‘I’ve already lost it,’ Silas said. ‘To Archer and to you.’
He leant forward and kissed James firmly on the mouth. Unable to resist, their lips parted. It was thrilling because it was wrong and yet so expected and they clung to each other until the sound of rattling keys forced them apart. Their eyes stayed locked.
‘That hurt,’ Silas said, wiping his grin with the back of his hand.
‘And it will hurt others if we do it again,’ James sighed. ‘I’m your friend, Silas. That’s enough for now.’
‘You realise you are completely mad, Mr Wright?’
‘I realise I am completely correct, Sir,’ James replied, struggling to keep up with Creswell as he marched through the corridors of the Central Criminal Court half an hour later. The barrister’s silks flapped behind like half-rigged sails, and James staggered under a weight of books and papers.
‘You look like you’re dressed for hunting,’ the barrister said as he turned, backed through swing doors, turned again and sailed on.
‘I am, or I was. Sir, I don’t mean to sound rude, but you do believe me, don’t you?’
‘Your telegram made it perfectly clear, Wright.’ Creswell nodded gracefully to a white-haired old man shuffling in their direction and bade him a polite good morning. ‘Useless old duffer,’ he confided to James with an impish grin. ‘Threw out one of my cases only last week. Sullivan! What are you on today?’
Another barrister flapped their way, a small team of minions trailing behind like ducklings. ‘Same bloody murder,’ the man said as he tacked to avoid them. ‘You?’
‘Crown and Hawkins.’
‘Who have you got?’
‘Galloways.’
‘Ha!’ Sullivan laughed. ‘In a foul mood. I hope your defendant’s not attached to his liberty.’ He also reversed into a door, spinning through it, and leaving James wondering if they were trained to do that.
‘We can do without that kind of thing,’ Creswell said. ‘Take no notice.’
‘But, Sir,’ James persisted. ‘Will you do what I suggest?’
‘I am not in the habit of taking orders from footmen,’ Creswell complained.
‘You were the one who told me to stand up for myself.’
‘Yes, well, Wright, one of the first thing you learn in this circus is to give advice and assume it will never be taken. Where’s Clearwater?’
James checked his watch. ‘He should be waiting for you.’
‘Cutting it fine. Not going to have much chance to brief him, nor him me. Bloody pirates.’
James assumed he was talking about whoever had engineered the case.
‘Your jury’s selected, Sir Easterby.’ A clerk acknowledged them as they passed through yet another door and into another long corridor. A little further on, a second clerk announced, ‘You have Matthews,’ as he crossed their path.
‘Makes it sound like a disease,’ Creswell complained. ‘Otherwise known as the prosecution.’
He stopped unannounced, and James hurried a few paces on until Creswell yanked him to a stop.
‘No,’ he said. ‘You can go no further. Court one, public gallery, the door’s through there.’
‘You’re sure Silas and Archer will be able to see each other?’
‘Are you sure you’re as right as you think you are?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Then so am I.’
Creswell held James with his penetrating eyes. The stared down from above his steep nose, and his moustache twitched as he thought. ‘Do you really think Clearwater is up to this?’ For the first time, James heard doubt in his voice.
‘I do, Sir.’ James, however, was confident.
‘He doesn’t know Galloways as I do.’
‘And with respect, you don’t know Clearwater as I do. Please, Lord Easterby, Viscount Clearwater is Silas’ only hope. You said so yourself.’
‘I rather think it is you who is his only hope,’ Creswell said with a hint of admiration. ‘And my hope is that you know what you are doing because I certainly don’t. But, as I have no idea what the prosecution is going to come up with, and there has been no time to prepare witnesses, and if what you have told me is true…’ He ran his fingers through his greying temples before fixing his wig. ‘Good God! This is a bugger’s mess.’
With that unfortunate expression, he took his books and was about to enter his rooms when he turned and offered his hand. James took it, and they shook in solemn silence.
The courtroom was anything but silent when James entered. He had never been in court, and it was as intimidating as he imagined. The room was large and high, the benches and railings were wooden, and voices echoed madly like they did in church. Tall, square-paned windows ran along one wall above a bank of benches, already filling with the public and newsmen. The royal crest bore down above a high-backed chair beneath a canopy, and in front of it stood rows of tables facing the judge’s seat. To one side, two empty rows of box pews waited for the jury, and opposite, more public seating was tiered to the lofty windows. Directly in the centre, facing the authority of the royal crest, stood a wooden-sided box. For Silas.
Clerks were coming and going, and two policemen guarded the public entrance while below in the pit, a team of wigged barristers and their clerks huddled and gesticulated, no doubt discussing their battle plan.
Wondering if they were also on the Cleaver Street payroll or blackmail list, James took a seat from where he could see the front of the prisoner’s box and look across to what he assumed was the witness stand.
It was suddenly and horribly real. Everything that Archer wanted to avoid was taking place around him and out of his control. Everything that James, from the moment he realised he could only love men, had feared would happen to him, was about to happen to Silas. Public scrutiny, public shame, hatred, and all in the name of the law that would not negotiate. It stood against them as immovable as the coat of arms, itself as resilient as a mountain around which gathered the gawping, gossiping public come to pick over the seedy details of other people’s lives.
It was sickening, but there was nothing more he could do.
James looked for Archer but couldn’t see him. Inspector Adelaide was present, as were the two arresting officers, but he chose not to look at them. He began to fret until he saw Creswell glide in and remembered Archer would not be allowed in the courtroom until after he had given evidence.
As soon as Silas was brought up and the murmuring of the crowd had silenced, the judge was announced, and everyone stood. Silas was the same as when James had left him. Stony-faced, unmoved and, by the look of it, determined to say nothing.
However, on seeing the judge, he found James in the crowd and spread his little fingers, the signal that this was the man he had seen escaping the molly house.
Excellent, James thought. His plan couldn’t fail.
The judge climbed onto his bench as one mass of shifting red and gold, a great white wig on his head, and when he stood and bowed to the court, he spread his arms, resembling a vulture hungry for its prey. When he sat, everyone else followed suit, the hearing was called to order, and the charges read.
‘That upon the night of October the eleventh in the year of our Lord, eighteen-eighty-eight, between the hours of eight in the evening and midnight, you did commit the unspeakable act of gross indecency prohibited by law and against the pleasure of her Sovereign Majesty. Thus be you charged. How does the prisoner plead?’
‘Not guilty.’
Silas’ voice was firm and clear, but James knew he would say nothing else. Directing only his eyes, he was able to see his friend without drawing attention. Silas was able to rest on a high bench, giving him the appearance of standing when he was sitting, and James was grateful for that. He was also pleased to see that Silas was able to grip the front
of the box from where he perched, and it appeared natural for him to do so. Archer, when he took the stand, would have no trouble seeing his fingers should Silas need to communicate.
Formal words were said, the barristers were introduced, the jury instructed, and by the time the prosecution began, James’ backside was sore.
The ‘Learned Mr Matthews’ as he was referred to, was a shrew of a man who fidgeted and poked the air with his finger. He began, in an annoyingly shrill voice, by addressing the jury. The two benches were filled with well-dressed men of a similar age, some watching Silas accusingly, and the rest nodding in agreement with Matthews as he ranted about the depraved state of the East End. The prosecution began an attack on philanthropists ‘Such as the vainglorious Lord Clearwater’ and others who helped the less fortunate. According to him, the blame lay with those who sympathised with ‘Criminals who spread the disease, the unmentionable and unnatural act of base depravity,’ at which point James’ blood boiled, and Creswell leapt to his feet.
‘M’lud,’ he said, cutting through the opposition’s rhetoric. ‘I object.’
‘Grounds?’ Galloways barked.
‘My learned friend is under the impression that society is on trial here and if that is the case, I fear we shall be here until the New Year.’
‘Grounds?’ the judge yapped again.
‘Wasting my time, and if not that, then not reading his brief.’
James didn’t understand, but others did, and laughter rippled around the court.
‘Overruled. Continue.’
Matthews did just that and along the same lines, attempting to whip the jury into a frenzied hatred of all things ‘non-Christian’ and ‘against morality’ until Creswell objected about something else, and was again denied, but not before he had raised another laugh.
James had told Silas that he would be free in time for lunch. It was not going to happen. The prosecution laid out details of the alleged crime, stating as if it was already well known that the defendant had been seen by many committing these acts. By the time he had finished, anyone would have been forgiven for thinking the case was already lost. Matthews even told the jury that the plaintiff was still so traumatised by what he had seen that he was unable to attend court and relive the vile experience, at which Creswell asked how long it took a man to recover from spying on another man’s privacy. There were murmurings of agreement from the public gallery when he reminded the court that the alleged offence had taken place two months in the past, and when he asked why the incident had not been reported until a few days ago, some of the jurors were shocked. When he expanded his staged disbelief, and questioned why the court had brought so trivial a matter forwards, he did it in a way that suggested foul play, but without actually accusing the court, and the murmur of interest turned to one of suspicion.
James wondered if the jury might be swayed by Creswell’s defence until the judge shot him down for interrupting, and the prosecution rounded off their arguments with damming information about Silas’ history, mostly invented.
There was only one thing keeping James’ hope buoyant. Creswell had annoyed the judge, baited the prosecution and put doubt in the minds of some of the jury. All that was James’ idea. Silas had remained static throughout, and James admired him as much for his self-control as he did Creswell for his style.
The hands of the clock moved laboriously towards midday, and it wasn’t until they came together that Creswell was finally able to take centre stage and call his witness.
‘You have only the one?’ Galloways asked. ‘You have been allowed more.’
‘I am obliged, M’lud, but the court will find my witness more than suitable to provide the alibi required to show this case for what it is.’
‘I will ask you to hold your tone, Sir,’ Galloways growled. ‘I will have no sarcasm in my court.’
From what James had heard, it was too late for that. Where Matthews was an outraged crow pecking at the jury’s sense of what was morally right, Creswell was a raven, deriding, and objecting at every possible point. He displayed as much ridicule of Matthews’ accusations as his opposition squawked scorn at Silas. James liked him more each time he spoke and silently thanked Lady Marshall for sending such a sympathetic ally.
‘Well?’ Galloways said. ‘Your witness?’
James sat up, his heart pounding.
‘M’lud.’ Creswell bowed with grace, turning his head to James and sending a wink before standing upright and announcing, ‘If it pleases the court, the defence calls the Viscount Clearwater of Riverside and Larkspur, Lord Baradan of Hapsburg-Bran and Honorary Boyar Musat-Rashnov.’
James expected three men to walk into the court, but as the double doors opened and the call echoed down the corridor, only one appeared. His master and Silas’ lover. Archer.
The public gasped as he walked confidently to the witness stand in his naval dress suit adorned with medals and epaulettes, a sash of dazzling blue silk pinned by a gold starburst, his breeches perfectly creased, his boots high to his calves. The only thing missing was his sword, but even without it, he was assured and noble as he took his oath, his voice clear and confident.
James had no idea he held those titles, the man was too modest to mention them, and as he pulled off his white kid gloves, there was only one word James could find to describe what Archer personified.
Splendour.
Twenty-Three
The prosecution began by asking Archer his name and place of residence. When asked his occupation, he ran off a list of titles and positions which, again, took James by surprise. Patron of this, member of that, and a businessman with interests in several companies. Archer also made it clear he was a philanthropist and supporter of various charities, listing his own as one, and it was made obvious to the jury that the viscount was not only a nobleman but a noble man.
After some minutes of this, Archer had stretched the point to breaking, and Creswell interjected to complain about the amount of time being spent establishing Archer as a credible witness. ‘I am grateful to my Learned Friend for reminding us of Lord Clearwater’s impeccable credentials, but surely that should be my job?’ He appealed to his audience, gaining a laugh.
It was another tactic he and James had devised; Archer must impress the jury and anger the judge.
Matthews grudgingly conceded there was no-one finer who could have been called to give a character reference.
‘It makes me wonder,’ he said, speaking directly to the judge, ‘why a man of such position would employ the likes of Mr Hawkins.’
‘Just get on with it.’
The prosecution did, and the next twenty minutes was taken up by Archer niggling Matthews as he described how he and the defendant had spent the evening at Clearwater House working on his new Foundation until the early hours. When asked who could corroborate this, Archer named Thomas, his footman at the time, and Tripp, his butler who was fired a few days later for getting above his station.
Matthews decided that servants were as untrustworthy with the truth as they were with the wine cellar. Expecting a laugh, he beamed to the public gallery. The majority were working-class, and some must have been in service because no-one reacted. The embarrassment brought his questioning to an ignominious end.
Galloways was bored. From his elevated position, James could see him reading a paper, and not one associated with the case. It was a copy of the Illustrated News half-hidden beneath documents as if he was not interested in the proceedings. He wouldn’t be; the outcome of the case was already decided.
‘The prosecution claims,’ Creswell said when he began his questioning, ‘that on the night of October the eleventh, Mr Hawkins was at an address in the East End. Can you verify this?’
‘No, I cannot,’ Archer replied.
He spoke directly to Creswell, being careful not to look at
Silas.
‘Can you verify Mr Hawkins’ whereabouts on that evening, Your Lordship?’ Creswell asked.
‘I can,’ Archer replied. ‘As I have said, he was with me.’
‘Yes, I know, Your Lordship, but I thought the prosecution might need to hear it one more time.’
Matthews ruffled his silks, his head twitching.
‘And was anyone else present who can testify to the same?’
‘There were others present,’ Archer said. ‘My staff.’
‘And if they were here, they would say the same as you?’
‘I believe they would.’
‘Objection!’ Matthews was on his feet, and Creswell sat down. ‘If my Learned Friend wished to call these other witnesses, he should have done so.’
‘It’s a good job I didn’t, M’lud,’ Creswell said, half-rising. ‘My Learned Friend may have feared for his hipflask.’
The jibe was rewarded by amusement, but the objection awarded to Matthews.
‘Mr Creswell,’ Galloways said, stifling a yawn. ‘Despite the prosecution’s and your concerns for his beverage, your Learned Friend is quite correct. Can you produce other witnesses?’
Creswell stood, and Matthews sat. ‘I would have, My Lord,’ Creswell sighed, ‘were the defence given sufficient time to arrange it.’
‘Are you now putting the court on trial?’ Galloways shot back.
‘That would be a case for the Appeal Court, surely?’
‘I assure you, Sir, that will not be necessary. Proceed, or have you finished with this witness?’
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