“Would you repeat that a little louder, Mr. Ivars?”
“Sergeant Rhodes.”
“Thank you. And who was Simon Ladner?”
“A boy. About thirteen, when we sailed.”
“Did this boy have a particular talent or skill?”
“Yes. I was told by the sergeant that he was a gifted pickpocket.”
Rustling filled the jury box. William saw Sir Barnabas feigning indifference.
“Did you inform Captain Tuttle that the boy you’d brought aboard to serve as a cabin boy was a pickpocket?”
“No.”
“What did you tell Captain Tuttle?”
“That he was the son of a friend, a cobbler from Whitechapel.”
“And that was a lie?”
“Yes.”
“What were you and Simon Ladner hired to do aboard the Padget?”
Hesitation.
“Take your time, Mr. Ivars. We only want the truth.”
“Sergeant Rhodes said the boy was to take the captain’s cabinet key and use it to steal a letter from the captain’s cabin when we reached London at the end of the voyage.”
“Take the key?”
“Pick the key, from the captain.”
“What letter? A letter to a loved one?”
“No. A Letter of Marque.”
The jury’s stirring grew into whispers.
“Had you seen the Letter of Marque before the voyage began?”
“Yes. Captain Tuttle showed it to me.”
“What was the purpose of stealing the Letter of Marque?”
“I don’t know. Sergeant Rhodes didn’t tell me.”
“But he did pay you for the task, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Speak up.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred pounds for me. A hundred for the boy.”
“And just what was your part in the theft?”
“I was to do my duties aboard the Padget until we finished our voyage. Then I was to make certain that Simon Ladner did his job and got safely ashore in London with the Letter.”
“And you have no idea why the Letter of Marque was to be stolen from the Padget or who was behind the theft—other than Sergeant Rhodes’s hiring of you, correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“Mr. Ivars, is it also true that this scheme you’ve described had been attempted at least once before?”
Again, Ivars hesitated before lowering his voice to answer. “Yes, it’s true.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the Ladner boy and me, we were hired for that one too.”
The muttering amid the gallery rose until Judge Raleigh’s gavel fell.
“And did you succeed on that first occasion?”
“Yes, we did.”
“Your witness, Sir Barnabas,” William ended.
Sir Barnabas rose like a lion to the kill.
“Where were you when Mr. Snopes located you as a witness for this proceeding?”
“I was aboard a ship.”
“What kind of ship?”
“A . . . merchant ship.”
“Did you come here voluntarily?”
“No.”
“As I suspected. You’re here against your will?”
“I guess so, yes.”
“Under threat?”
“I don’t know.”
“Whose ill-fitting clothes are you wearing?”
“I borrowed them.”
“From whom?”
He pointed to William.
“Of course. Now tell me, Mr. Ivars, you claim that Captain Tuttle showed you this purported Letter of Marque aboard the Padget. Had you ever seen a Letter of Marque before?”
“No.”
“Then what Captain Tuttle showed you could easily have been a forgery.”
“I suppose.”
“Or simply no form of Letter of Marque at all.”
“I suppose.”
“And this boy. Wouldn’t you agree that he may have been hired to retrieve this letter from Captain Tuttle in order that the captain could claim theft of the forgery before it could be examined by authorities?”
“I suppose so, sir.”
“You’ve accused Sergeant Rhodes of gross corruption and dereliction of duty. Did you know that he is a decorated veteran who served in Spain?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you serve?”
“Yes, sir.”
“A seaman? No higher rank?”
“That’s true, sir.”
Sir Barnabas looked to the bench. “My lord, in view of this man’s scurrilous testimony, and Mr. Snopes being permitted this surprise witness, I request leave to subpoena the Lord Privy Seal to testify.”
“The attendant to the Crown’s personal papers?” Judge Raleigh replied. “Sir Barnabas, I’m not certain I have the authority to do so. But, given the circumstances, I’m willing to attempt it if it’s within my power.”
Allowing a live witness to make the point would only dramatize the matter further. William stood. “My lord, I believe Sir Barnabas wishes the Lord Privy Seal to testify that there is no record in the Crown’s papers of either the king or his regent issuing a Letter of Marque to Captain Tuttle prior to his voyage.”
“That’s correct,” Sir Barnabas said, looking surprised at William’s pronouncement before the jury.
“I would be happy to stipulate that that is the case,” William said.
The judge looked stunned. “You will do so?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Sir Barnabas, do you agree?”
Sir Barnabas looked suspicious. “Yes, my lord.”
“Very well. The jury will presume that there is no record in the Crown’s papers of either the king or his regent issuing a Letter of Marque to Captain Tuttle before his voyage.”
Sir Barnabas returned to the witness as William sat. “Mr. Ivars, you’ve alleged you do not know who ultimately wished for you and this boy to steal this so-called Letter.”
“That’s right.”
“And since Simon Ladner is dead, he can’t provide any helpful testimony either, can he?”
Ivars shook his head. “I suppose that would be true.”
Sir Barnabas paused. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ivars. Would be true?”
“If he was dead, sir. It would be true if Simon Ladner was indeed dead. But he isn’t, sir. Not so far as I know.”
The gallery burst like a sudden storm. William looked to Captain Tuttle in the dock, whose face blossomed with disbelief and wonder. Sir Barnabas stood dumbfounded. Judge Raleigh, red-cheeked, pounded his gavel again. “Silence! Silence or I will clear this courtroom!”
Despite more gavel pounding, it took several minutes to return the courtroom to quiet again.
“This is preposterous.” Sir Barnabas finally addressed the witness once more. “We’ve heard repeated testimony of eyewitnesses—Captain Tuttle and crewmen—who saw the boy shot.”
Ivars shook his head again. “That was us, sir. Our way to get the boy and the Letter off the Padget. Sergeant Rhodes was to fire over the captain’s head as the soldiers and constables were boarding. The boy had a ripe tomato under his tunic. He crushed it in his shirt as he went down. In moonlight, a tomato stain has the temper of blood.”
“That’s impossible!” Sir Barnabas cried. “Someone would have detected it!”
“No, sir. As the Padget’s physician’s mate, I took charge of the boy. I brought his body to the top deck after telling the captain he was dead and handed him on to Sergeant Rhodes, who got him off the ship. The Letter was tucked in the boy’s trousers.”
“If this extraordinary story is true, then Mr. Snopes would have called the boy as a witness. Where is the boy now?”
“I don’t know.”
Shaken, Sir Barnabas looked to his coterie of juniors, who stared back, stymied. Sir Barnabas looked next to Judge Raleigh. “My lord, I have no more questions for this .
. . this absurd witness.”
The gallery had grown quiet, all attention centering on William.
As shocked as everyone else in the courtroom, what was he to do now?
“Mr. Snopes and Sir Barnabas,” Judge Raleigh said, breaking the room’s paralysis in a voice uncharacteristically low. “Into my chambers. Now.”
“And you had no inkling of this testimony about the boy, Mr. Snopes?” the judge asked.
“I scarcely had time to interview Mr. Ivars before his testimony, so no,” William answered.
Sir Barnabas nodded the same.
“And neither of you know where this Simon Ladner is at present?”
Each man agreed once more.
The judge stood and paced for long minutes before facing counsel.
“Mr. Snopes,” he said, “I’ve been unimpressed with your antics in this trial. In my opinion, you’ve deliberately obfuscated the evidence in a manner unbecoming of an officer of the court. You’ve caused delay after delay. As matters stand, I’m not inclined to let you off the hook on my contempt findings. But I will admit that I don’t know what to make of this first mate’s testimony—whether bold lies, suborned perjury, or hinting of significant events. I can’t allow these proceedings to go on forever. But I’m inclined to adjourn for the rest of the day and night. If you can locate this Simon Ladner witness in that time or produce any other witness who can help get to the bottom of Mr. Ivars’s unexpected testimony, I’ll permit them to be presented to the jury tomorrow morning. If you fail in that search, we will proceed to closing statements.”
“But, my lord!” Sir Barnabas blurted out. “The interests of the Crown—”
“Will not be further prejudiced by a single day’s delay. And yes, I know this is unusual, particularly as tomorrow is a Saturday. Nonetheless, I will impress upon the jury that their civic duty requires another day more of service, even if it forfeits a common day of rest. That is all.”
53
WHITECHAPEL DISTRICT
LONDON
William stood in the midst of the group sheltered in a Whitechapel church from a growing rainstorm. The venue had been arranged by Father Thomas. Joel and Pidger and a third man from the Bow Street Runners had joined them—all that Joel could gather on short notice. Father Thomas had insisted on helping. Behind the group stood Madeleine, present despite William’s strongest objections.
“Now we’ve each got a portion of Whitechapel to cover,” William said. “It’s too large an area and we’ve too little time to team together. You’ll be searching and asking for Simon Ladner, who’s nearly fifteen. And for Tad, about age eleven.”
He described the boys’ appearances: Simon from Captain Tuttle’s recollection, Tad from his own. “Whitechapel was home for both boys. We assume the Ladner boy remained in London after his faked death aboard the Padget, though it’s possible he’s left town. Tad, the younger one, was last seen by me in Mayfair just before the start of trial. Given his age, it seems unlikely he would have left London. We’ll search until midnight, then report back here. If you find either boy, blow the whistles I’ve given you as a signal to return.”
The Bow Street Runners shuffled out, umbrellas in hand. Obadiah and Thomas followed, similarly equipped. This kind of search was old hat to the Runners, William knew, and he had no worries for them. He had more concern for Obadiah and Thomas in this rough part of town, though Thomas had worn his collar for whatever protection that might provide.
Alone now, he looked to Madeleine. Her face was pinched and drawn. He wondered that she was still on her feet. She also held an umbrella in one hand, a bag in the other.
“Lady Jameson, I hope you’re not so foolish as to consider walking the streets of Whitechapel on a Friday evening alone. If you must, you can accompany me.”
“What good would that do?” Madeleine protested dismissively. “We’ve too few people for this search as it is, and we’ve already lost hours organizing it. We need to search separately.”
“If you refuse to remain here,” William fumed, “then I’ll be forced to stay behind to ensure that you do.”
Her tired eyes smoldered. “You’re still angry at me because I didn’t tell you about the American smuggler and his loan.”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“Really? You lie poorly for a barrister.”
A dam crumbled in him. “Do you really want to discuss lying, my lady?”
Madeleine shook her head, a hint of shame coloring her cheeks. “I didn’t lie. At my home, you asked if I’d done anything illegal and I hadn’t. I didn’t engage in smuggling, though I sympathize with some who do. Yes, I borrowed money from the American. That’s all. I can borrow from whomever I please and the law has nothing to say about it.”
“You knew what I was getting at with my question. If that smuggler’s loan had come out at trial—if it still comes out—your cousin’s case could topple, finally and irretrievably, and your estate along with it. You and your father may still be prosecuted for piracy yourselves, you know.”
“If that happens, I’ll have to accept it. But I didn’t lie to you; I said what I needed to. Would you have represented us if I’d told you about the loan?”
It was a fair question. “I don’t know,” he answered.
“Exactly. What have you done this entire case? The same as in all your cases, I imagine. What was necessary to save lives and property for those who could not defend themselves. You’ve sailed the waters in which you found yourself, weighing your needs against right and wrong, setting your own limits rather than simply hewing to others. Well, I did the same, to save my estate, my family, my community. Have we acted so differently?”
“You know it’s different.”
“I do not.”
“You could at least have told me after the ball.”
“And why then?”
That blow struck hardest of all. He recalled the glaze in her eyes as the carriage drew away from the ball, out into the streets. The extra miles they rode until she had full possession of herself again. Talking of family and friends, present, gone, or left behind, to raise her spirits.
Because we left the ball more than client and lawyer, he wanted to say. At least he’d thought so. Perhaps he’d been wrong.
“Please stay here, Lady Jameson,” he begged again.
She looked uncertain. Her eyes fell. “We’re only wasting time. Go then. I’ll be here when you return.”
William stormed away, through the church door and into the street, raising his umbrella against the windblown spray.
No matter what she said, he wasn’t another version of Mandy Bristol, William thought as he hurried. He didn’t manufacture witnesses to line his and his clients’ pockets. In this case he’d done and said only as necessary to salvage a verdict for an innocent man.
He’d even done as Father Thomas had insisted and told the truth of Edmund’s condition.
Her words to him were different. Different because she’d lied to him. She’d lied . . . to him. And she’d never corrected her wrong.
Would he care so if she were only a client?
He pushed the argument out of his mind as he headed toward the only part of Whitechapel he knew well: the area surrounding the undertakers’ shops he’d visited once before.
54
LORD BRUMMELL’S RESIDENCE
LONDON
“Sergeant Rhodes, I’m afraid this must be done.”
Dressed in civilian clothes, the sergeant stood straight-backed in the center of Lord Brummell’s study. Like a toy soldier out of uniform, Lord Brummell thought.
“Impressive library you have here, my lord,” the sergeant remarked.
“Sergeant, time is of the essence.”
“So I gather. But it’s no playacting you’re asking for, like on that ship or in the courtroom. You’ve never before asked me to do anything like this.”
“Yet it must be done. This Snopes character has gone from nuisance to hindrance to a serious hazar
d. That includes for you too, Sergeant—your name featured prominently in yesterday’s testimony.”
“But you said he has no evidence, other than his word.”
“True. But they’re out searching for evidence as we speak.”
“Can they find it?”
“The only witnesses who might assist them have been sent out of the city.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you want this done?”
“Because at every step of this trial I’ve been equally sure, or have been reassured, that there was no risk. Each time that’s proved untrue. There’s only one irreplaceable part in the captain’s defense. That is William Snopes.”
“And you believe he’s searching in Whitechapel?”
“It’s the only place that makes sense.”
“And that he’s there himself?”
“Yes. I’d make a sizable wager he’s participating in the search for a witness. You do recall what he looks like from your encounter on the Padget and the witness stand, don’t you?”
“I do. I also think I’d recognize his walk from his visit to the ship. Light-footed, a bit springy. But if I’m to do this, it would have to appear like a hoisting gone bad.”
“A hoisting?”
“A mugging. A theft.”
Lord Brummell nodded.
“And I want to be paid enough to leave the ranks. I want to go to America.”
“I’d welcome it, Sergeant Rhodes. Rest assured, I’ll pay you amply enough for a fresh start.”
“Yes, you will.” The sergeant turned to go, then stopped in front of one of the shelves to take down a book. “Byron,” he said, glancing at the spine. “I’ve not read this one.” He slipped the small volume into his pocket. “I’ll take this as a down payment.”
55
STREETS OF WHITECHAPEL
LONDON
Stepping around another large puddle, Madeleine’s legs chafed in the rough men’s trousers she wore, just as the cap covering her hair squeezed her forehead. Suzanne Cummings had tried mightily to dissuade her from secretly borrowing Obadiah’s clothes before she left for a cab to Whitechapel. In the end she’d allowed it, when Madeleine pointed out that she’d be in much greater danger if she tried to walk the streets in women’s attire.
The Barrister and the Letter of Marque Page 32
