“When will it ever end? Another poor girl tossed out from this house - another poor victim of English chivalry. What a waste, what a terrible bloody waste.”
* * *
A Day in Court
“You have been convicted of robbery and assault and you are hereby sentenced to twelve years hard labour at His Majesty’s prison in Dorset.”
There was an immediate outburst of wailing cries from a woman weeping somewhere near the back of the court, followed by the crashing of a heavy gavel followed by a shuffling of chained boots and the curt slam of a side door. Although he sat mute on a hard wooden bench one floor below Danny could hear the drama from above echoing down the narrow winding staircase.
“Very good!” exclaimed the judge. “That took precisely six minutes. If you can keep up this pace we may well finish on time for a change. Let’s have the next one.”
The deep, dry voice of the bailiff now rang out next through the court like a mission bell foreboding disaster, “the prisoner Pulbrook to the dock.”
Two large policemen yanked him up from the bench and shoved him toward the staircase. He tripped twice over the chains that bound his ankles as he struggled to climb up into the court. Once there he stood terrified behind the low wooden railing of a small wooden box elevated above the courtroom below. Rising above the entire assemblage in a god-like altitude sat the venerable judge Sir Arthur Langdon, a rotund barrel of a man whose heavy jowls nearly concealed his tiny spectacles. He was mightily robed, sashed and wigged to secure the appropriate pomp and dignity of these affairs.. Danny could see he was irritated and anxious to finish the day.
“How many more yet today?”
“Three, m’lord. Pulbrook and two others.”
“We’ll have him and one other. I have an urgent appointment at three and I’ll suffer no delays here. Read the charges - get on with it.”
“Very well m’lord. Daniel Pulbrook - you are charged that on the twelfth day of May this year you did thieve from one Dr. Wesley Porter, a private livery consisting of a carriage and two horses and that you did willfully cause the destruction of this private property and that you subsequently attempt to evade the legal arrest order of the police. How do you plead?”
All eyes turned upward in anticipation toward Danny. He stood frozen and silent.
“Come, come boy, how do you plead?” the judge roared. Danny stared wide-eyed, his eyes then darted from the judge to several unknown faces in the crowd and finally he spoke barely above a whisper, “Who me sir? I dunno sir. I dunno what you mean.”
At the front and to the right of the court another tall thin man in a black robe and heavy gray wig stood up and barked directly at him. “It’s a straightforward question boy. Did you or did you not steal the livery belonging to Dr. Wesley Porter, a renown veterinarian of this community, and in the course of this theft , cause grievous harm to his property namely, his horses and carriage?
“Well, no sir, we didn’t steal it sir, we only borrowed it. We didn’t mean no harm.”
“Did Doctor Porter give you his permission to take the livery?”
“Well, no sir he didn’t but we brought it straight back.”
“Indeed you did bring it straight back - one mare had to be destroyed, the other was brutally beaten and the carriage was badly damaged to the tune of thirty-three pounds. I submit M’lord that the boy acknowledges his guilt and should be summarily sentenced accordingly.”
“Young man, the Crown Prosecutor calls you guilty by your own admission, have you anything to say?”
“No M’lord, we didn’t steal it, we didn’t mean no harm, we only borrowed it. We planned to bring it back all along.”
“So you say,” the prosecutor’s voice bellowed in anger. “Have you a witness to speak on your behalf?”
“Witness? Well no, there was only me and Phil sir.”
“M’lord the defendant refers to his accomplice who remains at large. And just exactly where is your young collaborator, this other boy you call Phil?”
“He ran off sir, I dunno where.”
“So, he left you to pay the piper. Some loyal friend you have there, boy.”
Sir Arthur broke in anxious to move ahead quickly, “Thank you Mr. Carlton, we’ll dispense with the commentary. Let’s move along to the assessment of damages. Call your first witness.”
“The Crown calls Dr. Wesley Porter.”
Doctor Porter had been seated immediately behind Mr. Carlton. He stood and marched to the witness box. The clerk spoke first. “Raise your right hand. Doctor Porter. Will you swear to tell the entire truth in this matter before His Majesty’s court?”
“I will.” He then turned and settled into the seat.
“Now then, Doctor Porter, was your carriage stolen on the afternoon of May the twelfth of this year?”
“Yes, it was.”
“You gave no permission for the defendant to ‘borrow’ your livery?”
“No, I did not.”
“When you had recovered your stolen property in what condition did you find it?”
Wesley Porter lowered his head and spoke quietly but with great anger in his voice. “The horses were ruined, both were beaten and exhausted. I had to put the lead mare down. The carriage was very badly damaged - the axle was twisted and the bodyworks were smashed. I had it towed off to be repaired.”
“What was the cost of that repair?”
“Thirty-three pounds.”
“Your witness, Mr. Graham.” Mr. Carlton nodded and sat down.
At the opposite side of the room a slender young man wearing an ill-fitting gray wig stood. “No questions, M’lord,” he muttered barely above a whisper.
Maintaining the momentum, Carlton sprang back to his feet. “Thank-you Doctor Porter. The crown calls Lester Smith.”
Again the bailiff’s voice thundered across the room, “Lester Smith to the stand.”
Smith stood from the same bench at which Dr. Porter had been seated and sauntered to the front of the court, removed his cap and stood facing the bailiff who administered the oath.
Smith then stepped up into the witness box, he turned to glance up to the prisoner’s box and smirked.
“Mr. Smith, you are a liverymen employed at Meaford House?”
“Yes sir, I am.”
“Did you witness Daniel Pulbrook steal the livery in question?”
“Yes, sir, I did. I saw ‘im an’ his pal, that young Phil character racing poor old Doc Porter’s rig straight out of the livery barn and chargin’ up high street like they was dashin’ to a fire.”
“Would you say they were reckless as they ‘raced up High Street’?”
“Oh yes sir. They could of killed anybody that was crossin’ that road.”
“Were you concerned at all for the horses?”
“Yes sir, I was very worried for them horses. That young Phil was lashin’ them like he was the devil himself. Those poor beasts must’ve suffered’ sumthin terrible at his hand.”
“Thank-you, Mister Smith. Your witness Mister Graham.”
Graham stood and quietly peered over his glasses toward Smith.
“Mister Smith, did you see the defendant driving the carriage?”
“No