The Lost Heir (The Gryphon Chronicles, Book 1) (7 page)

She raised her eyebrows, for few people from the rookery ever mentioned honor.

He charged on. “This fellow stuck his neck out for me. Whoever he is, I can’t stand by and see him hanged for my sake.”

Dani heaved a sigh. “Very well, then. Come on, Teddy. We’d better hurry.” She scooped up her dog in one arm and grabbed her satchel in the other. “We’re comin’ with you.”

For once, Jake didn’t argue.

CHAPTER FIVE

Witness for the Defense

Jake never thought he’d see the day that he would willingly walk into a police station. But standing outside the famous crime-fighting offices at Bow Street, he felt Dani nudge him with her elbow.

She nodded in encouragement, Teddy’s fuzzy head poking curiously out of the sack on her shoulder once again. Jake braced himself and walked in.

They passed all the bobbies on duty and made their way into the magistrate’s court. The gallery overlooking the long, narrow courtroom was already crowded with spectators who came to hear about the day’s arrests and scuffles as if this was a form of entertainment, taking amusement from other people’s miseries.

Against the back wall of the high-ceilinged room was a raised platform, where the magistrate sat on the middle chair. On both sides of him were clerks scribbling down their notes on the proceedings.

The courtroom was a busy place. People came and went among the rows of benches. A few bobbies were always on hand, standing here and there with arms folded, waiting for anyone to misbehave.

Some folk in the courtroom were crying, family members of victims or accused criminals who’d been caught. Lawyers trawled for clients. Disheveled people still bloodied from their recent troublemaking waited for their turn to step forward and make their excuses. Jake did his best not to look suspicious as he and Dani went and took a seat.

One after another, the losers of the day shuffled in, one man accused of making counterfeit coins in his basement. Next came two mean-eyed fishwives arrested for brawling over a particular cast-iron skillet. After them came a jolly fellow accused of stealing a horse, but he insisted he had only stolen the bridle: The horse had simply followed him home, being attached to it. “So, you see, it weren’t my fault, Yer Worship!”

The audience in the gallery laughed, but the beak rolled his eyes as if he’d heard this one many times before. He sent the jester on to Newgate Prison with a stroke of his quill pen.

Finally, the clerk advised the judge that the next case on the docket involved a most serious question of murder.

Hearing this, a hush fell over the courtroom.

A clank of chains announced the prisoner’s arrival, and everyone turned to look.

Jake winced. If any man had ever walked into a courtroom looking capable of murder, it was Derek Stone.

It was not just the messy, menacing size of him in that long black coat, nor the wild tangle of dark hair that hung to his cliff-like shoulders. It was the way he held his chin high and stared straight at the judge, completely unrepentant. The bobbies escorted the manacled prisoner toward the podium for the accused.

Dani hugged her dog protectively. “That’s the man that saved you?”

Jake nodded, watching.
My turn to save him now.

“He’s terrifying! He looks like he could even squash my brothers!” she whispered.

“He could, believe me,” Jake assured her.

Then Constable Flanagan stepped up to the opposite podium for the prosecution. Compared to Derek Stone’s wild, scruffy, dangerous appearance, the arresting officer looked smart and polished in his tidy blue uniform, the brass buttons down his coat a-gleam.

“Please state your name for the court, sir,” the head clerk ordered, getting the proceedings underway.

“Constable Arthur Flanagan!” he said proudly.

After a few more exchanges of official information, the magistrate looked up wearily from his papers. “Mr. Flanagan, describe the circumstances surrounding your arrest of this individual.”

“Yes, sir.” Flanagan nodded. “I was on duty at Covent Garden Market, my usual post. It started out a quiet morning. Then we were summoned by the pieman, Mr. Harris—”

The audience murmured in approval at the mention of those famous pies.

“—who claimed a child thief had just robbed him.”

Dani pushed a pointy elbow into Jake’s ribs.

“Myself and fellow officers went in pursuit of the lad, but then, about three blocks northeast of the market, we heard the sounds of a serious altercation in progress.”

“A what?” Jake whispered.

“A fight,” Dani translated.

“Fletcher and Jenkins and I ran toward the sound.”

“And what did you find?” the magistrate asked.

“This man, Your Worship.” Flanagan slanted Derek Stone a disapproving stare. “He had just emerged from a dead-end alley where we found: a corpse.”

The audience gasped at this macabre twist in the tale.

“The dead man had a knife in his back, and this one—” he eyed Derek fiercely, “had blood splashed on his clothes.”

“Hmm, and who is the dead man in question?”

“We don’t yet know his identity, Your Worship. But this fellow here was less than twenty feet away when we apprehended him. He was tryin’ to escape,” he added in reproach.

The beak frowned and fixed a piercing gaze on the warrior. “Who was this poor dead fellow, and what did you have against him that you’d resort to murder?” he baited Derek. “Did you kill him in a sudden fit of anger or was it coldly done—premeditated, hmm?”

“Didn’t kill him,” Derek Stone growled.

“Speak up!” the recording clerk insisted.

Derek glared. “I. Did. Not. Stab. Anyone.”

The magistrate’s frown deepened. “State your full name for the court, please.”

“Derek Stone.”

“Your age?”

“Thirty-three.”

“Place of residence?”

He sighed. “I have no permanent address, sir.” The admission seemed to pain him slightly.

Jake was intrigued. No home? Maybe he had something in common with this fearsome fellow, after all.

“Let the record show that the accused is a wandering vagrant,” the beak said to the clerk with distaste. “No home, indeed. How very uncivilized. Well, Mr. Stone, do please tell us your side of the story. Why were you in that alley, if not to do foul murder, eh?”

Derek Stone took a long, scanning look at the gallery, as though perhaps he feared enemies might be here even now, lurking in the audience. “I heard some men harassing a child. I heard his calls for help. So I went to assist.”

“I did
not
call for help,” Jake muttered indignantly.

“When I went to see what was the matter, I found three men armed with knives, closing in on the boy, with clear intent to do him serious harm. So I jumped into the fray to even the odds.”

“Well, well, rescuing a youngster under attack? You would have us believe you are very gallant, Mr. Stone,” the beak taunted. “So how did our corpse end up with a knife in his back?”

“When I saw their leader throw his knife at the boy, I shoved that, er, unfortunate fellow into the way to block it.”

The magistrate narrowed his eyes, considering Derek’s account. “Well, that is a very colorful tale. But I’m afraid even if it is true, you are still looking at charges of manslaughter, rather than premeditated murder. Are you sure you want to stick with this story?”

Derek stared at him, looking utterly insulted that anyone would dare to doubt his word.

But the beak was a cynic who had seen it all and spent every day listening to people lie.

“Sir, it is the truth,” he ground out. “The reason the constable and his men found only me and the dead man in the alley was because the attackers fled the moment they heard the stupid police whistles.” He glanced at the policeman in contempt. “If Flanagan and his men hadn’t made such a clatter, alerting the villains that they were on their way, then perhaps they would’ve had a chance to catch the real perpetrators.”

“I say!” Constable Flanagan uttered.

“Instead, he gave them plenty of time to run.”

“But you remained?” The beak scrutinized him. “That wasn’t very intelligent of you.”

“I had to make sure the boy was all right.”

“And was he? Whatever happened to this alleged boy, anyway? Did he escape, Mr. Stone, thanks to your protection?”

A grim smile curved the warrior’s lips. “He did, sir.”

“Well, it’s a fine tale, but I’m afraid I don’t believe you. Unless—well, I don’t suppose you can produce this alleged boy as a witness to back up your story?”

“No, Your Worship—” he started to say.

But that was the moment Jake stood up and stepped forward, his heart pounding. “It was me, sir!”

The whole courtroom turned and looked at him in surprise.

“Hat!” Dani whispered, nervously hugging her dog.

Jake whipped off his drab cloth cap, twisting it in both hands. He took another step forward. “I am that boy, Your Worship, and everything this man just said is true! That’s exactly ’ow it ’appened.”

The magistrate leaned forward over his high desk. “Jake…Reed?”

“Aye, Your Worship.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake noticed Derek Stone’s look of horror at his arrival.

No, he had not gone to Beacon House, as ordered.

The beak let out a droll sigh. “Well, I can certainly imagine any number of people wanting to kill you, Mr. Reed. Come forward, you young rapscallion. Constable Flanagan, you may step down. Let us hear from Mr. Reed. This is sure to be amusing.”

Derek glared at Jake in disbelief as he stepped up to the podium Flanagan had left, as instructed. Jake shrugged at him, then glanced around at all the people watching and began feeling slightly cold and clammy.

The judge leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen on his desk. “Well, Mr. Reed, it’s been at least a month since you paid us a visit. I trust you have been on your best behavior since our last little chat?”

“Uh, yes, sir,” he lied.

“No more thieving?”

“Oh, no, sir! I’m a street-sweep now. Occasional mudlarking.”

“Right. Let the record note that Mr. Reed has discovered a new calling in life. You’d have been better off as an apprentice, ungrateful cub, but I suppose it is a start.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jake replied, ignoring the sarcasm.

“Well, Jakey, old boy, you know the drill. Name.”

“Jacob Reed, sir. Age, er, twelve or so, to the best of my knowledge,” he added sheepishly.

The clerk stopped scribbling and looked in befuddlement at the magistrate.

“Mr. Reed is a foundling orphan of the parish. Therefore his true birth date cannot be confirmed,” the beak explained to the clerk.

“Ahhh,” the audience said with great sympathy.

“Home address?” the clerk inquired.

“Nowhere in particular,” Jake admitted, even more embarrassed in front of the world. He glanced at Derek, but the warrior just stared straight ahead with a seething scowl.

“Very well, then. You wish to confirm that Mr. Stone’s account of the morning’s events is correct?”

“Yes, sir!” Jake declared in a strong voice. “I was attacked today by three men in the rookery, and their leader threw a knife at me. It all happened just like he said. I don’t think you should charge him with murder or manslaughter, Your Worship, or with anything, because he only done it to save me. That’s why I’m ‘ere.”

“Hmm. Are you really telling the truth, Jake?” He leaned forward slightly, lacing his fingers as he studied him intently. “Or did somebody offer to pay you if you would come forward to try to clear this fellow’s name?”

Jake’s eyes widened. “No, sir!”

“No? A chance to make a little pocket money? I’m sure you could use it. Who put you up to this? Stone himself?”

“No, Your Worship!” Jake cried, appalled. “I didn’t want to come, but I ’ad to!”

“Why is that?”

“’Cause it’s the right thing to do!”

“Ah, I see. And our young delinquent friend here would be the world’s foremost expert on right and wrong?”

Jake scowled. “I’m tellin’ the truth, on my honor!”

“Oh, on your honor, indeed?” The beak chuckled.

The whole courtroom was laughing at him now.

Jake was red-faced and growing furious.

“The honor of a pickpocket!” one of the smug lawyers said. Even the stern Constable Flanagan snickered at his expense. Jake wanted the earth to swallow him. He had come to tell the truth and do the right thing for once in his life, but he had not anticipated public humiliation.

Dani sent him an encouraging nod to hold his ground, but he had half a mind to go storming out right now.

“I’m tellin’ the truth! Stone heard them bothering me and came to help,” he insisted.

“But Jake, honestly, even as vexing a lad as you are, why would three grown men risk hanging for the pleasure of ridding the world of you? If there’s any truth to your account, maybe they merely wanted to thrash you. Perhaps you stole something from them, hmm?” the judge suggested. “What did you do to annoy them?”

“Nothing, Your Worship! I never saw them bleeders before in my life!” he said, infuriated. “I was minding me own business in Covent Garden Market when they started chasing me—for no reason! I ran into the rookery, but still they followed, and when they cornered me in the alley, some toff called Lord Griffon showed up and ordered them to kill me.”

The judge abruptly stopped laughing.

“What?” His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “What did you say?”

Derek Stone also looked over at him with a look of dark surprise.

“Surely you did not just claim that the Earl of Griffon was a part of this?” the magistrate said crisply.

Jake nodded and swallowed hard, his heart pounding. “Yes, sir, I did. He was.” He did not think it prudent to tell them the earl had claimed to be his uncle.

The magistrate stared at him for a very long moment. Then he set down his pen. His face was getting redder by the second, and when he spoke, his voice trembled with barely contained wrath. “Jake Reed, you are a dangerously misguided boy. This time, you go too far with your wild tales. You are under oath of perjury—and yet you would speak such slanderous lies against one of the greatest philanthropists in London! Now I know you are lying! Order in the court!” He banged his gavel as the audience exclaimed in shock over Jake’s accusation against the earl.