‘Since October, Sir. A little over two months.’
‘Ha!’ the man laughed. ‘A little over two hours is usually long enough. I take it he has explained the Clearwater rule? Honesty above all else?’ When James nodded, Creswell continued. ‘And that is how we play the game,’ he said. ‘You and the boy must be completely honest with me. How honest I am in court is another matter, but that’s my job. Understood?’
‘Yes, Sir. Will it come to court?’
‘Will what?’ Creswell sat back and folded his arms. He had yet to release James, and his stare was more intense than ever.
‘Whatever they’ve charged Silas with.’
‘I don’t bloody know. The scallywag might have committed a murder. No-one’s told me a thing except I must put aside all other business until this matter is resolved. I had no idea Clearwater had a boy.’
‘He is a man, Sir.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Clearwater is not old enough to have an adult child.’
‘Mr Hawkins is his secretary, not his son.’ Where had he got that information from? James was confused and said so.
‘Lady Marshall just said Clearwater’s boy was in trouble. I assumed he had a bastard somewhere.’
‘I didn’t think solicitors were meant to assume anything,’ James said, and it came out as a criticism which was not what he intended.
Creswell’s eyes widened, and as they did so, they lost some of their power. ‘Well, I’m a blithering idiot, aren’t I?’ He chuckled.
‘Sorry?’
The carriage swung at a corner sending Creswell falling onto his side, but he didn’t right himself, he lay there giggling. It was an unnerving sight, and James wondered if he had been drinking.
‘Sir?’
‘Oh, take no notice of me,’ Creswell said, sitting up and wiping his eyes. ‘I just thought, I’m one of the leading barristers in the land, and I assumed I was to assist a child, some dark incident from Clearwater’s past. Of course, you are correct. Assumption is the mother of all pickles.’ He laughed again but reined it in. ‘So, he’s that kind of “boy” is he? Makes perfect sense now.’
‘Mr Hawkins is the viscount’s private secretary, Sir.’ James said it with emphasis, the anger winning over the nervousness.
‘Yes, of course he is.’ Creswell didn’t believe him. ‘Underage renter is he, something like that? A sweet little thing to whom Clearwater has promised the world. Got a bit frisky with the hall boy?’
‘No. Nothing like that.’ Each word was pointed.
‘Oh, come on, lad,’ the barrister derided. ‘You expect me to believe that Clearwater employs a young man as his secretary and manages to keep his hands off him? What is their relationship really? Do they perform unspeakable acts on each other? A bit of fiddling under the desk? Is there beastliness? Has he attempted to touch you in any…?’
‘That’s enough!’ Anger won, and James lurched forward on the seat, his jaw clenched. ‘You are so far from the truth you are making it up, and worse, believing it. No, there is no impropriety, and even if there was, I wouldn’t tell you.’
‘You would have to if I put you on the stand.’
The words shocked James into silence, and as he glared at Creswell, the corner of the man’s mouth raised in a wry smile.
‘Lady Marshall was accurate,’ he said, leaning forward and tapping James’ knee as if they were old friends. ‘You care greatly. I doubt you will be on the stand, dear boy, but if you were, I should have no concerns about putting you there. My apologies for that little test. Clearwater is a friend, an honest and reliable one, and I tolerate his weakness because of it. Now then…’ Once again, he sat back and folded his arms, but this time he closed his eyes. ‘When you are ready, but bearing in mind we don’t have long, tell me everything that took place at the time of the arrest and leave out nothing.’ He opened one eye. ‘No matter how deliciously intimate.’
Twelve
Having told Creswell everything from the moment he saw Inspector Adelaide to the last time he saw Silas, James jumped from the carriage and dropped the step, assuming his role of footman not only out of habit but also out of respect. In the short time he had spent with Creswell, he could tell the man knew what he was doing.
It wasn’t until the barrister unwound himself through the door and stood erect that James realised how tall and imposing he was. He put him at six-foot, and with his cloak reaching to the ground, he resembled a black marble column.
‘Take this,’ Creswell said, thrusting his briefcase into James’ arms. ‘From now on, you are my assistant. My assistant who hears all, notes all, but above all, says nothing.’
The column moved off seemingly gliding across the pavement to the sombre, grey stone building. James trotted to keep up, clutching the briefcase to his chest. The thought that he was about to see Silas brought him a wave of joy, but it was immediately followed by a dark wash of dread. Instead of lingering on what he might see, he concentrated on Creswell’s cloak. The man had told him to note everything, so James had a role. He was used to playing them; footman, friend, lover, messenger, all were easy, this one would be no different.
A solid, but surprisingly small door led them into the lobby and to a grilled counter, behind which stood a policeman. Where James was expecting stark brick walls, there was panelling, and where he expected to hear angry complaints from indignant suspects, there was only the echo of footsteps. He doubted this was the way Silas had entered the building.
‘Yes, Sir?’ the desk sergeant asked, looking from one to the other.
When neither answered, Creswell turned his back on the grille and directed James to it with his eyes.
‘Oh!’ James understood the message and addressed the officer. ‘Er, yes, hello…’ That wasn’t going to impress his temporary master, and he pulled back his shoulders. ‘Sir Easterby Creswell to see Mr Silas Hawkins.’
The policeman, happy to accept James as a leading barrister, but grasping the wrong end of the truncheon, turned to Creswell. ‘And you are?’
When Creswell realised, he rolled his eyes and turned around. ‘In a very expensive hurry,’ he barked. ‘Creswell and Wright, which is what you can do with our names in your book. Holding cells, I assume?’ He was already halfway across the foyer and James had to run to catch up.
‘You did well, lad,’ Creswell said, throwing open a door and marching on through. ‘Short, to the point, accurate. I’ll make a solicitor of you by the time the day’s out.’
‘I’m quite happy where I am,’ James said, wondering if it was possible. ‘And I don’t know anything about the law.’
‘You obey it, don’t you?’
Sometimes, was the honest answer when he considered crashing locomotives was probably illegal, but he said, ‘Yes.’
‘Ha! See?’ Creswell nudged him and nearly sent James tripping over a bench. ‘You lie well too. You don’t need to know much about the law to start with,’ he said. ‘That’s why they say we practise it. Been doing that since Magna Carta and we ain’t got it right yet. Sparky!’
He waved to a man in an office as they hurried past, and turned as he backed through a pair of swing doors, returning to face front in one graceful movement.
‘Not far,’ he said, veering off into a stairwell. ‘Time to become mute.’
They clattered down two flights where the temperature was little warmer than outside, along another corridor and around a corner with their footsteps echoing. The wood panelling gave way to tiles and finally to brick and stone as they approached a barred door.
The guard stood to attention and saluted as they approached. James watched Creswell in case he was meant to return the salute, but the man ignored the officer and reached for the door.
‘One moment, please,’ the policeman said, scurrying to block him. ‘May I know
who you are?’
Creswell painted the man’s body with incredulity. ‘My good man,’ he said, drawing back his head. ‘I don’t suppose I shall ever know who I am, nor will any of us. Thus, I don’t see how I can tell you. What I can tell you, however, is that tempted though I am to stop and discuss the metaphysical, I have a client rotting in one of your troughs. Ergo, I go.’
He had the door opened and was through it before the policeman could translate, and James beetled after him.
They entered a dismal place. An arched corridor of brick with an earth floor. The dripping walls were an uneven patchwork of weak gaslight, and the air was fetid and sparse.
‘If it’s dark, don’t tread in it,’ Creswell advised. ‘Nor if it is moving.’ He slowed his pace as they approached a lone guard at the far end, giving James time to read the names on chalkboards outside cell doors. One read Hawkins, and he felt sick.
‘Sir Easterby Creswell,’ the solicitor introduced himself. ‘Instructed in the case of Crown Vs Hawkins. You have him, I believe?’
‘I do, Sir. And may I say what an honour it is to meet you.’
‘You may, and you have. Bring Hawkins to me and take us to privacy.’
The guard gave a small bow. ‘I’ll light the fire in here for you, Your Honour,’ he said, entering a room beside his desk.
‘The man has no idea,’ Creswell whispered. ‘He thinks I am a judge.’
‘Let him,’ James replied.
Creswell looked down at him, and the wry smile was back.
‘Take a seat in there, Your Honour, and I’ll bring the criminal.’
Like a magician, Creswell produced a cane from beneath his cloak. James jumped back as it swished past him and came to land on the guard’s chest.
‘The man is not yet a criminal,’ he said, his voice suddenly deep and serious. ‘But for calling him one, you could become one yourself under the laws of slander. You will refer to my client as Mr Hawkins, else you will find yourself referring to me as the prosecution.’ He released the man. ‘Go.’ As the guard scuttled off, he ordered, ‘Come!’, and James followed him into the room.
Small, with two chairs facing each other across a table, one gas fire and a tiny, barred window high up, it was no bigger than a cell, but at least it was warm. James overtook the solicitor and offered him a chair.
‘Not yet, lad.’ Creswell preferred to pace while he pondered.
A clang resounded from the corridor followed by a rattle of keys. James’ heart pounded. He stood with his back to the wall and took deep breaths, his eyes on the door. A shadow fell across it as the sound of shuffling feet drew near, and when he saw his friend round the doorway, he thought his legs would crumble.
After only one night, Silas’ hair, usually kept so neat, hung in limp strands. His head was down, his feet and hands chained. The grey shift he wore hung from him too big and was stained with other people’s misfortunes.
‘Get those bloody things off him, you arse!’ Creswell bellowed, his booming voice ringing James’ ears.
Silas didn’t react, neither to the shout nor when the guard removed his chains.
‘Shut the door on your way out. You can add maltreatment to your indictments, and while you’re about it, bring this man his own clothes, water and his shoes. I’ll have a cup of tea. Indian.’
He slammed the door on the trembling guard loud enough for James to feel the shockwaves, but still, Silas didn’t move.
‘Let’s see what we’re dealing with.’ Creswell rubbed his hands together, removed his gloves and did it again. He stopped when he noticed James’ expression. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, lad,’ he said. ‘Go and give your friend a hug, or a kiss, or whatever you boys do.’
James didn’t hear him.
‘You listening? Oi! Mr Wright?’
Silas, however, heard James’ name. Confused, he raised his head to see Creswell, who pulled a face and directed him to James.
Silas’ eye was black, his top lip was swollen and one cheek nothing more than an angry bruise. James battled tears, but he couldn’t fight the need to fly across the room and wrap Silas in his arms. It was as if he was hugging only the coat, the man inside didn’t react, almost didn’t exist, and it wasn’t until James held his head and carefully aligned Silas eyes with his own, did his friend realise.
‘Hello, mate,’ Silas said, his voice croaky and as weak as the smile he tried to raise.
‘We’re going to get you out of here, Silas. Mr Creswell’s come to help. He’s a top wig.’
‘Not exactly accurate,’ Creswell muttered. ‘Boys, over here and sit.’ He tapped the desk with his cane.
Silas stumbled on his first step, but James caught him. ‘It’s the chains,’ the Irishman said. ‘You get used to the weight real quick.’
‘Here.’ Creswell offered him a hipflask and would take no refusal. ‘First things first. What have they done to you, and can we sue? Sit, boy, and we’ll see what we’re dealing with.’
The solicitor sat, and James helped Silas into the other chair. Unsure on which side of the table he should stand, he stood at the end.
‘Mr Hawkins.’ Creswell knocked on the table to get his attention. ‘You are probably in shock, but I am going to need you to speak to me. You will be brought some water shortly, and I will ask for food too. I assume they’ve given you little gruel. Hideous stuff. Reminds me of boarding school, wouldn’t wish that on even the guilty. Firstly, you are going to tell me how you have come by your injuries. Although I can probably guess, I don’t want Mr Wright to accuse me of assumption.’ He threw James a twinkling eye, but James was not in the mood for veiled compliments. ‘Then, we will talk about these charges.’
It was said in it a way that suggested he already knew the reason for Silas’ arrest. If so, he hadn’t mentioned it.
The barrister clicked his fingers, and it took James a moment to remember he was holding the briefcase, and he handed it over.
Creswell was withdrawing a folder when a meek knock on the door heralded the return of the guard. He brought all the items Creswell had requested except the tea, explaining with a quivering voice, that the kettle was on, and by way of an apology, offered a slice of cake.
Creswell took it while ordering a decent meal for Silas and threatening the man with deportation if it wasn’t brought instantly. Once Silas had drunk, taking huge mouthfuls between fistfuls of cake, Creswell laid his arms on the table, and said, ‘If you’re ready, Mr Hawkins?’
As Silas spoke, James noted what he thought were the most important facts, looking from his notebook to Silas in the hope his friend would acknowledge him, but Silas, speaking quietly and slowly, only looked at Creswell.
His injuries had come from the ride in the van. Inspector Adelaide had sat up front, leaving the two policemen to guard Silas. Rather, to beat him, and let him suffer the rest of the journey curled on the floor as their footrest. Taken to the back of the station, he had been made to strip, hosed down with freezing cold water and thrown the shift he was still wearing. With no money to bribe anyone, he said, he was unable to find warmer clothes or decent food.
James interrupted him at that point and reminded him that he had ten pounds. Silas explained to Creswell that the money was taken from him when he was made to empty his pockets, and Creswell reassured him he would investigate, adding that if it the money was missing, it would help his defence because he was planning to barter any sentence with maltreatment.
With the circumstances of his injuries covered and a plate of potatoes and meat brought to him by the guard, Silas’ strength began to return. He looked no brighter and no less exhausted, but his voice was firmer.
‘Which brings me onto these charges,’ Creswell said once the guard was out of the room. ‘You have been told what they are?’
Silas nodded.
; ‘And what do you have to say about them?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ Creswell glared at James as if the answer was his fault. ‘Are they true?’
Silas made no reply.
‘I take it then that they are.’
Silas held his gaze, but no words came.
‘Both of them?’
When there was still no reply, Creswell again turned to James, but this time for assistance.
‘Silas, mate,’ James said, crouching to rest his arms on the table to be at eye level. ‘Mr Creswell is here to help.’
He was ignored, and could only shrug his shoulders at the barrister.
Creswell had seen this kind of thing before and once again, knew what to do. He fixed a pair of spectacles to the end of his nose to refer to the document and peered over them to Silas for reactions.
‘On the ninth of October last, you are alleged to have made improper advances to the Reverend Stony, inviting him to a gathering and promising…’ He swallowed. ‘All manner of revolting enticements.’ He waited for a response, but none came. ‘That charge is easily thrown out whether you did or not. They mention no other witnesses. However, the second, on October the eleventh, between the hours of ten in the evening and one in the morning, you were witnessed by the same Reverend Stony in an act of buggery in which you were the instigator. They claim that more than one incident of penetration was witnessed by the outraged and if we are to believe this, morally and psychologically scarred man of the cloth.’
Another wait for a reply which didn’t come.
‘Of course,’ Creswell continued, ‘we immediately call on other witnesses, ask why the Reverend Stony stayed so long to look upon the heinous acts without intervention, and we call the prosecution to produce corroborative evidence.’ He pulled another page from his folder. ‘That paperwork was done at an ungodly hour this morning, and we are told that the Crown is satisfied that Stony’s testimony is enough to bring against you the charge of gross indecency under the Labouchere Amendment of the Criminal Law Amendment Act.’
Fallen Splendour Page 13
