The Barrister and the Letter of Marque Read online

  Stick that down your throat.

  William could see that his argument had caused even Judge Raleigh to pause. He’d as much as told the magistrate that if he found William in contempt and referred him for discipline by his peers at Gray’s Inn, William would lodge his own complaint against Sir Barnabas before the KC’s peers at the inner court for his improper meetings with the captain. That would certainly slow the judge’s precious race to the captain’s trial.

  Judge Raleigh pondered in silence.

  “Mr. Snopes,” he declared at last, “reluctantly I’m going to withhold judgment on your contemptable publication—so long as you don’t attempt any such strategy again. Nor will I recommend disciplinary action by your inn at this time. They may make their own judgment in that regard. But consider yourself on a very short leash indeed. Gentlemen, I’ll see you back on Monday, March the nineteenth, to begin trial. That is ten days hence.”

  Ten days? William’s heart sank. “My lord. Regarding that date—”

  “You can stop right there, Mr. Snopes.” The judge scowled. “Because of your publication, this story is out there for all to read. The impacts on the esteem of the Crown and the daily conduct of our government’s business, as well as the chance for unbiased justice in this case, are considerable. I’ll hear no request for a continuance. You’ll be here on the date selected, prepared to commence trial on the charge of piracy against Captain Tuttle.”

  We’re contemplating ending a man’s life, William wanted to argue, and you’re worried about a few days? But it would do him no good with Raleigh.

  “My lord,” William said, his alternative argument prepared, “my purpose wasn’t to ask for a continuance for time to prepare the defense.”

  The eyes of Sir Barnabas and his coterie clung to William.

  “Then just what were you intending to ask?” Judge Raleigh replied.

  “We request, my lord, the right to prosecute a man among the arresting party for the murder of a young cabin boy, Simon Ladner. Given the overlap in evidence, I presume the court would prefer the murder prosecution be conducted simultaneously with Captain Tuttle’s piracy trial. That would, regrettably, require additional time for a fresh indictment. And though I’m sure the court knows that this complex case is already likely to be a long trial, the Ladner boy’s murder prosecution would require even more trial time and preparation.”

  The room became a tomb.

  Judge Raleigh turned to William’s opponent. “Sir Barnabas, I wasn’t informed of a killing associated with your case against the captain. Is this true?”

  Sir Barnabas stood slowly. “I believe there was a death on the occasion of the arrest.”

  “Why wasn’t I informed? Was the Crown intending to prosecute the matter?”

  The barrister shook his head. “We’ve no information that the death was intentional. Assuming an unintentional or accidental death, it is the Crown’s conclusion that it should be prosecuted as a private matter. And I’ve not been retained to do so.”

  Judge Raleigh pierced William with his stare once more. “Are you saying you’re prepared to prosecute this death, Mr. Snopes?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Against whom?”

  “Against the constable and sheriffs who conducted the arrest, my lord. We’re still investigating who fired the fatal bullet.”

  The judge shook his head. “Always complications,” he murmured, perturbed. He grew silent again.

  William’s heart began to pound with hope.

  With a suddenness that startled, the judge straightened and shot a fresh hard look at William. “You are a clever one, Counselor. Very clever. Coming up with this argument so late in the day. Well, I’ll have none of it. The prosecution of the boy’s death will have to wait, and there will be no continuance. But I will concede this much, Mr. Snopes. You have three days to complete the trial rather than the customary one.”

  His heart drowning in disappointment at the near triumph, William shook his head. “Given the nature of this case, my lord, I fear three days will be inadequate—even without the murder prosecution.”

  “You’ll make it adequate. Three days.”

  The judge and his legal staff disappeared through back doors out of the courtroom. William stared at the empty bench.

  Ten days to trial. No more than a breath in time. If he hadn’t the assurance of Solicitor Mortimer’s testimony to clinch the case, it would be impossible. As it was, even in the shadow of the gallows, he’d be trying this one on the fly, with limited chance to know what many of Sir Barnabas’s witnesses would say before they were sworn to testify.

  “Final chance,” Sir Barnabas called from his table.

  William didn’t look in his direction.

  “Good day, Sir Barnabas.”

  “In that case, you should know we’ve released the Padget’s crew. A decision regarding their prosecution will await the result in this one.”

  William’s last calm melted. “You’ve released them before I could interview them? With so little time to trial? They could be anywhere now!”

  “Perhaps you need more help than your solicitor and your hotheaded junior can provide? But don’t worry. A number of the Padget’s crew will be testifying for the prosecution, so you’ll hear what they have to say at trial. A few are even quoted in this afternoon’s papers, I’m informed. The Gazette seems to have taken a particular interest in this case and its characters. Have a restful week, Mr. Snopes.”

  William watched the barrister and his juniors withdraw.

  The imposing courtroom, garnished with dark and solemn wood, fell especially silent, like a field after the passing of mounted cavalry. William looked about the room; the space he knew and loved so well seemed charged with something unfamiliar. As though it were awaiting no legal case at all—no measured arguments on law or fairness, guilt or innocence—but the drums of war and inevitable death.

  In such a struggle, did he have any chance of protecting the lady and her cousin?

  William pulled off his wig and made his solitary way to the door, his blood hot.

  He’d be hanged himself before he’d roll over.

  If it was war they wanted, then it was war they’d have.

  21

  HEATHCOTE ESTATE

  ESSEX COUNTY

  Davidson entered the dining room with the air of calm that Madeleine had known her entire life. “The carriage is ready, my lady.”

  Madeleine took a deep breath, sorely tempted to delay leaving the only home she’d ever known. Before her return, the manor house could vanish from her life. The loss of the Padget could make it so. Solicitor Rooker could seize the grounds to repay the loan. The prosecutor could come for her and her father as conspirators to piracy.

  It all made parting both perilous and sorrowful.

  “One moment,” she answered Davidson. “I’ll be right out.”

  She took the stairs to her father’s room, entering to the soft light of an overcast sky through the window. He was seated in his favored rocker, with sweet Miss Kendall nearby.

  It was her father’s preferred place from which to survey the grounds. Waves of white hair reached to shoulders once strong enough to hold her and her brother at the same time. His once-keen eyes were now clouded and emotionless. If they took him from this house, he’d be lost forever.

  She leaned down and hugged him. “Father, I’m doing all I can. I’ve hired the best barrister possible. Pray for us, as I’ll be praying for you.”

  He didn’t stir as she released him. She kissed his pale forehead, then nodded to Miss Kendall and returned downstairs.

  The carriage took the drive to the road under low gathering clouds threatening snow. A single horse was tied to follow. In the interior, Madeleine pulled her scarf closer. Passing fields and woods she’d explored since she could walk, her thoughts wandered to possibilities she didn’t want to consider. She was still staring when staccato bumps beneath the carriage awoke her to the wooden bridge into town. />
  Davidson halted the carriage before the chemist’s shop, where Lady Jameson got out and went inside.

  The shop was empty—neither customers nor Roisin nor her husband were to be seen. Madeleine took a moment before calling out, “Roisin?”

  All was quiet.

  Had she gone shopping? She usually left a sign on the door. Madeleine considered leaving but badly wanted to speak with Roisin to ask if she’d had any contact with the American. She stepped around the counter to the door leading to the preparation room in back.

  In the center of the back room, Roisin stood frozen. An apron wrapped her thick body. Her hands were white with powder. Her eyes were wide.

  “Go away, Maddie,” she hissed.

  Before Madeleine could move, a man stepped from the dark of the pantry closet.

  “Lady Jameson,” the American said in the clipped Yankee accent Madeleine so disliked. “You were the chief topic of our conversation.”

  “Leave her be,” Roisin commanded. “I told you. I’m speakin’ for the lady.”

  “Is she now?” the American asked Madeleine. “Is the chemist’s wife your agent now? As I remember, Roisin here negotiated our loan arrangement, but the money all went directly to you.”

  She remembered the man vividly, though they’d met only once: on the chilled sand of the seashore at Crispin’s Point. Staring at him now, fear engulfed her. She wanted only to say yes and walk away.

  But she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—leave Roisin this way.

  “No,” Madeleine managed. “I’ll speak for myself.”

  “Good. That makes things much easier.”

  The American stepped around Roisin to face her. “I’ve learned that your ship is docked in London Harbor. Where’s my money?”

  They’d spoken only briefly when the gold was delivered, dragged from a dinghy onto the shore as the smuggler’s schooner rocked at anchor a hundred yards offshore from the point. He’d tried to intimidate her then by standing close, testing to see if she was afraid of him. It had worked. She’d been unable to hide her fear.

  He intimidated her as much now. His voice seemed like a storm piling into rocks. His smile thinly concealed an air of brutality.

  Except she had even fewer choices now than she did then. And fear was no longer such a stranger.

  And she knew she needed to draw closer to the man—not shy away—if she was to convince him to extend the loan.

  “If I’m to do business with you directly,” she said, “I must know your name.”

  The American’s stare hardened. For an instant she thought he might strike her.

  “Only my crew and my friends know my name.”

  “Does Roisin know it?”

  He nodded. “She’s a friend. And she knows how to keep her mouth shut.”

  “She’s my friend too. And she’ll tell you I also know how to keep a secret.”

  The dark smile again.

  “All right. It’s your hanging if I ever learn you’ve spilled it. My name’s Grayson. Grayson Turner. Now tell me why I don’t have my money.”

  “You know why I haven’t the money, Mr. Turner,” she answered as boldly as she could manage. “Your sources will have told you.”

  He took in her face. “Yes, I do know. Then tell me what we’re going to do about it.”

  “I’m sure Roisin has already told you what I can do. I’ll need another three months.”

  “I’m to accept this why?”

  “I’ll pay you two hundred pounds now.”

  “The loan was fifty times that. Then there’s the interest.”

  “It’s what I can give you. You’ll get the rest of your money with the interest when we sell the Padget’s cargo.”

  “If you sell the cargo. From what I’ve heard, that’s not guaranteed.”

  “We will. If we fail, you can keep the Padget.”

  “I don’t need a brig, my lady. I need my money. And if you fail, I doubt they’ll let you keep her anyway.”

  “I’ll add five percent to the interest on the loan.”

  Reaching behind his back, the American pulled a pistol from his belt. “Maybe I should just go back to your house and start taking my repayment in goods now.”

  “My lady said five percent, sir.”

  The American turned.

  Davidson stood in the frame of the back doorway. Madeleine’s father’s Brown Bess musket was in his hands, leveled at the American’s chest.

  The American slowly lowered his hand with the pistol. “Just who are you?”

  “He’s my servant,” Madeleine answered, relief and gratitude flooding her. She looked to the smuggler. “Davidson can retrieve the two hundred pounds now. That and an additional ten percent interest from this point forward for your forbearance.”

  The American shook his head, giving a sigh. “That’ll buy you one more month. The problem with your ship should be settled by then. But if you lose your brig and cargo, Lady Jameson, there’ll be hell to pay—servant or not. I’ll be back in two hours for the coin.”

  He brushed past her to leave the shop.

  Madeleine felt her legs give out. She found a stool and dropped.

  Roisin stood staring at her, grinning. “Well, it seems you won’t need me doin’ your negotiating from here on out, that’s for certain,” she declared. “I’m proud of you.”

  Madeleine took a deep breath. “Davidson!” she cried out. “Thank you. I had no idea you’d brought Father’s musket.”

  The servant nodded. “My lady will understand that I couldn’t leave it at home with his lordship. It also seemed a foolish thing to be without it, given how things are at present.”

  “I owe you much.”

  She thought a moment as her heart began to slow. “Davidson, return to Heathcote and bring the two hundred pounds. You know where I keep it.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Then, after you accompany me to London, I’ll want you to return to the estate rather than stay with me as planned. I’ll keep the spare horse for myself there.”

  Roisin’s grin faded.

  “Now, there’s a rott’n plan, Madeleine, considerin’ what we just saw.”

  “No,” Madeleine replied, still shaken but feeling strength returning to her voice. “No. I believe the American—Mr. Turner—will allow us our month. I worry more about those pursuing Harold and the Padget. In London, I’ll have my barrister and his team nearby for protection. For the duration of the trial, I’d feel better knowing you were at home, Davidson, protecting Father and the estate.”

  “As you wish. I’ll return to Heathcote now for the funds.”

  When he was gone, Madeleine turned to Roisin. “I’ll need your eyes and ears and prayers while I’m in London. Please keep a watch out for any passing strangers who might pose a risk for Father, the staff, and the home. Get me word of anything that should worry me. I’ll be staying with Dorothy.”

  “Is there somethin’ you aren’t tellin’ me, child?” Roisin asked, squinting at her.

  She still declined to tell her of the attack on her mare. “No. Nothing you need worry about.”

  Roisin shook her head. “I don’t know that I believe you, but I’ll do as you ask. And you know I can count on most of your farmers and the folks of this town to help any way they can. They know what you’ve done for ’em, forgivin’ rent and loanin’ money about.”

  “Good.”

  She hugged Roisin, nearly groaning at the strength of the older woman’s squeeze.

  They sat and spoke for another hour, Roisin flowing with optimism to buoy her until Davidson returned. Madeleine left the funds for the American with Roisin while Davidson tied up the spare horse behind the carriage once more.

  Then they started for London.

  The carriage rocked to the sway of the rough country roads as the finality of what was happening overtook her again. She had no real idea what awaited her in London. At least the barrister had accepted their case. She’d have sworn from their conversation bef
ore dinner and at the table that he was going to refuse to represent them. Then he’d agreed with a passion and a strength that encouraged her.

  Why had he changed his mind? What realistic chance did he have of saving her cousin and the Padget?

  Successful or not, she now knew that the estate wasn’t the only thing she risked losing.

  Pondering the encounter with the American, she hardly recognized who she was becoming.

  OFFICE OF BARRISTER WILLIAM SNOPES

  GRAY’S INN

  Flush-faced, William burst through the door into his office, a copy of the Gazette under one arm.

  “Oh, you’ve seen this afternoon’s papers, Mr. Snopes,” Obadiah said, seated behind William’s desk with several newspapers of his own spread across it. “Is that the Gazette? It’s the worst of them.”

  “Yes. But every one’s got some angle on the ‘pirate ship Padget.’ Our penny dreadfuls raised questions, but these stories spout pure fiction as gospel truth.”

  “And they’re ugly, Mr. Snopes. Very ugly. You’d think the Padget flew a skull and crossbones and Captain Tuttle was Blackbeard come back to life.”

  “And that we’re all a nest of Jacobins trying to overthrow the king and both houses of Parliament.”

  “What happened at the hearing, sir?”

  William took a breath to slow his heart and explained.

  “Oh, that’s not good news, Mr. Snopes. Not any of it, sir.”

  “That statement’s short by a mile. The way the hearing was going, I crown it a victory that the judge didn’t enter his Order of Contempt. Though I’m very disappointed we can’t pursue the cabin boy’s death just now.”

  William heard the scuffling of shoes and the creak of Edmund’s door. He looked over his shoulder as Edmund entered, his coat over one arm.

  “I heard you talking from my office,” his junior said.

  “Yes. The hearing was grim. Much like the papers.”

  “Did I hear you say you’re not pursuing the boy’s death after all?”

  “I will in good time. But in his wisdom, our judge has ruled we can’t prosecute it simultaneously with the piracy charge. Worse, he’s given us only ten days until trial.”