The Silk Weaver's Daughter (26 page)

“Oh, Papa. Thank you so much. All of you. I appreciate what you are doing for us so much. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Don’t worry, dear sister.” As the men got ready to depart, Jean Guy put his arms around her. “We love you, and we care a great deal about Paul. We’ll solve this for you.”

They took turns hugging her ‘goodbye’ again, and Marc said, “Until tomorrow, Louise. I think I can arrange for us to see both the barrister and our solicitor then. Be brave,
Cherie.”

Louise went into the library and poured herself a brandy. She had never taken to drinking spirits, but with all this going on, she felt the need of something to steady her nerves. It was strange to look at the letter and realize it was from Paul. Since their marriage, they had never been apart, so this was the first she’d had from him. She knew she would keep it forever.

My darling wife:

I pray that you and the children are well and that you are not unduly worried about me. Rest assured I am as comfortable as one can be in this godforsaken hole.

The warden has given me a cell to myself and Sir John has managed to bribe them into allowing me a decent chair, a desk and lamp, and some writing materials. He also managed to smuggle in a few books that I have wanted to read to keep my mind occupied so I am not dwelling upon my present distress overmuch.

I must admit the charges were a total shock to me as I have always prided myself on my complete honesty. I reassure myself, however, with the fact that Sir John has no doubt about my integrity and will do everything in his power to prove my innocence.

I will also admit to you that the food served to the inmates is terrible— almost inedible; but each day Oliver or someone in your remarkable family brings me a substantial meal, enabling me to keep up my strength. The biggest surprise to me is your cousin, Marc. I am discovering that he is a remarkably amiable and resourceful young man, and I appreciate his many kindnesses to me. Although I don’t flatter myself that, it is because of any great fondness for me.

Please take care of yourself and our beloved children. Keep me in your prayers but, Louise, do not even consider for a moment, coming here to see me. I cannot bear the thought of you coming anywhere near this wretched place, although I hope you will write to me often. I love you more than life itself, and feel confident that I will soon be with you.

Your loving husband, Paul Thibault

As she sipped her drink, Louise read the letter through several times, and then went to bed happier than she had been for some days.

Chapter 35

London, June 1690

T
he Old Bailey was crowded with spectators of all classes, some quite anxious to see a prosperous goldsmith get his just desserts. Many of the poorer class supposed goldsmiths were wealthy only because they cheated. Therefore, it delighted them when they heard of one going against the law.

The famous courthouse was just outside the western wall of the City of London. This proximity to Newgate allowed the constables to bring the prisoner directly from the jail to the courtroom for his trial. Situated as it was between London and Westminster, it was a most suitable location for hearings involving people from the entire area.

It was Saturday and up in the balcony, where only people of quality were allowed, Louise sat with her parents—one on each side of her for emotional support. Marc and Jean Guy were also there, seated a few rows behind them. From that vantage point, they overlooked the courtyard below, which was crowded with people from all walks of life. Louise’s palms felt damp with sweat and her breathing shallow. In spite of the building being partly opened on three sides, there was no fresh air. It reeked of stale bodies and heavy perfume.

She gasped when they brought Paul into the dock, placed in a way that emphasised the conflict between the accused and the rest of the court. The prisoner stood at ‘the bar’ facing the witness box. Here, both prosecution and defence witnesses would testify looking straight into his face. The judge sat higher up, on the other side of the room, with the jury members below his exalted position.

In only two months, Paul’s appearance had altered considerably. His dark brown hair was flecked with grey, and his thin, lined face showed signs of strain and weariness. However, even though he came from Newgate, he looked clean and presentable. His wore no wig, but his shoulder-length hair was tied neatly back with a leather thong. He was dressed simply in dark breeches and a ruffled shirt. Even his white stockings were spotless.

I’m so thankful, Sir John managed to arrange for him to take a bath, and put on fresh clothing, Louise thought. She knew Sir John Houblon believed in his friend’s innocence, and even though the law required he be the chief witness for the prosecution, he promised to do everything possible to see Paul got a fair trial. The outward appearance of the accused could weigh heavily either for or against him.

The judge, imperious in his white, tight-curled peruke and flowing, scarlet gown, looked over his spectacles at the noisy crowd and banged his gavel on the bench. Slowly the crowd settled down as he called the court into session. The court clerk summoned the first witness for the prosecution—Sir John Houblon, himself.

“State your name and position, sir,” the Counsel for the Crown asked Sir John.

“My name is Sir John Houblon, and I am one of two Sheriffs of the City of London.”

“Thank you. And can you tell us what happened on the morning of April 20
^th
this year?”

“Yes, it was a Monday morning, and I was in my office when a note was delivered to me by an unknown person. Apparently, he handed it to my clerk in the outer room and then quickly disappeared.”

“I see, and then what happened?

“The clerk brought the note to me and I read it. I was loath to believe it since I know Mr. Thibault to be an honest man, and the actions of the fellow who brought the note were suspicious, but I had to act on the information in any case. It’s my job to do so.”

“And what did the note say, sir?”

“It accused Paul Thibault of ‘coining‘. It also said he kept illegal tools for coining in his desk, in the right-hand bottom drawer.”

“And for the record, Sir John, could you tell us what ‘coining’ actually is.”

“Yes, it’s when a coin of the realm is illegally depleted of its value by shaving off some of the gold or silver.”

“It is a serious offence, is that correct?”

“Yes, it is treason—an offence against the King and the realm.”

At that, the crowd in the courtroom turned angry, muttering amongst themselves and shaking their fists at Paul. One man called from the lower gallery, “Ang, him now. A trial’s too good for the likes of ’im.”

Louise thought she would faint; but her father put his arm around her and her mother took her hand and squeezed it. The judge banged his gavel on the desk and called for order, then indicated the prosecutor should continue his questioning.

“So what did you do after reading the note, Sir John?”

“I found one of our constables and my coachman drove the two us over to Mr. Thibault’s goldsmith shop. He had only just arrived and was not yet open for business, but he invited us into his office. We explained why we were there. He looked shocked at the accusation and invited us to look around.”

“And did you find anything incriminating?”

“Yes, in the bottom drawer on the right-hand side there were some devalued coins and the “coining” material. It’s illegal for a goldsmith to have such things in their possession.”

“What was Mr. Thibault’s explanation?”

“He was clearly stunned, and said he had never seen those items before, and that someone must have planted them there.”

“And was that a possibility?”

“It would need to have been one of his apprentices, since there was no sign of a break-in anywhere. In Mr. Thibault’s office, there’s only one small, high-up window. It seems unlikely anyone could have gotten through it. We did question the two young men indentured with him. They both could account for their whereabouts for all day Sunday, and into the evening. One is his own brother-in-law.”

“Thank you, Sir John,” the Crown Counsel said. He sat down. The judge turned to Sir Thomas Kidd, the barrister for the defence. “Do you have any questions for this witness?”

“Yes, mi lord. I do.” Facing Sir John, he asked, “How long have you known the defendant, Sir John?”

“I’ve known him ever since he was a child of about twelve—that would be about thirty years now. He went to school with my younger brother, James.”

“And what has been your opinion of his character.”

“Paul Thibault has always been one of the finest men I’ve known. He has come to me for advice in many aspects of trade, and I never thought him to be anything but completely honest. This business goes entirely against my assessment of his character.”

“Now, Sir John,” Sir Thomas continued. “You mentioned that, when you searched Mister Thibault’s office, you saw the small window high up in the wall. Did you look closely at it?

“No, it seemed to be locked and anyway it was too small to allow entrance by any adult of normal size.”

“Do you think anyone at all could get through the window?”

“Well—yes. I suppose a child could.”

“Did Mr. Thibault mention to you that the window was not, in fact, locked; that the latch was broken; and that, in the excitement of your brother’s investiture, and being invited to the ball for Sir James; he had forgotten to get it fixed.”

“No, as I told the prosecution, he seemed rather distraught at the accusation and looked absolutely dazed when we found the coining tools. Aside from denying any responsibility, he merely spoke a few words to his apprentice. Then he locked up the vault and said he was ready to come with us. He never said a word about a window.”

“Thank you, Sir John.” He turned to the judge. “No further questions, mi lord.”

Louise had not taken her eyes off the jury during all these enquiries. They looked happy when the prosecutor made his points, nodding their heads. Now the defence asked the questions, they appeared rather sceptical.

Oh, I hope they haven’t already decided he’s guilty, she thought.

There were only two more witnesses for the prosecution: the constable who had accompanied Sir John and the office clerk who had received the note. The constable confirmed Sir John’s statements. The clerk then took the stand and, after giving his name and position, the prosecutor asked him about the person who delivered the note.

“I couldn’t see his features. He wore a heavy cloak, which went over his head and more or less covered his face. The only thing I noticed was under his cloak he had a bright pair of breeches. They were a strange colour and material for a man of his type—a brilliant blue-green. And he was extremely thin.”

Sitting listening to this testimony, she gave another audible gasp. Several of the people in the audience including her mother and father turned to stare at her. Sounds of whispering filled the room. People somehow knew she was the wife of the accused.

“Order in the court.” The judge said crossly, banging his gavel.

“Did he say anything to you?” the prosecutor continued.

“Very little. He thrust the note at me and said ‘Take this’. It had ‘For the Sheriff’ written on the front. He was so fast, I looked up just as he ran out of the office. That’s when I saw the breeches. Anyhow I took the note straight in to Sir John.”

When they had all been cross-examined, the judge adjourned the trial to resume on Monday. As Louise and her parents left the courthouse, Marc came up to them.

“Marc, that man must be the same one I saw the night of the ball,” she said, grasping him by the arm.

“Which man?”

“The one who brought in the note. The clerk said he wore bright, green-blue trousers. That’s the same man Paul and I saw as we left the ball that night—Walter Roberts, the pawnbroker. He wore those strange, peacock-coloured breeches, and I think he is thin enough to get through the window.”

“Mmm, interesting. I want to have a look at that window. I don’t think anyone has looked at it closely. Have you got the key to the office with you?”

“Oh, yes, I never let it out of my sight now. Papa, let’s go with him,” she said, turning to Pierre. “I never thought to have a look at the window. You’d have to stand on a chair to do that.”

They hurried to where Oliver waited with the coach and told him to drive them directly to the shop.