by T. F. Banks
“Who was there when this particular action-the one concerning Mr. Morton-was decided upon?”
“Mr. Vaughan. Bill. Joshua. And…” Lucy seemed to try to remember. “… some of their… friends. I did not know what their names were. There were a lot of men I only saw once or twice.”
Morton finally raised his own voice. “My lords. I believe that this witness can provide extensive information about an entire criminal ring, centered in the Otter House and commanded and organised by George Vaughan. She can tell of thefts arranged, and property sold back to its owners. She can describe abductions, murders, and other crimes arranged and often even perpetrated in that house. Such detailed testimony is perhaps not necessary for our present purposes. There are two specific crimes, however, I would like her to tell you about, as they would both demonstrate the considerable range of activities practiced by Mr. Vaughan in the Otter, and shed light on two matters currently being enquired into by the Bow Street Office.”
George Vaughan was shaking his head in disgust. But Sir Nathaniel Conant seemed to have acknowledged that, at least for the moment, Morton had the upper hand.
“Proceed, sir,” the Magistrate growled.
Morton turned to Lucy, who looked up at him with the same frank and ready gaze. Morton felt a wave of intense and grateful emotion for this wonderful girl. He breathed in deeply a moment, so that this feeling did not discompose him, then smiled again at her.
“Lucy, do you remember ever seeing a man in the Otter House named Caleb Smeeton?”
She nodded. “Yes, he was there many times.”
“What was the opinion of Mr. Vaughan and Bill and the others of this Mr. Smeeton?”
“They thought him a cull. They called him Brother Hodge, or Captain Cully.”
“A cull is a fool,” Morton explained for the benefit of two of the Magistrates. “What happened to Mr. Smeeton?”
“Oh, they dished him up,” calmly replied Lucy. “They did that to people. Mr. Vaughan called it putting a man in a play.”
“What did he mean by that?” Sir Nathaniel bent forward to ask.
“I don't know, sir. But Mr. Vaughan would say, ‘I think he's earned a part onstage.’ And then the man would be arrested and hanged.”
This caused whispering among the crowd, and the panel responded as well.
Morton took up the questioning again. “So what did they do to Caleb Smeeton? Mr. Vaughan and Bill and the others?”
“They told Mr. Smeeton there was a draper's panney that would be very easy to rob, and that he could make a pot of gold. They told him the address and they gave him the crow to break open the door, and … and something else. Oh, I know: the phos bottle to light their lantern with when they were inside. They told him to bring his wife to help. Then after Mr. Smeeton had gone home, they started to laugh, and made a plan to have them caught by the Bow Street Runners. Mr. Vaughan said he would set young Mr. Presley on him. And he would get Sir Galahad to be there, too, so it would look square.”
Morton cleared his throat, his face slightly hot.
“Lucy?” Francis Beadwell said in a surprisingly soft voice. “Who was this? Sir Galahad?”
“I don't know, si-my lord. A man they didn't like, though. They often said so.”
Sir Nathaniel raised an eyebrow to Morton.
“I believe it is a reference to me, my lord,” Morton admitted, and there was a small titter through the crowd. Morton turned back to the baffled Lucy. “What happened to Mr. Smeeton, then? Did they talk about that?”
“Oh, yes, sir. He and Mrs. Smeeton were caught, just as planned. They were stretched-I mean hanged. And Mr. Vaughan told the others how much money they were going to get once the rewards were handed out. They got twice as much because there were two people. They were all very contented about that.”
“And this sort of game was played at other times, you said?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
“And did no one ever consider the fate of the folk who were hanged?” Sir William cried out suddenly.
Lucy gazed at him, a little scared by his vehemence. “No, my lord,” she said in a very soft voice.
Morton paused to let the rumbling of voices settle. He glanced at the panel. Beadwell was writing something. Sir William looked shocked and was slowly shaking his head. But it was Sir Nathaniel whose aspect most impressed. The Chief Magistrate sat motionless now, staring hard at Lucy. His face bore a look of such a depth of outrage, sorrow, and dawning recognition that Morton realised all at once that Sir Nathaniel had never truly been a cynic. He had believed, after all, in the basic decency of his officers. And what he was experiencing now was the deepest, bitterest sensation of betrayal. Morton felt his own breast fill with respect for a man who could feel such pain over the violation of trust.
“My lords,” Morton drew breath and said, “with your permission, I shall proceed to the second matter upon which this witness can shed light.”
Sir Nathaniel Conant gave him a very slight, wordless nod.
Chapter 36
Now, Lucy,” said Morton, “I'll ask you to recall to mind an evening about a fortnight past, when you were serving drinks at table in the Otter House.”
She looked attentive.
“On this particular night, a young gentleman came into the house. He was dressed in dark clothes, and you would have been taking him glasses of-”
Francis Beadwell interrupted him.
“Do not lead the witness, Mr. Morton.” The Magistrate looked to Lucy. “Did you see such a gentleman?”
“Yes, my lord. It was not a fortnight past, however. It was exactly eleven days ago. He was drinking brandy. Mr. Morton asked me about him before. But everyone in the house knew we weren't supposed to talk about him, or say he had been there.”
Beadwell looked thoughtful as he turned back to Morton. “Proceed, sir.”
“Were you the one taking drink to this gentleman, Lucy?”
“Yes, sir. He were a very stylish swell, got up like Beau Brummell, Joshua said. But I thought him rather shy, actually.”
“What was he doing there, besides drinking brandy?” Lucy looked knowledgeable, and quite pleased with herself. “He was waiting for Mr. Vaughan and another man.”
This startled even Morton. He did not quite know what to do with it. Beadwell filled the pause.
“How did you know that, girl? Did the gentleman tell you?”
“No, my lord.”
“Then how?”
“He had a paper that I read. It was a letter that said he was to go to the Otter House and wait for Mr. Vaughan.”
“You can read, child?” wondered Sir William Parsons in astonishment.
“Yes, sir. I was taught by my mamma, and by Joshua.”
“She can read, my lords,” Morton added. “I have witnessed this myself.” He turned back to Lucy. “So you overlooked this letter, and saw that it told him to wait for Mr. Vaughan?”
Lucy looked a little confused by this, and instead of answering, she nodded.
“Did this gentleman…go upstairs, Lucy? Did he go with any of the other girls?”
“No, sir. He stayed at the table the whole time.”
“Did he speak to anyone?”
She thought. “Yes, sir. For a moment. He talked to Mr. Sweets a little.”
“Mr. Sweets?”
“Oh, that's not his real name, sir! He is a fat man, who always brings candies and buns for the girls. He comes most every night.”
Morton grimaced involuntarily at this reminder of the confectioner Wardle. “How much did he drink? I mean, the young gentleman.”
“He had but three glasses of brandy, sir. I know because I took him them all.”
“Now, Lucy, was there anything special about any of these glasses of brandy?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Joshua put something in each glass.”
Now there was perfect silence.
“You saw him do this?”
“Yes, sir. I stood beside him, behind the bar, when he d
id it, sir. He told me to wait. Then he took out a little bottle and tipped some… water into the brandy, and stirred it with a spoon.”
“Did you know what that water, or liquid, was, Lucy?”
Her simple shake of the head made it clear that she still did not know, or guess.
“Did Joshua say anything about why he was doing it?”
“No, sir.”
“Had you ever seen him do this before? Add something to a man's glass?”
“No, sir.”
“Now, Lucy, and this is my very last question for you: Did you see the young gentleman after he drank his last glass of brandy? Did you see him leave the Otter House?”
“No, sir. The house was near empty by then, and Joshua let me go back into the storeroom to sleep. I never saw the gentleman again.”
“The panel will note,” said Henry Morton, “that the events described by the witness took place on Friday, June ninth, the date of the death of Mr. Halbert Glendinning. I believe some of us have attended the public lectures of Sir Benjamin Brodie, an authority on poisons and their effects. The description of the barman's special liquid, and the condition of Mr. Glendinning's corpse later that evening, would indicate that the substance Joshua added to Mr. Glendinning's drink at the Otter House was oil of almonds, or hydrocyanic acid-a lethal poison.”
“Very well. Mr. Vaughan…” It was Francis Beadwell who seemed to have taken control of the hearing. Sir Nathaniel Conant sat heavy and motionless. “What do you say in response to the testimony we have just heard? Why should we not lay charges against you for these crimes?”
George Vaughan laughed a brief, sarcastic laugh. He raised himself from the half-sitting posture he had adopted on the wooden barrier, and began to move into the centre of the room, where Lucy Hammond still stood in the witness stand. The girl shied visibly back. Several men reacted at once.
Before Morton could speak, the deep voice of Jimmy Presley rumbled out. “Stand clear of her!” The young man had started forward from the wall, and John Townsend was also quickly on his feet.
Vaughan mockingly raised his hands, palms outward, and stepped back a bit. “Keep your hats on, gentlemen,” he said. “I'll not meddle with your little duchess.” He continued his stroll, till he settled on a spot near the desk of Sir William Parsons.
“What have you to say, sir? Speak up.” Beadwell's voice was perfectly level.
“First off, my lords,” and Vaughan's tone settled now into a bored drawl, “as I'm sure you have guessed, I've never been in the Otter House in all my life. Mr. Morton and his squirrel are trying to put a noose about my neck, to save their own. They have been telling you nothing but lies from the start of it to the end.”
The panel watched him. Beadwell and Sir William with attention, Sir Nathaniel Conant with a dark, smouldering detestation.
“I'm not an eloquent man, my lords. I've not been to a university, as your friend Mr. Morton has. But I know what is true and what is not.” He pointed to Morton, in the box. “You have a man here, a corrupt officer of police. You find stolen goods in his lodgings. You find a newspaper notice. As Mr. Townsend himself likes to say- ‘When you hear hoofbeats, expect horses, not zebra.’ The obvious is likely true: The man who possesses the goods, stole them.
“Now, these goods are valuable. English law says a man hangs for a theft of this value. Mr. Morton, caught with his hands still sticky, is like to dance on air. He's got to find somebody else to step in for him, hasn't he?”
“Pray do the panel the respect of getting along with your arguments, Mr. Vaughan,” Beadwell interjected calmly. “It is entirely clear to us that either you or Mr. Morton is lying. The motive in either case would be transparent.”
George Vaughan gave his mirthless smile. “Just as you say, my lord. Well, then, I must ask you: Do you have any proofs against me outside of what Mr. Morton and his little … friend have provided? Do you have one solid piece of evidence?”
The trio of Magistrates stared wordlessly back at him, which Vaughan took as acknowledgement of his point.
“Nay, none at all. But you do have a solid piece of evidence against Mr. Morton, don't you? But, you may be thinking, the little duchess says some terrible things.” He turned and looked hard at Lucy. Morton and Presley stirred, but Vaughan stayed where he was.
“Who is this witness who condemns me? This little parrot who repeats all that she's been taught? A child. And not a clean, respectable child, either. Do you not remember what you have here, my lords? Despite her oneday finery, and all the words she's been coached to say, do you not know what this is, here on your witness stand?” He continued to stare at her for a long moment. Then he faced the panel. “A whore,” he said. “She told it you herself. And not just any man's whore, either.” He pointed at Morton. “But this man's whore. How much has he profited from her labours, I wonder? How much socket-money has he pocketed?”
“My lords!” Morton struggled to keep his voice calm, as provocation was precisely what was intended. “Simply to voice such unfounded calumnies is not testimony! It is not argument.”
“Confine yourself to what you have evidence for, Mr. Vaughan,” cautioned Francis Beadwell.
“Yes, my lords,” came back Vaughan, for the first time letting a little anger of his own creep into his voice. “They say to you that George Vaughan ran the Otter House. I tell you Henry Morton did, not I. I tell you that this is his fancy-girl here, testifying at his behest. Are you going to hang an honest man on the word of a little cesspool of corruption like her?”
“We don't hang anyone, Mr. Vaughan,” replied Bead-well with the ghost of a smile. “The judges at Sessions House do that.”
But now Sir William Parsons opened his mouth.
“It is entirely true, as many are aware,” he pronounced, “that such licentiousness, especially at so early an age, cannot but have an unnatural, distorting effect on the female character.”
George Vaughan nodded at him. “Aye, my lord, and officers of police have had occasion to see it many times.”
Morton smiled bitterly at Vaughan's ability to make such a darkly ironic jest at a moment like this. The Master of the King's Band, of course, was oblivious.
“I must, on reflection,” Parsons continued, “urge the panel to disregard the testimony of this young witness. Such things as she has experienced cannot but have a corrupting and perverting effect upon her fragile female nature. Nothing she says can be taken as truth.”
Beadwell looked vexed, and glanced over at Sir Nathaniel Conant. But the Chief Magistrate stayed silent, as if he could not trust himself to speak. He merely stared darkly at Vaughan.
“I confess,” Francis Beadwell began, “that I share some of Sir William's doubts on this matter. A female child of such age, and such a… background, is indeed a slender reed upon which to build. I don't know if she could have been coached to say such things, but certainly she is a cunningly clever girl. Her… unfortunate profession must count strongly against her in the mind of any upright man. This Police Court needs more solid, impartial evidence. Lacking such proof, I do not see how I can recommend any charges be laid except the obvious one against Mr. Morton for theft.”
William Parsons nodded agreement. Sir Nathaniel sat glowering but, Morton realised, his views must essentially be the same. He might want the outcome to be otherwise, but he could not possibly allow himself to believe the word of a child prostitute.
The room had fallen eerily silent.
“The prisoner is to be bound over for trial, then,” sighed Beadwell, “on the charges of-”
“My lords!” Jimmy Presley had risen, striding out into the open floor. His whole manner was stiff and awkward, like that of a furious child.
“What is it, Mr. Presley?” Francis Beadwell asked.
“It was me that pinched the Smeetons, man and wife, and I didn't note it at the time but it was not quite as square as it all seemed. Mr. Vaughan gave me all the information and told me to say that it came from my informant, so t
hat I might get my appointment to Bow Street. I thought he was helping me, but I don't think that now. He told me to bring Mr. Morton along and even arranged to have Morton here at number four so that I'd not have to search about for him. ‘You go by Bow Street and get Sir Galahad,’ he said. That's what he called Morton. And then he said, ‘They'll never doubt him.’”
The three members of the panel stared at him in disbelief. “Are you admitting that you gave false evidence in my court?” Sir Nathaniel demanded, incredulous.
Presley's gaze darted around the room, everywhere but to Sir Nathaniel. With a sinking heart, Morton realised Presley had spoken before he'd thought. A roar was growing in the room as the audience began to clamour in anger and excitement.
“Aye, he did for the Smeetons, just as we said!” someone cried out.
George Vaughan was adding his voice to those besieging the panel. “My lords! My lords! What has this to do-”
Beadwell and the clerk were calling for silence, while Sir Nathaniel continued to sit motionless, staring at Vaughan. It was only then that Morton caught sight of Arabella. She was pointing to Lucy, and calling out something.
“My lord!” Henry Morton shouted.
“Peace! Peace!” cried Francis Beadwell. “Mr. Presley, resume your place! This is not to the issue just now. We are not here to discuss the Smeetons, and to raise up the passions of this city again.”
Presley unwillingly obeyed, but a scattering of voices continued to sound in the room.
“Nay, nay, you'll not have that!”
“You'll not have him heard, will you!”
“My lord…” Morton continued desperately to try to make himself heard. “My lord! My witness has not done.”
“Mr. Morton, we have ruled on the value of the testimony of this-”
“Not testimony, my lord! She-”
“I have the paper,” piped Lucy in a small, clear voice.
“No more of this-” scornfully began George Vaughan.
Suddenly Sir Nathaniel Conant rose at his desk. He brought his hand down with a crash.