Admonition

by Chris Throsby

  Part Four

  Henry

  Articles of Faith

  In 1748, I began five years as an Articled Clerk. Father paid Mr Dowle one hundred and fifty guineas to take me on. He could have found me a post for much less, but as he said when I baulked at the price,

  “Dowle, Anderson and Risk has the best reputation in the County and, in law these days, nothing is more important.”

  I’d met Jane that first Christmas when we were both at Lord Delamere’s Christmas Ball; she’d come with her parents, whilst I was there with Mr Dowle to represent the firm. We began courting about a year after we first met and though we were hesitant at first, both with little experience of the opposite sex, as time went by, we gradually fell in love.

  When I asked Jane to marry me, I added that of course, if she said yes, we would have to wait until I was qualified and could afford the responsibilities of marriage. Jane said she would be glad to marry me however poor we were and that she believed the real values of marriage were without price. I’ve often reflected that if only it were possible, Jane should have made a wonderful lawyer; with just a few words she could go straight to the heart of a matter and stop you in your tracks, or at times like this, also go straight to the heart without even trying.

  She’d taken my breath away, but gathering myself, I told her that if we married now, we should not get the approval of my employer, without which I might never complete my Articles. I said I could just hear Frederick Dowle (although I could never bring myself to actually call him by his first name) pronounce on the matter.

  “Mark my words, my boy, a lawyer should marry; a good wife provides support and eases the load the job carries, but a Clerk should concentrate on his studies without distractions, particularly those of a wife.”

  Jane smiled at my poor imitation of Dowle, yet I knew her smile was a brave one. She still agreed to marry me, but we both knew two and a half years was a long time. Still, it helped that we had the approval of Jane’s father, because he believed I thought enough of his daughter to wait until I could afford to keep her before contemplating marriage. Neither of us told him that wasn’t quite the whole truth, but it seemed close enough, and in no time he was treating me with great familiarity. Jane had been an only child, born to Mrs Waverley when she was forty and Mr Waverley forty-eight, long after they had given up hope of ever having children. So now the thought that there was someone he could treat as a son, coupled with the prospect of grandchildren in his dotage, made Mr Waverley’s life complete.

  At first, I wasn’t at all sure that Mrs Waverley also approved of our proposed union. I asked Mr Waverley for his permission to marry Jane, but unconventionally I asked him when all four of us were together. I was unsure whether Mrs Waverley approved because she said nothing, rather she got up, went straight to their piano and started playing. She was apparently ignored by Jane and her father and I tried to concentrate on Mr Waverley’s response, but I must admit I was disquieted.

  Jane laughed when, later, I told her of my anxiety.

  “You fussock! Mum was hiding a tear.” Then, more quietly she added, “I spoke to her as soon as you left and she told me she was very happy and sure you would make a good, if a little too serious, husband.”

  I wasn’t sure I liked being called a fussock, but then she added,

  “Didn’t you hear what she was playing?”

  I must have looked puzzled and so, still smiling, she explained,

  “It was Mr Bach’s ‘Ou du Liebe meiner Liebe’”

  My expression must have remained unchanged; my musical knowledge was almost as bad as my German.

  Exasperated, she said,

  “It means, ‘Oh, you love my love’.”

  Finally I understood. We definitely had the blessings of both her parents and yes, I had to admit, perhaps I was something of a potato pudding.

  We married five months after I qualified, and two after I was made junior attorney with Dowle, Anderson and Risk.

  Now I don’t like to talk about someone’s death bringing me good fortune, as with undertakers, it doesn’t sit well with the legal profession; but in my case it really is the unavoidable truth. All three partners were venerable. But as Thomas Risk was the youngest and most sprightly, his sudden death, they say his heart gave way, was wholly unexpected.

  A period of mourning and respect was appropriate, as was the manner in which the completion of my Articles three months after Risk’s death went by almost unnoticed. I had a small celebration with Jane and her parents, but other than that, I just kept working and wondering. My anxiety came to an end three months later at the end of February when Mr Dowle asked me to step into his office.

  Mr Dowle was a large, corpulent man with a thunderous voice to match. These characteristics he made into qualities and employed them all to command staff, clients and courts to equally good effect. There was never any courtroom rowdiness when Frederick Dowle QC was on his feet – unless, of course, he orchestrated it.

  His office was similarly commanding. A large room, it had oak floors, an inglenook fire and oak panelled walls, all of which framed an enormous mahogany desk. The only other items present were his chair, made comfortable by two cushions stuffed with goose feathers, a further chair for his clients (without cushions), shelves from floor to ceiling containing his books of law and rolls of case papers on one wall, and on his desk a rack of quills, a lamp, his seal and sealing wax. To complete the room, on the wall above his chair and looking suitably severe, a large imposing portrait of Dowle himself kept close scrutiny over all. Light came only from the fire, which burned in all but the hottest months and the desk lamp that struggled valiantly to provided sufficient light for Mr Dowle to read or write. He saw no reason to provide further illumination for his clients, saying that most couldn’t read, certainly not legal documents, and the few exceptions could always move closer to the fire. The result was cavernous and intimidating and this was clearly his intention.

  As always, he wasted no time.

  “Six months since Risk died, a great shock, a very great shock.”

  Then he seemed to stiffen, become resolute.

  “But six months’ mourning should be long enough.”

  He paused and then added,

  “Don’t you agree?”

  Now he looked straight at me. Normally, Mr Dowle’s speech contained only demands, instructions or pronouncements; he never sought advice nor counsel and only asked questions to extract information or for clarification. Even now, he remained brusque and to the point.

  Although I realised the question was largely rhetorical, I sensed Dowle had been shaken to his foundations by Risk’s death – I suppose he couldn’t quite avoid his own mortality whilst I couldn’t avoid his question. So, taken by surprise and without forethought, I replied,

  “Mr Risk is in his grave, sir, and I think our clients will want us to be concentrating on keeping them out of theirs.”

  Dowle’s face darkened. I looked down and stared at a knot in the floor and thought how five years learning my trade should have taught me better. I expected the worst, but what he told me next taught me something that has ruled my life as a lawyer to this day.

  When he spoke, Dowle’s voice was calm.

  “I must agree with you, Carlyle. What’s more? I think Risk would have agreed as well. I want you to remember this conversation now you’re a lawyer, because in this profession you’re going to hear many half-truths, lies and especially from prosecutors, lies dressed up as truth – and it’s going to be your job to expose them for what they are. To do that and to do it well, you will always need to act as you just did and say what you believe to be the truth at all times, no matter what you fear the consequences may be.”

  So that was it. You could have forgiven me for missing it, but I had just become a lawyer. When I left Dowle’s office, I was met by Mr Anderson who explained that since Risk’s death, a backlog of minor cases had built up. If left long enough, he added, the trivial had a habit of be
coming important. He went on to tell me that an affidavit confirming I had completed my Articles would be filed with Chester Court at the beginning of April. It was to be my job to tie up any loose ends, either in Court or on paper.

  But more significantly, I now received sufficient remuneration to marry. It wasn’t a king’s ransom, but it was enough to support a careful wife. So Jane, who saw prudence as one of life’s greatest virtues, and I were married and I’m pleased to say that Jane’s parents lived long enough to know and enjoy both of their grandchildren.

  Jabez

  Planning and Preparation

  I’d hoped Adie wouldn’t be arrested, but now that she had, it was more important than ever I put into place the rest of my plan.

  Arriving in Chester, I spent a sleepless night in a cell with about twenty others. Some like me were awaiting trial – the circuit judge wasn’t due for a month – and some already sentenced, including two who were completely mad, a few awaiting transfer to a hulk and some of those for onward transfer to a ship bound for New Holland. Carved from rock, the cell was windowless, so unsurprisingly, the air was foul. But it was neither the condition of the cell, nor the nature of my fellow inmates that led me next morning, to give the warder almost all of the money I had in a purse hidden inside my blouse.

  Although I was still wearing my wedding attire and I’m sure looked ridiculous, I didn’t pay him to supply me with a change of clothes. It was both more urgent and important that I had the privacy of a solitary cell. In addition, I needed paper, quill and ink so that I could write a number of letters.

  It took almost all morning to arrange, but by midday I had been moved to a cell on my own and not only been provided with writing implements but also a desk, a chair and a lamp to see by – though there was a small window high in the wall, it provided almost no light. I’d clearly paid the warder more than I needed to and I suppose he thought that by providing me with a little more than I asked, I might be encouraged to spend even more – little was he to know that I had barely enough money left to buy food for a day or two. Still, I hoped that my first letter would help ease that problem.

  I’d avoided the legal profession most of my life, like most people, I thought lawyers weren’t to be trusted. But now I needed one and there was only one I knew and thought I might be able to trust. Not long before he died, Mr Dodds had a young lawyer called Henry Carlyle draw up his Will, leaving everything to me. I was young, barely twenty-two, when Dodds died and I am sure a clever lawyer could have used my youth to rob me blind. But Carlyle was straight with me. I received everything I was due and his bill for executing the Will was reasonable. So the first letter I wrote was to Carlyle, reminding him of his involvement in Dodds’ Will, explaining my current predicament and asking him to represent me. If he agreed, I requested he visited me at his very earliest convenience. While we were planning what we would do if we were both arrested, I had told Adie I would arrange for a lawyer to represent her. I reminded her of this in the second letter and said I would arrange a lawyer to act on her behalf over the next day or two. I gave both letters to the warder who, of course for further reimbursement, said he would arrange delivery. I had two more letters to write and though no less important, they were less urgent.

  For the remainder of the afternoon, I rested. In fact as it grew dark, I fell asleep and only woke when the warder brought me the victuals and lamp oil I’d paid him for with the last of my money. I ate a little of my food in the dark before refilling and lighting my lamp. I then started to write the first of the remaining letters. The second had to wait as it was to Carlyle if he agreed to represent me.

  I wrote long into the night and the lamp was burning low when I finished, but I was glad it was done because now I only needed to wait for Carlyle’s response. Only if he was agreeable would I have reason to write that fourth letter.

  Henry

  A Foregone Conclusion

  Dowle and Anderson both died within five years of Risk’s demise. The firm has since undergone little change, because after Risk’s death, Dowle’s son Charles was made a partner and, upon the death of his father, became the senior partner. He made it clear that the firm’s reputation for fairness and incorruptibility built by his father was one he was determined to maintain. Two years ago, after James Smith, one of the five partners in a now expanded firm, left to form his own partnership with his brother, Charles invited me to replace him.

  And so it was that as a partner in the firm I began to defend clients who could, and in many cases definitely would, face the death penalty if found guilty. In some cases, the judge, in exchange for a guilty plea, could be persuaded that the value of a theft was less than five shillings and shouldn’t carry the ultimate penalty. Instead, they would usually receive a lengthy gaol sentence or spend some years in the colonies. In more and more cases, barristers are trying to persuade judges that the alleged crime involved property worth less than five shillings and should be heard in a Church Court – a Church Court, of course, cannot pass a death sentence. Even in the quarterly Assizes when the death penalty is passed, it is usual for the client’s lawyer to petition the King for clemency and except for the most heinous crimes, is usually commuted to a life sentence. I expected no other outcome when I received a letter asking me to defend a local publican.

  Jabez Payne and his wife had both been charged with salt smuggling and although the evidence against them was pretty conclusive, I expected both would eventually face seven years, perhaps longer, in New Holland. That, after all, was the typical sentence. But Jabez and his wife weren’t a typical couple and neither was their punishment.

  Jabez stood impassively as the judge donned his black cap.

  Of course, once Jabez was declared guilty as charged, the sentence was inevitable. I had expected the jury to find him guilty, but hoped I had persuaded them it should be for a lesser crime, but with the evidence against him so strong, I could see only two ways of affecting the outcome. Bernshaw, the prosecutor presented only two witnesses; unfortunately they were both key.

  The Excise Supervisor told how he’d suspected Jabez’ involvement in salt smuggling for some time, but that in the end it was by chance they’d found the barrel of ruined salt in the Boar’s Head. He said that when he asked Jabez to tell him why it was in his cellar, he offered no explanation. Prompted by Bernshaw, he added that the barrel was exactly the same as the one found in the possession of a member of the Nantwich gang.

  When I questioned him, I didn’t trouble too much with the detail of his find. It was pretty clear Jabez had been caught red-handed. Jabez warned me this man was very confident and had the full backing of his employers – my intention was to prove him over-confidant. So after a few preliminaries, I followed a different line.

  “Mr Herne, could you tell the court the true value of the salt you allege you found in my client’s possession?”

  There was a definite smirk on his face as Herne replied,

  “It’s no allegation, as you call it. We found the salt in his cellar, hidden in a barrel. We weighed it there and then and it came to nigh on five bushels. That’s worth a bit over fifty shillings.”

  This raised a lively reaction from the public gallery as well as some of the jurymen. I had noted the jury was particularly boisterous from the moment Jabez was brought into the dock. It was risky but as old Dowle used to say, a lively jury can be a persuadable jury, so I decided to try and use their mood. According to Dowle, gain their sympathy and then you might persuade a jury that the value of a crime is less than five shillings and your client could claim Benefit of Clergy, thereby allowing the case to be heard in a Church Court. It was mandatory for any other court to impose a death penalty where the proceeds were worth more than just five shillings and a Church Court never tried a case concerning goods valued at more than five shillings. I had an idea I might be able to persuade a jury that a sack of salt was worth less than fifty shillings, but I didn’t think even Frederick Dowle, at his imperious best, could have persuaded
a jury that a fifty-shilling bag of salt was worth less than five bob.

  So I took Herne to what I wanted the Jury to see.

  “Remember, Mr Herne, I didn’t ask you where you found it. I asked you what the true value of the salt was.”

  He seemed to relax; he was obviously dealing with a fool. In a disparaging tone, he said,

  “And I told you, it was over fifty shillings. I told you where I found it because I just thought the jury would like to be reminded how cunning this man is.”

  He waived a dismissive hand in Jabez’ direction, but I just looked at him fixedly and struck.

  “I know what you told me, Mr Herne. Perhaps you should have concentrated on my question because, even though I’ve asked you twice and, forgive me, I think it’s quite a simple question, you still don’t seem to understand.”

  Before he could speak, I went on.

  “So let me help you. If the tax on salt was one hundred percent, would it change the real value of the salt? Would it make any difference if it was five hundred percent? It’s over three thousand five hundred percent as it is at the moment, Mr Herne, so does that change its real value?”

  Murmurs from the gallery, and more importantly from a few of the jury, told me some were beginning to understand how I was proceeding, so I continued,

  "You looked bewildered, Mr Herne, so let me explain. Without the tax, which has absolutely nothing to do with the real value of the salt but goes up and down and let’s face it mostly up, at the whim of the government, the salt is worth barely one and six.