Die I Will Not (27 page)

“Fancy a bath, gentlemen?” He upended the basket, and fish rained down in a silvery shower.

Chapter XXVI

The prisoners to be tried on that April day walked down the enclosed, brick-walled passage that connected Newgate Prison to the Old Bailey. There, behind a semicircular wall cut off from the curious public, they waited their turn in the bail dock, Lewis Durant among them. Inside the courtroom, Edward Buckler took his place at the table provided for counsel under the bench of high court judges, City officials, and aldermen, but Penelope would not enter the court until the clerk summoned her as a witness. Thorogood sat at Buckler's side, and Hope Thorogood observed from the gallery above the jury's box. They were ready for what the day would bring, though Buckler had never imagined he would have to watch the woman he loved testify in court.

“Did you instruct her?” he asked Thorogood.

“I told her to tell the exact truth. She didn't know of Lewis' existence until Mr. Chase uncovered the christening register. She did know her father was the original Collatinus—and that's why she went to see Dryden Leach and later Mrs. Leach.”

“Quiller won't be gentle.”

“There's no help for it, Edward.”

Buckler looked away, catching sight of George Kester, a man he had met years ago when he was acquainted with Kester's son. And why was Kester here? Perhaps because a scandal, even one several decades old, would hardly enhance his political career. He must hope it would remain buried. A solicitous usher pointed out Mary Leach's father, Horatio Rex, and Buckler studied him covertly: a man with a flashing eye and a brittle hardness that spoke of bitter experience. Resolutely, Buckler quelled a twinge of remorse, for if all went well today, these proceedings would not be kind to the memory of Rex's daughter.

The usher was also able to indicate Ralph Hewitt. He looked a prosperous gentleman, well dressed, certain of his place in the world, his thick shoulders hinting at his Lincolnshire farmer origins. For a moment Buckler was amazed that Hewitt had dared to enter the Old Bailey and watch Lewis Durant be tried for murder. Then he realized Hewitt must be here in his capacity as the Regent's confidential agent.

After Chase's letter had arrived last night, Buckler and Thorogood had remained thunderstruck for some time. Chase had asked them to extend the proceedings as long as possible to give him more time to find proof of Durant's innocence. They could not accuse the Prince's Man without something more solid than a web of supposition, however logical and persuasive.
Will the prosecution call him as a witness?
Chase had written.

“Doubtful,” Thorogood had said when he'd stopped exclaiming. “They won't wish to reveal details of Carlton House's relationship with the newspapers. Hewitt can only be effective from the shadows.” Another thought struck him. “You don't suppose His Royal Highness—”

“No. I imagine Hewitt acted alone. Still, if our Prince weren't such a reprobate in his own right, the villain might not have been emboldened.”

Now Buckler cleared his mind and tried to settle his nerves as Lewis Durant went to stand at the bar. Assessing him, Buckler was surprised when the young man returned his look with composure. He wore the new suit his sister had purchased for him; his posture was erect, giving him a confident air. Black eyes alert, cheeks faintly flushed, black hair tamed, he made a gallant figure that would surely appeal to the jury. But Buckler's spark of hope died when he looked away from Durant toward Latham Quiller, flanked by the junior counsel for the Crown. Quiller nodded indulgently in his direction and resumed his conversation with his colleagues. The solicitor Richard Grouse sat at his side.

Buckler had been surprised to learn that the Lord Chief Justice would not preside over so notorious a trial, but rumor had it that the Chief Justice was sulking after having erupted in anger during a debate in the House of Lords. Having been a member of the original commission investigating the Princess of Wales, the Justice had reportedly been outraged by attempts to suggest improprieties in this inquiry. Instead, conducting the trial today was Mr. Justice Worthing, a reasonably fair-minded, though occasionally sarcastic, judge whom Buckler had faced before.

The clerk read the indictments for two felony counts of murder, making no mention of the additional misdemeanor count of seditious libel, which would be tried in a separate cause should Lewis Durant somehow escape the noose. There was no need to mention this charge—the newspapers had already laid the groundwork for the prosecution, openly accusing Lewis of depicting “the Prince Regent as sanguinary, despotic, and cruel.”

As Buckler listened attentively to the opening statement, Quiller clarified the prosecution's strategy: “If your Lordship pleases, we will address the indictment for the murder of Dryden Leach, and if the jury shall find the prisoner guilty of that crime, we need not give the court any further trouble. Though the fate of the second victim is not our primary object, the story of Mr. Leach's murder cannot be told without also disclosing particulars of the horrid murder of his wife and the defendant's seditious activities.”

“Proceed by your own method,” said Worthing.

Quiller laid out a case that sounded damning enough. Lewis Durant, the son of an acknowledged Jacobin, had conceived a conspiracy to extort money from men of high degree and sow discontent in the people through seditious letters in the press. When Dryden Leach had threatened to expose him, Durant, like the Frenchified assassin he was, crept into Mr. Leach's office and stole his life. Later he terrorized an innocent woman and feloniously beat her to death with his fists. “If this man appears innocent,” Quiller concluded, “God forbid you should find him guilty. But if the facts are proved beyond any doubt, you must do your duty. You must deliver us from this heartless rogue.”

Theodore Blagley, the acting editor of the
London
Daily Intelligencer
, was called to the stand. A nervous, exhausted man, he described Dryden Leach's eagerness to counter the treasonous letters and the growing enmity between Leach and Collatinus. Then Quiller skillfully elicited information about Penelope's visit to the newspaper office on the day of the stabbing.

“Mr. Leach declined the honor of seeing Mrs. Wolfe? He thought her not respectable?”

Buckler rose to his feet. “My learned friend poses a leading question.”

Quiller smiled seraphically. “I did not mean to lead the witness. If you knew me, you would not suspect it of me.”

“Brother Quiller, Lewis Durant is on trial for his life here,” reproved Mr. Justice Worthing. “That is an improper question.”

Bowing his acquiescence, Quiller continued. “Do you recollect what Mr. Leach said on the occasion of Mrs. Wolfe's call?”

“That she was the daughter of a Jacobin and her husband a spendthrift who would come to a bad end. Though Mr. Leach's Jew father-in-law had taken up the Wolfes' acquaintance, he was not inclined likewise.”

The laughter swelling from the gallery was Quiller's reward, and Buckler, glancing in Horatio Rex's direction, saw that the banker had grown even more coldly remote. He seemed to overlook the squirming machinations of his fellow man, all the while knowing his superiority.

“…Mr. Leach had planned a big revelation, is that correct, sir?” Quiller was saying.

“Indeed. He meant to unmask Collatinus and put a stop to his villainy.”

Quiller led Blagley through the events on the night of Leach's attack. Blagley's story was much the same as the one Fred Gander had told Chase about Leach taking “ill” in the street outside the office and calling the porter Peter Malone to assist him to a coach.

“Where is this Peter Malone?” inquired Quiller, injecting the right note of puzzlement into his voice. “Surely his testimony must be invaluable in this case.”

“Gone. Two days after the attack he failed to report for duty. He has not been seen since.”

“You can't tell us where he went?”

“I heard that Collatinus bribed him to make himself scarce.”

Mr. Justice Worthing intervened. “Mr. Blagley, you must tell us only what you know at firsthand.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Buckler rose to cross-examine. “Did Mr. Leach make any specific allegations against Mrs. Wolfe?”

“He said he didn't care to see her.”

“He did not accuse her of associating with Collatinus?”

“He didn't tell me so.”

“Did Mr. Leach accuse the defendant Lewis Durant in connection with the Collatinus letters?”

“No, I never heard Durant's name until his arrest.”

“You've testified that Mr. Leach did not call for help when the intruder broke in. Could that be because he knew his attacker and did not, at first, perceive a threat?”

“I suppose but—”

“Nor did Mr. Leach give the alarm after following his attacker to the street? Why?”

“I don't know! Perhaps he didn't realize the extent of his injuries.”

“Did Mr. Leach name Lewis Durant as his assailant?”

“No, as I've explained already, I saw Leach getting in the carriage, but Malone was the only person to speak to him. Leach waved us all off.”

“So it's possible he had his own reasons for keeping silent?”

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean.” With trembling fingers, the editor retrieved his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and used it to dab at his perspiring forehead.

“I mean,” said Buckler deliberately, “that we don't know why Mr. Leach concealed his plight. And two of the witnesses who might be able to reveal his motives, his wife and Peter Malone, are either dead or missing.”

“He cannot speak to your question,” said Mr. Justice Worthing.

“I apologize, my lord.” Buckler turned back to Blagley. “Did you see the masked man?”

“No.”

“Did anyone at the
London Daily Intelligencer
report seeing such a man?”

“Not to my knowledge, sir.”

“Whence, then, originated this tale?”

“I cannot tell. It became a matter of common report after Mrs. Leach had also been slain.”

“Hearsay, in fact.”

Buckler allowed the silence to draw out before saying, “Thank you, Mr. Blagley.” He was pleased to see Quiller and his cohorts exchanging uneasy looks.

Quiller and his juniors questioned the surgeon Fladgate, the watchman Abraham Deeds, and the Leach servants, who testified to Lewis Durant's visits to the household and to Mrs. Leach's devoted nursing of her husband after the attack. The footman Albert spoke of the letter Mrs. Leach had received on the day of her death, though he could offer no further information about its sender or contents. The maid who had found Mary Leach's wet cloak and muddy boots was not in court.

Next in the witness box, the butler Isherwood dropped the first bit of damaging evidence. “I saw Durant through the window that night. Lurking in the street.”

“You're certain you saw the defendant?” said Quiller.

“Quite certain.”

“At what hour was this?”

“About eight o'clock in the evening. I was watching for the surgeon Mr. Fladgate, and I saw Durant clearly. When I went back a few minutes later, he was gone.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“We were at sixes and sevens that night, what with Mr. Leach breathing his last and the mistress going missing. It slipped my memory. I did mention the matter to Mr. Rex, and he told me the boy had likely come to inquire about the master. We didn't know then that Lewis Durant was the masked man.”

Quiller moved past this response quickly, going on to question Isherwood exhaustively about his recognition of Lewis. Yes, there'd been enough light to see him, for he'd stepped under an illuminated window and raised his face. He'd seemed to be looking up at the second floor windows, Isherwood had thought. The butler also described Mary Leach's self-imposed isolation, her father's regular attendance on her during the crisis, and her request that Mr. Rex fetch Penelope Wolfe.

“Do you know why Mrs. Leach wanted to see Mrs. Wolfe?”

“I assumed she was an old friend of the family and could offer comfort in Mrs. Leach's affliction.”

“And after Mrs. Wolfe arrived, what happened?”

“Why, when the mistress didn't answer us, we broke down the door to the bedchamber and discovered her gone and the poor master a-lying a corpse in his bed. Mr. Rex, Mr. Wolfe, and some of the servants left the house to begin a search. Mrs. Wolfe insisted that Mr. Chase of Bow Street be summoned. After the searchers left, Mrs. Wolfe asked to see Mrs. Leach's room in case she had left a clue to her whereabouts.”

“Mrs. Wolfe suggested that Bow Street be summoned?”

“Not Bow Street—she and Mr. Rex were quite explicit on the score. Just Mr. Chase in his private capacity. I understood him to be a friend of hers.”

“You remained with Mrs. Wolfe until this Runner arrived?”

“I left her there in Mrs. Leach's bedroom. Mrs. Wolfe instructed me to go below to await Mr. Rex's return, and when I came back, I saw her—” Here he broke off in mingled embarrassment and distaste.

“What did you see, Mr. Isherwood?”

“She was holding Mrs. Leach's knife in her hand. I was relieved when the Runner took it off her. She looked that strange and desperate.”

A murmuring erupted in the gallery, and one of the judges sent the spectators a quelling glance. Buckler stood to cross-examine. He tried and failed to shake the butler's identification of Lewis, though he did get Isherwood to admit that Mary Leach had left the house with her husband's pistol, which was now missing. Once that was established, Buckler said, “Let us be clear, Mr. Isherwood. Mrs. Wolfe was merely holding the knife in her hand when you entered the room?” Scorn laced his tone.

Flushing, the butler agreed. Buckler placed a small memorandum book in Isherwood's hand. “Do you recognize this book?”