The Little Shop of Found Things--A Novel

by Paula Brackston

  Samuel checked his pocket watch. “It is near ten. We must be at the courthouse in a matter of minutes.” He banged on the ceiling of the carriage and shouted up to the driver, “With all haste, Mannering, if you please!” The horses duly lunged forward at a reckless pace, sending pedestrians and slower conveyances scattering and drawing more than a few bursts of swearing and fist waving. Xanthe saw two men abandon their handcarts to throw punches at each other, and another get shoved into a stall of apples.

  “Road rage seventeenth-century style,” she muttered to herself.

  They passed along increasingly crowded streets, one skirting the market square. Here occupied stocks and a grim-looking whipping post served as reminders of the very real fates of people who passed through the justice system. She looked around for a gibbet and was relieved not to find any. The courthouse itself was a nondescript building, squat and square and solid, with wide steps leading up to heavy front doors. The driver brought the blowing horses to a halt right outside it, and Samuel helped Xanthe from the carriage. She took his arm and they hurried inside.

  The trials were already underway and they had to force their way through the crowds in the public gallery, paying a couple at the front for their seats. Xanthe parried flashbacks to her own court appearance; she could not allow herself to revisit her ordeal now. She must keep her mind focused on Alice. The room was large with a high ceiling but felt somehow cramped and stifling; there were so many people crammed into it. The smells of the city faded here to be replaced by the reek of sweat and unwashed bodies. There was a low-level murmuring that kept up the whole time, with occasional hushes to listen to a grisly detail of a murder or hear the testimony of an interesting witness, whose words were often greeted with jibes and ridicule until the court usher restored order. Below the upper gallery where Xanthe and Samuel were sitting, the business area of the court was laid out, leaving no one in any doubt as to where the power lay. The judge, complete with wig and robes, sat on a raised platform behind a high desk, his enormous chair ornately carved and the clerks on either side of him all wearing the same dour expressions. The floor of the room housed something like box pews for the lawyers and court administrators. There was a witness box, and at the back, looking more like an animal pen than anything else, was a wooden partition with bars at the sides where the accused were kept. There must have been thirty of them squashed in together. As their names were read out, they shuffled through to the front for their own case to be heard.

  “There she is,” Xanthe whispered to Samuel, tugging at his sleeve and pointing. Alice was in the middle of the bunch, pressed up against the filthy and the desperate, most of them men, some looking heartbreakingly young, others decayed from old age, hardship, drink, or a combination of all three. Alice herself looked thinner, older, world weary, as if she no longer cared what happened to her, so long as it all came to an end. As Xanthe watched her Alice looked up and caught sight of her and Samuel. Xanthe smiled at her, raising her hand, trying to signal that she should not give up. That they were there to support her. But Alice recoiled at the sight of her, shaking her head and backing away, trying to hide among the crush of bodies in the dock. She was frightened of her. But why? She did not know her, but she knew that Xanthe wanted to help her. Xanthe had hoped she would have believed her when she told her that, would have had time to think about what she said and decided to trust her. It seemed the opposite was true.

  “Oh, poor Alice,” she said. “She is so frightened. She thinks I will make things worse for her.” She recalled what Alice had told her about being condemned as a traitor instead of a thief, and of what punishment that would mean. No wonder she was terrified. What if she had reason to be? What if Xanthe did make things worse? “We must be careful, Samuel.” She looked up at him. “Are we sure this is going to work?”

  Samuel did not answer, but reached down and took her hand in his. He squeezed it, and their fingers interlaced. It was not a passing gesture of reassurance, it was a declaration; they were in this together. Alice had Xanthe, and she had Samuel, and they would do what they could.

  22

  “Alice Merton? Stand forward, Alice Merton!” The court official called her into view in the dock and announced her trial. “Let the accused make herself known!” When she appeared from the ragged group he gave the details. “Alice Merton you do stand accused of the theft of two items of silver, being a scissors and needle case from the chatelaine of Mistress Lovewell of Great Chalfield, in the district of north Wiltshire. How do you plead?”

  The gathering in the court room quietened, waiting for her response. When none came that quiet grew first restless, then charged.

  The court official tried again.

  “Your plea girl, let us have it, do you admit your guilt or claim to be innocent of the charge made?”

  Samuel whispered at Xanthe. “She must enter a plea!”

  “But, can’t she stay silent? I mean, she’s damned whatever she pleas, perhaps she’s right to say nothing,” she suggested.

  “No.” Samuel glanced down at her. “If she refuses to speak she risks peine forte et dure. Did not your scholarly friend tell you of this? A person might choose silence to protect others connected to them from also being charged, but they pay a terrible price.”

  She did remember then reading of this punishment while searching the internet, and the memory of even the brief description of the punishment made her catch her breath. The convicted person was made to lie down facing upward with a large board placed on them. Stones were then put on top of the board, more and more of them, the person underneath being crushed slowly to death. To make the punishment even more cruel, a sharp, pointed stone was positioned underneath the wretched convict’s spine. Why would Alice risk such a horrendous death? Who was she trying to protect? It was no wonder the crowd was getting agitated.

  The judge leaned forward, his hands clasped in front of him. He looked very old, his face puffy and fat, his eyes cloudy. He did not have the appearance of a well man. He looked as if he had grown heavy and breathless from a life of overindulgence, but perhaps the task of sending people to such awful fates had also taken its toll. Perhaps he was a just person, struggling with an unjust system. Would he see fairness done for Alice? Xanthe held tight to this small bright hope.

  “Mistress Merton,” he said slowly, his voice also showing signs of age and frailty, “you are required to enter a plea. The charge of theft is a serious one. I understand the items were valued at some—” He paused, consulting with an aide to his left, and then went on. “—a considerable sum, running to several pounds. In which case the charge is one of grand larceny. Do not make a bad situation worse for yourself, child. You must surely be aware of the possible consequences of your refusal to speak.”

  In the hush that followed, Xanthe was amazed to hear Samuel’s voice.

  “Be not afraid, Mistress Merton,” he called out to her. “Let the truth be your protection.”

  She looked at him then, and Xanthe could tell in that instant that they knew one another. Was it Samuel she was trying to protect with her silence? He and his family had been cautious in admitting they knew her, but Samuel had confessed to Xanthe that they were Catholics themselves. Alice knew only too well what fate might await them if she gave them away somehow. The poor girl seemed lost for a moment and then at last she coughed lightly, struggling to find her hoarse, faint voice. She stood as straight as she was able, holding on to the top of the partition in front of her, and said, “Guilty, my lord. I plead guilty.”

  “No!” Xanthe whispered urgently to Samuel. “She can’t do that.”

  “If it please you, my lord,” the prosecutor went on, “the accused offered no defense before the trial and has now spoken only to confirm her guilt. In as much, she has confessed to the theft of valuable and personal silver items from Mistress Lovewell and has offered neither a reason for this act, nor has she returned the stolen pieces.”

  The judged puffed and frowned. “And has mo
ney been found on the girl or among her possessions?”

  “It has not, my lord. We assume she has secreted the stolen objects in a place from which she later intended recovering them for the purpose of selling them on.”

  The judge gave a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl. “We cannot have assumption, Master Howard, can we now? Let us concern ourselves solely with the facts.”

  “Indeed, my lord, and they are these: that Alice Merton did feloniously and deceitfully rob her mistress of her property for her own personal gain and enrichment, and this despite the Lovewell family having shown the girl every kindness after she found herself in reduced, and not to say scandalous, circumstances.”

  “Is that so?” The judge turned again to his aide, who whispered in his ear, presumably filling him in on the way that Alice had lost her family. He gave another grunt and then peered over his glasses at her.

  “Why’d you do it, girl?” he asked her baldly. “You were not, by all accounts, poorly treated, so had no need to go elsewhere. Why would you bite the very hand that so generously fed you?”

  The prosecutor detected a softening on the judge’s part and was having none of it. “If I may, my lord … There was some talk of an elopement.”

  Alice looked appalled at this piece of nonsense but still did not speak out.

  The prosecutor went on. “The girl sought to buy her way out of servitude and take off with a man—we do not have a name—so throwing away what remained of her reputation, her family name already having been ruined.”

  “He’s lying,” Xanthe insisted under her breath.

  The judge nodded slowly. He looked at Alice, and Xanthe believed she saw sadness in his expression then, for what could he do but condemn her? “Mistress Merton, you have owned your guilt, the crime of which you are guilty carries a grave penalty, and though it gives me no joy to pass such judgment upon a young woman, I cannot allow sentiment to blunt the sword of justice. The law is clear on the matter.”

  Samuel squeezed Xanthe’s hand before letting it go and jumping to his feet. The moment to put their plan into action had come.

  “My lord, on behalf of the accused, I claim Benefit of Clergy!” he announced.

  This statement brought first incredulous gasps and then ribald laughter from everyone in the gallery and even many of the court officials. The prosecutor raised and dropped his arms in a gesture of disbelief. Alice turned to look at Samuel, astonished by his words.

  The judge banged his gavel on his desk, demanding silence. “Benefit of Clergy?” he repeated, frowning. “Sir, are you intent on making a mockery of this court?”

  “No, my lord, on the contrary, I wish only to avail Mistress Merton of the law, and there is a law that states should a person be able to read a passage from the Bible they may be tried not by the crown, but by the church. None other than the bishop can pass judgment and sentence upon them. Is that not the case?”

  The judge was not pleased at having his own authority brought into question. “You know full well that it is, Master…?”

  “Appleby, my lord. Samuel Appleby of Marlborough.”

  “Well, Master Appleby, it may have escaped your scrutiny, but the law which you cite applies to men alone. Some exceptions were made for nuns, it is true, but the practice was stopped many years ago. As women are not permitted to be members of the clergy they do not fall, under such circumstances as these, beneath the auspices of the church nor the jurisdiction of the bishop.”

  “With respect, my lord, I believe the law is open to interpretation as regards the sex of the offender. Might we not take ‘man’ in this instance to refer to ‘mankind’?”

  There was a murmur of confusion in the public gallery. The prosecutor was shaking his head. The judge sat back in his chair, his aides hastening to look things up in their hefty law books. It was a long shot, both Samuel and Xanthe knew it, but they had no alternative to try. The punishment a bishop would be compelled to pass down was not execution; it was more likely a year’s imprisonment and possibly a branding of the left hand. It was cruel, but at least her life would be spared. And therefore Flora’s, too.

  The prosecutor was on his feet again. “My lord, is this … person,” he asked, waving his hand dismissively at Samuel, “to be permitted to ridicule his majesty’s court and its processes? The law is quite clear; only a man may be a member of the clergy—a clergyman. To suggest that a woman may benefit from this law is to show disrespect to monarch and church both.”

  Xanthe got to her feet, taking Samuel’s arm. “Tell them she can read,” she reminded him.

  Samuel kept his voice level, refusing to be riled by the prosecutor. “Mistress Merton can read the Bible, my lord. That is what is required. Please, let her do so. It may be the passage of your own choosing.”

  The judge raised his eyebrows. “Oh? I am to be permitted choice in the matter? How very generous of you.” He sighed. “I shall allow the accused to read. Have a Bible passed to her,” he instructed the court usher.

  Xanthe watched as the worn leather-bound book was handed to Alice. Alice looked up at her with such fear in her eyes that for a moment Xanthe feared that she might not, in fact, be able to read. But no, she was originally from a wealthy family. She must have received sufficient schooling to read a passage.

  The judge nodded at Alice. “The book of Genesis will do well enough, mistress,” he told her.

  The room was the quietest it had been all morning. Alice turned the pages until she found the right place and then, slowly, haltingly, but with growing confidence, she began to read. Everyone listened, some no doubt hoping she would fail, but she did not. She read on, clearly, calmly. At last the judge held up his hand.

  “That will suffice, thank you.”

  The usher took the Bible from her, and all waited. The judge did not confer further with his aides but sat deep in thought for a moment. Again Xanthe was taken back to her own trial, to that moment before a verdict is passed and then a sentence given, where one’s life is in the hands of others, to crush in a moment if they see fit. She thought of her mother then and of how she must have felt watching her precious daughter have her fate decided in just such a way.

  Finally, the judge squared his shoulders and gave his judgment.

  “The passage was read well enough. There is no doubt in my mind that we have before us a godly and learned woman. She has indeed fulfilled the requirement of the law as it pertains to claiming Benefit of Clergy.” There were mutterings around the room. Samuel took hold of Xanthe’s hand again. “However,” he went on, “there is no precedent for applying this law to a woman in our time if she be not resident in a nunnery, and I am not convinced there is reason enough to set one here. In which case, the accused having confessed her guilt, I cannot do other than pass sentence upon her. Theft from an employer is a matter not to be taken lightly. When that employer is a family of note—supporters of the crown, upholders of the laws of the land, and providers of work—a crime against them is, de facto, a crime against the order of things in this land. To break that trust, to steal property, is a serious offense. The law asks for capital punishment for the crime of grand larceny, death by hanging, but I am minded toward leniency, taking into account the established pious nature of the accused, and the sincerity of those who have spoken for her. I therefore commute the sentence; she shall not hang, but shall be placed upon the next available vessel for transportation to the new penal colonies in his majesty’s settlements in America. There she shall remain to serve a term of fifteen years.” He rapped his gavel twice more and called for the next case.

  As Xanthe watched, helpless and stunned, Alice was jostled by the others in the dock, turning her tear-stained face toward her and Samuel as she was led away.

  23

  They had gone to Salisbury to rescue Alice, and they had failed. Nothing Samuel said could make Xanthe feel any less guilty, any less frantic about what Margaret Merton might do to her mother. She let him lead her out of the courthouse and to
the waiting carriage. She sat heavily, staring at him as he took his place opposite her. The driver sang out to the horses and they lurched forward into the melee of the town traffic.

  “I should have done something more,” she said. “Something, anything, to stop them dragging her away like that. Back to some awful cell.”

  “You did what you could, Xanthe. If there is another way of securing her freedom I do not know of it.” He sat regarding her closely as the carriage rattled and rocked, the driver having been told to get them home as quickly as he could. There was no real hurry, but she knew Samuel wanted her away from the courthouse. She was struggling to hide how desperate she felt, and he might well fear that she would do something reckless.

  “You don’t understand,” she told him. “I can’t just leave her. Fifteen years in a penal colony? She’d never live through it. Have you any idea how terrible those places are? Most people struggle to survive the sea voyage, they are transported in such appalling conditions. By the time they reach America they are already weakened and often ill. They live there in filthy conditions on near starvation rations and are put to hard labor. There’s precious little medical care … just hard work and dangerous places to exist and outbreaks of disease. They are just used until they drop. It will kill her, don’t you see that? Transportation is every bit as much a death sentence as hanging!”