‘Your Worship.’ Creswell was suddenly on his feet. ‘My apologies to my learned friend, but before my witness answers, I would like to bring to your attention a matter de jure.’
‘What?’ Galloways was not impressed.
‘You specifically decreed that you would hear from other witnesses.’
‘And?’
‘And I believe the case of the Crown verses Maitland gives precedent to this interruption.’ He flashed a quickly raised eyebrow to James. ‘I request this witness steps aside for another who will satisfy your requirement of corroborating evidence. My second witness…’ He read the slip of paper. ‘Is beyond reproach and will attest to the whereabouts of both Lord Clearwater and, more importantly, my client between the hours stated in the charge.’
‘I will not hear it.’
‘With respect, Sir. You have no choice. It’s a procedural matter handed down on appeal from the High Court.’
Galloways’ papers suffered in his fist, the red flush returned to his face, and he scowled. Remembering that all eyes were on him, he adjusted his attitude but still growled.
‘If I must,’ he said. ‘Clearwater? You may stand down. Mr Matthews, we shall return to your cross-examination if this next witness cannot satisfy the court. I fear your Learned Friend is right and has you over a barrel.’
Matthews bowed and shot Creswell a look that suggested he was more impressed than aggravated, as if their profession was a game of honour.
‘If it pleases the court,’ Creswell said. ‘The defence calls Doctor Benjamin Quill.’
Twenty-Four
Matthews had just reminded Archer that he was under oath, not that he needed reminding. For the last half an hour, he had been avoiding answering his questions to avoid having to lie. His education, his charm and experience had come in useful, as had his ability to outwit an opponent, but even he was no match for the law. Seething inwardly, he realised that for all his showmanship, and for all James’ clever thinking and detection, Archer had gone as far as he could. Galloways had taken the hints, but he was not going to back down and dismiss the case. Even with the veiled threat of exposure hanging over his head, he was not prepared to negotiate.
There was nothing Archer could do but make a choice. He could lie, and Silas would be sent to prison. Or he could admit to being in Limedock, expose his involvement with, and knowledge of, the Ripper and find himself up on all kinds of charges with a lot of explaining to do. Either way, Silas would be taken from him.
‘It may help refresh your memory,’ the prosecution continued, ‘if I tell you it was the night of a fire at Limehouse docks…’
Archer was distracted by a movement at the back of the public gallery. The sunlight streaming through the upper windows caught a flash of auburn hair passing behind the back row as a man came into view. Tall, elegant in a long black coat he was silhouetted as he descended to where James sat and edged past those at the end of the bench. It wasn’t until he sat that Archer saw who it was.
‘… researching your Mission in the area on that evening, correct?’
Matthews was waiting for his answer.
Shocked at seeing Thomas, confused too, Archer concentred on the prosecution. Tripp knew everything, he had engineered the arrest and was probably the man who swore the affidavit. He had caught Archer in a corner, and, worse, no doubt financed the whole thing with money made from the sale of Archer’s silver centrepiece. The viscount was, in effect, paying for his own downfall.
Silas was signalling. He was prepared to go down for Archer’s sake, but the viscount was not about to let that happen. If he couldn’t have Silas in his life, he would rather have nothing. Preparing to tell all, he signalled his intent to his lover.
‘I shall ask you one last time, Sir,’ Matthews said. ‘On the night of October eleventh…’
There was an interruption to proceedings that Archer didn’t understand. He was ready to give in, ready to be taken, why were they prolonging the agony? Creswell had done admirably, but why was he looking at James? The footman was gawping at Thomas. At least that pair of lovers would go on when Archer and Silas we locked up. At least someone would return to normality when this was over.
‘Clearwater?’ Galloways was talking to him, and he dragged his gaze from Thomas and concentrated on the monster who had the gall to represent Her Majesty. ‘You may stand down.’
Creswell was on his feet. ‘If it pleases the court,’ he said. ‘The defence calls Doctor Benjamin Quill.’
The words made no sense until his eyes fell on Thomas. His butler shrugged as if tracking down Archer’s adversary and bringing him to court was the easiest thing in the world. How he had found him, how Quill was alive and what he would say were questions Archer could not fathom.
Archer’s legs were weak, and he felt sick as he stepped onto the courtroom floor. Holding the woodwork for support, he walked as steadily as he could to the last bench and turned to leave.
He came face to face with his old friend and new enemy, Quill.
Except it was only half a face. The rest was an unrecognisable mass of red and weeping flesh. One eye was stitched shut, the other twinkled with childish delight. Half of his mouth was bent in a smile, the other half a swollen lump of crimson. Patches of hair were missing, and his head was tilted to his left shoulder where the arm hung withered and useless. He approached, limping and leaning heavily on a cane, his back twisted.
All Archer needed to do was turn to the court and accuse. ‘This man is the Ripper, and I can prove it.’ The exclamation would cause an uproar, but it wouldn’t deter Galloways, and it wouldn’t save Silas.
‘Our game is not yet at an end,’ Quill said, and saliva dripped from his mouth. He sucked it back and swallowed as he pulled a hairpiece over his head. Attached to the front was a mask of what looked like skin. It hung to cover his deformity, and he pressed it into the shape of his skull where it adhered to the blistered flesh, disguising the redness but not the disfigurement. ‘Take this, stand beside Inspector Adelaide and trust me.’
He pressed an envelope into Archer’s hand. The viscount recoiled at the touch but took it and, as Quill passed by, he followed his instructions, too shocked to do anything else.
Standing in a daze, he heard Quill be sworn in and give his name.
‘Doctor Quill,’ Galloways interrupted before Creswell could begin his questions. ‘Are you well enough to give testimony?’
‘Quite well, Your Honour,’ Quill replied. ‘My accident may have robbed me of my appearance, but my mind is as healthy as it was when I last treated your good lady wife.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ Galloways said. ‘The prosecution is relying on you to bring this matter to an end in their favour, and the defence likewise. Please respond to council’s questions as best you can.’
‘I will, Your Worship.’
‘Proceed.’
Archer realised in horror that if his situation wasn’t dire enough, Quill was able to add to his troubles. He only needed to refute Archer’s claim that he was with Silas and the trial would be over.
Creswell wasted no time stabbing at the heart of the matter.
‘Doctor Quill,’ he began, unruffled by the suddenness of his appearance. ‘The court needs no reminder of your eminent position in society. I believe, if I am not mistaken, you are physician not only to His Worship but also my Learned Friend the Home Secretary. Thus, I shan’t waste time on your credentials.’
‘You flatter me, Sir.’
‘Not at all. The question I put to you is a simple one. Do you recall the night of October the eleventh?’
‘I do, Sir, and well.’
‘How so?’
‘It was only a few days before my accident. While I have been recuperating, I have had time to reflect on how the accident came about, and found m
yself rebuilding my movements from before that time until now. It was therapy, you understand, to assist the memory. It is a new field of medicine. What my colleague, Wundt, calls psychology, a fascinating branch of treatment, and one of the mind. Studies have shown that…’
‘Yes, thank you, Doctor.’ Creswell didn’t need a lesson. ‘I merely seek to establish that your memory is clear.’
‘Crystal,’ Quill replied, looking at Archer. ‘I find I can remember even the most trivial of details.’
‘That is good to hear, although this matter is anything but trivial.’
‘I meant that I can therefore recall the greater details with splendid clarity, Sir. Your question?’
‘It would please the court if you would tell us your movements on that evening, with particular regard to the hours between eight and midnight.’
‘I was playing chess.’
Creswell was not expecting such a succinct answer. ‘Chess?’ he said, faltering.
‘Yes, Sir, chess.’
‘And where you were you playing this, and with whom?’
‘In my rooms above my charitable practice.’
‘Your…?’
‘I have two practices,’ Quill explained. ‘Rather, I had two. My business at Harvey Street, as many of the learned men in this court know, but also my charitable surgery on the border of Greychurch. There, I work, or rather, worked, pro bono publico.’ He addressed the jury, some of whom recoiled from his appearance. ‘Without charge.’
‘And were you alone in your game of chess?’
‘Not at all, Sir, for what would be the point of that?’ He sucked in saliva and touched a finger to his chin. ‘My apologies.’
‘Not at all. Who was with you that night?’
‘Every player needs an adversary equal to the challenge, else the game would not be enjoyable.’ He nodded to Archer. ‘I was playing with Lord Clearwater, and I look forward to resuming the match in the future.’
There was no doubting his meaning.
Some of the public gasped at the revelation, but most people were listening so intently, and after what had gone before, were too involved to register more surprises. Archer was one of them. Quill had played a game that night, for sure, but where the doctor called it chess, he would have called it a battle for survival.
‘And was he with you all night?’
‘Not all night, Sir, no. We concluded our game in the early hours. The exact time can be deduced from the time of the Limedock fire, for it was that which brought our match to a temporary end. I believe, and His Lordship will correct me if I am wrong…’ Another sucking sound and a swallow. ‘I believe he rushed to be of assistance at the scene — it was not far — and was himself injured in his heroic act.’
Quill wasn’t laying praise on Archer, he was laying pressure. The reason he was exonerating his enemy was clear.
Our game is not yet at an end.
‘Lord Clearwater’s testimony concurs with yours,’ Creswell said, for some reason looking at James. ‘Except he stated he was at home. No doubt His Lordship is so modest that he did not want to bring to the attention of the court his gallant involvement in the attempt to save the Limehouse wharf. Most admirable.’
James’ fingers were signalling ‘Yes’ in vague semaphore. Archer was more impressed with his footman as the minutes ticked past.
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Quill said.
‘But, Doctor,’ Creswell continued. ‘Was anyone else present with you during that evening?’
This was the crunch. Quill may have released Archer from the prosecution’s hook, but Silas still hung like a fish about to be gutted.
‘Yes,’ Quill replied.
‘Who was that?’
The doctor raised his head, an action which involved him moving his entire body as if his neck was welded to his shoulders. ‘The accused,’ he said, raising his right hand to Silas. ‘I had recently treated the young man. He had been caught in the Greychurch riots, and His Lordship was keen that I gave the man the once over, you might say.’
Quill was telling half-truths, not complete lies. They had been together, they had been playing Quill’s game, and Silas had been present, though not for Quill to treat him with anything other than the Ripper’s knife.
‘His butler was also present,’ Quill continued and this time pointed out Thomas. ‘Mr Payne was with us and, as an upstanding man of service, I am sure he would testify to the fact.’
‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Creswell said. ‘The prosecution’s wine cellar prevents us from calling Mr Payne.’
Creswell referred to the note that had been delivered, and again, glanced across to James. Or was it Thomas? Archer couldn’t tell, nor could he understand why. Quill had provided the needed alibi and, backed up by Archer’s story. It was a simple case of word against word with the defence one point ahead by having two credible witnesses against one affidavit. James and Thomas whispered, and James signalled, ‘Yes’ to the barrister.
‘Before I sit,’ Creswell said, putting down the note and adjusting his silks. ‘I would like to address the man who laid the charge against my client.’
‘Why?’ Galloway’s voice carried mistrust.
‘Simply for clarification, Your Worship.’
Galloways glared at Matthews, expecting an objection, but there were no grounds, and he looked away.
‘Obliged, M’lud.’ Creswell turned to the witness. ‘Doctor Quill. I understand that because of the Hippocratic Oath, you are unable to furnish us with details, but have you ever treated a Reverend Dan, or Daniel, Stony?’
‘I have, Sir.’
Creswell again glance at James, but this time it was Thomas who nodded encouragement.
‘Did he come to your Harvey Street clinic or your Greychurch practice?’
‘Both.’
‘Both?’ The defence seemed surprised. ‘Please elucidate.’
‘Most interesting,’ Quill said. ‘Herr Wundt would find the man the most fascinating of psychological investigations. A whole paper could be written about the Reverend Stony.’
‘Please explain.’
‘There is no term for a patient’s condition when he has two minds,’ the Doctor said. This time he spoke to the jury, at ease and keen to impart knowledge as if they were students in his lecture theatre. ‘He came to see me in Harvey Street as Reverend Stony but saw me again in Greychurch purporting to be someone else. There was nothing medically wrong with the man, and so I was unable to treat either... personalities, but I had seen his condition before.’
‘Oh? Where?’ Creswell probed.
‘The question really is in whom,’ Quill replied. ‘But as you have asked, and because there is a connection, I shall tell you both.’ His body slumped with sadness, either feigned or real, it was hard to tell. ‘My late half-brother, Sherman, suffered from the same affliction, and the interesting thing is, the two men had something else in common.’
‘Is this relevant?’ Again, Galloways was glaring at the prosecution, but Matthews was lost in his papers. Searching desperately for some way to end the questioning, he found none.
‘Most relevant, M’lud,’ Creswell said, surprised at the challenge.
Archer understood why. If he could discredit the accuser, the case would be thrown out. A faint flicker of hope danced in his stomach.
‘Please, Doctor,’ Creswell smiled. ‘What was the connection?’
‘Where, Sir,’ Quill said. ‘The connection was an address at Cleaver Street, number nineteen.’
Galloways spluttered on his water, but Creswell continued before he recovered.
‘And what is this Cleaver Street address?’
‘What, Sir? Why it is a house like many others in the street, or so I am told. The property is owned by the Reverend Stony, alth
ough under his actual name, Antony, or Tony Danvers. For my half-brother, it was a place where he could live as his other personality, his feminine side if you will.’ He paused to wipe his mouth and adjust the skin-mask. ‘He was, to the outside world, a quiet and unassuming man, but inside the property, he could become another person entirely. His affliction gave him sadomasochistic tendencies, flogging and such like, but only to and with other men. The troubling aspect, on which I did try to counsel and treat him from an early age, though unsuccessfully, was that he did this while dressed as a woman.’ He ignored the gasps and a few laughs from the gallery. ‘He found that at Cleaver Street, he was able to live this fantasy life. Indeed, he shared his proclivity with many men who gathered regularly there, he said.’
‘Really?’
Thomas was nodding to Creswell, James was signalling positively, and Silas stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on Galloways. The judge swallowed when he caught the look of hatred, and he glared at the prosecution only to find Matthews gesticulating that there was still no cause for objecting to this line of questioning.
‘Yes,’ Quill said, reaching into his jacket pocket. ‘If it would be of interest to the court, I have a list of names, provided to me by Sherman before he died. I believe Inspector Adelaide would find it very interesting.’
Beside Archer, Adelaide had been following proceedings with great interest. His book was a mess of notes, and he looked like a dog being promised a bone held just out of reach.
It occurred to Archer that he was standing between the Ripper and the man bent on catching him, and for a fleeting second, he wondered if his silence was morally wrong. He saw Silas draw the faintest of smiles at the squirming judge, and concluded it was not.
‘Your list,’ Creswell said, ‘will, I am sure, be of interest to the Inspector, but it is not completely relevant to this case.’
‘Oh, I must disagree,’ Quill countered. A thick trail of spit was sucked into his mouth, and he wiped it with the back of his hand. ‘Perhaps I should show it to you?’
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