The common Cotten-thistle
The first leaves produced by the roots are very nutritious and restore strength if taken either as a distilled juice or roasted in the oven in the manner of artichokes in meat pies.
I was back in the same courtroom the very next day. This time none came to see me at all before the day started, so I resigned myself to another session of ritual public humiliation. I wondered what witnesses would be called today? They might as well collect the heads of Giles, Hewitt and Keeling, attach them to the end of sticks and have Shrewsbury perform a puppet show. Yet I was not entirely pessimistic. There must be some reason for initiating the rigmarole one more time.
I resolved beforetimes not to mess about with the jury unless there sat a genuine lunatic. On second thoughts perhaps I would be better off with a jury selected from Bedlam. That was a thought indeed!
I asked one of the guards who were to be the judge and prosecutor as we travelled. The judge, I was told, was one Nicholas Earl of Newcastle, a scholarly sort of fellow by reputation. The prosecutor on the other hand, was none other than the Attorney General, the same that had told me that I should be dead by now. He should be glad to see me then.
We resumed our old familiar seats. I couldn’t tell this set of the jurors from the last, so ignored them. They would do as they were told, no doubt, so there was little point in concerning myself. I was more interested in observing the Attorney General. He came in on his own in advance of the judge and settled himself quickly. I received a brief glance, but no more. Gone were the flummery and flammery, the posturing and theatre. Sitting with his arms folded, he looked like a man denied his favourite pudding.
The judge entered by himself, a slight man. He walked quickly with short little strides, head lowered, muttering to himself. After he jumped the steps up to his little wooden throne he peered about him short-sightedly until he spotted me. He glanced me up and down, blinked and was satisfied.
The same clerk as before read out the names of the jurors.
‘Mr Attorney General,’ the judge spoke very fast, ‘do you wish to challenge any of the jurors?’
‘My Lord, I do not.’
‘And you?’ he looked at me.
‘My Lord, I do not.’
‘Very well. Last time you pleaded self-defence. Does that remain your plea?’
‘Yes, My Lord.’
‘Good. Then let’s begin. First witness.’ He paused to read a parchment on his desk. ‘And only witness. David Dowling.’
Dowling? I turned to see him escorted towards the witness box. He regarded me calmly and gave me a big wink. The Attorney General saw it and glared.
‘What is your name?’ The clerk adopted the same ceremonial position and manner as he had before.
‘His name is Dowling, as I have already made clear. Please be seated.’ The judge waved a hand irritably, sending the poor man scurrying for cover away from the eyes of his junior colleagues. ‘Mr Dowling, I will be asking you some questions. From time to time I will permit the Attorney General to ask you some questions of his own. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, My Lord.’ Dowling was looking quite splendid today I thought, having forsaken his usual sorry attire in favour of a fine suit. It wasn’t expensive or particularly finely tailored, but was well cut and very stylish. It really quite became him.
‘Dowling, your profession?’
‘These days I am a butcher.’ Dowling turned to face the judge and gave a deferential little bow.
‘Butcher? You don’t look much like a butcher.’ The judge squinted. Wait until someone told him that he could read and write and bore the saddle off a donkey with Bible talk.
‘It is not my usual occupation, My Lord.’
‘Well, what’s your usual occupation? Come on now, Mr Dowling, we don’t have time for games.’ The judge cast an eye in the Attorney General’s direction as he spoke.
‘My usual occupation is agent for King Charles II. I am employed by His Majesty to look after his interests about London.’ He turned and smiled broadly at me.
Well, as I am a sinner, which I certainly am, Dowling was the Bishop’s sister’s son! This was something! And I thought he was only fit for ruffians! This could only be a poke in the eye with a burnt stick. The Attorney General sat slouched in his chair, sullen but not surprised. You are on a different field today, my friend!
‘What is your role in this sorry affair?’ the judge asked.
‘I was asked by His Majesty to assist Mr Lytle in his quest to discover who killed Anne Giles. His Majesty was interested in the affair and knew that the Earl of Shrewsbury had chosen to support Mr Lytle in his efforts. He was intrigued to understand better the Earl of Shrewsbury’s motivations. So he ensured that I was nominated to assist Mr Lytle, whose appointment he did not entirely fathom.’
‘Lytle was appointed by whom?’ The judge tapped a finger on his desk.
‘Mr Lytle was not officially appointed by any. He was informed by his father that Anne Ormonde was related and his father asked the Earl of Shrewsbury for his assistance which he agreed to bestow. That is the official story.’
‘I see,’ the judge mused, ‘this is at odds with the testimony given by Mr William Hill, who testified that he was the only agent employed by Shrewsbury.’
‘That may be true, My Lord. The Earl of Shrewsbury did not employ Mr Lytle. That is, he did not pay him any money for his labours. He merely agreed to support Mr Lytle in his efforts. Though I have to make it known to Your Honour that Mr Lytle’s father was only under the impression that they were related because he was told so by one Robert Burton.’
Burton?
‘Who is Robert Burton?’
‘He is another employee of the Earl of Shrewsbury. He has made written testament of it and delivered it to His Majesty.’
That made sense, at last. The silly old fool had his tail twisted by Shrewsbury. Well – he wasn’t the only one.
‘I see. Mr Attorney General – did you know of this?’
‘No, My Lord, I did not,’ replied my learned colleague quietly. He didn’t look very surprised, though.
‘Very well, let us proceed. The death of Anne Giles.’ He looked around the court again as if to make sure that everyone was listening. ‘Anne Giles was killed by Richard Joyce. Richard Joyce was tried for it and condemned. This is a matter of public record, is it not?’
‘My Lord, it is a matter of public record,’ Dowling bowed his big, grey head. The judge seemed to like his soft Scots accent. It was certainly a soothing noise he made when he spoke. The jury looked like they might go to sleep. ‘However, I think we might reconsider the findings of the court in the light of subsequent events.’
‘Why should we do that?’
‘To explain that fully, My Lord, I must give you my account of those subsequent events. For now I would note only that Joyce himself spoke to us lucidly and categorically denied that he murdered Anne Giles. Furthermore he described the man that did kill Anne Giles as being a big man wearing a thick black cloak, a hat and a scarf.’
‘That is not much of a description,’ snorted the judge.
‘No, My Lord. It is not much of a description, but it is the exact same description that we were given by a slaughterer that saw John Giles thrown off London Bridge.’
‘The court was told that John Giles killed himself by throwing himself from London Bridge. William Hill testified that he saw the marks about the man’s neck.’
Dowling shook his head. ‘No, My Lord. They were my men that recovered John Giles’s body from the river and I can assure the court that there were no marks about his neck. His arms and legs were bound and he was thrown from the Bridge so that he died a most painful death. I have the boatman that found him and several of my own men that will testify it.’
‘I see. Mr Attorney General – what say you of this?’ The judge looked at the Attorney General with a sceptical eye.
The Attorney General stood up. ‘This testimony is at odds with the testimony of Mr William Hill.’ He sat down again. This was going well!
‘Aye, well I know who I believe.’ The judge looked at Dowling with respect. ‘So who did kill Anne Giles and John Giles, Mr Dowling?’
‘Lord Keeling,’ Dowling replied brightly. The judge pulled a face as if to express severe disappointment with a favoured son. ‘Sir, that is too much to credit.’ The court seemed to agree, for everyone started to talk in low, quiet tones and shake their heads. The Attorney General joined in theatrically, tutting loudly and laughing contemptuously. The judge silenced them all with one sweep of his arm.
‘My Lord, this is not a simple affair. I beg your indulgence.’ Dowling bowed, completely unworried, it seemed.
‘Proceed,’ the judge declared, with apparent reservations.
‘It was clear to us that Richard Joyce did not kill Anne Giles and it was clear that he did not kill John Giles – since Joyce was executed before John Giles died. Our attentions turned at that time to Matthew Hewitt.’
‘Why Matthew Hewitt? This is the fellow that Lytle says was being blackmailed by John Giles?’
‘Aye, though it wasn’t any detailed account of what the disagreement was between them that alerted us to it. We spoke to John Giles and he was deeply afraid of Matthew Hewitt and what he might do to him.’
‘William Hill would have us believe that such rumours were nonsense.’ The judge still looked sceptical. The Attorney General muttered and snorted.
‘Aye, but there is a piece of evidence which we did not have at the time, which explains the nature of the disagreement. It was not an ordinary disagreement.’ Dowling looked at me and winked again. I didn’t wink back. I hoped he knew what he was doing.
‘Enlighten us.’ The judge put his chin in his hand, looking curious.
‘After Hewitt was killed I went to his house with some of my men, on Mr Lytle’s instruction.’
‘On what authority?’ the Attorney General stood up and barked.
‘Mr Attorney General, kindly be quiet unless I ask you to speak,’ the judge shouted, furious. The Attorney General sat down angrily and buried his head in his shoulders. ‘Now, Mr Dowling. Upon whose authority?’
‘My apologies, My Lord. I spoke in error. It was Mr Lytle’s suggestion. We entered the house on the authority of His Majesty.’
‘There.’ The judge waved a hand at the Attorney General. ‘Are you satisfied?’
The Attorney General slumped back in his seat.
‘We were looking for some evidence that explained why Matthew Hewitt should have been so distressed by our attentions that he sent two men to kill Mr Lytle.’
The court responded with a series of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’. This was the first revelation that did not result in everyone looking at me as if I were Satan’s bag carrier.
‘And why, pray, did Matthew Hewitt send two men to kill Mr Lytle?’
‘We found letters at Hewitt’s house, various documents. Of no great importance of themselves. However, they indicated that Matthew Hewitt had changed his name a few years previously.’
‘Changed his name from what?’ The judge demanded, incredulous. The Attorney General stopped picking at his fingernails and raised his head in interest too.
‘Venner,’ replied Dowling.
Venner! So Matthew Hewitt was Matthew Venner? A relation. Dowling was implying that Hewitt was associated with the Thomas Venner revolt! Then Hewitt was a Fifth Monarchist too, and therein lay his relationship with Keeling. This explained how it was that Keeling had told me that Hewitt had unleashed his dogs upon me. The two of them were connected!
‘You have lost me, Mr Dowling.’ The judge shook his head in confusion. ‘You are looking at me as if you have presented me with a barrel of cream, and I have no idea why.’
‘Lord Keeling was a Baptist, as was William Ormonde. Lord Keeling remained fanatical even after the Restoration whilst Ormonde did not. Keeling backed Venner’s Revolt and Ormonde threatened to expose him. Keeling killed Ormonde’s daughter so that he would remain quiet – for Ormonde has two daughters. However, John Giles had learnt of Hewitt’s involvement, probably through his wife, and was blackmailing him. Keeling killed John Giles to protect Hewitt. Hewitt sent two men to kill Mr Lytle, because he threatened to expose the whole affair anyway.’
The court fell silent. Everyone looked at the judge, who looked confused. We sat like this for at least a minute. The judge cast an eye about the court, anxious not to be seen to make a fool of himself. ‘You mean Venner sent two men to kill Mr Lytle?’
‘Aye, sir,’ Dowling nodded. ‘His manservant has ’fessed all.’
‘And I suppose William Ormonde will testify accordingly?’
‘Yes, My Lord. Now that Keeling is dead William Ormonde is able to speak without fear.’
The judge still looked bemused. He turned to the Attorney General as if he genuinely sought his views. ‘Mr Attorney General, do you know anything about this at all?’
The Attorney General stood up with a weary expression on his face, wondering perhaps if he still had a career. ‘My Lord, all I can say is that this testimony is at odds with the testimony of Mr William Hill. I have no knowledge of all that Mr Dowling sets before us and, indeed, were he not in the employ of His Majesty then I would find his testimony incredible.’ He sat down and flicked his quill to one side.
‘I agree, sir. Mr Dowling, I will need to see all of this testimony you refer to.’
‘Of course, My Lord. I have it with me today.’
‘Very well, pray continue.’
‘The men that Hewitt sent to kill Mr Lytle failed. Unfortunate for Hewitt I think, for once Mr Lytle had taken him prisoner, Keeling must have feared that he would talk.’
‘Mr William Hill testifies that he witnessed the accused kill Matthew Hewitt then sever his tongue with a knife and nail it to a …’ he rifled through some papers ‘… trapdoor.’
Dowling arched his eyebrows and sighed deeply. ‘Mr Hill lies, My Lord. Soldiers killed Matthew Hewitt, soldiers sent by Keeling. These same soldiers attempted to abduct us both besides, until we were rescued by men I know that live in Alsatia.’
‘Whose testimony do you have to substantiate that?’
‘Just mine and Mr Lytle’s I fear,’ Dowling grimaced, ‘for none from that part of London would ever come here to testify.’
The judge muttered unhappily.
‘Though I fancy we may be able to find the bones of the soldiers that killed Hewitt if I be permitted to search for them.’
‘I see.’ The judge still looked most bemused. ‘And then I suppose that Lord Keeling pursued Mr Lytle to Bride’s to kill him, and the accused was forced to defend himself. Hence the plea.’
‘Yes, My Lord.’
‘Mr Dowling, what evidence do you have of that? Mr Hill says he saw the accused plunge a knife into Keeling’s ribs.’
‘Sir, I have testimony from several of the soldiers that escorted Mr Hill to St Bride’s and from those that prepared the body for burial. The only knife discovered at the scene remained clenched in Lord Keeling’s fist. They had to drop a stone on his fingers to free it. Between his ribs he had half a walking cane.’
The judge eyed the Attorney General with open contempt, yet refrained from asking him his opinion another time. The Attorney General appeared to be beyond caring.
‘How do you explain that the accused desecrated the grave of Jane Keeling?’ the judge asked at last. ‘I may safely assume that whatever fantastic story you are about to tell me is well documented?’
‘Certainly, My Lord.’ Dowling scratched his head, rubbed his cheeks with his palms and stretched. ‘First I must tell you that he informed me in advance that he was going to desecrate the grave. I did not approve, but neither did I stop him.’
‘True,’ I said aloud, without meaning to. ‘That he advised me not to do it.’
‘Then why did you?’ the judge asked me directly.
I blinked, and then slowly stood. None pulled me back down. Dowling smiled back encouragingly. The Attorney General looked at me out of the corner of his eye, but looked away again just as quickly.
‘Sir, we were convinced that Matthew Hewitt had killed both Anne and John Giles. Yet Hill kept insisting that I go to Epsom. When I did go to Epsom, then I was directed by Mary Ormonde to visit Beth Johnson.’
‘The same Elizabeth Johnson?’ the judge asked.
‘I suppose,’ I affirmed, ‘and she did not tell me that Jane Keeling was with child, as Hill claimed, but she did say that she took her own life and she had a letter affirming it.’
‘Did you see this letter?’
‘No, sir. But she directed me to the house of Dr John Stow, who told me that she had been with child. From that I presumed Keeling had killed Anne Giles out of revenge, and when I related my idea to William Hill then he assured me that I was correct and that he had heard rumours to that effect besides.’
‘So why did you desecrate a grave, Mr Lytle?’ the judge demanded, incredulous.
‘Because I did not believe the story. It was so easy to discover, and Hill had insisted so absolutely that I go to Epsom, that I doubted the veracity of it. Yet what if it were true?’
The judge shook his head and waggled his finger at me as if I were a naughty boy caught stealing apples. ‘Mr Lytle, it will not do. I appreciate that you were in a predicament, but desecrating a grave is ungodly and wicked.’
I contemplated asking him what he would have done in my place, but decided against it.
Dowling cleared his throat, seeking permission to intervene. ‘My Lord, it’s true. I went to Epsom not two days ago and spoke to this John Stow. He tells me that he was paid by one Robert Burton to tell his tale to Mr Lytle. He was assured that he would be visited only once, and then should deny all knowledge of the story.’
‘This would be the same Robert Burton that you suggest was employed by the Earl of Shrewsbury?’ The judge read back over notes that he had been scribing.
‘Aye, My Lord.’
‘And so you found that she was without child, Mr Lytle?’
‘Aye, sir.’
The judge sat back and pursed his lips. With his face so set he read back through his papers for ten or fifteen minutes. As he did so he made little noises with his mouth, as if all were becoming clear to him. Then he shuffled the papers into a pile, rested forwards onto his arms and regarded the Attorney General. ‘Sir, you are the prosecutor. What do you make of it?’
The Attorney General looked surprised. ‘My Lord, I think I would need to see this testimony referred to before venturing an opinion.’
‘Very wise,’ the judge nodded. ‘Let us go and review it together. The papers please.’ He gestured to Dowling with his head then stood, descended the steps and left the courtroom with the Attorney General trailing him disconsolately.
The rest of us were to wait. The jurors all looked vaguely worried, yet excited at the same time, not sure what had been going on, yet confident it was important. A few of them craned their necks in the direction that the judge had disappeared, wondering perhaps why they too hadn’t been invited to see this vital evidence. Dowling sat down in the witness box, so that all the rest of us could see was the top of his head. There was to be no talking, a rule that a couple of the clerks enforced by stalking the courtroom like carnivorous herons, hissing loudly at any that dared whisper.
I was feeling much more optimistic. Dowling had answered the judge’s questions so well that the case looked as white now as it had done black just the day before yesterday. Yet I was not so simple as to think that the truth would be the only factor that decided my fate. Foremost in my mind was seeking to understand why the judge had taken the Attorney General away. Certainly the Attorney General did not seem to be a happy man, yet could the private meeting have been called in the way of working out how to surmount the obstacle that Dowling’s testimony presented? Why should this judge be any different to the previous in terms of his objectives? Such were the thoughts going through my brain during the one hour or more that we sat in silence, waiting. Dowling’s head slowly disappeared and we were treated to the sound of a Scotsman snoring.
When they came back in I looked straight for the expression on the face of the Attorney General. If he bounced in full of new-found energy then I was in trouble. But he did not. Returning to his seat and sitting down he looked as he had before, only wearier. The judge didn’t bother climbing back up his perch but instead crooked fingers at me and at Dowling. I stood and was escorted by my two guards to the bench.
The judge looked different close up. Though his whiskers were very neatly trimmed you could see that they were white. The lines on his face were sort of velvety, suggesting to me that he was extremely advanced in years. Yet I imagined that there was nothing soft about his mind, for his eyes were calm and piercing. He gave the impression that he asked questions merely to confirm what he could already read on your face. Waving a hand in the direction of my shackles, he indicated with a frown to one of the guards that they should be removed. ‘Mr Lytle and Mr Dowling, will you come with me, please?’
‘Sit down,’ he commanded once we had reached his room. It was a small, oak-panelled room with a wooden bench across one wall and several large upholstered chairs scattered about the place. They were fine old chairs, but worn, with the leather fraying and holes beginning to develop like an old man’s liver spots.
The judge crossed his legs and placed his hands in a neat pile upon his lap. ‘Mr Dowling, please tell me what is going on.’
‘My Lord, I think you now have all the facts at your disposal.’
‘Mr Dowling, if I am to believe what I have heard today, then I can only conclude that the Earl of Shrewsbury engaged Mr Lytle here to establish a ludicrous plot that he himself had seeded.’
‘Indeed.’
‘In order to discredit Lord Keeling.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Why then, Mr Dowling, should the Earl of Shrewsbury have invented such a ludicrous story when all he had to do was to expose the fact that Lord Keeling was a Fifth Monarchist and had conspired to kill the King?’
‘He had no evidence, My Lord. Nor could he hope to persuade William Ormonde or Matthew Hewitt to testify.’ I repeated Prynne’s argument as it was spelt out to me.
‘Logical,’ Dowling nodded. ‘Shrewsbury was in no position to make accusations. Had he sent agents to seek out the evidence, then he may quickly have alerted Keeling to his activities and, God knows, no man would want to incur Keeling’s wrath. Keeling would have had him killed.’
‘So he made up this bizarre story.’
‘My Lord, it was very clever. Not only did he appoint Harry, but also he arranged for Harry to have an assistant from the Mayor’s office. This ensured that when Harry uncovered the story it would quickly be recounted to the Mayor without the Earl having to become involved. Indeed, I did take our findings to the Mayor to consult. Sooner or later rumours would have spread. Then Keeling would have been faced with the prospect of having to explain his poor relations with Ormonde, without reference to the real cause. It would have put Lord Keeling in a difficult position, almost certainly all that would have been required to tilt the scales against him.’
‘I don’t know if it was very clever or very foolish.’ The judge shook his head doubtfully. ‘You are sure of this?’
‘Aye, My Lord, and it was cleverer than you think. Shrewsbury knew Keeling well. If such a rumour had spread, then you can be sure that Keeling would have pursued Harry to the ends of the earth to have his vengeance. His part in the affair would thus be lost for ever.’
‘Which is nearly what happened, I am led to believe.’ The judge nodded at me, even looked me in the eye. He still looked unsure. He removed his periwig, revealing very short-cropped white bristles, and scratched himself. ‘How well do you know this man?’ He waved a hand in my direction while looking at Dowling.
‘We had not met before this affair, and so have not known each other long,’ Dowling turned to grin broadly, ‘but I feel I know him well enough now. He has plenty of blood in his body and not a little phlegm. He is rarely choleric and quick to rouse himself from melancholy.’
‘Indeed?’ The judge considered me. ‘And is he honest?’
‘Aye, My Lord, more honest than he knows. I can see why Shrewsbury picked him for the task. Shrewsbury’s only error, I think, was to discredit his intelligence.’
‘Aye,’ the judge nodded grimly, ‘one of the man’s worst faults. He is so busy scheming and plotting that he oft forgets that others are not wholly incapable themselves.’ He pulled his wig back on his head. ‘Ah well, time for a verdict.’
‘Sir!’ I leapt up.
The judge turned to me sombrely.
‘Davy!’ I clenched my fists and struggled to unfreeze my brain. ‘You said that part of Shrewsbury’s plan was that all record of my involvement in the case was to be lost with my demise.’
Now they both stood looking at me, the judge curiously, Davy like I had just realised something he had known for some time. He nodded.
‘So what has Shrewsbury done with my father? He could tell of the letter!’
Dowling put an arm about my shoulder and squeezed me gently. ‘We still haven’t found him, Harry, but we’re still looking.’