“So we are to be convicted felons disbarred from testifying.”
Willy began to howl like a dismal dog; Richard swung around with one of those lightning moves that defied sight and grasped his arm so hard that he squealed shrilly.
“Shut up, Willy! Shut up! Cry one more tear and irons or no, I will kick you to the other end of this establishment—and leave ye to die of fever!”
Dick gaped. Willy shut up.
Just as well, thought the stunned Dick, that Cousin James-the-druggist chose that moment to appear, lugging a wooden box the size of a small trunk. Otherwise, what was there to say to a stranger?
“A few things for you, Richard, but later,” the newcomer said, putting the box on the floor with a grunt. His eyes shone liquid with tears. “It looks worse and worse for you.”
“That comes as no surprise, Cousin James.”
“The Law is so peculiar, Richard! I confess I had no idea what it says or does beyond my own small part in the scheme of things, and I suppose that is true for everybody, especially the poor.” He held out his hand to Richard, who took it and found its grip convulsive. “You have almost no rights, especially outside the bounds of Bristol. Cousin Henry has tried and both the Reverend James and I have seen every important man we know, but the Law says that we cannot get a glimpse of Ceely’s sworn statement, nor even know the names of his witnesses. It is shocking, shocking! I had hoped to post bail, but bail is not granted for crimes ranked as felonies, and ye’re charged with”—he gulped, swallowed—“grand larceny and extortion! Both are capital crimes—Richard, ye could hang!”
“Well,” said Richard tiredly, “I brought it all upon myself, though ’twould be interesting to know what Ceely has sworn about extortion. He offered a wronged husband a note of hand as an out-of-court settlement. Or is he now saying I am not a husband and so extorted under false pretenses? If I call her my wife, then she is my wife under the Common Law unless I already have a wife, which I do not. That much I do know about the Law.”
“We have no idea what he has sworn,” said Dick hollowly.
“The first thing we must do is lay hands on Annemarie Latour. She can verify my story when I tell it in court.”
“Ye’re not allowed to testify on your own behalf, Richard,” said Cousin James-the-druggist quietly. “The accused is bound to silence, he is not allowed to tell his side of the story. All he may do in his defense is produce character witnesses and—if he can afford it—retain counsel to cross-examine the prosecution’s witnesses. His counsel cannot examine him, nor introduce any new evidence. As for the woman—she has disappeared. By rights she ought to be in the women’s section of the Newgate equally charged, but she is not. Her rooms in Clifton have been vacated, and no one seems to know whereabouts she went.”
“What a place is England, and how little we know of how it works until it touches us,” said Richard. “Am I not even allowed to have my counsel read out a sworn statement to the jury?”
“No. You may speak only in reply to a direct question from the judge, and then you must confine your answer entirely to it.”
“What about finding Annemarie through Mrs. Herbert Barton?”
“There is no Mrs. Herbert Barton.”
Willy Insell emitted a loud sob.
“Do not, Willy,” said Richard softly. “Just—do—not.”
“It is diabolical!” Dick cried, borrowing a Dissenter word.
“To sum up, then, we have no idea how Ceely is going to go about prosecuting me, nor who his witnesses are, nor what they will say,” said Richard levelly. “And all of it is going to take place in Gloucester, forty miles away.”
“That is the sum of it,” said Cousin James-the-druggist.
For as much as a minute Richard sat silent, chewing his lower lip, in thought rather than in anxiety. Then he shrugged. “That is for the future,” he said. “In the meantime I have urgent needs. Rags to pad my fetters. Rags for washing. And rags for wiping my arse.” His face contorted. “I will launder the last under the water pipe and use them damp if I have to. These poor creatures are too far gone to have much energy for stealing, but I doubt my rags would survive being hung up to dry. I will have to pay one of the gaolers to cut off my hair. I want soap. Changes of some clothing every few days—shirts, stockings, underdrawers. And clean rags, always clean rags. Plus money enough to drink small beer. That water over there comes out of the Pugsley’s Well pipe, I would bet, and will not be fit for drinking. So many in here are sick.” He drew a breath. “I know this means I will cost ye money, but I swear that the moment I am free, I will begin to pay it back.”
In answer, Cousin James-the-druggist opened up the wooden chest with the flair of a fairground conjurer. “I did think of rags already,” he said, burrowing. “If it is possible to keep custody of this box, do so. Sit on it, or be like Dick and tie it to your big toe. The gaoler inspected it minutely when I came in, of course.” He tittered. “No files or hacksaws, which is all he was worried about. Though it seems odd to me, ye’re allowed a razor and a pair of scissors. Perhaps the gaolers do not care if ye cut each other’s throats. A strop and a whetstone.” He lifted the scissors and handed them to Dick. “Start cutting, Cousin.”
“Cut Richard’s hair? I could not!” cried Dick, appalled.
“You must. Places like this are riddled with every kind of vermin. Short hair will not keep them entirely at bay, but at least it means far fewer. I have put in a fine-toothed comb as well, Richard. Trim your body hair too, or pluck it.”
“I have very little, so cutting it will suffice.”
Cousin James-the-druggist was still ferreting, trying to get his hands around something heavy and awkward. Finally he succeeded in dragging it out, and set it triumphantly on the flagging. “Is it not wondrous?” he demanded.
Richard, Dick and Willy stared at the object blankly.
“I am sure it is, Cousin James, but what is it?” asked Richard.
“A dripstone,” said Cousin James-the-druggist proudly. “The stone part, as you can see, is a slightly conical-bottomed dish which holds about three pints of water. The water soaks through the stone and drips from its bottom into the brass dish below it. Whatever magic happens within the stone I do not know, but the water in the collecting dish is as sweet and fresh as the best spring water. Which,” he explained, launched into one of his scientific enthusiasms, “is pure and sparkling because it too makes a journey through porous rocks! I had heard that the Italians—clever people!—have these dripstones, but I could not lay my hands on one. Then about a year ago my friend Captain John Staines came home from Brazilian parts with a cargo of cocoa beans for Joseph Fry and cochineal for me. He called into Teneriffe for water, which that isle has in abundance. Someone showed him this, thinking to interest him for an English market—it is at present exported to those parts of Spain where the water is terrible. Thus he gave it to me rather than to Fry, who cannot think beyond chocolate. I tested it on the water from the Pugsley’s Well pipe—as ye rightly said, Richard, undrinkable. Since the pipe is wooden and passes through four burying grounds, little wonder.”
“How did ye test it, Jim?” asked Dick with a long-suffering look, wincing as he snipped off Richard’s thick and curling hair.
“I drank the water the dripstone produced myself, naturally.”
“I knew ye’d say that.”
“I have begun to import dripstones from Teneriffe, and thought of you immediately,” said Cousin James-the-druggist, tucking the dripstone back into the box. “It will come in handy, Richard, though I warn ye that it does not last forever. My trial one became smelly and the water cloudy after nine months, but it is easy to see when the corruption begins because the inside of the stone bowl grows a sticky brown substance. However,” he went on, “the paper which came with my first shipment says that a dirty dripstone can be purified by soaking it for a week or two in clean sea-water and then drying it in the sun for another week or two.” He sighed. “Not possible in England, alas.”
