“Mr. Grainger went straight to his chambers?”
“He did.”
“Did he plan to go forth again?”
“On the contrary, he required quiet and solitude. It is difficult to conceive of his going out again.”
“Difficult?” queried Fladger after a scrupulous pause.
“I mean,” stammered Quillby, “unthinkable. Quite impossible, to my mind.” Fladger was not displeased. He left the witness to his learned friend.
Trounce rose, wheezing. “You did not mention the demeanour of the accused.”
“He was reserved. More pained than angry.”
“But I put it to you: he had good reason to be angry.”
“I cannot say he seemed that way to me.”
“Then you appear to me a less than sympathetic friend.”
Quillby looked to the judge, who did not care to intervene, and therefore Trounce sailed on: “It is curious, is it not, that you left this wounded man quite alone?”
“Company would have wearied him excessively. His servants were on hand.”
“Indeed. An elderly man and his aged goodwife. Servants he did not call upon the entire night!”
Quillby did not reply.
“But doubtless,” said Trounce, between breaths, “Mr. Grainger had other things to brood upon that night.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Come, sir, you were his second, were you not?”
“I had, as I said, that honour.”
“And in the case where the contest failed, would you not be obliged to forward your own challenge, in the course of these things? Did you not say as much, before witnesses?”
Quillby lowered his head. “I did. In the heat of the moment.”
Trounce became as still as a toad waiting to take a fly.
“Do you practice with the sword, Mr. Quillby?”
“I do not.”
“But you were prepared to challenge this man, the victor (so you say) of two, nay three, open duels?”
“That was my thought at the time.”
“Then would not this rankle in the accused and weigh heavily on his thoughts, while he passed the hours, pained, infuriated, and alone?”
“I cannot say,” replied Quillby stoutly. “I know my friend would resort to nothing cowardly or underhand, not on my account.”
“But, on account of a simple girl, he entered into a duel!” Trounce declared.
The witness was dismissed. Passing the dock, he grasped the accused’s hand, but poor William Quillby could not frame any words.
Fladger consulted with his clerks, was handed a book, did not like it, was handed another. The dismal rain renewed its pattering. Grainger scribbled a note, and it was handed down. Fladger read the note, frowned, looked to his client.
“Anything further, Mr. Fladger?” enquired the judge.
Fladger turned hastily. “Y’ludship, if it please you, points to submit, a witness. Not on the list.”
“Most unusual,” said Judge Prenterghast, with a sceptical lift of the brows.
“Positions to establish, relative to the facts, m’lud.”
“Very well: call your witness.”
“Call Miss Cassandra Redruth!”
The call flew up. The witness was found in the back stalls, and the clerk of the court handed her into the witness box. A few here recognised her and called a variety of greetings and friendly taunts. She had reserved her Sunday best for this morning, but an uneasy hiss and rumour skittered about the assembly.
Lady Tarwell remarked, in a tone all of ashes and loathing, “My son, cut down for this slattern!”
Her friends silenced her quickly but could not check the response.
After the oath was read to her and taken, Fladger greeted Cassie with no great pleasure and an incisive flick of the hand.
“You have heard, have you not, the testimony given before this court as to the cause of the quarrel between Mr. Grainger and Mr. Massingham?”
“I have—and it’s all lies!”
“Surely, Mr. Fladger, your witness does not mean that the honourable gentleman, Mr. Harton, committed perjury in the course of his testimony?” asked his lordship, with terrible judicial gentleness.
“Of course not, m’lud. The witness is concerned to correct a misapprehension in the case. Now, my girl, what have you to say on that? Mind his lordship and be plain.”
The girl bit her lip during this exchange, but she began more hesitantly. “It’s only that I never met the gentleman, Mr. Grainger, before that night, and I wish, if it please you, sir, I never had, for his sake and the other’s. But there was never any understanding between us, nor yet a passion, like he said. Not of any sort. He spoke fairly for me, that’s all. He was a true gentlemen towards me, when he that’s dead (bless him) had taken me wrong. And that’s all there ever was between us. And anyone who said otherwise speaks false!”
There were two or three cheers at this last stroke, which displeased the judge.
“In short, miss, you had no knowledge of the accused on the day of the disagreement and no communication with him since.”
“That’s right.”
“Thank you.” Fladger turned to his notes.
“And I’m no alehouse strumpet, like he said, neither. I’m the daughter of an honest man.”
“Quite right. An honest girl, for whom my client did a service. Thank you, Miss Redruth.”
The girl gathered her skirts. Trounce lumbered upright, leaning on his bench.
“If it please the court,” said he.
“One moment,” cautioned the judge, addressing Cassie as she rose to leave the witness box. “The prosecution has some questions.”
Mr. Trounce swallowed great gulps of air, like some slimy, hard creature of the dark depths brought up to the surface.
“It is your sworn testimony, then, Miss Redruth, that, notwithstanding your charms, up until the incident adduced before this court, there was no liaison, no intimacy, between you and the accused?”
The girl coloured, and two points stood out on her cheeks. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“I beg your pardon. I mean: you say you did not know Mr. Grainger before that night.”
“That’s true.”
“You are a plain-spoken girl.”
“I am honest, I hope, and mind my catechism.”
“Quite. And a gentleman showed you favour.”
“For which I was grateful.”
“After he simply saw you at an alehouse, a young woman, alone.”
The girl’s lips pressed close together before she replied: “I had cause to be there.”
“A very remarkable favour. A most extraordinary partiality.”
“I don’t know about that. He was kind to me.”
“And why, forsooth, would a wellborn gentleman bestow such interest upon a simple girl, entirely outside his class, honest though she be?”
She glanced down. “I don’t know.”
“Would you be so good as to take off your bonnet?”
“What?”
“You are before a court of law. Don’t be shy, my girl. Remove your cap.”
Cassie looked to the judge, who nodded deeply. Hesitantly, the girl undid the ribbons that secured her Sunday bonnet, and when they were freed, she took it off. The subdued light fell softly on her lustrous hair. She raised her head and looked daringly about. She coloured, and in the dim court her strong features stood forth and her dark grey eyes revealed a flashing depth.
“A handsome girl,” said Trounce, with awful ponderousness.
“I am humble,” she said. “I know my place.”
“You are grateful to the gentleman?”
“I said as much.”
“You would do anything for him?”
“I would! He was good to me! Very good.”
“Lie for him on the stand!”
“That’s a wicked thing to say, and God forgive you for it!”
“And why this devotion
? Out of all proportion to your class and station. I put it to you that this gentleman is not unknown to you; that he was your seducer! And for your lover you dare to confront the court.”
“You can put what you like. It ain’t true!”
“You deny that you are firmly beholden to the accused?”
“I don’t deny that. You’ve twisted my words all about.”
“Thank you, Miss Redruth.”
The girl wavered, breathless and angry. The court was silent, momentarily, but Trounce, wheezing, resumed his seat. The clerk unbarred the witness box and led her down amid jeers and titters.
“He has made a fool of me, Toby,” she said to her brother. “A liar and fool.”
Trounce slumped, quite exhausted, and seemed like as not to expire in the attenuated air, but he laid a heavy hand upon his associate, Babbage, who shifted to address the court. Justice Prenterghast marked him with a haggard smile.
“If it please your lordship—most unusual—a late witness…”
His honour remarked, “It is the day for inconvenient witnesses.”
Fladger protested. “A late charge by the prosecution. Improper surprise.”
“Material facts to relate, m’lud,” said Babbage. “Will not delay the court long.”
“Then by all means, Mr. Babbage.”
Josiah Thurber was called. He walked to the stand, a stout fellow, about twenty, dressed in the manner of a servant, with polished brass buttons and a threadbare wig.
The oath was administered, his name taken.
“Occupation?”
“Footman: servant to Miss Greenwarden, of Dendermere Square.”
“You recall the night of this lamentable murder?” asked Babbage.
“Clearly.”
“Business on that night?”
“I had gone to fetch ale for my mistress, who was weakened in spirits (she is given to vapours) and much heartened by a pot of small-beer.”
Justice Prenterghast interposed, “The court would be obliged if the witness would come to the matter at hand.”
“You saw the deceased?”
“Passed by the deceased, close by the Steergate.”
“Was the deceased alone?”
“No. Deceased was in company.”
There was a collective shiver in the court, and not a cough or a whisper in the galleries.
“What sort of company?”
“Another gentleman, judging by his attire. Well-dressed.”
“Short or tall?”
Thurber frowned and paused to think. “Tall.”
“Anything notable about this second gentleman?” asked Babbage nonchalantly.
“He rather favoured his right leg. Limped on his left.”
Fladger had closed his eyes. He opened them now, as a sigh rushed across the court. He hastened to his feet.
“Did you see this second figure directly? Do you presume to make an identification before the court?”
“No, sir. ’Twas dark, and the gent had his hat down far across his eyes.”
“Then you cannot be certain of whom you saw?”
“No, sir. I cannot be certain.”
Fladger dismissed this witness, with the finest motion of his hand, as though it were too troublesome to do more for so slight a person, but as he resumed his seat, he threw over his notes, pensive and dissatisfied.
The last witness was removed. Grainger was called. Composed, deferential to the judge, he listened closely to all that Fladger put to him. An occasional faintness and dryness of the voice betrayed the doubts and heaviness of mind he laboured under. But the jury could guess his story, and there were manifold signs of boredom in the court, as feet shuffled and throats cleared and whispers roamed about the galleries. Trounce rose to the lure but seemed half-inclined to sleep, perhaps mindful of his late exertions, and asked only a few skirmishing questions with a species of ponderous contempt.
The day’s little play-box theatre was near concluded. Two scenes remained, for the prosecution and the defence, but his lordship grew testy and had an eye to the hour, for the daylight faded in the windows about the court. His lordship soliloquized on the points at law, referring to his notes:
“It remains for the jury to consider whether the accused, a fellow of good family, though given to lamentable, idle, and violent pastimes, did, in secrecy and rage, set forth unseen (or all but unseen, if you lend credence to the witness) to strike a fatal blow against his tormentor, or whether the deceased, by the foulest mischance (which the jury may well measure ’gainst their common sense) came to his death on that same night by hands yet unknown?”
At that mordant conclusion, Fladger could scarce contain his sighs. The jury retired.
THE NIGHT PASSED in contemplation and suspense. A cold blast invested Airenchester from the north, sleet alternated with snow, and in the morning the city was shrouded and bleak. When the court reassembled, the ice had frozen on the windows.
The jury was brought back, going meekly into the box, and the foreman stood.
His lordship had become grave and deliberate. “Have you reached a verdict?”
“If it please you, we have.”
“Is it the verdict of you all?”
“It is.”
“What say you?”
The foreman nodded gravely at this request.
“Guilty, my lord.”
The prisoner gasped, could not quite hold himself steady, looking around, distracted, as one woken to a strange place by incomprehensible means. Cries came from the body of the court, some of horror, consternation, or grim satisfaction. The bailiff’s staff rapped sharply against the boards.
The epilogue was read in silence. His lordship held himself straight and composed, and his leaden words fell dark in the muted court: “You have been found guilty of murder, and before God and the Law, you stand in forfeit of your life. It is within the powers and duties of this court to condemn you to death. However, in light of the representations of learned council, in consideration of your youth, good family, and conduct heretofore, and remarking on the precise circumstances of the act for which you are condemned as being undecided, and in the lamentable course of a matter of honour between gentlemen, the penalty of execution is hereby commuted. I therefore sentence you to penal servitude, for the term of your natural life. Take the prisoner down.”
BOOK THE SECOND
THE EMINENCE OF THE
BELLSTROM GAOL
CHAPTER VI.
A New Mode of Society.
SHOULD A RAVEN unfold its black wings on one of the cold stone ledges of the Bellstrom Gaol and turn towards the courts and halls on Battens Hill, it would be no great distance through the smoke and airs of the city to bring the raven to the leads of the courthouse. Yet for the prisoner newly coined, with the words of the sentence tolling in his head, what a weary, rattling, terrible distance the prison cart traveled, with no hope of return, through Airenchester. He shivered in darkness and chains. Jeers and calls, sobs and moans, and the rattling of the links echoed about him, as the cart heaved and shook. Confined in a foul, narrow box, he could hear bodies thudding against the sides at every lurch. So Thaddeus Grainger marked his transition from the courts to the Bellstrom Gaol.
Rage and despair contended within him. Regarding, with something of his habitual lightness of manner, the charges against him as perfectly absurd, he had awaited the verdict as no more than the confirmation of the fact of his innocence. Now, black fury pitched itself against a blacker hopelessness, and he would thrash against his chains and the box, or fall senseless, as his thoughts turned and returned. He was lost to his position, lost to honour, comfort, and friendship, and the ruin of his character and prospects appeared bleak, irrevocable, and incomprehensible.
The prison cart blundered onto the Feer Bridge. For a moment, as the cart rose, the sweeter air of the river freshened at the vents. Then the cart descended; the hill and the prison were near, and Thaddeus Grainger, baffled and turbulent, was brought by the long roa
d within the cover of the raven’s wing.
A few voices greeted the end of the journey with relief, as though they were brought home from a day of hardship. Grainger was dragged from the bench to the end of the cart. The doors of the Bellstrom were before him. There stood the great arch, flanked by the strong towers of the gatehouse. At the end of the tunnel was the massive iron gate, bound with bands and nail-studded, topped by cruel spikes, and having only a narrow portal and grate set within. A turnkey lounged on a bench, and the entryway was thronged with visitors, women and children, seated patiently in the shadow of the gatehouse. Tattered beggars drew away from the prison cart. There was a barred window facing the street. Figures moved in the darkness behind it, and from time to time a bare arm and empty palm was extended and the plaintive cry emerged: “Pray, remember the poor debtors.” A fine gentleman with a sword hurried by.
The lively turnkey opened the portal. Grainger was hauled forward. He grazed his head, stooping through the little door. He stumbled in the bare, grey yard of the gaol, with no time to mark the closing of the gate. Many persons were abroad in the yard and hanging from high windows, and they shouted and laughed to see these newcomers. Some called to old friends, but to Grainger the uproar seemed scarcely a form of human speech, and he could make nothing out but a mocking appeal to the “green hands.” They were herded across the stones to the lodge. Another door opened, and Grainger was, in his turn, thrust inside.
It was a stone room, set against the outer walls of the old fastness, and a piercing chill emanated from the undressed blocks. All was bare, except for a high desk at the far end that bore an enormous book. Perched behind this desk, with a goose-quill poised in one hand, was a red-faced, broad, middle-aged woman, listening intently to the bellowed commands of a bow-legged, thick-bellied ogre of a man, who scurried between the clusters of new prisoners. Occasionally the woman bent to write some comment or notice. Along the far wall lay heaps of chains, cuffs, and leg-irons.
The scuttling man chivvied the prisoners, striking some, growling at others, bowing gallantly to one woman, opening purses and pockets, while a tall boy behind him ran back and forth, fetching lengths of chain. Grainger waited in the din and confusion. Then the thick-set man stopped before him.
The Raven's Seal Page 7
