The Barrister and the Letter of Marque

by Todd M Johnson

  “And you haven’t seen him since?”

  “Nah.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Little.”

  It was the same answer a handful of the others had given: the first mate headed away from the Thames and the shipping companies where he might have landed work. Each response tore away more of William’s hope of finding Ivars, the last independent witness who could corroborate the Letter of Marque.

  William paid the bill. They left the pub under cloudless skies full of faded-blue winter sunshine. Catching a cab back to Gray’s Inn, they rode silently in shared disappointment.

  “I need to check on something,” Edmund said as they reached the Inn. “Just an hour or so. I’ll be back on task tonight.”

  Despondent, William didn’t protest. “That’s fine, Edmund. We’ll talk later.”

  OFFICE OF BARRISTER WILLIAM SNOPES

  GRAY’S INN

  When William entered his office, he found Father Thomas standing in the foyer.

  He nodded at the priest. “I can’t thank you enough for your help, Father,” William said, unlocking his door and taking a bag of papers from one of the priest’s hands and clothes off the Father’s other arm. “Was anyone at my flat when you arrived?”

  “A few vagabonds hanging out near the door to the staircase. They eyed my coming and going, but no one dared a word.”

  “Well, it’s most appreciated.”

  “Of course, William,” Father Thomas replied. “I’d also planned to retrieve your evening clothes for the ball tonight as you asked, but those in your wardrobe were abysmal. The likes haven’t been worn since the coronation of Henry VIII. I’ve brought you some others borrowed from an up-to-date parishioner instead. They should fit well enough, and you’ll look as though you belong in this century.”

  As much as his pride made him want to refuse, he knew the Father was right. And he didn’t wish to look foolish with Lady Jameson on his arm. “Thank you again, Father.”

  The priest nodded, glancing around his office. “This truly is a month of firsts. Like your apartment, in all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve never been inside your office.”

  “Nor I in yours. Some secrets must be maintained, I suppose.”

  “Um-hmm. Have you had any second thoughts about your involvement in this piracy matter—in light of the riot?”

  “No,” William replied as he took a seat at his desk. “And it wasn’t a riot.”

  “Only because you’ve retained some foot speed over the years. It’s a wonder the mob didn’t circle back and burn your flat to the ground.”

  “Too many distracting pubs along the way, I imagine.”

  “You joke, but you also look worried, William.”

  William nodded. “That’s so. We’re facing a wall in this case, created by people intent on my client going to the gallows. Edmund, Obadiah, and I have been working for a week of eighteen-hour days preparing for trial and can’t seem to garner any favorable testimony.”

  The Father looked on, uncommonly serious. “I suppose I should let you get back to your preparations, then, William.”

  “Yes. But before you go, Father, I’d like to ask a favor.”

  The priest looked instantly suspicious. “What kind of favor?”

  “It’s not for me, but for my client. I wonder if you could visit Captain Tuttle at Newgate.”

  “Has he asked it?”

  “No. Not directly. But he’s in a desperate place. I’m trained for the earthly struggle of the courtroom. He requires consolation and wisdom more in your field.”

  “Surely you’re not admitting to the possibility that you might lose the trial.”

  “I’m deadly serious here, Thomas,” William said sharply.

  The priest looked startled at the tone William had never used with him before.

  “I’m very sorry,” the priest replied. “My jest was a poor one. Of course I’ll go. This very afternoon.”

  “It would mean a great deal to me. And I have one more favor to ask.”

  “What is that?”

  “I’d like you to attend trial. This case will take some difficult turns. I’d benefit from your keen eye and discernment. I’d also like you to acknowledge me in the courtroom each morning immediately before we begin, and each afternoon after we return from noon recess.”

  The Father stiffened. “Are you asking me to endorse your case for the benefit of the jury?”

  “No. Through me, I’m asking you to endorse my client for the benefit of the jury. I only ask this of you if you believe it’s warranted after you meet with Captain Tuttle—and I promise I’ll never ask such a thing of you again in my career.”

  “It’s an extraordinary thing you’re seeking, William. Especially given my objections to your methods.”

  His methods. He recalled his words to Obadiah and Edmund in the park about the lengths he’d go to win this case.

  Over a long pause, William thought matters over.

  “What I say next must never leave this room, Thomas,” he said at last. “As my earlier comments must make clear, despite my sincere belief in Captain Tuttle, as the evidence currently stands, I fear the outcome of this case more than any before. I’ve never told anyone, but as a very young boy I snuck away from our London town home on a damp winter day and visited the Tyburn gallows. I’d overheard that it was to be the last execution day conducted at Tyburn, and I didn’t want to miss it. A single poor soul was marched to the ropes on trembling legs. You could see him looking about, foam on his lips, praying for the King’s pardon to arrive. It never did, and he met his fate. Despite my zeal to be there, the image of what I saw that morning has never left me. Recently I’ve had terrible dreams of the captain in those straits.”

  The Father stared before clearing his throat. “You honor me, William, with your confession. Very well. I’ll give you my answer to the latter request after meeting with Captain Tuttle. And if, this one time, I agree to do this, I’ll throw in an additional favor you haven’t requested—presumably because you’re too stiff-necked to ask.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ll pray each day for you. As well as for Edmund and Obadiah. The Lady Jameson. And particularly for your poor Captain Tuttle.”

  30

  HOME OF SIR AND LADY RUTLEDGE

  WESTMINSTER DISTRICT

  LONDON

  Determined to be his most optimistic for the evening, William shrugged off the cold, took a deep breath, and pulled himself aboard Lady Jameson’s carriage outside Gray’s Inn.

  “You look lovely,” he remarked as he sat across from the lady.

  His resolution to be upbeat tonight was driven partly by his belated realization of how difficult it must be for the lady to enter the hostile setting where she once was welcome. If he’d considered it more thoroughly, he never would have asked her to accompany him.

  Still, the compliment came effortlessly and with a sincerity that surprised him. Dressed in a loose, naturally flowing gossamer gown with a Medici collar and train, and a necklace with a large black pearl about her neck, she displayed the simple elegance that he always preferred.

  The carriage lurched away. “Thank you, Mr. Snopes.” The lady touched her necklace with a gloved hand. “Do you like the necklace?”

  “It’s stunning.”

  She smiled. “And I’ll admit that it is quite valuable, the very last of my family’s jewels. A gift from my brother, sent home from Spain. I couldn’t bear to part with it. Still, you must know that I’m woefully out of fashion.”

  “I know nothing of the kind.”

  “It’s true. This dress is the Parisian style, acquired by my mother years ago. But hoop skirts are still the rule in London. I’ve refused to wear one since I was twenty—not that I’ve had reason to don any ball gowns the past several years. Hoop skirts always made me feel as though I were standing in a barrel.”

  William laughed, enjoying her candor. “Then we’ll be scandalous in more than one way.”

  �
�Yes. And you’ll also note that I have no feathers in my hair.”

  “Should there be?”

  “Of course. Ostrich, if available. Another fashion I refuse. I won’t adopt plumage I wasn’t born with.”

  To blazes with fashion. Her hair had a soft center part, framing her face in a series of small waves, with a crown—all so fine and breathtakingly natural. He could hardly take his eyes from her.

  “You appear most modern yourself, Mr. Snopes.”

  “If that’s true, then it’s thanks to a friend. He described my clothes as ‘hopelessly out of date’ and managed to purloin these for me for the evening.”

  She laughed. “I admit I’m nervous. But a part of me is enjoying this. I know I shouldn’t, given our purpose and what’s at stake for my cousin.”

  “I suppose. But we’ve got very serious days approaching. Maybe it isn’t so bad to be at ease tonight.”

  The carriage arrived at the towering Rutledge Town Mansion, lit by torches about the entryway. William recognized the place. He’d been sixteen—no, seventeen—when he attended a dinner here with his parents. He remembered the Rutledge family as near the peak of the London scene. A self-consciously proper family. Though, as he recalled, they were not unkind.

  “Lady Jameson,” William said before they left the carriage, “having never met him, you won’t recognize Mandy Bristol if he’s here tonight, while I won’t recognize many faces familiar to you. I suggest we circulate individually as well as together and see what whispers we can pick up about Mr. Bristol. I’ve something I plan to use to try to gather information.” He went on to explain his idea.

  “Good. Let’s try that,” she said, nervousness creeping into her reply.

  Davidson opened the carriage door, and they stepped out. With Lady Jameson on William’s arm, they ascended the steps to the front entrance, which was flanked by liveried servants.

  “Here we go,” Lady Jameson whispered.

  “Like any other plunge into cold water, we’ll get used to it,” William replied.

  He felt her hand tighten about his arm.

  The ballroom was resplendent in the soft, rapturous light of a thousand candles. William used to dislike the conformity of dress among the guests at these events, but tonight the interplay of color and movement dazzled. The chamber orchestra was crisp, the dances lively, varied, and fully attended. It all seemed more remarkable than he remembered.

  In the nights before this evening, William had practiced the dances he’d so loved as a youth. Then he’d taken the precaution of purchasing a book on modern dances, which he convinced Lady Jameson to practice with him late into the evening at Obadiah’s home. The cotillion and allemande of his younger days, the book made clear, had been replaced in popularity by the quadrille and the controversial waltz—born of a music which William loved.

  The book was right. Within the first hour in the ballroom, he saw that most calls to the floor were for waltzes to the exclusion of other dances. The flowing guests gathered and parted and regathered like swans in a pond before William’s and Lady Jameson’s eyes. As the evening progressed, William surveyed the crowd from every angle, keeping a close eye on the entrance to see who was arriving. To his great disappointment, Mandy Bristol was nowhere to be found.

  He’d grown to hope that tonight they’d emerge with a list of candidates for Mandy’s hidden investors. Yet neither Mandy nor information about him was to be found. At most, William saw a few barristers he knew among the large crowd and noted occasional contemptuous or surprised glances from people he’d known in the distant days when he was a young fish in this pond.

  After a while, Lady Jameson left him, moving to another corner to test the waters among a group of old acquaintances. William did the same until, growing weary, he accepted a glass of champagne from a passing servant, determined to find a seat.

  “William!”

  The caller was one of the barristers William had noticed early in the evening, Gregory Severson. A fair trial attorney, William registered, though the man was hampered by his background and wealth and an overly amiable personality, which, in William’s estimation, denied him the necessary edge of a top-notch barrister.

  “Good to see you, Gregory.”

  “Didn’t think I’d ever see you at one of these affairs, William.”

  “A colleague convinced me to come—though I can’t seem to find him. Don’t suppose you’ve seen him, have you? A solicitor named Mandy Bristol?”

  “Old Mandy? Haven’t seen him tonight. Which is unlike the man, I should add. He’s become a regular in the ball circuit.”

  “Has he? Mandy’s asked me to handle a discreet matter for a couple of his closer clients. A very scandalous affair.” William leaned in. “I can’t share their names, of course, but I’ll give you a hint: they’re here tonight.”

  “Really?” Gregory looked about. “Afraid I don’t run in Mandy’s circles, so I don’t know who that might be. But tell me, William. I heard you’ve a case launching in a few days. It’s all the talk at The Old Bailey. Up against Sir Barnabas, eh? Watch out for him. Sharp elbows. Doesn’t like to lose.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t. If you’ll excuse me, Gregory, I see someone I must greet.”

  William wandered away. He’d used the same line a dozen times that evening among the men he’d spoken with. None had volunteered who Mandy’s clients might be. If Mandy was attending social functions, it seemed he was avoiding obvious association with the clients William and Lady Jameson were searching for.

  Ah well, he told himself. It had been nearly an hour since he last circled to Lady Jameson. Perhaps she was having better luck.

  “Mandy Bristol?” Lady Pamela said in answer to Madeleine’s statement. “With clients engaged in a scandalous lawsuit? Clients who are here tonight?”

  It had taken a long while for Madeleine to catch Lady Pamela alone. She was, so far as Madeleine recalled, the most versatile and learned gossip in London, second only to Dame Baltimore.

  “The most scandalous,” Madeleine replied, leaning close. “Please don’t press me. I really shouldn’t share the particulars. It will be in all the papers within the week, at any rate.”

  The disadvantage of being considered scandalous, Lady Jameson had learned, was that few of the women she approached would stay to speak with her beyond a word or two.

  Pamela appeared to be an exception.

  “I wonder who his clients could possibly be?” Lady Pamela said, surveying the room. “I suppose it could be Mr. Fennelworth. The man has been seen in the worst parts of London. Or Sir Scott. Repulsive fellow. Has an actress as a mistress. Am I warm?”

  “Um, I really shouldn’t say.”

  “Surely not Pastor Martin of the Sacred Heart Church?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “In fairness,” Lady Pamela said, “I can’t recall seeing Mr. Bristol in either Mr. Fennelworth’s or Sir Scott’s company. Frankly, it’s hard to imagine who Mr. Bristol’s circles might include. I’d never heard of the man before the last year or two, and now he seems to gain invitations to so many events. Nearly as many as myself! It’s a wonder how he manages it.”

  Madeleine remained with Lady Pamela for as long as she could stand it. When certain no more information was forthcoming, she extricated herself and stepped away.

  She was making her way back to William when she saw Dorothy. Her old friend was standing near a window, her husband at her side. She should have expected it, though she’d hoped Dorothy wouldn’t attend this evening.

  She noted that husband and wife stood alone.

  Madeleine couldn’t help herself. Worried how she’d be received, her steps took her across the room to her friend’s side.

  “Dorothy,” she began, “I want to apologize about the other night at dinner. I couldn’t tell you because—”

  “Apologize?” Dorothy’s hardened eyes froze her. “This is the first event we’ve been invited to since that dreadful evening. The Rutledges are kind people.
It may be the last.”

  “It wasn’t my purpose to embarrass you.”

  “Embarrassment? It was betrayal. You should have told me. You should have refused the dinner.”

  “I tried. You insisted. And I didn’t expect the reports in the newspapers. They’re all lies, Dorothy dear. This lawsuit isn’t what it seems. My cousin isn’t guilty of the charges. We’ll prove it in court.”

  “I defended you, Madeleine. Against all the rumors and attacks, I stood by you. Then to learn from your own lips that they were all true! You’ve stained my reputation forever. Don’t ever speak with me again. Never.”

  Dorothy’s husband took her arm. They walked away, leaving Madeleine to stand alone.

  Stunned, Madeleine suddenly felt unable to catch her breath. Her friend was right. She’d lied to Dorothy with her silence that night. Just as she’d lied to Mr. Snopes to win his representation.

  It was becoming so easy and so easy to excuse. In her effort to save her estate, who would she hurt? How much worse would she become?

  She deserved her suffering.

  For the first time in all the months and years of work and degradation, she finally felt herself succumb. Hollowed to her core.

  All the faces and eyes surrounding her and she hadn’t a single wall remaining to conceal her.

  William saw the lady across the room, standing with a man and woman. He watched as the young woman mouthed words to Madeleine that he couldn’t hear, then walked away on the arm of the man.

  A startled, downtrodden look registered on Madeleine’s face, unmistakable, even from a distance.

  William crossed the floor to be at her side. “Lady Jameson, are you all right?”

  She didn’t respond. Her eyes appeared lost, almost glassy. “I can’t do this any longer,” she said in a low, strained voice.

  “I know,” William answered to lift her spirits. “Everyone’s waiting for us to brandish weapons and demand their money or their lives.”

  The lady didn’t respond to his jest. Her distant eyes remained fixed.