Chapter Fifty-Five

The Penitent

The next day, Wolferton thought a great deal about how he could convince the magistrate to render mercy to the young lad. He had been young and performed many deeds he now regretted. There was no one of substance who would vouch for him. At the time, he had no idea of repercussions on those he hurt. Higgins’ circumstances were somewhat different.

They entered the courthouse with Matthew Higgins and the schoolmaster, where they were directed to a small courtroom and waited for the magistrate to enter. He spoke to Higgins. “This is a solemn place and one of legal respect. Stand tall and speak the truth when asked.” The lad was young just as he was once. Mistakes made could be rectified if one believed in himself. God’s blood, he could be talking about his past.

The judge entered the room. When he did, they stood.

A court attendant told them to be seated and read the charges. The magistrate, dressed in judicial red robe and white wig looked over his spectacles, “Your Grace, what is your involvement in this case?”

“Your Honor, I am the sponsor for the Quarters School which comprises eleven orphans of various ages. This institution has functioned for more than five years without scandal. This is the first time one of our students has instigated an incident. I am here to vouch for him.”

Higgins squirmed in his seat.

“The offense is one of drunkenness and destruction of property of the pub owner. How does he plead?”

“Guilty, Your Honor, with prejudice,” said Wolferton.

“How does that apply?” asked the magistrate.

“With your permission, I’d like him to explain the reason for his behavior.”

With a nod, Higgins stood, nervousness obvious, one foot rolled to the other. “Sir…Your Honor. I received news that my drunken pa told my thirteen-year old sister to sell herself so he could buy liquor. My mama is dead. My maiden sister ran away, and Pa went to find her. When I heard of this”—he lowered his head—“I knew, as her big brother, I had to protect her. So I went in search of him.”

The magistrate interrupted, “Did you find him?”

“Yes, Your Honor. After visiting several taverns, I did. He cursed me for abandoning him so I could lead a good life. Sir, I offered him money I’d saved for my apothecary lessons to leave her alone.” Higgins lowered his gaze at the desk layered with legal papers.

“Where did you get money?” asked the magistrate.

“We perform extra chores and are compensated accordingly,” he answered.

“I’m ashamed of his actions. I want to be better than him. As soon as I can, I’ll get my sister and make sure she comes to no harm. My pa told me I was no good, and she was only good for whoring. At that, I lost my mind, and when he hit me, I fought back.”

“How old are you,” asked the judge.

“Sixteen years,” he answered politely

“Where is your sister now?” the judge asked.

“I found her and brought her north to live with my mama’s cousin and her husband on a farm.”

Although Wolferton had heard the story from Higgins before, it wasn’t in its entirety. The lad embraced his responsibility to protect his sister. It was his drunken father who furthered the fisticuffs. Higgins did not cry, but his words were packed with heartfelt emotion and glassy brimmed eyes.

Wolferton tamped his pride at the lad’s sad story. He surmised there were many others like the young boy with no one to turn to, no one to guide them, and most of all, no one to care. Dependent on where you lived, London’s cesspool of men and women used these young people for nefarious purposes. It truly opened his eyes to this side of life. The London hidey-holes were noted for harboring orphans who were trained to beg, steal, and even murder, if necessary. The men who directed such activities were the scum of the earth. One did not venture into such dens without fear of their life.

During the war, he saw different standards, regulated to keep everyone in line. In these hell spots in the inner city, there was no one to care unless you paid the piper. The thought of Higgins’s little sister working in a cheap brothel in a crib ripped him apart. Life was not fair!

The judge reviewed the papers in front of him. “The tavern keeper has requested damages of forty pounds. Do you have that sum?”

“No, Your Honor, but I do have eleven pounds.”

Wolferton’s cool, calm voice interrupted. “Your Honor, if I may, I will be responsible for the balance of the sum owed. Also, I request that Mr. Higgins is removed from the school and housed at my country estate in Hertfordshire where he will repay his debt to me. I believe in consequences for ill-thought actions. The lad is an honorable young man faced with a difficult family problem. I cannot fault him entirely for wanting to save the maiden from prostitution.” He paused for a breath. “If ever England is to continue with pride at all levels of society, those of us who can, should try to remedy such conditions. I request mercy for this petitioner.”

Wolferton faced the tavern owner. “I regret the disturbance to your tavern, but as a purveyor of alcohol, it’s a risk you take. If this is fair to you, will you withdraw your charges for the sum mentioned? He’s only guilty of protecting the virtue of his sister. This was his motive, not disorderliness and carousing to cause harm.”

The magistrate addressed the tavern owner, “What say you?”

“I agree, Your Honor. I withdraw charges.” He bowed to Wolferton. “Your Grace, you’re a good and kind man. The damage was substantial. His old man was a brute and threw chairs at him and almost crushed his back with one. He fought bravely.”

Some murmurs emerged in the courtroom. The older lads had been allowed to attend and sat in benches behind Wolferton.

“Your Grace, you are to be commended for your concern for those less fortunate. The judicial process is difficult for we are here to pass judgment. I, for one, now declare that the charges are withdrawn. Payment is due to the plaintiff. Case discharged.” The magistrate arose and left the courtroom.

Higgins, in a contrite voice said, “Your Grace, I’m sorry. She’s a good girl with the bluest of eyes and honeyed hair. I couldn’t have him make her into a whore.”

Wolferton clapped him on the back. “There are times we do bad things for good reasons, and such is the dilemma of life. We must choose which path is right. You will return with us to Hertfordshire tomorrow morning. Say your goodbyes to your compatriots. Next time, consult with the schoolmaster or me before you take any untoward action. Consider yourself fortunate.”

“I do, Your Grace. I do. I’ll pay you back quicker than you think. I’ll work for others too.”

“It’s not the recompense I seek. You should continue your studies, but perhaps in a different setting. We’ll talk about it. You might find something of interest at Hertford that will spur your endeavors.”

He turned to the lads behind him. “Let’s head back to the Quarters School. There will be changes there, too.”

****

At the school, Wolferton announced that he was moving the school to the London townhouse he now occupied and deeded to the foundation governing the school. The old residence would be sold with funds from the sale to transfer to the Quarters School.

At this good news, all the lads hip, hip, hoorayed for him. And the littlest boy ran to clutch his leg in happiness. There was a happy chorus of boys and staff. Rations of cookies were devoured. Wolferton couldn’t have explained how he felt. There weren’t enough words in a dictionary. The thrill crept up his spine and it was a good omen.

To help others in need was indeed uproarious. He found himself laughing and joking with them. Good. Good. Good. There would be more pleasant news to come. He actually looked forward to their visit to the country. Once they saw endless possibilities, they would embark on the journey to betterment.

Upon arrival at home, the ladies were surprised, but not shocked. Wolferton was indeed orchestrating his new life. After Jaclyn’s end of season ball, he would never see his hated townhouse as anything more than an edifice of education for deserving orphans. Amen!