Paul Lawrence - The Sweet Smell of Decay

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.