The Cogspeare Conspiracy (The Cogspeare Chronicles Book 1) (19 page)

              “Will the defence please rise.”

              Magnus rose, feeling the eager eyes of the spectators singe his hair, and he had to force himself from patting his wig nervously.

              “Cogspeare, from Grimsby, eh? You know this case needs to be dealt with expediency, correct?” Magnus nodded. Yes, he confirmed to himself, Philodendrington is more eager for a house party than for justice.

              “Good man. Proceed with the trial.” Magnus sat, and they all waited for Dolt to begin his opening statement.

              There was silence, and Dolt nervously wiped his brow with a wrinkled, damp handkerchief.

              “W-well,” he squeaked, and everyone laughed. He blushed a sickly puce, but continued after clearing his throat, “Well. As we all know, three weeks ago a t-tragic accident occurred at t-the P-Port P-Prudence s-spesium mine.”

             
He’s made at least four blunders already!
Magnus shook his head. Calling it an accident when he’s trying to prove it wasn’t!

              “O-of c-course, we a-all know that…” And on he went, for another, excruciating forty-seven minutes, which Magnus just happened to be timing. Within a few minutes, murmurs began to funnel down from the restless crowd, and after another ten minutes Magnus could swear he heard snores coming from the back rows.

              “A-and i-in c-conclusion,” his stuttering had become worse than ever, “w-we, t-that is, the d-defendants b-believe t-that Lord Clinton is r-responsible f-for the mining accident.”

              The caller went carefully behind the judge’s chair and nudged him.

              “What?” he snuffled, quickly pulling himself together. “Of course, right, yes, well-harrumph! Mr. Dolt,” he loomed over the young barrister, “You are aware, are you not, that the point of this trial, which you have petitioned for, is to prove that Lord Clinton is
personally
responsible for the murder of the miners with malice aforethought and not just merely ‘an accident’.” It wasn’t a question but rather a statement of career execution.

              “Yes,” Dolt managed to squeak out.

              “Very well,” Philodendrington boomed. “And now, Mr. Cogspeare from Grimsby and Associates, for the defence. Please proceed.”

              Dolt sat down gratefully and moped his sopping brow.

              Magnus, ever cool even with the eyes of hundreds of onlookers boring into him, not least Minerva’s, he rose and adjusted his robes so that they would flow around him as he walked towards the judge.

              “Milord,” he began, his voice carrying well, “As I am sure the court is well aware, these allegations against Lord Clinton are ludicrous and libellous at best, and destructive to his character and business at worst. However, with the press’s interest in the case, the defence feels that it is best, not to ask for a dismissal, but rather we would proceed with the case, with the addendum of a countersuit clause.”

              He paused for effect, but only the clerks, the judge, and Minerva knew why. She drew her breath in sharply.

              “What the hell does that mean?” Quintus whispered, and Twym leaned closer, quill at the ready.

              “It means that, if the miners lose the case, they’ll be automatically held fiscally responsible for libel and damages.” Twym looked up even as his quill kept moving.

              “And what the hell does that mean?”

              “They’ll lose, and they’ll pay.”

“It’s as though it’s a conspiracy to get the miners to fail,” Quintus whispered to Minerva and Declan.

              “But
qui bono
? And after all, would Clinton really conspire to kill his own miners?” replied his brother.

              Miners are cheap as tin coils, thought Minerva, but he could be conspiring to fraud…

              “Harrumph,” Philodendrington grumbled. “Well, seems reasonable to me. But since Mr. Dolt here took so bloody long with his opening arguments,” he took out a pocket watch, “it seems that it’s time for tea. We will break until tomorrow at two o’clock, when I will hear arguments and closing arguments from you both. And let them be succinct, Mr. Dolt,” he glared at the quaking barrister, “succinct!”

              He rose and waddled out of the court room before most of the audience had a chance to follow suit. Suddenly, the whole room was filled with eager chatter, as this would be the first trial in the House of Lords lasting more than a day in over twenty years. Swift justice was a key feature of the Lords, fitted as it was in between meals and social engagements.

              As Magnus pulled together his papers, he looked over at Dolt from the corner of his eye. The man was practically soaked with sweat and looked positively ill. He felt quite sorry for the man as he left and went to collect his things.

              “Dreadful,” replied Edwina to Minerva’s explanation of the proceedings, “simply dreadful. But I suppose it’s all legal and above board?”

              “As legal as exploitation and work camps are. Which is to say, perfectly.”

              “Mr. Glad,” Edwina turned and masticated Twym’s name once again, “you seem to be very busy. Are you writing an article about the proceedings?”

              Twym blushed.

              “No, Mrs. Cogspeare, I’m just a researcher. But I would like to be a reporter someday. I’m practicing on this case, so to speak.”

              “You’re much too old to be meddling around with practice. Write the article and submit it!”

              “Yes, indeed,” Quintus added, laconically lighting a cheroot, “
tempus fugit
and all that.”

              Magnus stopped in shock as he came down the hall and was met with the sight of most of his family en masse. Minerva, Edwina, Twym and Quintus were huddled together, while Declan and Amadeus were standing quietly behind them. None of them had ever come to see him in court. An icicle of hate and hurt begin to melt inside. It felt wet and mushy, and he was momentarily afraid it would show, and stain.

              “Darling!” called out his mother, and he tried not to wince as at least a half dozen passing barristers looked his way. “You were wonderful! I had no idea that you would be so eloquent! Now,” she grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the group, “you must tell us everything. Mr. Glisten here is writing a story on the case, but don’t worry, he’s a good reporter and will be absolutely truthful. Isn’t that right?” He nodded eagerly, quill aquiver.

              “Minerva was just explaining the proceedings to us, but I’m sure we’d love to know what will happen tomorrow.”

              “I’m afraid he can’t talk about that, Edwina,” Minerva stepped in quickly, “he must keep everything quite confidential for his clients. Isn’t that right?”

              There was stillness as they waited for him to reply.

              “Indeed. And besides, Mother, if I told you what would happen, where would the surprise and fun be in that? After all, anything can happen, can’t it?” he looked pointedly at Minerva.

              Twym could have knocked the Cogspeares down with his quill, they were so surprised at Magnus’s banter. Edwina was the first to recover, and took a firmer grip on her son’s arm.

              “Well, then, I believe that we should follow the Judge’s example and go have tea,” she began pulling him along the corridor towards the exit.

              “But I have paperwork to do, Mother, and then-”

              “- It’s no use, brother,” Quintus clasped his shoulder, relieving him of his burden of papers, and then quickly handing them off to a bemused Amadeus. “You know resistance is futile. Come along and have some tea, and then you can be off for another round of ‘prosecute the innocents’ and all that.”

              “May I just have a few words with you, Mr. Cogspeare?” added Twym hopefully.

              “Of course you can, dear,” she answered for her eldest son, adding “And you’re coming to tea, of course.”

              “No, I can’t mother! I can’t speak to him.” The doors opened, and they were met with an unprecedented sea of reporters, who immediately began shouting, calling for his attention. They were waving pieces of paper and their quills, sharpened to points that proved the adage that the quill was sharper than the dagger.

A flash and boom went off, shocking Magnus and making him jump. Instinctively, the Cogspeares gathered around him, even as he felt himself begin to lose his grip.

But just as suddenly as they swarmed them, the tide of tattlers turned as they saw Dolt trying to make a run for it. They all pelted after them, and the Cogspeare clan, Minerva and Twym in tow, quickly made their escape to a waiting carriage. Once inside the commodious, if old fashioned, conveyance, Declan leaned back and huffed,

“Would you rather talk to them?”

Chapter 37:

Back amongst the fringed comforts in the Cogspeare parlour, Edwina asked Twym how he took his tea.

              “Just with sugar, ma’am. Four, if you please.” Steamins, hovering behind Edwina with a salver piled high with cakes and sandwiches, made his disapproval evident. The boys tried not to grin.

              “Don’t sniff, Steamins!” she chided. “The poor boy needs the sugar to keep him going. After all, he has a very demanding and stressful job as a reporter.”

              “I’m not a reporter yet, ma’am-”

              “Oh, mere etching on the brass, my dear,” she handed the other cups of tea around. “Of course, we have had a few reporters asking for interviews in the past years, but none made it past the gate, thanks to Steamins.” L.B looked up and barked.

              “And L.B, of course. Now, what did you want to ask us about? Or rather, ask my eldest son?”

              Twym paused, looking between the eager Edwina and reticent Magnus, and finally settled on a middle ground.

              “I understand that you cannot discuss anything about the court case, Magnus. But I would like to know; did you find out if George Talliburn ever made it to Port Prudence? I know that we found a ticket stub in his rooms, but nothing more than that.”

              Magnus had been so focused on the case that for a moment he had no idea what the Welshman was on about. Then, the reason for the trip to Cornwall came back to him and he ruefully shook his head.

              “I’m afraid not, Glyndwr. We never did find out if he arrived or asked questions. It was all we could do not to be ejected from the village as it was.”

              “Speak for yourself. Though the locals were not forthcoming, I thought it was a lovely outing.” Minerva mumbled around the rim of her teacup, making Declan sputter and Quintus raise a sandwich in a salute.

              “But what we do know is this; all the miners working on a new shaft were killed, save one young man. He is now critically ill with some odd blood disorder.” Both he and Minerva unconsciously shivered at the memory.

              “Blood disease? You didn’t tell me about a blood disease!” exclaimed Edwina. “Why didn’t you tell me about that? That’s terribly dangerous! Did you catch anything? Are you feeling alright?”

              Magnus exchanged a look with his brothers that clearly said,
and that’s why I didn’t tell her.
Their response;
we understand
.

              “Ask Erasmus about it when he comes in,” said Cornelius, suddenly appearing in the doorway with goggle-shaped shadows around his eyes.

              Steamins handed him a towel. But as he went to wipe his hands with it, the butler shook his head.

              “No, sir. It’s for your hair. It is steaming, sir.”

              “Ah, right.” He rubbed at his head, and the smoke began to dissipate. “Yes, ask Erasmus when he comes in. Should be all bang up to date on diseases and such. Until then, have a drink. A medicinal one, of course.”

              “Erasmus wouldn’t be able to help himself out of a bottle, let alone a patient.”

              “Now do give the man some credit, Magnus,” Quintus chided facetiously. “Our brother is a
highly functioning
alcoholic. Why, I shudder to think what his bedside manner that we know and love so well would be without the balm of alcohol.”

              Before Magnus could retort, Steamins returned with a young, pimpled man in tow.

              “Mr. James Addison is here for Master Magnus.” He had to push Addison forward, so overwhelmed was he by the majority of the Cogspeare clan in residence. As his eyes travelled rapidly around, they suddenly fixated on the tray laden with food.

              “Oh, of course Mr. Addison, do sit down and eat! I know how you young men are always so ravenous. Please sit.” Cornelius pushed the lad into a chair and Edwina began to pile food onto a small plate, thrusting it at him. He didn’t need to be asked twice. Around a mouthful of a mini croissant stuffed with chili and anchovies, Addison said,