The Cogspeare Conspiracy (The Cogspeare Chronicles Book 1) (20 page)

              “Mr. Cogspeare, I wath juth waiting for you at the office-”

              “Swallow, Addison.” Jim swallowed with difficulty, then continued,

              “Yes, sir. I was just at the office, and though Lord Clinton was not as pleased as could be hoped, Sir Nicodemus assured him that all would be well by tomorrow afternoon and that they would all be in the country by nightfall.”

              “The country?”

              “Yes, sir. At the Earl’s house party in Kent.” Magnus’s frown deepened.

              “Who said this?”

              “Sir Grimsby, Lord Clinton and the Earl himself. They were all in Sir Grimsby’s office having a drink after court, and they asked after you. I told them that you were working. I hope I did right, sir.” Addison looked down, looking as though he regretted that last croissant. Magnus sighed.

              “You did fine, Addison. Just fine.” He stood and ran his hands through his hair.

              “What is it, dear?” asked Edwina, worried.

              “I don’t know, mother. But something isn’t right. And what’s worse, I can’t do a damn thing about it.” He looked sharply at Twym, who had been suspiciously quiet up till now.

              “And none of this leaves the room. Understood?”

              Twym nodded eagerly and took a hearty bite of a mini-baguette slathered with gosling tongue.

Chapter 38:

Hours later, well past midnight, Magnus was still up and pacing the floor of his room. What had begun as a few minutes to look over the paperwork Addison had brought over for approval had turned into a full dinner banquet, with the visitors staying well past Addison’s adolescent bedtime. It was hard to know what Addison’s mother would be more furious at; Jim’s tardiness or his gluttony and slight inebriation. Magnus smiled at that.

              But since everyone had retired, he couldn’t sleep and paced his room, looking through standard paperwork he knew wouldn’t answer his niggling questions.

              “It’s all her fault!” he thought as he flopped down in the chair beside his window. “Ever since Minerva came, I can’t concentrate and have had a ridiculous sense of…guilt.”

              But before he could ruminate further, he heard a carriage pull up in front of the house. He quickly looked out and saw clearly a staggeringly drunk Erasmus stumble out. The front door opened, its shaft of light guiding him into the house. Magnus rolled his eyes. What a family.

              He went and took a sip of his milk, but it tasted off and so he left it untouched.

              While Erasmus was helped up the stairs by an ever-suffering Steamins, the front door opened again and Magnus saw a hooded figure leave the house. In the dim light from the luminescence lanterns on the street, he saw a glimmer of a white skirt from beneath the coat, and felt a wave of anger crashed through him. Jealously and betrayal coursed through him, thrashing the papers off his desk and hurled the glass of milk into the fireplace, shaking with angered breaths.

              Of course she was going out, probably to meet some like-minded activist, a man.

              As Minerva had left by the front door, another young woman left from the back.

Chapter 39:

“The stuttering fool was an unforeseen complication, but one which I don’t expect to cause any further problems, sir,” said James, Lord Clinton’s right hand man.

              “Good. And the barrister?” asked the recently ennobled financier.

              “He’s well under control,” replied the young woman.

Chapter 40:

“I-I-I don’t k-know w-what to d-do!” sobbed Dolt, currently sprawled out over his dusty desk.

              “Pull yourself together, man! Now look; I have a plan that may- just may- give you a fighting chance. But you have to trust me and try your very, very best. For the miners!”

              He looked up, the faintest glimmer of hope shining from his cloudy eyes and glinting off the snot dribbling from his nose.

              “Really?”

She nodded. “Really.”

Chapter 41:

“Sir?” asked Addison tentatively the next afternoon. Jim had insisted on accompanying Magnus to the inner chambers and was helping him into his robes.

              “What?”

              “Sir, I had a funny feeling when I woke up this morning.”

              “It’s called a hangover, Jim,” he tugged his waistcoat down and finished buttoning it.

              “My Mum said it’s a premonition, sir, and I was to pay particular attention to it, like.”

              “Watch that powder!” he exclaimed, Addison being too enthusiastic with the open powder cylinder in his hand. “And watch the dangling adverb, too.” Seeing his secretary’s stricken face, he added, “Nothing to worry about, Jim. Just another day in court.”

              “But sir, it’s so unusual that it takes this long.” He paused. “And the Judge doesn’t like the delay. He might rule a mistrial just to get on with his weekend, and then where will we be?”

              “Right here again next week, I suppose.”

              “But think of the paperwork!” Addison moaned, gently setting the wig over Magnus’s deep red locks.

              Magnus didn’t bother to reply, but instead rose and allowed Addison to inspect him as he gathered his papers.

              “You look fine, sir.”
Just fine?
Magnus groaned inwardly. And with
her
watching, too. And practically the whole bloody family, come to think of it. Just as he opened the small door to the corridor, Addison called out,

              “My bookie changed the odds of us winning this trial from three to two to even odds, sir!” Magnus turned and tried to offer him a reassuring nod.

              “Just another day in court, Addison” he repeated. “Now go watch with your comrades in quills.” Quills, the idiomatic term for law clerks, who often bristled with them, ready to take notes at any given moment.

              But it wasn’t just another day in court, as Magnus well knew. He didn’t like that the judge was so eager to pass judgment, even though that judgment was going to be in his favour. But more than that, he didn’t like the attention that this case garnered. Yesterday, the storm of reporters that had been waiting for him outside had thrown him off guard, and yes, terrified him.

              Today, a couple of them had been waiting outside the mansion, a few more outside the office, and a veritable horde of them were camped outside the courts this very minute. Heaven only knew what would be waiting by the time this was over. Because there was no doubt, this would be over that afternoon.

              Magnus entered the courtroom loud with chatter, and settled himself down in his chair, stacking his files into neat piles. Only then did casually look to his left and watch Dolt.

              The poor man looked like a nervous wreck and obviously hadn’t slept a wink. He was obviously wearing the same clothes as he had on yesterday, much the worse for wear. His robes were askew and his wig wasn’t powdered. Magnus could see the sweat pooling in the barrister’s hands. Dolt didn’t even bother to clutch at his handkerchief but instead had them cupped open on the surface of the table. It looked like he was trying to do breathing exercises, but was hyperventilating instead.

              Magnus then, ever so slowly, turned his head to look at the audience. There, in the front row, just like yesterday, were Quintus, Minerva and Twym. Twym was busy scribbling with his quivering quill, while his brother leaned close to Minerva. Both were looking peaked and tired, with circles under their eyes. Though Quintus’s attire was polished as always, Minerva’s looked a bit wrinkled.

              He suddenly put two and two together.
Damn it to bloody hell!
He swore to himself, and said a few more profane words under his breath. How could he have been so stupid? His density disgusted him, and he felt a wave of rage and disappointment engulf him, so strongly that he had to clutch the table to keep from springing up and going for his brother’s throat.

              They had been out last night, together.

Magnus didn’t see his mother nor Declan and Amadeus sitting directly behind the three in the front row. He didn’t notice Edwina’s concern at his murderous expression or Amadeus as he, ever so quietly and discreetly, fingering the rosary beads in his coat pocket. All Magnus had eyes for were the scenes in his mind, starring Quintus and Minerva and set last night in some seedy den. No, he amended the scene to himself, Quintus would take her somewhere
avant garde
and fabulous, expensive and plush. Damn him.

              “All rise for Lord Justice Philodendrington,” announced the caller from yesterday, and suddenly the room quieted as the judge entered.

              Out of the corner of his eye, Magnus could see Dolt shaking as he rose and holding onto the edge of his table for dear life.

              “Sit!” the judge boomed. Everyone rustled, then was still. “Today I will hear the arguments and evidence from the prosecution and the defence. However, I would
ask
,” he glared at Dolt in a very un-asking manner, “that the advocates keep their arguments short and to the point. It is, after all, Friday, and I am sure that we all have places to be.

              “Now, I believe that we had just finished being subjected to Mr. Dolt’s interminable opening statement, therefore it is now Mr. Cogspeare’s turn, and- WHAT IS IT, Mr. Dolt?” he shouted at the timidly raised hand.

              Dolt stood up shakily. If the barrister had looked unkempt yesterday, he was practically unravelling today. To Magnus’s fastidious eye, it was a miracle he was even dressed, if again in the same clothes.

              “T-that is, s-sir,” he began then took a sip from his glass of water, spilling some on the floor. “I-I, that is, m-my c-clients w-wish to m-make a ch-change in the charges a-against Lord C-Clinton.”

              “Really?” Philodendrington asked eagerly. He could already imagine a glass of champagne from Dashington-Hill’s famed cellar in his hand. “Withdrawing the charges, are you? Well, I suppose no harm done, really, though you have wasted valuable court time,” he added as a stern afterthought. But just as the Judge was about to rise, Dolt managed to squeak out.

              “N-no, sir. Your Lordship. M-my clients wish to change the charge f-from m-murder to c-c-c-,” he could barely speak, but finally got out, “conspiracy to c-commit fraud, your lordship.”

              Above the whirring in his head, Magnus could hear the audience begin to chatter in confusion. Few people would realize what this meant, if in fact Philodendrington allowed it.

              The judge just sat back and stared at Dolt in disbelief. Magnus could read his face, and saw the thoughts flickering through Philodendrington’s mind.

             
Well, this is odd.

              It is strictly legal, but no one has done it since God only knows when.
(1672, Magnus supplied.)

             
That would mean that it isn’t a crime against people with malice aforethought, but rather that it was an attempt at conspiracy to fraud, with the result that lives were lost.

              It couldn’t be tried in the House of Lords, but rather in the Exchequer.

              It’s my case! Magnus could see Philodendrington exclaim to himself. It was given to me!              

              And we can’t have a peer be tried as a common street criminal in the Exchequer, now can we?

              Can we?

              Thing is, it would be different if the title had been in the family for generations, but Clinton was just made a peer, and just for being wealthy. Honestly, they let anyone in nowadays.

              Philodendrington looked over to Clinton, who was sitting between Grimsby and Dashington-Hill.

             
And just because there’s a change in venue doesn’t mean that they will actually win this case, now does it?

              And then I can foist this off on one of those horrible plebeian judges down there and get to the house party, with time to spare.