The Barrister and the Letter of Marque

by Todd M Johnson

  A man strode past, a woman on his arm. He stepped so close that he brushed Lady Jameson’s gown.

  She stepped backward, startled.

  “Sir?” William called.

  The man walked on.

  “SIR.”

  The man halted, turning slowly. “Are you addressing me?”

  “Apologize to the lady,” William said.

  “What lady?”

  Willian stepped forward, feeling Lady Jameson’s hand reach out and restrain his arm.

  “Your name?” William demanded.

  This was a mistake. Ruinous to their purpose this evening.

  He couldn’t stop himself.

  “Zachory Leader.”

  The man sneered, his face flushed with wine. William didn’t care. This was one of the class he’d left behind, one of those who sniggered and smirked and wouldn’t know a day’s work if it smashed them in the nose.

  He glanced to Madeleine’s pale visage, and his hands began to tremble with rage. “Mr. Leader,” he voiced deeply and loudly, “I suggest we discuss this out of doors. I wouldn’t want to stain these magnificent floors.”

  Another man dressed in dark gray appeared at Leader’s side. “That’s William Snopes,” he said, his tone low.

  “So?”

  “He knows his way around a blade, Zach. At least he did as a youth.”

  “I don’t care. It’s an abomination that he and that woman are here.”

  William pulled free of the lady’s hands.

  A taller man appeared. His dress made him impossible to ignore: a jacket exceptionally well-fitted, full-length tailored trousers, a high red cravat about his neck.

  “Mr. Leader,” the tall man said, “I saw what just happened. You’ll apologize to the lady at once.”

  Zachory’s eyes widened. “Lord Brummell, I can’t possibly—”

  “You’ll apologize, and you’ll do so this minute or I’ll stand as this man’s second for the duel you seem to be inviting. Though I don’t think he’ll require me. You won’t be pleased with the outcome.”

  Zachory swallowed hard, then blinked as if rising above his inebriation.

  “My apologies,” he said with a stiff bow toward Lady Jameson.

  “Good. Now go off and get drunker someplace else.”

  Eyes lowered, the man and his friend withdrew.

  The tall man bowed. “As one of the hosts of tonight’s ball, please accept my apologies as well,” Lord Brummell said, addressing himself particularly to Madeleine. “Mr. Leader is a pig. I’d avoid his presence altogether, but he might harm himself if he wasn’t invited.”

  Still looking shaken, Madeleine nodded and made an effort to smile.

  “Thank you, Lord Brummell,” William said. “I recognize your name, though I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

  “And I recognize yours. Your father, as you know, is one of my esteemed colleagues in the House of Lords.”

  “Of course.”

  “It wasn’t our intent to create a stir this evening,” William said.

  “A stir? Not at all. If you’re creating such a thing, I’d say it’s in the courtroom.” The lord leaned close to William. “You know, I’m rooting for you both in your upcoming trial. In fact, I’m considering attending myself.”

  “Thank you, Lord Brummell,” William replied, surprised. “I doubt there are many here tonight who share your sentiments.” He thought for a moment. “May I ask a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “I was hoping to have an opportunity to speak with a gentleman I was informed would be here tonight. I wonder if you’ve seen him.”

  “Who might that be?”

  “A solicitor. Mandy Bristol.”

  There was a pause. “Mandy . . . Bristol. I’ve heard the name. In fact, yes, I know of the man. You say he was supposed to be here? Even as one of the hosts, I’m not assured of personally knowing every guest invited.”

  “Do you know whether Mr. Bristol has any particular persons with whom he attends these events?”

  The lord thought for a moment. “I can’t say that I do. I don’t recall if I’ve actually met the man.”

  There was a gentle tug on William’s arm. William looked to Lady Jameson, still standing beside him.

  Her pallor had grown even whiter. She seemed near tears.

  “I’d like to leave,” she said softly.

  Shocked at the change in the lady, William looked about the room.

  The music had stopped. In gathered groups about the hall, most eyes were fixed on William and Lord Brummell. At least of those who weren’t staring at Madeleine.

  William took a deep breath.

  He should never have brought her here tonight. The woman had suffered threats, social exile, the potential loss of her home—and far worse, the death or crippling of those dear to her. Her own cousin’s fate hung over her daily. Through it all, she’d remained unbroken. He’d admired her strength, and somehow assumed she was impregnable.

  What foolishness. No one was impregnable. Every form of courage had its limits—and its moments of doubt. He wondered what she’d experienced this night that had finally brought her down.

  They should leave now.

  Except.

  He looked about again. The eyes still stared at them; the mouths still moved in their common judgment.

  William’s heart pounded. He refused to retreat before this gathering that was no better than any other mob, no matter their attire. He wouldn’t allow Madeleine to suffer such humiliation.

  “I’ll only be a moment,” he said gently to Madeleine, then excused himself from Lord Brummell.

  He crossed the room to the orchestra. “A waltz,” he said to the conductor.

  The conductor looked across the floor to Lord Brummell, who nodded.

  The conductor called the dance, then turned to the orchestra and raised his hands. The musicians straightened. The violins began in three-quarter time, joined swiftly by rising violas. A cello. Then the pianoforte.

  William crossed the floor to Madeleine. He extended a hand. “My lady?”

  She looked at him, still cowed.

  He looked back firmly, putting on his best smile of courtroom assurance.

  “Mr. Snopes,” she answered tentatively, taking his hand.

  They danced the waltz, filling the floor from side to side, their wide sweeps and turns claiming every inch of it. They danced alone, followed by the disapproving eyes of the ballroom guests, not slowing from start to end—gliding, smooth and unfaltering. Her soft, shapely eyes remained fixed on his. It was, he thought, magnificent. As though they’d waltzed together their entire lives.

  The orchestra finally stilled. William released her. He bowed. Madeleine curtsied, rising with gratitude in her eyes.

  Only then did he lead her from the ballroom floor and out into the night.

  31

  WHITECHAPEL

  EAST END, LONDON

  Mandy walked the full length of the alleyway through thick mist. At least the winter fog covered the filth of the place, he thought, though it didn’t dispel the smell. At the alley’s end was a short staircase descending to a basement level door. He knocked out a rhythm—two knocks, three, one.

  The door opened inward.

  Decrepit wood furniture occupied a dank, cheerless room. Windows set high at ground level were covered with oiled paper. Several candles barely lit the small place, while two doors led deeper in. Like the open maws of snakes, Mandy thought, disinterested in going there.

  He nodded at the man who’d opened the door and who now gestured him to a seat.

  “No need,” Mandy replied, not wanting to soil his suit. “This will only take a moment. I’m here to end our ventures.”

  Lonny McPherson smiled, taking a chair for himself. His teeth were magnificently white, even in the shadowy room. Mandy suspected that Lonny believed the feature deducted from the startling visage of his drooping eye. To Mandy, the discordant eye and teeth were equally appalli
ng.

  “End the ventures?” Lonny said. “I’d guessed as much. When I got your message from young Tad to meet, it was the only reason I could imagine for you dirtying your shoes at night to come to my humble office. Your partners worried about the coming date with the judge?”

  “Reasons don’t matter,” Mandy insisted. “Speed does matter.”

  Mandy reached deep into a coat pocket for a large bag of coins. “I have here five hundred pounds. A hundred is for your troubles. The remaining is for your two workers, Tad and Isabella, to settle them into life away from London.”

  Lonny leaned back in surprise. “Two hundred pounds each! That’s quite a sum for such young souls.”

  “It’s to ensure that our wishes are satisfied. We never want to hear from these people again. You must impress upon them that this is to pay for a one-way ticket each.”

  “Tad’s awfully young to be away from my fatherly care,” Lonny said, clucking his tongue. “And Isabella? Alone in this harsh world?”

  “I’m sure you can find likeminded colleagues in Edinburgh or York or Manchester to take them under their wings. This is a very serious matter. It must be done, and soon.”

  Lonny smiled again. “It took a great deal of effort to set up my part of our little business that you now want to end. No one else in London could’ve prepared Isabella to work with the royals at Carlton House as I did, caring for our dear crazed king. No one else could have assured safe transport of the papers she pilfered.”

  “Yes. It was a coup. Remarkable work. I applaud you. We’ve all profited. Now it must end.”

  “One hundred pounds for me, on the other hand, seems a paltry sum.” Lonny crossed the room to pocket the bag, then returned to his chair. “This venture has cost me dearly, and now you’re asking me to bleed more to end it. For only a hundred pounds.”

  “Cost you dearly?” Mandy said, regretting he’d parted with the money.

  “Yes. I deal in human capital, Mr. Bristol. I take young folks as have potential—folks discarded by your society—and I train them into a skill. Then I launch them to practice that skill—to their profit and to mine. Simon Ladner now gone. Tad, a lad always eager to please—nearly ready to fulfill his role—sent away. And lovely Isabella, a dear girl who could’ve been my daughter. All used up and discarded. You want me to send them off where they’ll be no profit to me ever again. And don’t plead poverty when it comes to my wages, Solicitor. I know who’s behind you. That fop Beau Brummell and his whelp, the Princess Charlotte.”

  Mandy was floored. “You’re wrong,” he blurted out.

  “You think after working together all these years, I wouldn’t know who’s pulling the strings? But we were discussing the fairness of my compensation.”

  Mandy could barely assemble himself.

  “You selected these young folks for the tasks,” he managed. “You’ve been paid handsomely for their services. And now you’re being paid handsomely for their send-off.”

  “What’s handsome enough, I wonder, when the cost is so high—and your own profits so great?”

  Silence settled between them.

  Lord Brummell and the princess could never know that this man had learned their involvement. Which meant Mandy could never use this grotesque man again. He wondered if it showed in his eyes.

  “There will be other ventures,” Mandy lied. “Don’t let your greed overcome you if you want to be called upon again. Will you finish the task as requested?”

  “I took the money, didn’t I?”

  It was hardly a yes, but Mandy was anxious to be gone. “Good. When can you have Tad and Isabella resettled?”

  Lonny considered a moment. “Before your trial begins. Three days from now, isn’t it? You know it’ll be hard to ever set something like this up again. It’s been a sweet rounder, it has.”

  “Just get it accomplished, Mr. McPherson.”

  “Of course, Mr. Bristol.”

  HOME OF OBADIAH AND SUZANNE CUMMINGS

  Madeleine lay in bed clutching her pillow. Her emotions alternated between shame at her collapse at last night’s party and the deadening sorrow and regret she felt for all she’d done. Her limbs were lead, her eyes red with periodic bursts of tears.

  How could she go on?

  An image of her mother arose. Her brother. Her heart burned to have them back.

  Her father’s face came. Strong and smiling, from before his failing health.

  An image of her home before its decline. Playing with her brother in the gardens or far over the fields where their horses would carry them.

  Roisin—then and now. At risk because of her efforts.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Lady Jameson?” Davidson’s voice called her.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Lady Jameson. You wanted me to drive you to Newgate Prison this morning, to bring the captain food and clothing. Shall I ask Mr. Cummings to go in your stead?”

  She wanted to cry out yes.

  Then she recalled the kindness of William. Over recent years, she’d grown unaccustomed to such compassion. Carrying her with his words and voice—and then the waltz. Leading her from the ball through her daze.

  “Don’t yield to their judgments,” he’d said, trying to console her in the carriage ride home from the ball, even though she wouldn’t tell him what had upset her so. “You’re a good woman, undeserving of the punishment these gentlefolk would inflict on you.”

  His words had kept her from slipping into a chasm from which she felt she’d never return. Because of him, she’d left the ball without the worst of the shame the others wanted to exact; gripping the lifeline of William’s arm with some of her dignity remaining—though she could scarcely imagine that she deserved it.

  Only William seemed to believe she did.

  Who was this man?

  She cleared her throat. Took a full breath.

  “No, Davidson,” she called. “Prepare the carriage. I’ll be going to Newgate as planned.”

  32

  NEWGATE PRISON

  Madeleine ascended the steps leading to Newgate’s entrance. The jailor knew her by now. She silently signed the log and then followed him into the chill and darkness surrounding Harold’s cell.

  William’s kindness the night before, at the ball and after, had gotten her through the night. But the truth was that they’d learned nothing at the ball. Only that Mandy Bristol had become a common guest at dinners, balls, and hunts, yet no one could identify his closest companions or even a source for his invitations.

  Though scarcely sleeping, she’d awoken this morning to harsh, unwelcome clarity. Not only about herself but also, with her first conscious breath, the sorrowful knowledge that Harold could be convicted. Somehow she’d expected the evidence of his innocence to arrive, but now, only two days from trial, she could no longer deny that it would take a miracle for William and Edmund to convince a jury to acquit. They lacked even one witness to the Letter of Marque besides her cousin. They lacked proof of the conspiracy woven around the Padget’s voyage.

  Once they reached the lower cells, the jailor turned to leave. Alone, Madeleine tried to banish her mood from her face and voice before stepping from the shadows to the bars of Harold’s cell.

  “Cousin, I’ve brought you your clothes for trial,” she said with a smile. “And some food too.”

  Harold emerged from the deep shadows of the cell to take the bag she offered. “Thank you, Madeleine,” he said softly.

  She saw instantly how low Harold was today. He moved slowly, stared at her through lidded eyes. In his weakness, she found herself searching for her own sources of strength.

  “Did Father Thomas come again today?” she asked. “You said he’s been coming nearly every day.”

  “Yes. And he no longer interrogates me about the voyage as he once did. He reads Scripture now. We chat. It helps. He seems to believe in me.”

  “As well he should.”

  Her cousin pulled a stool over
to the bars and dropped onto it. “How is trial preparation going? Mr. Snopes hasn’t been by for several days, and his solicitor, Obadiah, continues to play the sphinx when he’s here.”

  “William is confident,” she lied.

  Harold’s eyebrows lifted. “William, is it?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, looking down. “Mr. Cummings’s wife, Suzanne, has been telling me about the barrister, and I forgot myself.”

  He waved a hand in the air. “It’s all right, Madeleine. I caught him in a similar slip last week about you. Besides, none of the formalities seem relevant anymore.”

  Her worry grew. “Has your Rebekah come to visit?”

  “No. I sent word through Mr. Snopes telling her not to visit, even if her family relented and permitted it. There’s no point in staining her reputation.”

  “Mr. Snopes has sent a messenger to Edinburgh to try to locate Solicitor Mortimer and speed his return,” Madeleine said to raise his spirits. “He says he has high hopes.”

  “You’re a terrible liar, cousin. We both know it’s a twelve-day journey in the best of circumstances. And we don’t even know where our good Solicitor Mortimer was bound. I’ve placed greater hope on your locating First Mate Ivars. How has that gone?”

  She despised having nothing but poor news.

  “We hope to find him at any hour,” she said buoyantly. “Obadiah has been checking every last shipper in London, as well as every independent merchant ship on the Thames. Edmund has been helping. They’ve located nearly all of the crew, so I’m sure we’ll find your first mate as well.”

  “Quint falling from the map makes no sense.”

  “Are we missing anything in our search, Harold?”

  “No. Not unless Ivars took a smuggler’s berth. And then we’d have no means to find him.”

  Madeleine felt a jolt. “A smuggler’s berth?”

  “Yes. Smugglers require crews as much as anyone.”

  “How would someone locate a smuggler’s ship?”

  Harold shrugged. “They make regular stops delivering goods like any other merchant. The trick is knowing when and where they stop. Not often in daylight, or anywhere on the Thames. Too much traffic along the pier.”