by Edward Cline
Grainger picked up his gavel and angrily struck it once. “Counselor, you are again mocking these proceedings, and I insist—”
“—If the Crown be consistent,” Jones bellowed over the judge, “it would punish all men party to those lies and libels, and banish the Bard from our lives! Was not Richard a king of this nation, but is not the universal portrait of him a libel and a blasphemy? Is he not deserving of the respect paid our present sovereign, and of the protection afforded by our laws and courts? Yet, he has been put on an eternal pillory—with Iago!”
Parrot, his mouth pursed in fury, jumped up and strode to the bench. “Objection, milord!” He turned and wagged a shaking finger at Jones. “Everyone knows, sir, that Mr. Shakespeare’s tragedies and histories are mere drama, and do not advocate any particular religion or mode of politics or ethic!”
“Perhaps, esteemed Counselor!” replied Jones. “But you yourself conceded a damning judgment on Iago, who is no less a fictive portrait than that of Richard! No less than the one the Crown has created of the accused!”
Parrot’s face grew red, and his eyes became orbs of hate.
Jones continued. “You cannot deny that a damning judgment was passed on Richard! Why, more citizens have cringed at his cadent, blazoned evil than have been lured and duped by the statements on the poster wrongly attributed to the accused! And those statements, by the bye, are far more peccant and confusing than the worst speech by the Bard’s maddest creation!” Jones flapped his arms once in seeming outrage. “Shakespeare has committed a grosser libel than have the accused, yet while his libel is repeated to paying audiences, and called nonpareil prose, the accuseds’ alleged libel is called hurtful and perilous to the Crown, and subject to punishment!” He turned from Parrot and addressed Grainger. “Where is the equity in that, milord? I say, impound and impeach the Bard, just as the Crown has the accused—or pass not judgment at all, and stay the busy pens of men who sign general warrants!”
Grainger banged his gavel three times in anger. “Cease, Counselor! The objection is sustained!” With a glance at Parrot, who smiled in triumph despite the quivering redness of his face, he sent that man back to his table, then turned to glower down at Jones. “You, Counselor,” he said, pointing a finger at the barrister, “will cease these theatrical displays! If you engage in another instance of histrionics, I shall forbid you to speak further, and instruct the jury in its duty! You will observe the comportment required in this court! Is this clear?”
Jones nodded and bowed modestly. “Forgive my theatrics, milord.” He turned to address the whole court. “But before I took up the heavy tomes of the Areopagus to puzzle out justice, I contemplated taking up the prompt-book to seduce the gallery. On occasion, I succumb to the sweet memories of that juvenile affection.”
A man in the jury clapped once, then remembered where he was and quickly folded his arms. Grainger threw the juror a contemptuous look, but Jones faced the man with a smile and performed a stage bow. Parrot muttered to his junior counsel, “He ought to have followed that ambition!”
Grainger let out a sigh of relief, and sat back in his chair as though tired from some physical exertion. “Continue with your arguments, Counselor,” he ordered, “and mind what you say.”
Jones bowed again, then turned to address Parrot. “A question for the King’s Counsel,” he said, assuming a more restrained, business-like demeanor, though with the faint suggestion of a friendly challenge on his face. “When copies and bundles of the poster under consideration were found in all the places claimed by the Crown, did the Crown find any on the persons of the accused, or in their homes or places of custom?”
A collective gasp rose in the courtroom. Parrot glanced quickly up at Grainger. The judge briefly shut his eyes, regretting the self-deceit that had allowed him to believe that Jones overlooked this point. Parrot rose and said, “Objection, milord! The question is…irrelevant.”
Jones chuckled. “Irrelevant, Counselor—or late in the asking?”
Grainger’s eyes slid darkly to silently reprove Jones, then he grimaced and shook his head. “Objection overruled, Counselor,” he sighed. “King’s Counsel must answer the question.”
Parrot bit his lips and faced Jones. “No, sir, not on their persons, nor in their homes or places of custom.”
“Nor anywhere in the vicinity of places frequented by any of the accused, such as the Fruit Wench, or the Royal College of Surgeons, or Mr. Brashears’ club of booksellers on Chandos Street?”
“No, sir.”
“Were any of the accused observed placing the poster in the places cited by King’s Counsel?”
“No, sir.”
“Has the Crown any witnesses it might have called who would swear to having seen any of the accused place the posters in these or other public places?”
“No, sir, it does not.” Parrot looked up at Grainger, hoping to be rescued from the line of questioning.
“Who filed the suit against the accused, sir?”
Grainger leaned forward and said, “King’s Counsel need not answer that question, as the answer may subject that person to recriminations or vendetta suits.”
“Brice Blissom, the Marquis of Bilbury, is deceased, milord,” advised Jones, “and beyond recrimination or redress of the injuries and costs borne by the accused.”
Grainger snorted. “You have violated a Crown confidence, Counselor, and the court will take that violation into consideration when it weighs the jury’s return.”
Jones shrugged, and faced Parrot again. “Other than signing documents necessary to the filing of a suit, Counselor, did the late Marquis sign a deposition or affidavit swearing that he observed one or any of the accused placing a poster in a public place?”
“No, sir. That worthy lord was brutally murdered by persons unknown, before he could sign anything other than the sworn and witnessed documents necessary to begin this suit.”
“And am I not correct in assuming that among the affidavits now in Milord Justice’s possession, none is signed by the late Marquis?”
“You are correct in assuming that, sir,” answered Parrot.
Jones nodded. “Thank you, Counselor,” he said with a broad smile. “You have been most cooperative.”
Jones turned to address Grainger. He wondered why he had not intervened to block the questioning, as he knew Parrot was praying for Grainger to do. “The Crown has already examined the accused, milord, and read to the court each of their admissions to the authorship of many of the statements to be found in the Society’s minutes and which subsequently found their way in twisted forms to the poster. However, this was done while the accused were being brought here. I therefore beg permission to introduce these gentlemen to the court and jury.”
Grainger shrugged his shoulders. “Certainly, Counselor. The court would not ask the jury to indict mere names, without offering those gentlemen a chance to associate those names with the actual persons.”
As he turned away from the bench, Jones muttered beneath his breath, “Milord is too kind.”
The prisoners remained standing in the dock. Jones asked each one for his name, club name, and profession. When this was done, Jones invited King’s Counsel to question the prisoners. Parrot declined. “The Crown has asked the accused all the questions it need ask, Counselor. Thank you, though, for the opportunity.”
Jones turned to the jury and repeated Parrot’s earlier description of the Society of the Pippin, but without insinuating that the club was a sinister band of conspirators. “It was no more than an association of private persons who enjoyed exercising their minds on a wide field of mental play and inquiry,” he explained. He went on to state that three of the members had not been identified and found, and so could not be questioned. “The venue of the Society’s meetings is immaterial,” he continued. “If the Society had conducted its meetings in a private home, there is no guarantee that this trial or hearing would not have taken place, given the intrusive scope of Crown authority over our liv
es. But it is my firm conviction that the accused were betrayed by one of the three missing members. The late Marquis, who brought this suit, would certainly have not been invited into this Society. Metaphysical speculation could be said to be his foible, rather than his forte. It is on record with a number of justices of the peace that he was arrested and charged on three separate occasions for molesting citizens and disturbing the peace, but went free upon payment of the fines.”
Parrot rose to lodge an objection. “The late Marquis’ character is not in question here, milord, and the Crown asks the bench to instruct the jury to disregard the Counselor’s remarks on that matter.”
Grainger sustained the objection, and so instructed the jury.
“Be that as it may,” continued Jones, “the late Marquis could not have possibly come into possession of the Society’s minutes, not unless they were either stolen, or given to him by a member of the Society—that is, by a false friend of the accused.”
Jones turned to Parrot and said, “Therefore, I concur with King’s Counsel that only a ‘Pippin’ could have authored the statements on the poster. However, that ‘Pippin’ could not have been one of the accused. Of the three members known only as Muir, Miltiades, and Mathius, the accused agree that only Mathius had reason and opportunity to betray them to the late Marquis. He was the last ‘Pippin’ to have had the ledger of minutes in his possession.”
Grainger interrupted Jones. “The court objects to the Counselor’s characterization of this missing member as a traitor, for it casts further doubt on the character and motive of the late Marquis. The late Marquis exercised his right and duty, as did, apparently, the missing member.”
Jones said, “I beg permission to call character witnesses for the accused, milord. They are here and eager to testify.”
Grainger granted permission. For the next hour and a half, the prisoners’ wives, friends, and business associates were examined by Jones. They all gave glowing appraisals of the accuseds’ characters and lives, though all confessed ignorance of the Society of the Pippin and the accuseds’ memberships in it. When the last witness returned to the spectators’ section, Jones paced thoughtfully before the bench. “The one witness, other than the missing members, who could have told the court something about the benign character of the Society, is Mabel Petty, proprietress of the Fruit Wench tavern, where the Society held its meetings. Unfortunately, she is not free to testify in this matter, as she has been promised prosecution by the Crown for harboring and abetting, should she appear as a witness for the defense, or even sign a deposition for it.”
Grainger glanced at Parrot, who rose and objected to the suggestion that the Crown had pressured or threatened Mrs. Petty. “That is not true, milord. Mrs. Petty’s establishment is under investigation for encouraging lewd and bawdy behavior and so for disturbing the peace. She is not eligible to testify.”
Grainger sustained the objection.
Jones persisted as though the objection had not been raised. “I have it from Mrs. Petty, from her daughter Agnes, and from their serving boy, Tim Doody, that they were obliged to give descriptions of both the accused and the missing members. Under duress, I should note. Yet King’s Counsel has not seen fit to read these descriptions in court, nor to my knowledge cause them to be a matter of record. I would like to see them myself. I ask King’s Counsel to explain to the court the reason for this unusual oversight.”
Parrot rose once again to object. Grainger overruled him, for he, too, was curious about the omission. Parrot said, “The descriptions obtained from those persons are not relevant to the Crown’s case, milord. The Society has been exposed, and its key members named and arrested. The Crown is satisfied with what persons it was able to lay hands on. That is all the Crown is obliged to say on that matter.”
Jones wondered if the black man in the rear of the courtroom matched one of the descriptions. Parrot and his junior counsel had not looked much at the spectators, and probably had not yet noticed him.
Jones turned to Grainger. “Milord, before I conclude my arguments, I beg the court’s permission to review the affidavits presented by King’s Counsel.”
“Certainly,” answered Grainger. “But all you will read are the sworn statements of the witnesses, who overheard the most imbenign remarks made by the accused about His Majesty, our Church, and even common Christian decency.”
“Still, milord, I wish to review them, if only to know who accuses my clients.”
Grainger sniffed in superiority. “The affidavits do not accuse, Counselor. They merely attest. The prisoners know who accuses them. It is the Crown.” He paused. “I have read the affidavits, and must assure you that if you are searching for something amiss, you will not find it. Those statements heard by the signatories in the Fruit Wench are linked to statements in the Society’s minutes and those which appeared on the poster, and have been clearly marked by King’s Counsel.”
“I am certain they have been, milord,” replied Jones with irony.
Grainger recessed the court for two hours. Jones signed a receipt for the affidavits and for the ledger of minutes, and promised not to remove them from the courtroom. The chamber was emptied, and the prisoners taken back to the anteroom for the duration of the recess. The only persons left in it were Jones, his junior counsel, Mr. Bucks, and a bailiff who remained to ensure that no one absconded with the documents.
* * *
When the court reconvened, Jones noticed that the black man was absent. He had heeded the warning. Jones was certain now that the mysterious stranger was one of the missing Pippins.
He, his junior counsel, and the solicitor, Mr. Bucks, had waded into the affidavits, and indeed confirmed that nothing was amiss in them. Everything was in order—in too perfect order. Many of the statements were apparently taken down by a clerk verbatim; these he did not doubt the authenticity of. Five of the affidavits, however, were written in too perfect language, and signed by men and women whose professions were “chandler,” “publican,” or “seamstress.” And he recognized the names of three of the signatories.
He approached the bench with a grim set to his face. “Milord, the defense thanks the court for allowing me to peruse the affidavits and the Society’s minutes. I must commend King’s Counsel for the care with which he has prepared his case.” He laid special stress on the word “prepared,” as though he wished to say “fixed.” Grainger narrowed his eyes at this, and looked innocently away. “However, three of the signatories are the names of persons I have encountered in past cases, and I know them to be men of ticklish, if not doubtful, veracity.” He glanced at Parrot. “I mention this only to advise King’s Counsel that, in this respect, he has not been careful enough.” He turned back to address Grainger. “I wish, therefore, to call these persons so that they may repeat their statements for the benefit of the court.”
Grainger threw another disgusted look at Parrot, and then addressed Jones. “Fortunately, Counselor, you were wise enough not to utter the names of these persons here. But you are again imputing that the Crown and King’s Counsel have stooped to bribery or other illegal practices, and thus you yourself are verging on slandering the Crown. On that account, permission is denied.”
“Then, milord, I beg permission to examine those persons whom I do not suspect of perjury.”
Grainger shook his head. “King’s Counsel has waived the privilege of calling witnesses, Counselor. In all fairness, I must deny the defense side the same privilege. Defense was permitted to call witnesses to the character of the accused, and that was done from a sense of mercy.”
Jones had expected it. This, then, was the beginning of the end. He could only hope now that he had damaged the Crown’s case enough in the minds of the jury, and given the six men great pause for thought and doubt. Grainger sat waiting for him to speak. “I shall now present my closing arguments, milord.”
Grainger sat back to listen. “No more histrionics, please, Counselor, or I shall rule you out of order.”
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sp; Jones faced the jury, and deliberately held for a moment the glance of each man in it. Then he smiled. “There you have it, gentlemen. The Crown, represented by the able King’s Counsel, has presented you with a fine conundrum with which to wrestle! It has proven beyond doubt that the statements on the infamous poster are but crude versions of statements recorded in the Society’s minutes. Their relationship is undeniable. Bear in mind, however, that this is all King’s Counsel has proven.”
Jones pointed to the five men standing in the dock. “There stand the accused, who admit—not confess, mind you—admit to being authors of many of the statements found in the minutes. Yet, it is not proven by the Crown that these men authored the statements on the poster. The accused deny authorship of those same said statements. They do not know who wrote them. King’s Counsel does not know who wrote them. I do not know who wrote them. I have argued from the likelihood that one of the missing members of the Society authored them, for reasons and motives unknown to anyone here today. The accused, most of all, remain ignorant of the reasons and motives, for they inform me that, to their knowledge, no man in that Society bore his brothers ill will.