The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [65]
With this thought in mind, his gaze fell upon the portly figure of Lord Edmonton, who had taken up a seat on the bench opposite the dock and was talking amiably to his companion. Ernest Augustus - duke of Cumberland, earl of Armagh and the King’s brother - was a tall man with a hideously scarred face, offset by a carefully manicured moustache and a pumpkin-shaped head. Though his wound had been honourably received during the Napoleonic wars, it transformed what would otherwise have been a merely overbearing face into something monstrous. He was slightly balding and prematurely grey, giving the impression that he was older than he perhaps was. The duke was dressed ostentatiously (and ridiculously in Pyke’s view) in the uniform of a Hanoverian general. Edmonton saw that Pyke was looking at them and ran his index finger across his neck, to simulate the cutting of his throat.
A few places along from him, Sir Richard Fox was engrossed in a conversation with Viscount Lowther, an acquaintance of Peel. Fox looked old and worn, and though he had come to witness the trial he could not bring himself to look across the room and meet Pyke’s stare. Pyke wondered what outcome Fox was hoping for, whether he wanted to see him walk free or not.
Pyke’s gaze shifted to the public gallery and he saw Emily Blackwood. She was wearing an ivory dress and shawl, her hair pinned up and held in place by her bonnet. She seemed frailer than he remembered. For a moment their eyes met, and she smiled and mouthed a silent ‘hello’. She seemed not to want to draw attention to herself. He wondered whether Edmonton knew that his daughter was present in the courtroom.
Pyke’s attention was wrested away from Emily by the wheezing figure of his uncle, who had managed to persuade one of the court officials that he had urgent business with Pyke.
‘Change of plan, I’m afraid,’ he said, catching his breath. ‘The Crown’s case will now be presented by William Gregson. I’ve heard he’s good.’ Godfrey noticed what Pyke was wearing and frowned. ‘What, in God’s name, are you wearing that dreadful outfit for?’
Pyke ignored the question. ‘Peel’s lawyer. He helped to draft the Metropolitan Police Bill. I met him about a month ago.’ It was depressing news but it confirmed what he already knew.
‘Well, in that respect at least, we have got our own ace.’ Godfrey looked around. ‘I wonder where Quince has got to. He’s cutting things a bit fine. Proceedings are due to start at any minute.’
‘I told him I no longer required his services,’ Pyke said, as though the matter was of no consequence. ‘I said I wouldn’t pay him for his time unless he agreed to relinquish his representation. That worked well enough.’
Godfrey stared at him, aghast. ‘You did what ?’
‘It’s a common enough occurrence. Defence attorneys withdrawing at the last minute to take up more lucrative work elsewhere.’
‘Why? ’ Godfrey sounded angry as much as concerned. ‘Who on earth is going to represent you now?’
‘I don’t need representation.’
Godfrey looked flummoxed. ‘For God sake, boy, do you want them to hang you?’
Pyke didn’t answer him.
Once the recorder, Lord Chief Justice Marshall, had read out the indictment, he turned his attention to Pyke, who was standing across the courtroom from him in the dock, and asked how he wished to plead.
‘Not guilty,’ Pyke said, loud enough for the whole courtroom to hear him.
Under his horsehair wig, Marshall frowned. ‘I am led to believe that you are without legal representation. Is that correct?’
‘It is, Your Honour.’
Marshall nodded gravely. ‘I want to make it clear that this sorry state of affairs provides you with no legal grounds for arguing for a new trial at some later date.’
‘I understand, Your Honour.’
‘Very well. Let the trial begin.’
Once the jury was sworn in and two further judges had taken their place on the bench next to Marshall, beneath the sword of justice, the Crown’s barrister, William Gregson, started to outline