The Vice Of Virtue (A Poor Man At The Gate Series Book 10)

by Andrew Wareham

  Swearing an oath was unlawful except in pursuance of legal process such as joining the army or navy or giving evidence in court. The question arose of how they would ‘stop’ blacklegs from taking their jobs; the answer was the use of force.

  Mark intervened as ‘friend’, asked if any violence had actually eventuated, was assured there had been none. The prosecution accepted that violence had only been inferred and that they could not show it had actually been planned on any specific occasion.

  Following the direct evidence given by the pair, the prosecution presented a number of documents discovered in the possession of the man identified as the union convenor; seventeen identical handwritten sheets containing the pledge of loyalty to the union, all in the same writing and with a scrawled signature or mark at the bottom.

  Mark was unimpressed – he needed more than a piece of paper.

  “Have you evidence that each of the named men actually read and understood the document, sir?”

  The prosecutor had not, and nor could he be sure that the men were literate or that the document had been explained to them.

  “The signatures are unwitnessed, sir. Have you evidence to adduce in their support?”

  The prosecutor could not produce independent evidence that the written oaths were genuine, begged to withdraw them from the court. Mark refused his request – the exhibits had been presented and must remain part of the prosecution’s case.

  The prosecution rested and Mark addressed the jury on behalf of the accused – they had no barrister and were not permitted to give evidence on their own behalf. He made the point to the jury that the case against them came from the two who had turned King’s Evidence; the jury must consider whether such self-interested men could be trusted.

  He followed this address with his summing-up, made as the neutral, disinterested judge.

  The jury returned verdicts of ‘Guilty’ on the taking of an unlawful oath, cleared the men of conspiracy to commit acts of violence.

  Mark recessed the court for a midday break before proceeding to sentence; he had hoped that the jury might find the case insufficiently proved and return a reluctant ‘Not Guilty’ and let him off the hook.

  He spoke with the magistrates observing the proceedings, briefly explained that he had a range of sentences available to him.

  “The death penalty is actually available in this case, gentlemen. I would apply it only if violence on a serious scale had eventuated and if I was convinced that the defendants had intended, or been willing, to commit murder in pursuance of their aims. Transportation for seven years would be more normal – but there has been no violence of any sort, no actual threat made to any individual, and I am not even wholly certain that the bulk of the men knew exactly what they were doing.”

  They nodded uncertainly – what they had seen of the case they had not liked.

  “These are not bloody-handed revolutionaries, your lordship.”

  Attitudes had changed in the decade since Peterloo and a minority at least of the county gentry was in favour of conciliation of the Great Unwashed.

  “I agree, sir. Shall we return to the court?”

  Mark dealt with the pair who had turned Evidence first, giving them an Absolute Discharge, sending them away as free men but reminding them that they had been convicted and that a second offence must lead to the most serious of sentences.

  “I would hang them without second thought if they came in front of me again – having once betrayed their confederates for their own advantage,” he murmured to the observers.

  Fourteen of those remaining he addressed by name, informing them that it was not improbable that they were misled rather than malicious.

  “The swearing of an oath is the most serious of proceedings, you must understand, and may not be undertaken in pursuit of casual dispute with your employer. You have been held in prison awaiting trial for four months. I sentence you to thirty days imprisonment and you are therefore discharged from custody with immediate effect.”

  They were led away, in silent amaze as they had expected the worst, leaving behind their convenor.

  “You are an educated man, sir – cannot claim ignorance of the law. I believe that you led these unfortunate men astray, taking advantage of their credulity, writing out the unlawful oath and to an extent coercing them to sign. You will go to Transportation for seven years.”

  The magistrates all agreed that justice had been tempered with mercy – that a very worthy example had been set to the local people.

  “Add to that, m’lud, he was a very strange-looking sort of a chap – not very manly, I thought.”

  Open deviation from the sexual norm was also less tolerated of the past few years; Mark was inclined to put the blame on the Methodists – their preachers were becoming increasingly obtrusive in the field of public morality. Wise men now took pains to assert a public masculinity – the moustache was coming into fashion and more than a few sported beards.

  “Better in the Antipodes than making mischief here, I believe, gentlemen.”

  Mark attended a public dinner next evening, the annual celebration of the burgesses of the town. The worthies of the county were all assembled and several made reference to the trial and its entirely happy outcome.

  “Severity for those who deserve it, sir, and mercy wherever possible. A watchword that all may note and endeavour to emulate, I believe.”

  Mark bowed in acknowledgement – it would not have been appropriate for a High Court judge to have made public comment on a case. He was well aware that the message would very soon reach the Lord Chancellor that he was a politically very desirable character. Translation to the Courts in London might soon be expected, followed by appointment to a higher position, possibly even in Chancery where the most famous and notorious of judges sat.

  Mark continued his progress about the north-west, bringing justice in the form of the assizes to every significant town north of Manchester and south of the Scottish border. He endeavoured to exercise reasonable clemency but discovered after three months that he had donned the black cap more than fifty times and had sent two hundred men, and a dozen women, to transportation. Four of those he had ordered to capital punishment actually hanged, the rest going overseas for life.

  “Things are getting better, you know, Mullin,” he commented to his personal clerk, third to hold the post in as many years. “When first I went on circuit of oyer and terminer I sentenced more than one hundred to the rope and at least twenty of them actually swung. The country is far less violent than it was used to be.”

  Mullin reflected that it was possible the judge was less bloody-minded than he had been, but knew better than to comment. He had noted with some interest that his lordship, whose sexual orthodoxy he suspected, was far more likely to offer the most severe punishment to any criminal who seemed to be of like persuasion. He was mildly amused, but again was far too old a hand to speak of what he had seen.

  “I suspect that the soldiers who came home from the wars have all settled down, my lord; that and the great push towards emigration that we have lately seen to remove many of the restless from our shores. As well, the country itself appears to be more religious of late, my lord, the churches more inclined to speak out and offer a gracious example to the people.”

  “Not perhaps to include my ungracious brother, Mullin!”

  “The Church Militant has long had a role to play, my lord,” Mullin tactfully offered.

  “Possibly so, sir. You may well be right. I suspect that I might be well advised to make a show of piety when dwelling in my own house. The parish church should see me every Sunday.”

  “It is increasingly the thing to do, my lord. I believe Lord Star to be unfailing in his observance, my lord.”

  “And I should follow my brother’s example, you think. Church of England it must be for me, though I believe my brother inclines toward the Chapel.”

  The clerk agreed that a judge must be seen in the Established Church.

 
The dowager Lady Andrews would have agreed – certain positions demanded an absolute conventionality of the fortunate person. She returned from attendance at divine service in Cromer conscious that she had performed her duty but inwardly fuming at the tedious, prolix pomposity of the sermon she had just endured. The rector had been moved to pray for the well-being of their sovereign lord, the King, whose health had recently been reported to be in decline; he had adjured his congregation to behave virtuously so as to make their monarch proud of his subjects.

  “Damned fool of a man knows nothing of Georgie-Porgie, that’s for sure!”

  The butler bowed his head in grave assent.

  “Tea, your ladyship? A bowl of soup, perhaps? The wind off the sea is quite keen even in springtime, ma’am.”

  “An excellent idea! Thank you.”

  The dowager sat down with her daughter, listening to her read from her own story book, deeply approving of her progress. She was a bright girl, much to her mother’s pleasure.

  “Shall we go to Dorset soon, Verity?”

  The little girl did not know where Dorset might be, but was very happy to travel, if that was what Mama wanted.

  “A dog as well, now that you are old enough. I think you should have a puppy of your own, to keep you company. Shall we inspect the garden?”

  The tedium of country life did not sit well with Frances. Bracing sea air was all very well, and there was much to be said for the English spring, but remarkably little actually happened.

  Letters arrived next day, to her pleasure.

  “From Mr Joseph Andrews, in person! What can have moved him to set pen to paper?”

  Verity had no answer to make.

  “Marrying again – so he should! Miss Markham? Jersey clan, I believe… the mother is a cousin of some sort to Silence. Not too much money – which does not matter to us, my dear – but a great deal of influence, which does. To marry next month, my presence much desired – very good of him!”

  She rang the bell, waited a very few seconds for the butler.

  “Is there any reason why we should not translate ourselves to Town on, say, Friday?”

  “I will send a message to the housekeeper at the Town house, your ladyship.”

  There was much to be said for an efficient butler. Who was the second letter from?

  “Mr James Andrews – he is another of your grown-up brothers, my dear, and, again, not the most enthusiastic of correspondents. What has he to tell me?”

  She read in silence, scowled mightily.

  “Your cousin, a little removed, Lord Rothwell, is to marry Lord Massingham’s daughter, my dear. As you grow older you will discover that even the cleverest of men can behave very foolishly on occasion – but it is not easy to conceive of a greater act of stupidity than that!”

  Verity did not understand.

  “I will explain when you are older, little one. For the while I shall make sure that you are very rarely in the lady’s company – you will receive no opportunity to learn from her!”

  Verity still did not understand, and was very little interested in the doings of largely unknown adult personages.

  “We shall go to the London house and stay there for a month or so. If there are puppies we shall then go to Thingdon Hall.”

  “And Dor-Set, mama?”

  “We must go later in the summer and stay a few weeks. I think you should meet some of your other relatives there. Really, we must soon go to Lancashire as well, for you are hardly known to the Stars, and that you must be. I wonder, should we go to America in a year or two?”

  Verity had no answer to that question.

  In the end Frances thought not, she had no overwhelming desire to take to the sea again, and the little she knew of Mr Henry Star inclined her to stay clear of him.

  The knocker was placed on the door of Frances’ town-house and she accompanied her two sons-by-marriage to their festivity of the evening, dancing for the first time since she was widowed and thoroughly enjoying herself.

  Invitations soon arrived in her own right and she found that she could take part in Society again, that her self-imposed seclusion could be ended. She would remain in the public eye, she concluded, but she had no wish at all to indulge in even the lightest flirtation; she had returned to the single state and would, she felt, stay there.

  Even so, it was a pleasure to dress again and to consider her appearance and to meet with her peers.

  She made the acquaintance of Joseph’s wife-to-be and was not displeased with her. Miss Markham would do for him and would grace the family – a sensible, sufficiently intelligent young woman and not without a sense of humour. She would need to be able to laugh, Frances reflected, married to Joseph. She must definitely pay a longish visit to Lancashire later in the year, staying for a week or two with Joseph so as to give the poor girl a sympathetic ear.

  “I imagine that you will have to find an occupation for your days, Miss Markham? I understand that Joseph’s acquaintance with Lancashire society is limited.”

  “He is in process, he informs me, ma’am, of purchasing a new and larger house, with substantial gardens. I suspect that will keep me busy for some little time.”

  “It will indeed! Joseph will be quite incapable of noticing changes to his domestic environment and is in fact quite indifferent to it. Was it left to him he would purchase a bed, a dining table and two chairs and believe he was wholly equipped for life, provided he could translate his workroom unchanged from one house to the other.”

  Miss Markham nodded, amused rather than upset by the prospect.

  “If I might advise you, my dear? Lady Star, my lord’s wife, is by way of being an enthusiast in the way of gardens and parks. She will be able to guide you to the better local suppliers of your needs.”

  “I do not believe I have met either my lord or his lady, Lady Andrews.”

  “Neither are greatly disposed to towards a life in Society, and their children are a decade from making an appearance. They will almost certainly be present at your wedding, my dear, having been very close to Joseph in particular.”

  “Yes… Joseph’s first wife was the youngest sister, was she not?”

  Miss Markham knew almost nothing of Mary, other than her name, and not unnaturally was inquisitive.

  “A highly intelligent young lady of average good looks and small interest in Society, her all bound up in Joseph: she was a managing, busy little girl! One might argue that Joseph needs a body to look after him, that he is hardly fit to be let out of doors on his own – yet there is reason in all things. She discovered, I believe, that Joseph was very willing to allow his everyday life to be organised for him, but he would not be bullied into doing all that she determined was best for him. Whether he loved her, I could never decide, but she lived only for him, or for her image of him; I have wondered whether in fact she turned her face to the wall and died because she believed she had failed him. She was a strange girl in many ways – I never understood her and, I must confess, I could never develop any great liking for her!”

  “A pity, ma’am. Following in her footsteps must provide me with a few difficulties…”

  “Be yourself, my dear – you cannot remake your personality to fit his needs, nor should you try. You can do no more than provide him with a gentleman's home and family.”

  “I do not believe that he will settle into gentlemanly conventionality, ma’am – I am not to see him as a squire in pursuit of the fox!”

  “No. Either of his brothers might follow that path, but he will not – though his sister will very definitely hope that he may. Lady Star – Charlotte, Sir Matthew’s wife – inclines much towards the conventional in outward matters and has every intention of eventually settling on her moorland estate. You will discover her to be a lady of strong character, and of ideas which she has no hesitation in sharing. You will find yourself in regular converse with her, I doubt not.”

  Miss Markham took the warning to heart - there would need be a deal of tact in her rel
ationship with the baronet's lady.

  "Do you believe that Joseph will purchase an estate, ma'am, and the title that goes with such?"

  "If you made a point of wanting him to, then he might, in order to achieve a quiet life. I would incline, personally, to make much of the new house and gardens and build your nursery and take the children to ride at Freemans or up on Sir Matthew's moors. Eventually he will notice that his children cannot keep ponies of their own in a town house - I should imagine that they will tell him so. I would expect him to be a kindly, close father - one who enjoys the company of his children - both of his brothers are, as was his own father."

  Miss Markham was silent for a while, tentatively broached the question of Joseph's fortune.

  "I know that Joseph has a large income, ma'am. Do you know just what his wealth is? My Papa has suggested huge sums in potential at least."

  "He will in all probability become as rich as his father, as his brother St Helens is. Money accrues to money, or so I understand - a man with a hundred thousand will find it quite simple to make a million; at the same time a man of equal ability who possesses one hundred will struggle to grow it into one thousand. Joseph has great intelligence and has now turned it to money-making instead of pottering with inventions."

  "You are saying that he has become a businessman rather than an engineer, ma'am?"

  "To a great extent, yes, my dear. As a boy he wanted always to be remembered for new machines to bear his name. Now, I think, he has decided to improve, to add, to make practical other men's creations. He has decided that he is not a genius, he is no Leonardo, but that he is an extremely clever man and one who can be of benefit to all of mankind, and make a very substantial profit the meanwhile."

  Miss Markham turned the conversation to her other, growing worry.

  "Lord Rothwell is a cousin, I believe, Lady Andrews - are they close?"

  Frances heard the unasked question, chose to answer fully.