“I knew Lord Anglesea two or three years before m’lord married Mary Sheffield. She was daughter of the Duke of Buckingham. I was in his service then, and came t’ m’lord’s house in Dunmain at the end of 1714. Dunmain House, ‘twas called.”
“How is it, sir, that ya remember the exact year ya went to Dunmain House?”
“‘Twas the year Queen Anne died, God rest her.”
“What was yar service there?”
“I was butler t’ the house.”
“Do ya remember Lady Anglesea being with child?”
“She was. Gave birth t’ Master James in the month of April. Year o’ our Lord, 1715.”
“And how, sir, do ya remember the month?”
“‘Twas eclipsed the day James was born. 1715, best I remember. I know ‘twas April.”
“Did ya know my sister, sir—Joan Landy?”
“Aye. She was appointed wet nurse t’ Master James. People referred t’ her as ‘Juggy.’”
Light laughter cascaded across the courtroom and Mackercher ignored it. “All right, sir,” he said. “Was Juggy ever with child?”
“Aye. ‘Bout that same time. ‘Twas a boy. He died ‘bout the time James be born.”
“Do ya recall, sir, what she named that boy?”
“Named Daniel. Fynn said she’d named it for her brother, as I recall. That’d be you.”
Mackercher smiled. “Ya mentioned Fynn. Do ya mean Fynn Kennedy?”
“Aye.”
“Who was Fynn Kennedy?”
James watched as the venerable old man plodded through each of Mackercher’s questions, telling the jury about Fynn and Catherine, and Catherine’s death birthing Seán. He went steadily on, recalling details of James’s birth, Juggy’s cottage, and how Mary would visit James there. He had heard all this before, innumerable times over the past few months, from the different witnesses they had interviewed. But it was odd to hear old Rolph telling it in court, for the whole world to hear, as if he were talking about someone else, someone who was not sitting before him in the same room.
The minutes passed by, stretching slowly into an hour, and Rolph seemed to be tiring. “We didn’t know for sure, Mr. Mackercher,” he was now saying, “but I think m’lady was merely an acquaintance of young Tom…Thomas Palliser.”
“That day, the day ya said Lady Anglesea was turned out, did ya hear her accuse Arthur of bringing forth a bastard child?”
“By virtue of my oath, I did not.”
“Please sir, do correct any error, but she would’ve known if James was not her son, aye?”
Rolph smiled coyly. “I can’t fathom how she’d have missed such an event.” The gallery chuckled.
“And she referred to James as her son?” asked Mackercher.
“Aye. She did, indeed.”
“And in the middle of this argument during which, as ya’ve told us, Arthur sliced off Tom Palliser’s ear, and was hurling insults to Mary about being unfaithful, are ya telling this jury that not once did she accuse Arthur of being unfaithful by fathering James with another woman?”
“That’s correct, sir. Not once.”
Coldness came over James. They were a bare two hours into this trial, yet he was already wishing it over and done with. It was hard to listen to these people talk about him, about his mother and Juggy, about Arthur, about Fynn. Telling the world things he wished to forget, things he wished he had never known.
Chapter 37
Sit still, my soul:
Foul deeds will rise,
though all the earth o’erwhelm them,
to men’s eyes.
— from Hamlet, William Shakespeare, 1601
Evening’s amber light was streaming through the windows high over the judges’ bench, angling across the open temperate air, dust floating in the golden shafts. James stared at the thousands of little specks glinting there, flickering like motes of hot ash rising from a fire. Lowering his gaze, he saw Mackercher and Malone still in the midst of a heated exchange at the bench, petitioning the judges on some point of law. It was late; everyone was tired. Over the course of the previous week, Mackercher had questioned ninety-six witnesses, most for no more than four or five questions, and most with little or no cross-examination. One had been John Purcell, the butcher, who testified about the murder of Juggy. Mackercher let another solicitor handle the direct of him. Now they were nearing the end of their case, to James’s relief. This trial was requiring more painful patience than expected. He had envisioned the testimony as fascinating, but it was anything but that—it was dreary repetition of random remembrances. And soon would begin Richard’s farce parade. It was arduous at best.
Suddenly Justice Bowes boomed, “That’s satisfactory gentlemen, step back!”
Mackercher returned to the table angry. Clearly, he had been refused.
“Is your witness coming today, Sergeant Mackercher?” asked Bowes.
“Aye, my lord, he—” At that instant, the doors swung and a short, wiry, grey-haired Irishman came walking briskly to the front. James saw the left side of the man’s head was deformed: a fleshy hole where an ear had once been. He was sworn in then stated his name as Thomas Palliser. Mackercher moved close to the jury box before asking his first question. “Mr. Palliser, for the past few days we’ve been hearing, in some detail, of an altercation ya had with the late Lord Arthur Annesley. I will spare asking ya the event particulars as it clearly did occur.” Laughter came from the gallery. “I apologize, Mr. Palliser,” he added quickly, “I meant no disrespect.”
“None taken,” replied Palliser, his accent thickly Irish.
“What I wish to ask pertains to the events following that day, that day at Dunmain House. Do ya know the defendant, Richard Annesley?”
“Aye, I know o’him.”
“When did ya first meet him?”
“De day after I lost me ear, ‘twas. He came t’me with some o’his men, a Captain Bailyn an’ another. I believe went by de name Higgon.”
“Might it have been Higgins, a Mr. Paul Higgins?”
“O’ might’ve. I know not, but might’ve indeed.”
“What did the defendant want from ya that day?”
“Asked me challenge Lord Anglesea, fer satisfaction. Fer his affront on me ear, ye understand. With pistols, he did.”
“To a duel?”
“Aye, so he did. Had a challenge written fer me. Gave t’me t’ post at de cross o’ Ross.”
“New Ross? About four miles from Dunmain House, aye?”
“I think ‘tis more o’ six,” said Palliser. “Aye, twas a post front o’ St. Mary’s.”
“And did ya?” Mackercher continued. “Did ya post it, yar challenge?”
“Most certainly. Didn’t know an Earl wouldn’t meet me.”
“So Arthur never accepted yar challenge to duel?”
“Nay. Lord Anglesea said I should—”
“By Lord Anglesea, do ya mean the late Arthur Annesley or his brother, the defendant?”
“Him there,” replied Palliser, motioning toward Richard with a finger. Richard’s eyes went to slits at the gesture.
“Ah well,” Mackercher said softly, “ya may refer to him as Richard. I think we understand he merits no higher address.”
Malone jumped to his feet. “My lords this is outrageous! I object! Sergeant Mackercher is making arguments to the jury, entirely disregarding—”
“Enough Sergeant Malone.” Bowes raised a hand. “Sergeant Mackercher, you will have your closing argument. Do not stir our wrath at this juncture.”
“Apologies my lord.” He turned back to the witness box. “Mr. Palliser, please disregard my comment. Ya may address the defendant in whatever way ya deem appropriate. Now, ya were telling us what he,” he pointed purposefully at Richard, “the defendant, said ya should do.”
“Aye. Well, he…Lord Richard….” Palliser grinned. “Said I shouldn’t accept Arthur not meetin’ me. Dat an honor
able man would see justice done.”
“And by justice, what did ya think Richard meant?”
“T’ kill him,” said Palliser. A collective gasp was heard. “By virtue o’ me oath, he did.”
“And at that time, did ya know Richard was Arthur’s brother?”
“Aye, sir,” the Irishman replied, shifting in his seat. “Been told dat, I had.”
“Very well, that brings me to a most delicate question. A few days later, Arthur was shot in his drawing room, rendering him blind in one eye. Do ya know what villain fired the shot?”
Palliser glanced about, as if unsure what to say. “Nay.”
“Nay? Do ya not know that it was Richard himself who pulled that trigger?”
“I must object, my lords!” shouted Malone. “This is beyond—”
Bowes leaned forward. “Sergeants, approach.” Mackercher and Malone walked to Bowes, and James could hear Bowes lecturing Mackercher fierily. After a few moments, both stepped back.
“Mr. Palliser,” Mackercher continued. “I am nearly done—” Suddenly, the bells of Christ Church Cathedral began to peel the six o’clock hour. Since the cathedral adjoined the Four Courts, the tolling resounded through the courtroom, muffling all other sounds, forcing whoever was speaking to yield, to let it pass. Mackercher shook his head as the bells finally hit six. “All right, Mr. Palliser, shall we try this again?” He asked a few more questions, of little consequence, then turned the witness over to Malone.
Malone stood behind the defense table. “Of what profession are you, Mr. Palliser?”
“Eh?”
Malone gave a slight shake of his head, then smiled as if acknowledging Palliser was toying with him. He approached the witness box. “I asked, of what profession are you?”
“I’m a Roman Catholic, sir.”
Malone waited for the general laughter to die off. “Nay, sir. What business or occupation do you follow?”
“Oh. I’m a tanner.”
“A tanner?”
“Aye. What o’ it, sir?”
“Are you not also a builder of muskets?”
“I’ve tended t’ ‘em, sir, from time t’ time. Never built one.”
“Is it not true that you shot Arthur, the late Earl of Anglesea, after—”
“Nay!”
“—after he attacked you for your dalliances with his wife?”
“By virtue o’ me oath, nay.”
“Tell us true, were you and Mary Sheffield not involved in a relationship—”
Mackercher sprang to his feet. “I object, my lords. What Lady Anglesea did or did not do has no bearing in this case.”
“My lord,” Malone said, turning to Bowes, “Sergeant Mackercher introduced the subject on the day first of his prosecution, when he asked his witness, Mr. Thomas Rolph, if Lady Anglesea made comment of Arthur’s unfaithfulness. ‘Tis only fair for this jury to know if she herself was indeed so involved with Mr. Palliser here.”
“I will allow it, for now. But not much further, Sergeant Malone.”
“Aye, my lord,” Malone said, then turned. “Now, I ask you again—”
“Nay, we weren’t,” Palliser said in a gruff tone.
“Nay?”
“On my oath.”
“Then why did Arthur accuse her of such?”
“I know not.”
“What do you believe, Mr. Palliser?”
“I believe in God,” he replied, stiff-necked. Again the gallery chuckled.
“Order!” Bowes bellowed, though he too was restraining a grin.
Malone continued. “If you were not in such relations with Mary Sheffield, and yet her husband cut off your ear in the fury of an accusation of such, do you not have—”
“’Twas someone else,” Palliser mumbled.
“Someone else?”
“Aye, but I know not who, so don’t ye be askin’ me.”
Again Mackercher stood. “My lords, to what relevance is this questioning? To besmirch Lady Anglesea’s fine name? To insult his Lordship, the Duke of Buckingham? Surely there is no value here. There is no merit to such a frivolous line of questioning, no purpose other than to draw us from the question that has brought us here, as to Mrs. Sheffield’s maternity of the plaintiff, to which we have already proven—”
“Your stand is sustained and noted,” answered Bowes. He turned to Malone. “Do you have more questions for this witness?”
“Nay, my lord.”
“You may take your leave, Mr. Palliser. This court stands adjourned until eight o’clock on the morrow next.” Everyone stood as the three judges rose and strode through their door.
James stretched, then turned, smiling at Laura. Mackercher leaned near him saying, “Nearly done, m’lord. One or two more tomorrow and we’ll rest.”
“Very good, Mr. Mackercher,” James said. He stood before continuing, “I don’t care for such talk of my mother. Keep it out. ‘Tis useless.”
“That’s over, unless they bring it up in their direct examination, in which case—”
“No more,” James half-barked. “Shut them down if they do. I want no further accusations of such infidelity.”
Mackercher nodded confidently. “I’ll do my best, m’lord.”
James put a hand on Mackercher’s shoulder. “We’ll dine at Stag’s Head?”
“If that’s what ya’d like.”
“Laura likes it, so ‘tis fine. We’ll visit with ye there.” James started toward Laura, pushing past the black robes milling around the bar. Just then Richard blocked his path, glaring. James snorted with disgust. “What do ye want?”
Richard leaned close, whispering, “Ye’d better win this case, knave. If ye don’t, I’ll have ye done in for sure. B’Christ, I will.”
“Oh?” James stood his ground. “Are ye already hiring more assassins?”
“I’ll send ye to hell in an instant. I’ll do it myself!”
“Ye’re a rabid dog, ye are. Ye never stop. Well, I admire yer tenacity, but do please ply me no more with yer schemes.”
“Damn yer blood!” Richard snarled.
“My blood?” snapped James. “Annesley blood runs through us both, lest ye forget.”
“Ye don’t deserve it.”
James leaned into Richard’s face. “Fortunes have been spent on both sides in this affair, but do ye know the highest price for me?”
Richard stepped back, glowering, lofty.
“Seeing it in print, for everyone to know I’m related to the likes of ye. Having to admit I was born into this godforsaken, honorless family.”
“Blood and thunder! Where’s my sword?” Richard shouted, spinning around.
“James!” Mackercher was there, along with Malone and a swarm of other lawyers.
“‘Tis nothing,” grumbled James. “Just family banter.”
“Ye knave! Ye goddamned little knave!” roared Richard, struggling to free himself from his lawyers.
“Uncle! Black-eyed vermin,” James fumed. “Hear me clearly. Though I’d sorely wish to kill ye, I’d rather see ye live in ruin and shame. To that end, when I’ve reclaimed my title, ye must go. Flee to France if ye wish, or any other place that’ll harbor yer rotten kind, but ye’ll not remain here or England. Do ye understand me?”
“Damn ye bastard,” hissed Richard, “ye’ll never win this.”
“Do ye not understand me sir?” James shouted in the man’s face.
“Come now,” Mackercher urged, steering James away. Shaking, James allowed himself to be led to the door where Laura, Seán, and Ann were staring at him.
Malone followed after, asking Mackercher, “What if Lord Anglesea does not leave?”
Mackercher turned, smirking at the capitulating question. “He’ll be hanged, Mr. Malone. On sight. No hesitation. No trial. No mercy. Is that not clear enough?”
“Outrageous!” Malone protested.
“Murder and kidnapping, Prime Sergeant Malone,�
�� said Mackercher. “A man’s sins will surely find him out.”
Chapter 38
But all-feeling Heaven, who hates injustice, would not suffer that cruel usurper of another’s right to proceed in a manner which might secure him the possession, and for his greater punishment rendered him accessory to his own shame and confusion.
— Memoirs of an Unfortunate Young Nobleman, James Annesley, 1743
The trial resumed the next morning as the bells of Christ Church pealed eight. Mackercher rose. “My lords, the plaintiff calls his last witness, Prime Sergeant John Giffard.”
At once Malone was on his feet. “Sergeant Giffard may not be called to testify, my lords. He was an attorney for the defendant in another matter, and anything Sergeant Giffard can say would be privileged and inadmissible as secrets between an attorney and his client.”
“My lords,” began Mackercher, his tone resolute. “We concede the veracity of that fact, that last spring, in London, Sergeant Giffard did represent Richard Annesley in his meritless prosecution of James Annesley on the false grounds of murder, but—”
“This is highly unacceptable,” Malone cut in. “There is no evidence to suggest that it was the defendant who prosecuted those murder charges against the plaintiff. No such—”
“Prime Sergeant Malone,” Bowes interrupted, “did you not just claim this man’s testimony to be privileged because of that very fact, that he represented the defendant in an earlier matter?”
Malone hesitated before conceding, “Aye, my lord.”
“And is it not true that the earlier matter was the murder prosecution of the plaintiff?”
Malone looked at his team of attorneys, appealing for a lifeline, but none came. Instead, their gazes darted to the walls, dropped to the floors, examined notes. “Aye,” Malone finally muttered.
“Speak up, if you will, Prime Sergeant Malone,” a different judge ordered.
“Aye, m’lords,” said Malone. “I said, Aye.”
“Then to that issue, the fact is so stipulated, Sergeant Mackercher,” said Justice Bowes, appearing glum. “Yet,” he continued, “I still see no room to allow such testimony.”
Fortunate Son Page 36
