Secret Nights

by Anita Mills

  One by one, Peale's witnesses were presented, and each time Patrick did not bother to challenge them. Each answered Peale's clipped, precise questions, then Russell turned to Patrick asking, "Do you examine them, Mr. Hamilton?" And each time, Patrick rose, laying, "At this time, I have no questions, my lord."

  A low murmur of disappointment rippled through the gallery, then was stilled when the keeper raised his hand. When Patrick looked up, Elise was on the edge of her seat, leaning forward anxiously. He knew she wanted him to say something, to tear John Colley or the uneasy watchman or the others apart with words, but he knew it wasn't going to matter. Not yet.

  As the last witness to probable cause was excused, Peale stood to give his argument for a speedy trial, asking that it be set before the current session ended for the holidays. And then it was Patrick's turn to speak.

  His heart pounding nearly as much as it had the first time he'd tried a case in the Bailey, Patrick rose, turned his notes facedown, and looked slowly around the gallery, then to Justice Russell.

  "My lord," he said clearly, "this proceeding is not so much about justice for Annie Adams, or Peg Parker, or any of the other unfortunate victims of murder, but rather to provide a vehicle for the state to rush Mr. Rand willy-nilly to judgment. In the name of punishing one crime, it is not the right of any state to use its power in the commission of another, equally heinous act—that of taking the life of one of its citizens without providing both for the right to a carefully conducted trial"—he paused, then his voice rose again—"and to an unprejudiced defense of that right. To the lord justice, I must submit that given the addition of charges against my client, some of which were merely entered yesterday, it is not in the interest of justice to proceed further until I have had sufficient time to examine each and every accusation. I therefore must respectfully beg of this court that if a decision to bind Mr. Rand over is made, I should be given at the very least until the end of January to prepare a more than merely adequate defense."

  Russell frowned, then looked to Peale. "And you, sir—have you no objection?"

  "My lord, I see no need to delay beyond November," the prosecutor responded.

  As those in the gallery clapped, Patrick addressed the bench again. "My lord, I should wish to be heard in chambers, if it please you."

  "Mr. Peale?"

  "No objection, my lord."

  "Very well, then." Russell addressed Patrick. "But it is with the understanding that the matter of binding shall be retained by this court, and therefore the purpose of consult is merely to determine whether to postpone a trial, if such is ordered."

  "Yes, my lord."

  Amid jeers from the gallery, Russell, Peale, Junior Prosecutor Milton, and Patrick withdrew. As the court sergeant held the door, Peale leaned close to whisper to Patrick, "The date was set at Lord Dunster's request, you know. I did not wish to leave you hanging out before the elections."

  "I am not ready to go to trial."

  "Perhaps you ought to face the notion that the old man is guilty as sin itself," Milton suggested.

  "There are six counts of murder against my client. I should like sufficient time to defend each one rather than merely respond to the whole."

  "There may be another," Peale murmured apologetically. "The chemist has discovered a concentrated quantity of jessamine in Mrs. Coates's opium, which indicates she was killed rather than succumbed to an excess of the drug itself."

  "There is nothing to connect Mrs. Coates to Mr. Rand—beyond a common acquaintance with Peg Parker," Patrick retorted.

  Not addressing that, the prosecutor added, "That could be your out, you know. It could most certainly be argued that you cannot defend one of your clients against causing the wrongful death of another. We have but to bind Rand over for November, then you may discreetly withdraw, perhaps recommending Mr. Parker or Mr. Fisher in your stead."

  "Gentlemen, am I to be privy to this discussion at all?" Justice Russell demanded querulously. "Well, what is it to be?" he asked Patrick. "Do you wish to plead that you cannot represent your client? I am sure I am within my authority to discover sufficient connection."

  He knew Dunster would expect him to bow out, and yet he knew also that Elise Rand would never forgive him if he did. "No," he said soberly, "I am asking that when he is bound over, there is a later date for the trial."

  Russell looked to Peale curiously. "But I thought you said Lord Dunster wished—"

  "Lord Dunster does not defend this case," Patrick said dryly. "And while I have no wish to withdraw, I am respectfully asserting my right to adequately counsel Mr. Rand."

  "If he should be charged with the murder of Mrs. Coates, it is my opinion you will have to withdraw in favor of unprejudiced counsel," Russell observed.

  "Unless Mr. Peale or a magistrate has caught my client giving Maddie Coates the tainted opium, I respectfully submit that I should not be discharged on grounds that are tenuous at best, my lord."

  "Oh, give over, Hamilton!" Ned Milton snapped. "Whether you deserve it or not, we have found you an out"

  But a slow smile formed at the corners of the chief prosecutor's mouth as he regarded Patrick. "No, I think not, Ned," he said softly. "Obviously, Mr. Hamilton wishes to try this one himself, and I for one am willing to let him." Turning to Justice Russell, he nodded. "I have no objection to setting this one in January Session—or February even, my lord."

  "Do you mean to charge Mr. Rand with the murder of Mrs. Coates?" Russell asked him.

  "Not now," Peale answered. "As my learned colleague Mr. Hamilton has said, the connection between Mrs. Coates and Mr. Rand is arguably a tenuous one."

  "Yes, very well, then is it settled? I shall direct it to be found that there is probable cause to sustain six murder charges against Rand. And I shall direct the Recorder to submit the order to the Lord Mayor and to discover a suitable date in January. Further than that I am not prepared to go."

  "Thank you, my lord," Patrick murmured.

  “You, sir, are a fool," Russell told him bluntly. "And I cannot think that Lord Dunster will be pleased—not at all. He does not usually exert himself to influence the setting of trials, but in this case, I am sure his intent was to help you."

  As they filed back into the courtroom, a hush fell over the gallery, allowing Peale to be beard telling Milton, "I shall look forward to this one, I think, for Hamilton cannot win it."

  But later, when the decision had been directed and received, an indignant howl went up at the discovery that Rand would not hang before January. To protect the prisoner from crowd fury, a number of guards closed around him, but not before someone had managed to spit in the old man's face. Although in fetters, Rand lunged toward his attacker, shouting, "I ain't gallows bait yet! D'ye hear that? I got Hamilton—and I ain't going to hang!"

  Elise pushed through them and put her arms around her father, trying to soothe him. "Of course you are not, Papa—of course you are not."

  The old man embraced her awkwardly, lifting manacled hands to hold her. "You ain't going to let 'em do it, are you, Puss?" he said thickly. "You are the one as I could always count on, aren't you?"

  "Yes."

  They pulled him away, and dragged him out of the courtroom under heavy guard to a holding cell beneath the Bailey itself, while the surging galley emptied, allowing the angry spectators to meld with the mob outside. She stood there for a moment, feeling the sting of hot tears burning her eyes. Then her chin came up as she turned back to Patrick.

  "Why did you not defend him?" she cried. "Why did you not prove they lied? You did not even bother to ask them any questions, Hamilton! I could scarce believe my eyes!"

  "I'd rather not answer that here, Ellie." He tried to take her arm, but she wrenched away from him. “Let me take you home, and I will explain."

  "You cannot explain it!" she shouted furiously. “You did nothing!" Whirling on her heel, she plunged into the crowd.

  "Don't be a fool, Ellie!" This time, he caught her from behind and held on, p
ulling her arms back as she struggled to get away from him. "No, you don't— you'll be trampled or worse."

  "You lied to me, Hamilton—you lied to me! When the time comes, you are going to let them hang him!"

  He shook her then. "I told you I would discuss it while I am taking you home." He could feel her shoulders shake as her anger gave way to tears. Turning her around, he enfolded her in his arms, letting her sob against him. "I have not yet begun, Ellie, I swear it" Over her shoulder, he could see Justice Russell eyeing him oddly. "Come on—I've got to get you out of here." To Russell, he explained, " 'Tis Miss Rand, and those in the gallery have overset her. I would that you allowed me to take her out the other way."

  Russel shook his head. "The sergeant tells me they are out there also. Perhaps she is better served by waiting in my chambers." Moving from the bench, he allowed, "I am thinking of staying awhile myself, for the mood is rather ugly out there."

  Under most circumstances, Patrick had regarded the man as much an adversary as Peale, but in this instance, he released Elise and took her more properly, guiding her by her elbow, directing her after Russell and a bailiff. Inside, the justice indicated a seat.

  "Do sit down, Miss Rand. Hamilton."

  "Thank you, my lord," Patrick murmured politely. As Elise sank into one of the chairs, he added, "I think she could use something to drink."

  "Well, there is port—and brandy, of course, but I cannot think either at all suitable."

  "Perhaps the brandy—purely as a medicinal, I assure you."

  Instead of answering, Russell gestured to the bailiff, who went to a cabinet and poured out a glass of the distilled wine, then returned to hand it to Patrick. Still standing over her, Patrick held it out for her, taking care to appear merely the concerned barrister.

  "Sip it," he advised, "it will make you feel more the thing."

  "Yes, of course." She tasted it obediently, then pushed it away. Looking to the justice, she managed to say, "I am all right."

  "There was no need for an unseemly display of temper, Miss Rand," he responded. "Your father has not yet gone to trial."

  "It was the crowd," Patrick explained. "I doubt she could hear anything over it."

  "Yes—well, do sit down, I pray, for I have writs to sign just now."

  As the older man crossed the room to sit at his desk, Patrick leaned close, speaking low for her ears alone. "I would that you said as little as possible, for he is not on Rand's side at all."

  She nodded, then said aloud, "I do not believe I care for any more brandy, sir."

  It seemed like an eternity before the angry threats and shouts abated enough for anyone to go near a window, and all the while Russell worked silently, looking up occasionally to survey them.

  "What is he signing?" she dared to whisper.

  "It isn't any commutations, I can tell you."

  "They cannot all be death warrants surely. I thought that was the prerogative of the Lord Mayor."

  "The mayor merely approves what the Recorder gives him." Patrick walked to the windows and looked out, then turned around. "I believe we can leave safely now, Miss Rand, providing you do not mind walking a bit to my conveyance. Not knowing if a hackney could get through, I took the precaution of standing my tilbury a street over."

  "I can walk."

  "I shall be taking Miss Rand home," he told the justice.

  Russell waited until they were almost gone through (he door before clearing his throat. "I shall, of course, have to tell Lord Dunster that you have refused, I'm afraid."

  "I know."

  As they stepped out into Bailey Street, she gasped, "Why they have wrecked nearly everything!"

  "It is not as bad as it looks," Patrick assured her. "A few overturned carts and some refuse, that is all. This is nothing to when there is an actual acquittal, I assure you."

  "They are naught but animals," she said with feeling. "Animals," she repeated. Then she looked up. "What did Justice Russell mean by what he said?"

  "The Home Secretary will be displeased."

  "Over what? I'm sorry, I ought not to pry, but I collected that it had something to do with my father."

  "It did." Taking her elbow again, he crossed the street and tried to hurry her. "Lord Dunster was of the opinion that the trial ought to be held as quickly as possible."

  "Because of the nature of the crowds," she murmured.

  "Because of the possibility of spring elections." "Yes, of course."

  "He would prefer that I distanced myself from unpopular causes—or that I extricate myself from them altogether."

  "Is that why you made no effort to examine the witnesses?" "No."

  He was walking almost too quickly for her to catch up. She caught her skirt, hiking it enough to lengthen her stride, but he merely moved faster. "Will you wait?" she said peevishly. "If not, I might as well break into a complete run."

  "I beg your pardon for it." Nonetheless, he did not slow down much.

  "The skirt of my gown is hideously narrow, you know."

  "If any recognizes me and calls out, hang the skirt and run," he advised her bluntly. "Why?"

  "Because I am not precisely popular today." Reaching the corner, he looked both ways, then pushed her ahead of him into the street. "That is my rig over there."

  "Well, thank heavens for that at least." Holding her hat, she hurried across.

  He caught her at her waist and boosted her up, then climbed in after her. Fishing in his coat pocket, he drew out several coins and handed them to the boy who'd waited with the tilbury.

  "They was feelin' the oats, sor, so I run 'em ter the corner and back," the fellow said expectantly. "Four times I done it fer ye."

  "Thank you." Digging deeper, Patrick found another coin and tossed it to him. Taking the reins, he muttered, "For that I could have hired a hackney and not worried if it would still be there."

  "Tell me, Hamilton," Elise asked, "are you always so cheeseparing?"

  "No."

  "You live in a rather ordinary house, drive a two-seat gig, and seem to enjoy doing almost everything for yourself. And yet by all accounts you are wealthy."

  "I learned my shocking economies when I lived over a grocer's, I suppose. Good habits tend to die slowly with me," he admitted cheerfully. "And I did attempt buying you jewelry, as you may recall."

  "Because you felt I expected payment."

  "No, not at all. Twas guilt, I suppose," he admitted candidly. "I had rather expected you to be angry."

  She looked at her gloved hands, saying nothing for a while, then when she spoke again it had nothing to do with Jane or jewelry. "You were going to tell me why you did not question Mr. Peale's witnesses, I believe," she said slowly. "You were going to explain why you did not defend Papa."

  "There was no need, for he was certain to be bound over."

  "That was it?" she asked incredulously. "That was the only reason?"

  "Not entirely. I wished to delay tipping my suit to Peale. If he knows now what tack I mean to take, he is not only forewarned, but he is forearmed also. For every witness I can find, he can find an opposite one if he knows what he is looking for."

  "Then you still think you can win it?"

  "Not now, but I still have hopes of discovering something—either that, or that the witnesses will somehow disappear."

  "Surely they would not hang an innocent man— they cannot!"

  "It does not take much to convict of a capital offense, my dear." His eyes still on the street, he said soberly, "There are two hundred separate crimes punishable by death, the least of which is the theft of anything worth more than five shillings."

  "But it is not applied thus surely? I mean, what of begging children in the streets?"

  "When the census was taken last year, there were sixteen, five of them girls between the ages of nine and thirteen, in Newgate. And before you say we would not hang them, perhaps I ought to tell you that we have a definite appetite for hangings—in this one month, fifty-eight people went to the
gallows in London alone, and before the year is out, I expect we will have executed nearly three hundred."

  "Then why do they care about Papa?" she demanded passionately. "If there is that much to watch, what difference can one more make?"

  "There are two things everyone wishes to see—the fall of the rich—and the fall of the powerful."

  " 'Tis barbaric! 'Tis like the Roman circus!"

  "Precisely," he murmured. "Everyone profits from the show. On a particularly busy gallows day, the Lord Mayor will host a banquet for the dignitaries come to watch, while the wealthy lease windows in the houses with a view, where they eat catered dinners and look down on the proceedings. The rest of the world pushes and shoves in the street, hoping to see it when the trap opens."

  "I don't care how civilized they claim to be," she declared acidly, "they are every one of them barbarians."

  "Even Byron?"

  "Lord Byron came?" she asked incredulously. "He hired a window and brought friends."

  She was silent for a time, then she sighed. "Then I suppose it was rather brave of you to risk angering Lord Dunster."

  "I have never played the puppet for anyone, and I see no need to begin now," he said simply.

  Ahead of them, a cart turned over, spilling its owner's wares into the street. Patrick waited while the poor fellow scrambled about to retrieve bundles of cheaply made shirts from the dirty pavement, then he nudged his pair of horses forward, easing past the wrecked (art. When he reached the corner, he glanced at Elise.

  "That is another reason why I prefer to be driven," he murmured, "I have to keep my eyes on the street rather than you."

  "What fustian!" she retorted. But as she looked up, there was no mistaking the warmth in his hazel eyes. Her gaze dropped again to the Bible in her lap. "I would you did not say such things," she managed finally.

  "I read Ezekiel, you know," he told her.

  "Then you must surely know why."