Blind Justice Read Free Page B

said he was born in Lichfield, which I’m sure is true. He thinks as a lawyer thinks, which is both a blessing and a curse. But it strikes me. Master Proctor, that you wished to conceal from the court that you had come to London from Stoke Poges. Why is that?”
    “Well, I—”
    “Have you run awav from home? Do you fear your father’s retribution?”
    “My father is dead, sir. There was only him and me.”
    “How came he to die?”
    “He …” I hesitated, unable to speak of it. Yet fearing not to, I pressed on almost in a whisper: “He was pelted to death.”
    A murmur came from the crowded court behind me. Yet Sir John sat silent a long moment before he spoke: “Pelted, you say? In the stocks?”
    “Yes, sir.” I knew that tears at this moment would be quite inappropriate, and so I struggled to hold them back.
    “And that was when you ran away?” he asked quietly.
    “Yes.”
    Suddenly I felt Bledsoe’s furious grip once more at the back of my neck. He squeezed yet harder upon it than heretofore, and I was unable to suppress a cry of pain, as he whispered loudly in my ear, “M’lord! I told you to say m’lord.”
    ”Bledsoe!” shouted Sir John from the bench. “Do not harm that— Clerk? Mr. Marsden?”
    “Aye, Sir John?”
    “Is he touching the boy?”
    “He got his hand about the boy’s neck.”
    I felt it drop away.
    “Remove it,” said Sir John to Bledsoe. “Distance yourself from him.” I watched my captor take an uncertain step away and had to endure his angry, threatening gaze until the blind magistrate resumed: “Mr… . Mr. Slade? Is that how you call yourself?”
    “Oh, yes sir, m’lord.”
    “I’m interested in that purse you said was stole from you. There was in it, you said, a goodly sum of money.”
    “Well …” he temporized, “to a poor man like me …”
    “Clerk, what was the amount?”
    The small man seated at the desk nearby dipped into the woolen bag and brought up a few coins. After taking a moment to count them, he called out loudly, “Two shillings thrupence and a farthing.”
    “Is that your goodly sum?” asked Sir John, miming his amazement broadly. “Nay, sir, I call that paltry. And for two shillings thrupence and a farthing you ask me to bind this thirteen-year-old boy for trial on a serious offense?”
    Screwing his courage to the sticking point, Slade puffed up visibly and took a bold step toward the bench. “But, m’lord, it’s the principle of it, ain’t it? I mean to say, if this boy’s not made to pay, then where will it end? He’ll pursue his life of crime and set an evil example to his fellows.”
    “And so you hold for the principle of justice? You insist on pressing charges?”
    “I do indeed, m’lord.”
    “Then let justice be applied evenhandedly. Clerk, what more does this man’s purse contain?”
    Once again the small man dove into it, this time emptying its contents on the table. He picked through the mess before him for a moment, then called out, “A most fouled kerchief.” The crowd behind me exploded into raucous laughter. Even I had to smile, though it was perhaps unsuitable, considering my situation. The clerk waited until the outburst had subsided, then continued: “He also got a letter and some receipts for goods and an account book.”
    “Excellent!” said Sir John. “Now, give us the name to which the letter is addressed and to which the receipts are made out—but no, wait! Let me guess. Could that name perchance be Will Sayer?”
    “It could, and it is.”
    The features beneath the black band of silk contracted for a moment in concentration. “Now, how do we explain the discrepancy between the name this man has given in court and the one borne on the documents he carries?”
    “I was keeping them for a friend!” cried the man who had presented himself to me as Slade. His face betrayed his fear.
    Sir John nodded agreeably. “That could certainly account for it. Yet we are left with another question. How