For several minutes Littlewit beheld the mayhem.
“I’ll have your life!” shouted Roger Ruffneck, leaping toward his former wife.
“Seize that murderer!” someone cried. Two sergeants and a bailiff tackled Ruffneck.
Talio, Mistress Overbyte, and the wench crowded around the defendant. At least Mack could go nowhere.
“Is there a doctor here?” Talio’s voice rose over the hubbub.
Ruffneck cursed his wife as the sergeant led him from the hall. Some bystanders drew back as if from the devil himself. Others jeered and shook their fists. A rotten apple soared through the air and struck Ruffneck in the back of the head.
“Oyez, oyez!” cried Nib, but no one heeded him.
A man with a bag shoved his way through the throng and knelt beside the defendant, who revived and sat up.
“My mother is innocent!” he said, tears coursing down his cheeks. “And by that knowledge I am made new. I am reborn!”
Littlewit wondered if the defendant had sustained an injury to his brain. If so, could he still be found guilty?
Talio clapped the doctor on the back. “You are late, Thomas Valentine, but all is well.”
“Thomas—my love?” The wench collapsed against Mistress Over-byte. Had she not been pining for Mack-alias-Meg only moments before?
The doctor whirled around. He snatched the cap from the girl and her dark hair sprang out. “Olivia!” he cried. The girl moved her lips soundlessly as the doctor took her into his arms.
“Olivia? You are not Violetta?” the defendant was saying, still deranged from his fall. Then he smiled. “Ah! Now I understand the reason for your strange melancholy.”
“You are obstructing my courtroom. Away with you both,” Littlewit said, flapping his arms at the two lovers.
The mad hubbub had subsided into cheers of delight as the doctor led Olivia from the bench, not taking his eyes from her. But she looked back at the defendant, saying, “Wait, for I must be sure that Mack goes free.”
This domestic drama was interfering with Littlewit’s judgment. “Now to conclude this case.” He stood up and glanced around. The plaintiff and his witnesses were gone—three new malefactors in custody, one of them for murder! The present case appeared to be moot. But Littlewit was not ready to give up. He raised his voice for the benefit of the jury, though he knew none of them would understand his words. “Habemus optimum testem confitentem reum.”
“What does that mean?” whispered Mack-alias-Meg.
Talio shook his head and shrugged.
Pleased that his Latin had confounded even the Italian, Littlewit translated. “‘We have the best witness, a confessing defendant.’ Though the plaintiff now stands accused of murder, that does not mitigate your crime, de Galle.” He had no idea if this were a valid point of the law, but who could gainsay him?
Talio placed his hands on the bar and leaned forward, his face inches from Littlewit’s. “Your Honor, my client has not made a full confession.”
“Will!” said the defendant, sounding distressed. Littlewit decided he was still touched in the head, for wasn’t the lawyer’s name Dick?
Talio tipped his head toward his client and gave him a long and searching look.
“The truth will come out, howsoever it seeks to hide itself,” said the defendant to Talio in a voice free of fear or distress. “I am not who you think I am. I am not Mack de Galle, as I have claimed to be.”
Littlewit decided that Bedlam Hospital would be a better place than Fleet Prison for the lunatic Mack.
“I ask your pardon for the deceit, which was undertaken with the best of motives. Let Violetta be my witness.” The defendant gestured toward the servant girl, who left the doctor’s side and approached the bar.
“I thought you were called Olivia,” said Littlewit sharply.
“I am. I was pretending to be Violetta. As was she.” She pointed to the defendant. “I mean, she was pretending not to be Violetta but Mack de Galle, who is no such person.” Her hand and her voice both trembled.
“Are you all mad?” cried Littlewit. He struck himself on the head and his periwig flew off and landed on the floor.
Talio picked up the periwig and considered it as if it held some grave meaning. “If there is no such person as Mack de Galle, then it is impossible he should have committed any crime.” He peered at Littlewit. “Because there was no crime, then today’s action must ipso facto be dismissed.”
“Give me that.” Littlewit half stood, seized his wig from Talio, and sat down again. If there was no such person as Mack de Galle, then who was this person at the bar?
“Since coming into this hall, has my client admitted to being Mack de Galle?” asked Talio.
Nib Squiller shuffled through his papers. He gave Littlewit an apologetic look. “Your Honor, he was identified as Mack, alias Meg de Galle, and he stated that Mack de Galle struck the victim, but he did not say he was Mack de Galle.”
Littlewit bolted out of his seat, waving his periwig at Talio. “No more of your subtle quibbles!” He turned to the prisoner and shouted, “If you’re not de Galle, then who are you?”
For a long moment the silence held. Finally the defendant replied, “I am Meg Macdougall, called Long Meg by my friends at the Boar’s Head Inn.” As he spoke his whole demeanor changed. His voice grew reedy, like a young boy’s.
“Yea, I’ll vouch for you, my dear!” cried Mistress Over-byte.
Was this Mack-alias-Meg a devil? And all these people his minions, come to provoke him to madness and turn Justice on its head? Littlewit fumbled for his flask and put it to his mouth before remembering it was empty.
The defendant gazed at Talio with eyebrows raised beseechingly. “I have no brother; there is only me. That, Will, is the simple truth,” he said, reaching up to pull off his cap. Out tumbled long, golden locks.
The onlookers gasped as one. Only Talio smiled.
“’Tis a man-woman!” said Nib Squiller.
“Nay, ’tis our Long Meg,” someone shouted. “Huzzah for Talio; Meg is free!”
“I have not dismissed the charges yet,” protested Littlewit. He placed his periwig back on his head. “Draw up the dismissal,” he said to his clerk.
One of the jurors broke out in song.
Here’s to our hero, Long Meg.
She of the mile-long leg.
Sing high, sing low, heigh-ho!
To the Boar’s Head we go.
The doctor and Talio hoisted the defendant to their shoulders. Mistress Over-byte and her husband, the doctor and his wench, and the witness Jane Ruffneck danced like lunatics under a full moon.
“Arrest the defendant for … for impersonating a criminal!” Littlewit cried. “Arrest everyone for rioting in the courtroom! Unlawful assembly. Nib, draw up new charges post haste.”
But Nib was in the midst of the revelers. Even the sergeants were celebrating by pounding their staves in time with the singing.
“Oyez!” shouted Littlewit, banging his chair against the bar in frustration. He knew with a magistrate’s infallible reckoning that young Talio would one day be a renowned and admired judge, while he himself would die an obscure magistrate. As the joyous party trailed from the hall, he tore at his periwig with both hands and threw clumps of the false hair to the floor.