Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [21]
The junior with the ledger continued his journey and the pens began to move again, but there was a curious air of listening in the room although no one turned or looked at Pitt.
“Do you by any chance recall who they were?” he asked.
“Not by chance, sir, by memory,” the clerk replied. “Mr. Stafford himself, Mr. Ignatius Livesey, Mr. Morley Sadler, Mr. Edgar Boothroyd and Mr. Granville Oswyn. Yes, that is correct. I believe Mr. Sadler has retired from the bench now, and I heard Mr. Boothroyd had moved to the Chancery division. Surely the case is no longer of any interest? As I recall, it was denied at appeal. There really were no grounds for opening up the matter again, none at all. Dear me, no. The trial was conducted with perfect propriety, and there was most certainly no new evidence.”
“You are speaking of the appeal?”
“Of course. What else?”
“I had heard that Mr. Stafford was still interested in the matter, and had interviewed several of the principal witnesses again in the last few days.”
Again the writing stopped and there was a prickly silence.
“Indeed? I had not heard that!” The clerk looked quite taken aback. “I cannot imagine what that would mean. However, it did not concern these chambers, Mr.—er … Mr. Pitt, you say? Quite so—Mr. Pitt. We prosecuted the case, we did not defend. That, as I recall, was Mr. Barton James, of Finnegan, James and Mulhare, of Fetter Lane.” He frowned. “Although it is most odd that Mr. Stafford should be enquiring in the matter. If indeed there is some new evidence come to light, I would have thought Mr. James should take it up—if it is of any importance?”
“Miss Macaulay, Godman’s sister, appealed personally to Mr. Stafford,” Pitt explained.
“Oh dear, yes indeed. A most tenacious young woman-most misguided.” The clerk shook his head. “Unfortunate. An actress person, I believe. Most unfortunate. Well, sir, what is it that we may do for you?”
“May I see Mr. Pryce, if he is available? He was at the theater yesterday evening, and Mr. Stafford also called upon him earlier in the day. He may be able to give us some information which will throw further light upon Mr. Stafford’s death.”
“Indeed. He was a personal friend of Mr. and Mrs. Stafford; possibly Mr. Stafford confided some concern for his health. He has a client with him at the moment, but I do not believe he will be long. If you care to take a seat, sir, I will inform him that you are here.” And with that he bowed very slightly, a stiff gesture, rather like a black crow that was about to peck and changed its mind. Pitt watched him walk away between the desks and files and high-backed stools where young men sat bent over books, scribbling industriously. Not one of them looked up as he passed.
It was over a quarter of an hour before the clerk returned to say that Mr. Pryce was free now, and conducted Pitt to his heavily ornate office, where carved oak chests and bookcases held a library of law books, and the mellow gleam of polished wood reflected the warmth of the fire. Two well-curtained windows looked out onto a small shaded courtyard. The single tree was already bright with autumn colors and the grass was sorely in need of clipping.
Sunlight fell across a very formal desk, leather inlaid and furnished with onyx and crystal inkwells, and a stand for pen, seals, knife, tapers and sand. A dossier, tied in ribbon, still sat on one polished corner of the wood.
Adolphus Pryce looked agitated. He was extremely fashionably dressed in black frock coat, pin-striped trousers and exquisitely cut waistcoat. He had a natural grace and a posture which made his clothes look even more expensive than they probably were.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Pitt,” he said with an attempt at a smile, but it died on his lips almost before it was born. He looked as if he had slept little. “Withers tells me you have come about