Andrew Pepper - The Revenge of Captain Paine

It was highly unusual for the evidence at a hearing for a libel case to be presented by a barrister acting for the Crown but, in the light of Conroy’s elevated social status and fears that the claims might damage the young princess, palms had doubtless been greased and an exception had been made. Pyke suspected that the actual reason related not to the piece Godfrey had published about Conroy but rather to the fact that the authorities wanted to close down his publications once and for all.

Libel didn’t carry a custodial sentence but if the damages awarded to Conroy were significant Godfrey could be bankrupted and sent to prison until he found sufficient funds to pay the debt.

‘Once the Crown’s barrister has presented the evidence against you, you’ll have a chance to ask some questions,’ Pyke whispered, across the rail. ‘Call on me and ask what I’ve unearthed about Conroy’s activities.’

‘Good God, my boy, what have you found?’ He grabbed Pyke’s sleeve and looked pleadingly into his face.

‘Just call me and follow my lead.’

But there wasn’t time to explain. From the bench Bellows called the room to order and Pyke stepped back into the crowd.

The chief magistrate was a peculiar-looking man, with a V-shaped streak of ink-black hair that extended almost as far down his forehead as his eyebrows, a pointed, beak-like nose, sunken hooded eyes and teeth that looked as if they’d been sharpened on a knife grinder’s stone. He sat back on the bench, rearranged his grey wig and glanced around the courtroom, not seeing Pyke in the faces amassed before him. This was a good thing as the surprise, when it came, would be far greater. Sir Henry Bellows had always disliked Pyke with a vehemence bordering on mania because he blamed him, rightly or wrongly, for the deaths of his two predecessors, Sir Richard Fox and Brownlow Vines.

To the palpable disappointment of those packed into the courtroom expecting the exchanges to be laced with salacious details, the hearing lasted no more than five minutes. The Crown’s barrister, William Beresford, dismissed the article Godfrey had published as ‘total fabrication’ and called upon Godfrey to produce any evidence that could support his claims. Godfrey asserted that he did have a corroborating witness but that he had not been able to contact her for the hearing. This was lampooned by Beresford as another lie and in his summary Bellows ordered that Godfrey return to the courtroom in two weeks to stand trial for libel.

‘If, by that time, you cannot produce this witness, it seems likely you will be found guilty and face the most serious reparations that can be levied against you under the terms of the law.’ Bellows paused for breath. ‘In my opinion, you are a loathsome creature who publishes wilful lies about eminent members of society with the sole intention of causing them shame and embarrassment. The sooner you are locked up, the better it will be for all of us.’ Pushing his spectacles up his nose, he looked at Godfrey and added, ‘Do you have anything else to add?’

‘There was another matter I wished to draw the court’s attention to, Your Honour.’ Imploringly Godfrey looked around the room for Pyke.

‘Yes?’ Bellows said, both curious and irritated.

‘It relates to the activities of the plaintiff, your honour.’

That drew a stern frown. ‘I will not permit you to use this court to further slander an innocent man, sir. Now if there’s no…’

‘Actually, Your Honour, I’ve employed an investigator to look into the plaintiff’s affairs,’ Godfrey said, thinking on his feet, ‘and his discoveries are, indeed, pertinent to this case.’

‘I’ve already ruled in this matter…’

‘But since these discoveries refer to your good self, Sir Henry, I think you should bear them in mind before reaching a decision,’ Pyke called out from the floor.

Everyone turned to face him and an excited ripple of chatter spread throughout the room.

‘Who has the gross impertinence to speak to me from the floor? C’mon. Identify yourself.’ Bellows leaned forward on the bench and surveyed their faces.

Pyke raised his hand and waited for a space to be cleared around him. ‘Last week I followed Sir John Conroy to the Travellers’ Club on Pall Mall where, I believe, he dined as your guest, Sir Henry.’

The colour soared in Bellows’s neck as he struggled to contain his embarrassment. The chief magistrate had clearly recognised Pyke, but was too affected by the accusation to formulate a coherent response.

‘Since this lunch with the plaintiff, so close to the date of the hearing, effectively exposes your neutrality as a sham, it would be fair to reach the conclusion that your office has no jurisdiction in this matter.’ Pyke turned to his uncle. ‘Come on, Uncle. Let me take you for a drink.’ Holding out his hand, he helped his visibly shaken uncle down from the dock and whispered, ‘Just put your arm through mine, walk and don’t turn around.’

‘This is absolutely outrageous,’ Bellows yelled from the bench, finding his voice. ‘I will not be addressed in such an unpardonable manner by a guttersnipe.’ He was standing up, his arms gesticulating like those of a police constable trying to control an unruly mob. ‘You are both in contempt of this court and I order your immediate arrest. Officers, take them to the cells and let ’em think about their actions.’

‘Just keep walking,’ Pyke whispered to his uncle, as he strode confidently through the parting crowd.

‘I said, Officers, arrest those men and throw ’em in the cells,’ Bellows shouted, his face scarlet with rage.

As they approached the door, a man called Pierce, a Bow Street Runner from the old days, blocked their path. Perhaps he hadn’t seen who it was and was just acting upon Bellows’s command, but the moment their stares met, Pyke saw the uncertainty creep into the other man’s eyes.

‘Stop that bloody man,’ Bellows spat from the bench, his neck swelling with rage.

Pyke stepped towards Pierce and whispered, ‘We’re leaving now and I don’t want to cause a scene. I’ve nothing against you, Pierce, but if you try to prevent us from leaving this room, we’ll have a problem.’

At first Pyke didn’t think he’d move out of the way but at the last moment Pierce’s resolve crumbled and seconds later they were gulping the air on the pavement outside the building, Bellows’s threats still ringing in their ears.

As they wandered down Bow Street, Pyke could hear his heart hammering against his ribcage and realised his hands were trembling a little. It had been a long time since he had risked official sanction in this manner.

‘That was bloody marvellous,’ Godfrey said, before drinking his third straight gin in a row. ‘But why didn’t someone arrest us as Bellows was demanding?’

Pyke took a sip of beer. ‘Bellows can rant and rave but men like Pierce have long memories.’

The glint in Godfrey’s eyes indicated he understood. ‘A warrant will be issued for our arrest, though.’

‘Perhaps,’ Pyke said. ‘But my guess is that, when he’s calmed down, Bellows will realise he’s lost this one. He’ll absent himself from the case, citing personal reasons. It’ll go to another court and the same process will start all over again. We caught them out this time; next time they’ll be ready for us and if you can’t produce this witness, they’ll throw everything they’ve got at you.’

Godfrey nodded, suddenly downcast. ‘Kate Sutton was a kitchen hand who worked at Kensington Palace.’

‘Was?’

‘I made discreet enquiries about her at the palace. I was told she’d left her post for personal reasons but she didn’t leave a forwarding address.’

‘You don’t know where she’s gone?’