I have already mentioned that my opinion of the theater in England was not high, the tale tedious, the acting dreadful, the declamation poor. Not so with the courts, which supplied all the pomp and drama that the theater lacked, being also better produced and more convincingly expressed. The spectacle of an assize is not to be matched anywhere on the continent; not even the French, who love the grandiose, have such an awful display in their justice. The essence of the grandeur lies in the fact that justice is mobile; while small crimes are dealt with by magistrates, more important cases are dealt with by the king’s representatives sent out from London at regular intervals. These patrol the country in circuit, and their arrival is attended by much circumstance. The mayor awaits the procession at the borders of the town, the local landowners send carriages to drive behind, and the people line the streets as the carriages wend their way to the courthouse, where convoluted proclamations are read out which give the judges authority to hang as many lawbreakers as they please.
Perhaps I ought to explain here the way the English deal with such matters, their method being as singular as many other proceedings in that country. One would have thought that a learned judge would have been sufficient as it is everywhere else, but this is not the case. For, having appointed such a person, they give all his power to a group of twelve men, chosen at random and utterly ignorant of all law. What is more, they are inordinately proud of this most bizarre system and hold this jury in awe as the bedrock of their liberties. These men listen to the arguments in court and vote about the verdict. The case is normally presented by the person who brings the prosecution or, in the case of murder, by family or by a magistrate who acts on behalf of the king. In this case, Grove having no family, the magistrate was bound to prepare the suit at the public expense.
The preparations for the assizes are many and the cost considerable, which is why the High Street was all but clogged with people when we returned. I was fascinated by the spectacle, but it merely put Lower into an ill humor. It was late in the day, neither of us had eaten and we were in two minds whether to stop for nourishment or to proceed straight to Sir John Fulgrove’s house in Holywell. We decided on the latter, not least because I was also anxious about Mrs. Blundy—whatever her daughter had done, she was still my patient and my hope of fame. And I was anxious to be free of Lower’s company.
Sir John saw me promptly—an aspect of the English law I greatly admire. I have had little to do with our Venetian magistrates, but I know that they believe the grandeur of the law is served by making everything as inconvenient as possible. He also listened to my story with interest, though little gratitude. His demeanor, indeed, had changed greatly in the period I had been away, and he demonstrated none of that agreeable condescension which I had received before.
“It was your duty to report this matter immediately to those in authority,” he said. “Thurloe is a traitor and should have been hanged years ago. And you now tell me he is harboring fugitives? Why, the man thinks he is above the law entirely.”
“From what I hear,” I said quietly, “he is.”
Sir John scowled. “It is intolerable that this should continue. He is in open rebellion against the king’s government, and yet it does nothing.”
“I do not wish to defend him,” I said, “as if half of what I have heard is true then he should be hanged forthwith. But in this case, I do not think he believes Mr. Prestcott truly guilty of the crimes of which he is accused. And by keeping him close by, he has surely done a service, if the man has important testimony about Dr. Grove.”
The magistrate grunted.
“Do you think this tale unimportant?” I asked.
“No, of course not.”
“The girl is going to stand trial?”
“She is. She will answer the case on the last day of the assizes.”
“On what charge?”
“Petty treason.”
“What is that?”
“Grove was her master; it matters not that she was discharged, because it was as her master that he was killed. That is treason, because a master is as a father to his children, or the king to his people. It is the worst of all crimes; far more serious than murder. And carries a far harsher punishment. When she is found guilty, she will burn.”
“You are in no doubt about her guilt?”
“None. My investigations have uncovered a character so foul, so sordid, that it is a wonder she was not unmasked before.”
“Has she confessed?”
“Not she. She denies it all.”
“And what will you do with my information?”
“I intend,” he said, “to take some soldiers and ride straight out to Milton. Where I will clap both Mr. Prestcott and his protector in irons and drag them both back to jail. We will see if Mr. Thurloe can evade the law this time. You must excuse me. I am in a hurry.”
That alarming duty done, i returned to the high street to be told that Mr. Boyle had fallen ill at his sister’s house in London and intended to stay there for a few days yet. Then I went to Tillyard’s, to fill my stomach and catch up on the news. Locke was there, and seemed mightily glad to see me; I was not so content to see him.
“Next time you have a patient, Mr. Cola,” he said once I was settled, “pray keep her to yourself. I have had the devil of a run with her. She has deteriorated since you left.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. Why, exactly?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea at all. But she is weakened a little. It began the day that daughter of hers was arrested.”
He willingly told me all the details, as he had been attending the woman when it occurred. It appeared that the bailiff had come for Sarah at her house, and had shackled her and dragged her away in full view of the mother. Sarah had not gone quietly; she had screamed and scratched and bitten until she was forced to the floor and bound; even then she continued screaming and had to be gagged as well. The mother had attempted to rise from her bed and it had required Locke’s full strength to force her back.
“All the time the poor woman screamed that her daughter had not done anything, and they should leave her alone. I must say, when I saw the girl’s performance I could quite believe that she had killed someone. I’ve never seen such a transformation in a human being before. All quiet and gentle one moment, the next a screaming, raging monster. Quite a horrible performance. And the strength she had! Do you know, it took three full-grown men to pin her down while the chains were put on?”
I grunted. “Her mother?”
“She curled up on the bed and began to cry, of course, and afterward became weak and fretful.” He paused and looked at me frankly. “I did what I could but it had no effect; please accept my assurances on that.”
“I will have to go and see her,” I said. “This is something which has concerned me ever since I heard of the arrest. I greatly fear the mother’s condition is bound to get worse, unless we do something drastic.”
“Why is that?”
“The transfusion, Mr. Locke. The transfusion. Think of it. I didn’t know for sure, but I wondered whether the state of the girl might affect that of the mother, now their spirits are so intermingled in her body. Sarah, no doubt, can withstand the effects; her mother is so much older and weaker, I have no doubt this is what has caused her decline.”
Locke leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows raised in what seemed like supercilious disdain but which I now believed was his habitual appearance when deep in thought. “Fascinating,” he said eventually. “This experiment of yours has all sorts of consequences. So what do you intend?”