Bruce Alexander - Blind Justice

“Well, I-”

“Have you run awav from home? Do you fear your father’s retribution?”

“My father is dead, sir. There was only him and me.”

“How came he to die?”

“He …” I hesitated, unable to speak of it. Yet fearing not to, I pressed on almost in a whisper: “He was pelted to death.”

A murmur came from the crowded court behind me. Yet Sir John sat silent a long moment before he spoke: “Pelted, you say? In the stocks?”

“Yes, sir.” I knew that tears at this moment would be quite inappropriate, and so I struggled to hold them back.

“And that was when you ran away?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”

Suddenly I felt Bledsoe’s furious grip once more at the back of my neck. He squeezed yet harder upon it than heretofore, and I was unable to suppress a cry of pain, as he whispered loudly in my ear, “M’lord! I told you to say m’lord.”

”Bledsoe!” shouted Sir John from the bench. “Do not harm that- Clerk? Mr. Marsden?”

“Aye, Sir John?”

“Is he touching the boy?”

“He got his hand about the boy’s neck.”

I felt it drop away.

“Remove it,” said Sir John to Bledsoe. “Distance yourself from him.” I watched my captor take an uncertain step away and had to endure his angry, threatening gaze until the blind magistrate resumed: “Mr…. Mr. Slade? Is that how you call yourself?”

“Oh, yes sir, m’lord.”

“I’m interested in that purse you said was stole from you. There was in it, you said, a goodly sum of money.”

“Well …” he temporized, “to a poor man like me …”

“Clerk, what was the amount?”

The small man seated at the desk nearby dipped into the woolen bag and brought up a few coins. After taking a moment to count them, he called out loudly, “Two shillings thrupence and a farthing.”

“Is that your goodly sum?” asked Sir John, miming his amazement broadly. “Nay, sir, I call that paltry. And for two shillings thrupence and a farthing you ask me to bind this thirteen-year-old boy for trial on a serious offense?”

Screwing his courage to the sticking point, Slade puffed up visibly and took a bold step toward the bench. “But, m’lord, it’s the principle of it, ain’t it? I mean to say, if this boy’s not made to pay, then where will it end? He’ll pursue his life of crime and set an evil example to his fellows.”

“And so you hold for the principle of justice? You insist on pressing charges?”

“I do indeed, m’lord.”

“Then let justice be applied evenhandedly. Clerk, what more does this man’s purse contain?”

Once again the small man dove into it, this time emptying its contents on the table. He picked through the mess before him for a moment, then called out, “A most fouled kerchief.” The crowd behind me exploded into raucous laughter. Even I had to smile, though it was perhaps unsuitable, considering my situation. The clerk waited until the outburst had subsided, then continued: “He also got a letter and some receipts for goods and an account book.”

“Excellent!” said Sir John. “Now, give us the name to which the letter is addressed and to which the receipts are made out-but no, wait! Let me guess. Could that name perchance be Will Sayer?”

“It could, and it is.”

The features beneath the black band of silk contracted for a moment in concentration. “Now, how do we explain the discrepancy between the name this man has given in court and the one borne on the documents he carries?”

“I was keeping them for a friend!” cried the man who had presented himself to me as Slade. His face betrayed his fear.

Sir John nodded agreeably. “That could certainly account for it. Yet we are left with another question. How came I to guess the name? Could it be that I have had previous acquaintance with this Will Sayer? Could it be that he appeared before this court not nine months past as a receiver of stolen goods? He was bound over, convicted, and sentenced, yet word has lately reached me that he bought his way from Newgate. Now comes William Slade bearing the documents of Will Sayer- and speaking with the selfsame voice as Sayer. Is this coincidence or deceit?” he thundered.

With that, there was a sudden hubbub in the court. Slade-or Sayer, as he was now revealed-looked about him wildly, as though thinking to escape. As if to answer that thought, a large man emerged from the crowd to one side and took a place beside the false complainant, where he displayed to him a club of intimidating size. Sir John hammered the court back to order, and leaning tor-ward, he addressed the man before him: “Think you, sir, that because I lack the power of sight I also lack the power of memory? To one such as myself the human voice is as sure and distinctive a means of identification as the human face is to the rest. Perchance surer. Mr. Marsden?”

“Aye, Sir John?”

“Do you recognize the man before us?”

The clerk studied Sayer and finally shook his head. “All I can say is he looks familiar. We gets so many here.”

“Indeed we do. But I put it to you, Mr. Slade-Sayer, you have perjured yourself as to your proper name, which to my mind impeaches your entire testimony. At the very least you have displayed your contempt for this court. Do you still wish to press charges against this boy?”

All eyes were upon the man, yet he had eyes for none. With his head hung low, he said quietly, “No, m’lord.”

“There remains the matter of Mr. Bledsoe, our independent thief-taker. Good sense suggests to me that Master Proctor’s account of the events leading to his appearance here is the true one. He might wish to press charges himself. Yet for want of a corroborating witness his case would be a weak one. Would you wish, Mr. Slade-Sayer, to serve as witness against Mr. Bledsoe?”

My attention went, as did Sayer’s, to Bledsoe. The gaze he returned to his partner in perjury was the fiercest I have seen any man give another. In it was the threat of murder. The import of it was not lost on Sayer. He simply said, “No, m’lord.”

“I thought not. Considering Mr. Bledsoe’s reputation, you have probably made a prudent decision. However, under the circumstances, I have no choice but to sentence you to sixty days for contempt of court.” Sir John banged dow n with great finality, making it official, and Sayer was led away by the big man with the club. This left only Bledsoe and myself before him.

“Mr. Bledsoe, take this as a warning. If ever you appear before me again seeking a bounty on the head of some poor unfortunate you have gulled, as in my heart I am sure you did this boy, then I shall find you out, sir, and I shall have you publicly thrashed by our Mr. Bailey, who is a bigger man than you and a far better one. And I shall throw you into Newgate for more years than either you or I can count. One thing I shall not do, however”-and this, oddly, he directed at me-“is have you clapped in the stocks and pelted, for that is not fit punishment for any man, not even such a sorry one as you. The case against Master Proctor is, of course, dismissed….”

As he banged out his judgment, the room once again went into such turmoil that I believe I was the only one who heard as Sir John Fielding added the words that changed my life: “And he is remanded to the custody of the court.”

What had he in mind? The word just spoken, “remanded,” quite unfamiliar to me, had to my young ears the sound of “command” and “demand,” both terms of coercion. Though I understood it little, I liked it not.

Not knowing what more to do nor where else to go, I simply held my place before the bench and waited. I stood gazing up at the blind man who had but moments before exposed my false accuser and saved me from gaol. What manner of man was this Sir John Fielding? By the set of his features, no less than by his actions, he appeared to be of a kindly nature. As he waited for the next case to be called from the docket, his face had an air of amused expectancy. One would have guessed by the tilt of his head that he was staring off at some distant point above the crowd.