madhouse Bride 22

 

Chapter 22

 

One of Anne’s purchases was a length of black velvet, and sundry gold threads. She drew a silhouette of a raven on tissue paper, and pinned it carefully on the black velvet. She stitched neatly around the image through the paper, and then gently pulled it away, leaving a fine outline, which would pull out later.

She set to work, first with long and short stitch like rays from a sun behind the raven, to outline it, planning on filling the rest of the fabric with entwined leaves and flowers in various goldwork stitches.

“You do embroider so nicely, milady,” said Meggie.

“I am half French,” said Anne. “We are expected to sew beautifully. I have only done small goldwork projects before, but it struck me that a raven could be an empty space which is fuller than many people if added to.”

“Yes, milady,” said Meggie, who had to think about it, but understood what Anne was saying about the strength of Ravenscar’s personality that you noticed equally if he was missing as you might if he was there.

It was more apparent as the shape of the raven started springing out black against the gold.

Julian came in to see what his wife was up to.

“That’s amazing!” he said. “That will certainly brighten the vestibule.”

“I hoped so,” said Anne. “And it will give me something to do during the trial, which I assume you will be attending.”

“I will; and I gave the staff leave to do so, if they can work out a rota,” said Julian. “I want someone with you at all times, just in case.”

“If the cook wants to go, I’m happy enough to have a hotel send out a meal for the rest of us,” said Anne. “Or to eat pies from a pie shop, and I’m capable of preparing a salad.”

“Thank you,” said Julian, kissing her.

 

oOoOo

 

The trial started with the judge peering over his spectacles at Denver as if observing some new species of insect.

“I have never before presided over a case with a single defendant charged with and sued over so many disparate offences before,” he said. “I find it quite extraordinary that any man can occasion so many complaints. The charge sheet reads almost like a feud from some ancient Irish lay which starts with cattle stealing and goes downhill from there. However, we will open with the taking away and destroying of the phaeton belonging to the Viscount Ravenscar.”

As one of the witnesses to the stealing of the phaeton, at that point merely unlawfully depriving and carrying away, as Denver intended to return it was a Bow Street Officer, there was considerable credence to his testimony. The crash of it changed that to malicious damage and permanently depriving. The ostler from the inn had been summonsed, and was enjoying a holiday in London with his boy, at the expense of Julian. He testified that he knew Ravenscar’s phaeton well, and had sent his boy to apprise his lordship of the matter.

“Fair slumguzzled I was, your honour, to see the vehicle of a good man occupied by a pair I’d as soon not meet on a dark night,” said he.

“Record that the witness was somewhat taken aback,” said the judge.

“Aye, I said so,” said the ostler, one Dick Barnard. “I said to my boy, ‘There’s something havey-cavey going on there, you mark my words,’ and I sent him on to catch up with his lordship’s cavalcade going north.”

“His lordship was then already on the road?”

“Aye, and that precious pair trying to catch up. As if they were going to do that with all their luggage and two big men up front, instead of distributing the load to stop the contraption fish-tailing!”

“Oh, is that how you do it?” burst out Denver. The judge banged his gavel.

“You wait until you are spoken to,” he said. “Go on,” he said to the ostler.

“Well, they left in the morning, back end wagglin’ like an eel, to go up Alconbury Hill, which is nowise safe for amateurs to come down the other side, even if laden properly so the arse end won’t try and overtake the nags.”

“You are certain this is the way that Denver and his companion went?” said the judge.

“Aye, for I watched it, for the comedy value,” said the ostler.

The judge’s lip was seen to twitch very slightly.

“Do you have any knowledge of what happened next?” he asked.

“Aye, for the mail come in, and Albert Rawlins, him as drives that leg of the London to Nottingham and back- him bein’ on the ‘and back’ route – he said to me, ‘There’s Ravenscar’s phaeton in a ditch run off the road going down Alconbury hill; how come a whip like him overturned himself? I’ll be foul play, you mark my words.’”

“Move to strike as hearsay,” said Denver’s counsellor.[1]

“It aint hearsay, umma sayin’ it,” said Barnard.

“It is hearsay to repeat the speech of others,” said the judge.

“Well, if I don’t tell you what Bert Rawlins said, how am I going to tell you why I went to look for myself?” said Barnard, injured.

“Following information received, did you go to see what had allegedly happened to Lord Ravenscar’s vehicle?” asked the Judge.

“Yes, I telled you so,” said Barnard. “Ain’t no allegedly about it. And I said to myself, stand to reason those fools crashed it, not having the sense God gave a sparrow, and not even bothering to use the brake.”

“There wasn’t a brake!” burst out Denver.

“Ho, well, that’s you caught in a lie, for Ravenscar has the most up to date brakes on all his vehicles, like the mailcoach, wot operate from the dash,” said Barnard.

“Well how was I to know that?” demanded Denver.

“Well, Mister Jack Nastyface, if you’d had permission to drive it, reckon his lordship would of telled you about it,” said Barnard.

The judge banged his gavel.

“Order!” he said. “You were able to positively identify the vehicle?”

“Of course! Ravenscar has all his wheels picked out in yellow and black and the body yellow wiv a raven rampantaging on the side,” said Barnard.

Julian raised a hand.

“What?” said the judge, irritably.

“The word Barnard is looking for is ‘stooping’” said Julian.

“Aye, what’d be rampant in a lion only goin’ down not up, rampantaging,” said Barnard.

“Thank you for the clarification for the court records, my lord,” said the judge. He turned back to Barnard. “What did you do?”

“Do! I didn’t do nothin’, there not bein’ nothin’ I could do,” said Barnard. “The nags survived it, at least, they wasn’t there, aye, and that’s another thing, if he’d had Ravenscar’s permission, he’d of had Ravenscar’s horses not four indifferent jades as couldn’t keep up with any two o’ his lordship’s.”

“Very well; counsellor for the defence may cross-examine,” said the judge.

Denver had hired a man named Knightley, who did not look enamoured of his task ahead.

“Now, Mr. Barnard,” he said. “You know that perjury means lying in court and is a very serious matter?”

“Of course I does,” said Barnard. “I ain’t lyin’ about nuthin’.”

“Come, Mr. Barnard! How many people go through the inn where you work every day?” asked Knightley.

Barnard considered.

“This time o’ year? Matter o’ fifty or so,” said Barnard. “O’course, that’s mostly on the mail or public machines o’ one sort or another, postchaises or stagecoaches. An’ I don’ really get to see many o’ them.”

“But can you honestly say, in a busy inn, that you recognise my client, out of all the faces that have passed?” Knightley’s tone was light, astonished, sceptical.

“Aye, I can,” said Barnard, stubbornly. “I looked at him and the fat little butler type wot was with him most particular so I’d know them again.”

“And why did you do that, for them out of all the travellers through the inn?” asked Knightley.

“Gawdstrewth, I told you, didn’ I!” said Barnard. “It was account o’ him driving Ravenscar’s phaeton, and not bein’ like any o’ Ravenscar’s servants.”

“Anyone could paint a carriage yellow and put a raven on it,” said Knightley.

Barnard scoffed.

“You ain’t a whip, are you?” he said, scornfully.

“I ask the questions,” said Knightley. “Confine yourself to answering them.”

“Well, I am, ain’t I?” said Barnard. “Cos if you was a whip, you wouldn’t ask such a bleedin’ stupid question.”

“Nonetheless, please answer it,” said Knightley, who had flushed in irritation.

“Well, stands to reason,” said Barnard. “Any real whip has modifications to the build of any equipage he drives, what are as obvious as the nose on your phiz to anyone as isn’t a complete nodcock.”

“Strike the last comment,” murmured the judge.  “Mr. Knightley is attempting to ascertain whether there are more things than the paint job that make his lordship’s carriage distinctive.”

“Well, there’s the brake for one thing,” said Barnard.  “And the way the luggage rack is slung, and it’s sprung as well as the body, in case he might be transporting anything delicate, like wine. And he uses coiled springs, not leaf springs, what need more work to care for, but they give a smoother ride. To them as load the vehicle proper like, anywise,” he added a dig at Denver.  “And it being a delicate piece o’ kit, d’you really think I wouldn’t notice a ham-handed clunch driving it? Ravenscar wouldn’t let jus’ anyone drive his phaeton, and I’ve seen it up and down the road for the races I don’t know how many times, and his Lordship always as pleasant as can be. But when I saw someone driving as nervous as a maiden aunt with piles, badly loaded, and heavy handed, with poor nags, I thought to myself, there’s something queer going on here, so yes, I looked at him particular, Mr. Lawyer, an’ I wasn’t about to forget a sour face like that, not nowise, a man who allus looks like he’s lost a guinea and found a dog turd.”

Mr. Knightley gave up the unequal struggle of trying to introduce reasonable doubt.

“No further questions,” he said, with a sigh.

“Call Viscount Ravenscar,” said the judge.

Julian took the stand and was sworn in.

“Did you give permission to Mr. Denver to use your phaeton?” said the judge.

“No, sir. I do not permit anyone not competent to drive such a well-tuned sporting vehicle,” said Julian. “It’s not safe to drive for anyone not a very skilled whip. There are only two people I have ever permitted to drive it, my personal groom, and my valet. My head coachman is capable but dislikes it, so I don’t ask him to do so.  It is, as stated, a distinctive vehicle both from the paint job and the specific modifications I have made to it which Barnard has mostly covered; and also the fact that the seat hangs above the forward axle, with the whiffletree right beneath the dash and  a short tongue, which is how the wheeler managed to kick through the dash, as was apparent when I examined the wreck on my way back from Edinburgh.”

“You drove to Edinburgh in November?” asked the Judge.

“My wife had a mind to attend the music festival,” said Julian. “We were too late for anything but the last gasp, but it was an entertaining trip. We – my servants and I – drove in relays to make it less tedious, and sailed the last bit from Flamborough. A very pleasant trip through St. Martin’s little summer, marred by seeing my carriage wrecked on the way back. I have no idea why Denver wanted to pursue us to Edinburgh; if he had expressed an interest in the music, I might have made up a party,” he added, mendaciously.

“Your witness, Mr. Knightley,” said the judge.

“Is not the defendant your wife’s uncle?” asked Knightley.

“Yes, but she cannot be held to blame for that unfortunate fact,” said Julian.

“Strike the facetiae,” said the judge.

“Would it not be reasonable to permit a family member use of one of your vehicles?” asked Knightley.

“Certainly not!” said Julian. “I certainly would not permit my uncle or my cousin to make use of it; neither are capable. Nor is my wife, yet, and I’ve seen Denver driving so most assuredly no, never.  At least he drove his own nags which are already spoiled so I don’t have to be upset about any of my high-bred beasts being harmed by his heavy-handedness. A man who drives on the mouth,” he added in scorn. “It was inevitable that he would overturn my phaeton sooner or later; only luck kept it from being much sooner.”

“Might he have assumed that you would have permitted this?”

“A mushroom like him is likely to assume many things, but my grooms and coachmen assure me that they put him right. Moreover, he was unaware of the time and place of our wedding, and could not be sure that he was, unfortunately, a relation,” Julian added.

“I was going to call just cause and impediment!” interrupted Denver.

“Did you not need the permission of her ladyship’s guardian to marry her?” asked Knightley.

“I had it,” said Julian. “A prenuptial contract with her father made before his death in suspicious circumstances.  I had bought an ordinary licence to wed at the hall, but my lady had a romantic notion to be married in Edinburgh Castle during the festival.  And why not?”

“Was there any just cause and impediment?” asked Knightley.

“None that are not covered in my slander suit against your client which we haven’t got to yet,” said Julian, cheerfully.

Julian’s hands were called to give testimony; and Denver’s own coachman, Stubbins; and Mr. Amos Peabody.

“Explain to the court what was the involvement of a Bow Street Officer in this matter,” asked Mr. Justice Henbury.

“My lord, I was hired by the defendant to fetch back home a runaway who was said to be insane,” said Peabody. “In conversation with the coachman on the way, I began to have doubts that I was being employed honestly. When we got to Raven’s Knebworth, I refused to exceed my dooty by forcing entrance, the master having been declared from home, and we went to the church to ascertain who the local magistrate might be, whereupon the defendant assaulted the vicar for not interrupting his prayers for him, and was duly milled down with a nice piece of science. Which might not sound germane, your honour, but it is, as it explains the hasty sort Mr. Denver is.  Anyway, I found out that Lord Ravenscar is the magistrate, and that was when Mr. Denver came up with the idea of swapping his carriage for his lordship’s phaeton, which is no sort of exchange not nohow, as even I know as isn’t any kind of top of the trees driver, but I ain’t entirely iggerant.”

“Did you point this out to my client?” asked Knightley.

“Aye, I told him it was theft,” said Peabody.

“Why did you not arrest him?” asked Knightley.

“Bless you, sir, that would have been illegal,” said Peabody. “Not being sworn in as a constable with powers of arrest in Raven’s Knebworth, the magistrate not being there.  He didn’t pay me for my time, neither, so I’m an aggrieved party too,” he added.

Mr. Knightley had no more lines to pursue.

 

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[1] Until the end of the 18^th century a barrister was referred to as a counsellor, and over the next fifty years or so became known as the counsel for the defence or prosecution, with the title of barrister. The term counsellor was still in use in court.