anywhere else. All he said, however, was, "Yes. Thank you, Mr Raeburn. Yes, Mr Compton?"

  At this another barrister rose to his feet. Jamie saw that he was much younger than the other man, with a much whiter, neater wig and gown. Jamie's heart sank. It rose, however, when the young man started to speak. He spoke quite clearly, and to Jamie's incomprehension did not appear at all nervous.

  "My lord," he said, "my client has pleaded guilty to the charges, as he was quite properly advised to do. His statement to the local police was made entirely voluntarily, and we accept it without question. Indeed, My lord, I'm told that he made a favourable impression on the police officer in charge of the case, Detective Sergeant Bly. He gave every impression of being positively anxious to be helpful to the police." He paused, but the judge only murmured, "Go on, Mr Compton.''

  "If your lordship pleases," said Compton suavely. Jamie decided he trusted him. "My lord, the impression that my client made particularly vividly on Detective Sergeant Bly was that he was most anxious that he do nothing whatever to the detriment of the other boy in the case, James Potten." The judge looked sharply up, raising his eyebrows. "You say he wished to do nothing to the other boy's detriment, Mr Compton Hadn't he already done that, and done a great deal? Isn't that what he's pleaded guilty to?" Jamie's spirits plummeted so far down that a swathe of blackness passed in front of his eyes. A moment late
r they rose with equal rapidity as the young barrister dealt with the judge's interjection.

  "With respect, my lord, there is a great deal more to it than that. My learned friend has stated, with the total certainty that rightly belongs only to the realm of fact, that my client was the prime mover in all that occurred between him and the boy Potten. He has stated, quite categorically, that my client was entirely responsible for the affair between the two boys, entirely responsible for initiating the sexual dimension of the affair. I emphasise, my lord, my learned friend has stated all that as if it were fact."

  "I heard him say so quite well myself, Mr Compton," said the judge drily, and Jamie's heart sank once more, only to rise yet again with Compton's next words.

  "If your lordship pleases. But, my lord, my learned friend was wrong to say so. That, with respect, is the point." He stopped speaking and rummaged for a long moment among a bundle of papers beside him. The judge watched him, with, Jamie thought in a further bout of despair, gathering irritation on his face. Just as the tension was becoming unbearable to him, Compton straightened, and held aloft a sheaf of paper. Jamie's heart did a small somersault as he saw that the top sheet was covered with his own distinctive handwriting. He swallowed desperately, trying to force down the large lump that had formed in his throat and was threatening to choke him.

  "This, my lord," said Compton easily, "is a statement. Or rather, to be more precise, my lord, it is an affidavit, made and signed before a solicitor." He paused once more, then, just as the judge's mouth was opening, he continued. "It is the affidavit, my lord, of James Kieran Potten." There was a hiss of breath from somewhere in the court, he could not say precisely where.

  "It is dated the twentieth of last month, my lord. It is in James Potten's own hand, and it is signed by him. With your consent, my lord, I wish to read it in its entirety to the court." The judge looked at him speculatively. Even from the back of the room Jamie and Lane could see that there was a look of interest on his face that had been absent before. Jamie looked towards the dock; and a few moments later, as if by some telepathy, Christopher looked round at him and gave him a valiant effort at a smile. It almost melted Jamie's heart. Dr Lane also, in that moment, forgot the nagging core of resentment towards Christopher and felt a wave of pity wash over him.