Fortunate Son (34 page)

Once the robes were all settled, the bailiff turned, bellowing, “Hear ye! Hear ye! Be it known in these parts and in this presence that the matter of James Annesley, Esquire versus His Lordship Richard Annesley, the right honorable Baron of Altham, the Earl of Anglesea—”

“Bailiff!” Justice Bowes commanded. “Leave off the formalities. For that is what we are here to determine.”

“M'lord.” The bailiff nodded, gathering himself again, then resumed, “Be it known in these parts and in this presence that the matter of James Annesley, Esquire versus…Richard Annesley, his lordship, is hereby heard before these honorable justices of His Majesty. Long live this court and long live the king!”

Justice Bowes motioned for all to sit and in a thunder they did. Cocking forward, he asked, “Sergeant Mackercher, are you ready?”

“Aye, my lord,” replied Mackercher, resuming his feet.

“And is this Mr. James Annesley?” The judge frowned.

“Aye, my lord.” Mackercher motioned for James to stand, to which he quickly complied.

Bowes turned to the mass of black robes against the other wall. “Prime Sergeant Malone, are you ready?”

“Aye, my lord.” Anthony Malone, Richard's lead solicitor, was also standing.

“I see you have managed quite an army, but where is your client?” growled Bowes.

“My lord, I expect him momentarily.”

“We'll start without him. Perhaps he does not take this matter seriously enough to dignify us for its commencement.”

Malone stammered, “My lord, I can assure you, Lord Anglesea most certainly does.”

“I will grant him one minute, but no more, Prime Sergeant!”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Prime?” James whispered to Mackercher, smirking. “We're up against another Prime Sergeant? Maybe I should've hired me one of those.”

Mackercher grinned, shaking his head. “Yar bloody-well stuck now,” he whispered back.

At that moment, the giant doors flew open and all eyes turned. In paraded four men dressed in gallant orange finery, followed by Richard, who high-stepped forward, shoes clicking, scarf in hand, chest first. The four stood aside and Richard kept moving. James smiled at the sight. His uncle was in grand fashion—bright purple coat, hat adorned with a plume of silver and green feathers, an enormous wig, a bright gold rapier. As Richard opened the barrister's gate, Justice Bowes bellowed, “Halt!” Richard froze, glaring. “Remove your hat, sir,” ordered Bowes. Richard obeyed, slowly, giving the judge a long blink and short nod. “Are you a solicitor in this matter?”Bowes asked.

“My lord?” replied Richard.

“No man comes before that bar who is not a solicitor or a party in this case.”

“Most certainly, my lord. I am a party to this case.”

“State your name,” barked Bowes.

“My lord,” began Malone, “this gentleman is Lord Ang—”

“Silence.” Bowes raised a hand, then pointed at Richard. “I'm addressing the dandy.”

“Richard, Earl of Anglesea, m'lord. Not one to be pointed at, I assure you.”

“Aye? Well, we'll see about that,” Bowes grumbled. “Step forward.”

Richard's face reddened, his jaw set. He opened the gate and quickly walked to his table.

“Lord Anglesea,” Justice Bowes continued before Richard could sit, “you will not make a mockery of this court. If you want to parade in here with your hubris, like a peacock, and keep this court from commencing on time, I will have you arrested on charges of contempt. Do you understand?”

“My lord,” Richard retorted, fuming, “I had no such designs.”

“You did, indeed. And what's more, I've been informed that your flock of black sheep there has been roaming this city, offering money to those who would agree to testify here. I will not tolerate such criminal impertinence.”

Malone blurted, “I must object, my lord. Lord Anglesea has done no such—”

Richard raised an imperious hand, silencing his attorney. “I'll deal with this man,” he snarled, then marched toward the bench.

“Stand where you are!” one of the other judges commanded.

“Bailiff!” shouted Bowes. “Arrest this man upon the next step!”

James glanced to his side and saw Mackercher with an unabashed grin.

“This is an outrage!” shouted Richard. “To treat a fellow peer in this manner! I will have your appointment sir!”

“Lord Anglesea,” said Bowes, lowering his voice. “This court is not below you. If you wish to speak to me again, you must have your counsel make the request. If you speak to me directly, one more time, you will be expelled from this court.”

Richard was shaking with rage, glaring at Bowes, who returned it with equal fury. The entire room was silent. Grasping the hilt of his rapier, Richard spun back to his table.

“One more matter, Lord Anglesea. You shall leave your sword beyond the bar.”

Without looking at the judge, Richard jerked the sword free and threw it over the railing, where it clanged down the aisle of the gallery.

James glanced down at his own rapier, then looked at Mackercher, who motioned him to remove it. James slowly complied, laying in on the floor. Another attorney used his foot to slide it under the bar to Seán. When James looked back at Bowes, the judge was staring at him. “Sergeant Mackercher,” Bowes said quietly, “you may commence.”

“Thank ya, my lord,” Mackercher said, stepping forward as though nothing had just happened. He slowly approached the jury box. “If it may please my lords, gentlemen of the jury, I am Daniel Mackercher, counsel for the claimant, Mr. James Annesley, the only son and heir of Arthur, the late Fourth Baron of Altham and Sixth Earl of Anglesea, deceased, otherwise to be titled, the Right Honorable James, Eighth Earl of Anglesea. Eighth, as his uncle, the defendant in this case, deviously stole the position of Seventh. The issue to be tried before ya is one of grand consequence—whether or not Mr. Annesley is the child of Mary Sheffield, the wife of that same late Arthur. It will be claimed by the defense that Arthur never had a son by Mary, Lady Anglesea, but rather that James Annesley is the son of a woman by the name of Joan Landy, now deceased. Though it will no doubt be proffered to ya that Ms. Landy was my sister, let me assure ya that such fact is of no consequence.” He paused for a moment, then went on. “In order that I may convince ya of the truth in this matter, I will prove to ya gentlemen that Mary, Lady Anglesea did indeed undergo a pregnancy, that she gave birth to a son, and that the plaintiff before ya is that very son.” After another brief pause, he wet his lips and continued. “Numerous witnesses will be brought before ya who will relate their account of that pregnancy and birth, but it has been my experience that memories from that many years ago, twenty-eight years ago, can often be quite feeble indeed.” Mackercher turned, facing Richard. “Unless, of course, they are financially encouraged to remember details not otherwise known.” He returned his gaze to the jurors. “Most of the good people I will bring before ya will tell ya how Arthur treated James, how James was publicly regarded as his legal son and rightful heir. And a few will speak of the defendant, and how he treated the plaintiff. I am confident that once the plaintiff has brought his full case before ya, ya will have learned the truth—that which the defendant, Richard Annesley, knows full well. For as ya will see, had that evil, greedy man….” He gave a long purposeful point at Richard. “Had he not known in his black heart that the plaintiff was truly the rightful Earl of Anglesea, he would never have gone to such detestable lengths to destroy him.” Again Mackercher paused, then turned back to the jury. “I thank ya for yar wisdom in this matter,” he concluded, then returned to his chair.

“Prime Sergeant Malone?” Justice Bowes prompted.

“May it please my lords,” Malone responded, approaching the jury. “Gentlemen of the jury, this is a case of great importance. Many of you know the defendant, Richard Annesley, Earl of Anglesea, and you know the pride he maintains for his family's good name and lasting honor. He takes this matter quite seriously, indeed.” He paused to glance at Justice Bowes, who was staring back implacably. Malone quickly resumed, “Quite seriously. As each of you does, as well. The facts will be presented and proven to you, clear and simple. The plaintiff is a bastard, an imposter, a desperate young man determined to steal what never belonged to him by birthright.” He clasped his hands together and began pacing the length of the jury box. “Gentlemen, I bid you, think of yourselves as Isaac, who was so easily deceived because of his blindness, fooled into giving his blessing to the deceiver.” Malone walked to the front of James's table and stood directly before him. “Here is Jacob, the deceiver, coming before you with his false lambskin and baseless offering.” He took a step sideways, positioning himself in front of Mackercher. “And here…here is the form of Rebecca, the one who urged Jacob to deceive. It was this man's sister who gave birth to James Annesley.” He pivoted back to face the jury. “Do you not find it queer that the woman's own brother is here to argue this case, no doubt fishing for a piece of the fortune? ‘Tis obvious, gentlemen.” Malone put both hands on the railing of the jury box and leaned toward the men. When he continued, he spoke so softly that James had to strain to hear him. “When I sit down the deception will begin,” he said. “A parade of people will come before you. I ask you to see them as they are, the false
hair
(he waited for the few chuckles) of Esau, and the vile food which you will be asked to eat. I beseech you, use your eyes gentlemen. You have them. I implore you, do not make Isaac's mistake. Do not be deceived. Do not be the instruments for this black thievery.” As Malone sat down, James watched anxiously, impressed yet chafed by what seemed a clever opening.

“Sergeant Mackercher, you may call your first witness.”

Mackercher stood. “The plaintiff calls Mr. Thomas Rolph.”

A pew creaked behind them, and James looked back to see an old man grappling to stand. A young woman helped him, then led him to the aisle. As Rolph's eyes met James's, James gave him an appreciative nod. Rolph had been the butler at Dunmain House during James's childhood there, and though James had no particularly warm memories of him, Rolph had been a pleasure to visit with during trial preparation. The elderly man's memory was strong and he had been useful in sorting through the countless dates and disparate witnesses. After shuffling forward, past the bar, he finally reached the witness box where a court officer was waiting.

“Raise yer right hand, sir, placing the other firmly on the Holy Bible,” the officer ordered. Rolph did, his wrinkled, spotted hands shaking. “Do ye swear, sir, on this Holy Bible and before this court, and upon yer oath to King George the Second, that the testimony ye shall give unto this court this day shall be the truth and nothing other than the truth, so help ye God?”

“Aye. I do,” Rolph muttered, then took the seat.

Mackercher smiled warmly. “Morning, sir. Yar name's Thomas Rolph, is it not?”

“Aye.”

“Tell us, sir, how ya came to be acquainted with Arthur, the late Earl of Anglesea.”

“I knew Lord Anglesea two or three years before m'lord married Mary Sheffield. She was daughter of the Duke of Buckingham. I was in his service then, and came t' m'lord's house in Dunmain at the end of 1714. Dunmain House, ‘twas called.”

“How is it, sir, that ya remember the exact year ya went to Dunmain House?”

“‘Twas the year Queen Anne died, God rest her.”

“What was yar service there?”

“I was butler t' the house.”

“Do ya remember Lady Anglesea being with child?”

“She was. Gave birth t' Master James in the month of April. Year o' our Lord, 1715.”

“And how, sir, do ya remember the month?”

“‘Twas eclipsed the day James was born. 1715, best I remember. I know ‘twas April.”

“Did ya know my sister, sir—Joan Landy?”

“Aye. She was appointed wet nurse t' Master James. People referred t' her as ‘Juggy.'”

Light laughter cascaded across the courtroom and Mackercher ignored it. “All right, sir,” he said. “Was Juggy ever with child?”

“Aye. ‘Bout that same time. ‘Twas a boy. He died ‘bout the time James be born.”

“Do ya recall, sir, what she named that boy?”

“Named Daniel. Fynn said she'd named it for her brother, as I recall. That'd be you.”

Mackercher smiled. “Ya mentioned Fynn. Do ya mean Fynn Kennedy?”

“Aye.”

“Who was Fynn Kennedy?”

James watched as the venerable old man plodded through each of Mackercher's questions, telling the jury about Fynn and Catherine, and Catherine's death birthing Seán. He went steadily on, recalling details of James's birth, Juggy's cottage, and how Mary would visit James there. He had heard all this before, innumerable times over the past few months, from the different witnesses they had interviewed. But it was odd to hear old Rolph telling it in court, for the whole world to hear, as if he were talking about someone else, someone who was not sitting before him in the same room.

The minutes passed by, stretching slowly into an hour, and Rolph seemed to be tiring. “We didn't know for sure, Mr. Mackercher,” he was now saying, “but I think m'lady was merely an acquaintance of young Tom…Thomas Palliser.”

“That day, the day ya said Lady Anglesea was turned out, did ya hear her accuse Arthur of bringing forth a bastard child?”

“By virtue of my oath, I did not.”

“Please sir, do correct any error, but she would've known if James was not her son, aye?”

Rolph smiled coyly. “I can't fathom how she'd have missed such an event.” The gallery chuckled.

“And she referred to James as her son?” asked Mackercher.

“Aye. She did, indeed.”