‘YOU’VE DONE NO wrong, Mr Cragg,’ whispered the toothless woman who sat beside me on the long bench. Her name was Betty and we were in the passage outside the courtroom, waiting our turns with three or four others. Betty had with her a goat on a string; from time to time, it punctuated the conversation with a rasping bleat. ‘You’ve only saved the rotten woman’s life, unless that’s a wrong, though it may be as her rotten ladyship’s not from round here.’
She gave a cackle of laughter. From time to time Court Leet heard complaints involving people, like Lady Rickaby, from out of town, but these were not the court’s main business. That was threefold: to regulate the market, keep the town’s bailiffs and searchers up to the mark, and settle arguments between neighbours. The latter was the case with Betty. Her goat had been accused of eating the nuts off a neighbour’s walnut tree, and Betty had brought the animal to court, so she told me, to enable Mr Thwaite to see what an honourable and law-abiding goat she was, who would never descend to the theft of a few nuts.
I consider that all goats have a shifty and pragmatic look, but I suppressed the thought and thanked her for her belief in my innocence, adding, ‘That fine animal of yours looks remarkably free of guilt itself.’
Heavy footsteps on the flag floor approached and I saw it was Jonathan Kite, his large bulk suddenly making the passage feel narrower. He had come to answer the charge which I had seen made against him by Abraham Scroop during the previous week – that of selling inferior goods, and without a market licence.
‘Eh, Mr Cragg, I’m right sorry about this complaint against you,’ he said, sitting down on the bench against the opposite wall. Everyone by now, it seemed, knew of my indictment. ‘They’ve only brought it because that woman’s a nob, and Burgess Grimshaw’s wife’s sister.’
‘You are very kind, Kite,’ I said. ‘And I am just as sorry that you have been brought here. The charges are equally unwarranted, I am sure.’
‘It is the third time in three months! They do persecute us, which is a fact. And it’s because they are set on killing off the skin-yard, which is another fact.’
We three defendants, all equally convinced of our innocence, sat like children awaiting the schoolmaster’s pleasure. Betty and her goat were called in first and came out only a few minutes later having been pronounced guilty and ordered to pay a shilling in recompense to the walnut grower. The goat, looking so entirely free of shame, cannot have helped the case for its own defence. I was in the midst of sympathizing with Betty when the old usher, Danks, hobbled into the room and spoke my name. Obediently I followed him to the courtroom.
The room, which was used also for the magistrate’s court and the quarter sessions, was panelled in oak and furnished with brass rails, making it far more imposing than the makeshift courtrooms in which I was accustomed to hold my inquests. It was furnished with a high platform for the Mayor’s great throne and alongside it other not quite such great chairs for the Recorder, Thwaite’s fellow magistrates, and the judges at quarter sessions. Below these in the court’s well were the usual clearly defined spaces: jury box, witness box and an assortment of chairs, pews and benches for the use of councillors, clerks and lawyers. At the back of the room was an area best described as a pen for the public. It was a space fenced by barriers and occupied by friends of interested parties and one or two others, such as Miss Colley and Mrs Bryce, who derived amusement gratis from attending trials and hearings. I knew also that Elizabeth was there, though I did not look for her. I had tried to dissuade her from it altogether.
‘I cannot possibly be absent when my husband is undergoing such a trial,’ she had said.
I took my place in the position appointed for those answering complaints against them, a boxed stand that formed the dock when criminals stood trial. There was, of course, no jury present on this occasion, since at Court Leet the Mayor was sole juror and sole judge. He sat, however, with the Recorder Matthew Thorneley and two burgesses, one of whom was the former Mayor William Biggs, a man with no love for me. The other was Abraham Scroop.
Danks asked me to confirm my name and then the town clerk swore me in and read the indictment in his usual wavering, reedy voice.
‘… that on Thursday last, the fourteenth instant, at the Skeleton Inn, you did lewdly, indecently and concupiscently unclothe Lady Rickaby and exposed her body without her consent, thereby causing her dishonour and distress, harming and depraving the good name of your office of Coroner and giving scandal to this ancient borough of Preston.’
‘What do you say to this charge?’ barked Thwaite.
‘I deny it,’ I said. ‘It is ridiculous.’
‘We shall soon see about that,’ said Thwaite. ‘Call Lady Rickaby.’
The lady, supported by her sister Mrs Grimshaw, appeared and took her place in the witness box. She looked pale and wary, but resolute.
The story her ladyship told under examination was that of a man – me – using his superior strength to subdue and affront a lady – her. Far from being overcome by smoke, far from being out of her senses, she maintained that, though coughing and in discomfort, she had been moving away from the fire and towards safety at the moment when I seized her and dragged her by main force to the window.
‘And what did the Coroner do then?’ Thwaite asked.
Her eyes became wide.
‘Why, he ripped off my skirts, Sir. He exposed my nether clothing in a most brutal, shameless and violating manner.’
The room was suddenly quiet, intent on hearing the evidence.
‘And did he speak?’
‘He pushed me half through the window, head first, so that my … my other end was towards him, and then he placed both his hands on me, and pushed me to my great shame and distress and with great force out on to the sloping roof, down which I slid and then fell to the ground.’
‘Surely you were hurt by such a fall!’
‘No, Sir, I landed softly, but with extreme loss of dignity. I was caught in a canvas sheet which, as I learned afterwards, was a sail held out for the purpose by brutish, laughing sailors whose coarse language in reference to myself I could not possibly repeat in this room. It was vile and beastly, Sir. It was demeaning.’
I heard some whispering and a few stifled laughs from the public behind me.
‘Thank you, my lady. I shall not distress you more by making you further recall these unfortunate events. I think we have your testimony complete, and you may take a seat. Now, we had better hear from Titus Cragg himself, I suppose, and learn what he has to say.’
It was a strange sensation, submitting to examination in a court of law, as it was I that usually did the examining. Thwaite’s voice, more full than ever (it seemed to me) with bluster and self-regard, boomed out his first question.
‘Is this true, Cragg? Did you violently tear and remove Lady Rickaby’s skirts?’
‘Yes, I did. If I had not done so, she—’
‘And did you push her in the indecent manner she described through the window.’
‘I wouldn’t call it indecent but, yes, I did push her through the window.’
‘But you do admit that you put your hands to her rump? That you seized and pushed her buttocks? That you—’
Hearing the word ‘rump’ caused the lady and her sister each to give out a piercing squeal, but ‘buttocks’ had an even stronger effect. Clapping their hands to their ears, both ladies shut their eyes tightly and jammed their chins into their chests in spasms of embarrassment and shock. Thwaite turned to them.
‘I cannot apologize to you, my lady, or to you Mrs Grimshaw, for my choice of language. Here in this court a spade must always be called a spade, you know. You may answer the question, Cragg.’
‘Well, it is true that I did that, yes. I was trying to save her life, you see, and I was extremely pressed for time under the circumstances we found ourselves in.’
‘So you say, so you say. But it appears you were trying with an unnecessary degree of, to put it in its best possible light, zeal. You gave no thought to the scandal you would cause.’
‘No, indeed I did not, because I—’
‘Because you thought to gratify a baser instinct with this lady.’
I almost let out a guffaw, but just managed to check myself. Lady Rickaby was ten years my senior, and in terms of physical charms her palmy days were well behind her. I drew a breath.
‘I assure you, Mr Thwaite, that my only instinct was to preserve Lady Rickaby’s life.’
I gestured towards her with a smile.
‘In this, as you see, I happily succeeded.’
Now without warning Thwaite jumped to his feet. He was snorting like a war horse and his eyebrows writhed like a pair of black caterpillars.
‘Will you make a joke of this, Titus Cragg?’ he thundered, shaking his finger at me. ‘Well, let me tell you. Let me tell you how you succeeded. You affronted the lady, and her family. You yourself have admitted in this court to carrying out the actions complained of. By which you have further succeeded in shaming this great town of ours.’
The public were buzzing like a beehive now, as I attempted to continue. I meant to say that both Lady Rickaby and myself could have lost our lives, and that it was imperative to make our exits from the burning room as quickly as possible, in which case considerations of modesty did not apply. But Thwaite, who had still not resumed his seat, shouted me down.
‘No! No! No! No! NO! Hold your tongue, Cragg. We have heard sufficient pleas in mitigation and I have made my decision according to the facts. Therefore I shall proceed to judgement.’
He reoccupied his seat and the four men on the dais put their heads together to confer in whispers. It took less than a minute before they parted again and Thwaite composed himself. At last, adopting the gravity of a hanging judge, he intoned,
‘Titus Cragg, I find that, by your own admission, you did indeed take advantage of and indecently assault my Lady Rickaby, here present, in the manner and on the day specified in her complaint. Such actions cannot be tolerated in one holding a public office. It is therefore my duty, my very painful duty, to order your immediate retirement from the post of Coroner of Preston, and I order further that you be disbarred from standing in any further election to the said post for a term of five consecutive years. Next case, please.’
I stood there for a few moments in a state of considerable amazement. What had I expected from this absurd process? An admonishment, perhaps. A requirement that I make some form of apology to the lady, at worst. But not this. I had been Coroner of Preston for almost a decade, the direct successor to my late father. Now suddenly I was turned out. It was hard, no, it was impossible to believe.
* * *
Elizabeth took my arm as we walked the short distance to Cheapside.
‘How will you fight this stupid decision, Titus?’
‘With everything I have.’
‘Quite right. You are a fine Coroner and devoted to the job. You have been shamefully abused by that woman.’
Just ahead of us as we neared home I saw Furzey going into the office from the street. He had a ledger tucked under his arm.
‘I had better go into the office and tell Furzey the news. We will discuss what action to take.’
I let Elizabeth go in by the door of the residence, while I went in by the corresponding office door.
‘I have just been at Court Leet, to answer this matter brought by Lady Rickaby,’ I said to my clerk. My voice was trembling. ‘Thwaite wouldn’t listen to me for a moment. The fact that I was saving the woman’s wretched life carried no weight at all, with the upshot that I am precipitately expelled from the office of Coroner for moral turpitude, beginning now. I am thrown out like a dirty old shoe, Furzey.’
‘Yes,’ said Furzey, ‘so you are.’
‘In addition, I am disbarred for five years from standing for election again. How can they do that? I cannot believe it. Can you? All in the space of ten minutes.’
‘Forgive me for reminding you, Sir, but did I not mention it might turn out so?’
When being proved right, as he quite often was, Furzey would usually sound a guardedly triumphal note, but now his voice was funereal. This decision affected him as well as me.
‘I can’t help the feeling that it is connected with this skin-yard inquest,’ I said. ‘Thwaite threatened me about it the other day – not in so many words, but he made it clear he was in a great hurry to get Kathy Brock found guilty.’
But Furzey was not convinced by the case.
‘There is a better explanation, Sir. If you recall, certain members of the Corporation – certain mayors, in fact – have been plotting to remove you for years. Maybe it’s not the present case that precipitates Mr Thwaite’s actions, but his old desire to turn you out. In short, I think he has seized on this business with Lady Rickaby expediently because he wants the office for himself.’
‘Well he can’t have it, can he? It is an elected post.’
‘But once upon a time it wasn’t elected, Sir, not directly. Before the time of Oliver Cromwell there was never a poll for Coroner in Preston. Instead the Mayor did the job ex officio. It was Oliver’s parliament that took it off the Mayor and made it elected, and when the King came back no one thought of going back to the old way. Or not until now, is what I’m thinking.’
Sitting at my desk I put my head into my hands and thought about it. But all I could see was Thwaite telling me darkly to get Kathy Brock found guilty of murder. I shook my head as if to dislodge the memory and concentrate on Furzey’s proposition.
‘Well, it is true they’ve been gunning for me for years, the Corporation,’ I said. ‘Perhaps that is it: pure expediency. They’ve seized this as a chance to bring me down, as you might seize the first ripe plum on the tree. Well, I believe I shall appeal to Lord Derby. As Chancellor of the Duchy he will reverse the decision. He must.’
Furzey looked doubtful.
‘I fear his Lordship’s powers, though they are considerable, may not extend to reversing a mayoral decision ex cathedra, as you might call it, and nor may he wish to.’
‘We can only try. I shall need a written record of what was said in the court – that would help. I must make a memorandum of it immediately. His Lordship will be unable to credit what he reads.’
Furzey took a step towards me, opened the ledger and placed it in my hands. I looked at the page, which was covered in his shorthand.
‘It is all there verbatim, Sir.’
‘You mean … Furzey, were you there in court? I never saw you.’
‘I was in the public benches. I thought it best to attend and get the proceedings down on paper, foreseeing the possible need of a record afterwards. Like I’ve told you, I’m doubting an appeal will do much good, but I knew you’d be trying.’
‘You knew right – by God you did! Thank you, Furzey.’
* * *
I went through to the house for dinner. Elizabeth received me calmly, though not complacently, for her first action was to embrace me and plant a kiss on my lips.
‘You will defeat these evil forces against you, my love, I am sure of it.’
‘Well, I might begin a case in the Duchy Chancery court, though it would be extremely tedious. I’m not sure the Mayor’s behaving constitutionally, but the history of the coronership in Preston is obscure and very shadowy. Furzey believes Thwaite wants the coronership back in the hands of the Mayor, as it used to be before they changed the rules during Cromwell’s Commonwealth.’
‘Thwaite is voracious for power, my love. But a case in Chancery would be a frightful expense.’
‘I know. It would probably ruin us, and fail besides or, if not, run on for years. My first thought is the best one, which is to appeal personally to Lord Derby. Furzey thinks his lordship has no power in the matter, but he is Chancellor of the Duchy after all, and his mediation would be powerful I believe.’
‘Then it is lucky he has arrived back at Patten House this very morning. He has returned from Knowsley Hall for tomorrow night’s Assembly. Oh! I am sure he will save the day. He has always been kindly disposed to you. You must go there immediately after dinner.’
‘What stings me most is the idea that I would have exposed Lady Rickaby’s legs, and shoved her by the arse, just for my own pleasure.’
‘There are few in town who think you would, Titus. It is all a nervous fiction of Lady Rickaby’s, that the Mayor has fashioned into a boot to kick you with.’
‘Well,’ I said with a rueful laugh, ‘the man’s a cobbler, when all’s said and done.’
‘It does me good to hear you laugh, Titus.’