The court murmured its assent. I tried to look suitably chastened.
‘Mr Hill.’ The Attorney General returned to his witness with great fortitude, still struggling to recover from the shock. ‘Mr Lytle has also made claim that he was employed by Lord Shrewsbury to investigate the death of Anne Giles. Is that correct?’
‘No.’ Hill shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Mr Lytle was asked to investigate the death of Anne Giles by his father, who was mistakenly of the belief that Anne Giles was a relation of the family.’
‘A relation of the family?’ The Attorney General looked suitably perplexed. ‘Can it really be so?’
‘Aye, sir. I have a letter to that effect.’
‘May I see the letter?’ the Attorney General asked, one of his clerks hurrying forward to the witness box. Hill fished out a letter from within the folds of his jacket and handed it to the clerk. Well, I didn’t see how this could fly. How could that be my letter?
‘Allow me to read the letter, My Lord.’ The Attorney General bowed to the judge, who nodded his head.
‘Son.’ The Attorney General declared solemnly, pausing for comic effect. Members of the jury sniggered dutifully. I began to despise this preening cockerel.
‘Still here. In this lairy place.’ Cue widespread laughter.
‘Your mother seems happy, tho. Must be the pigs that they breed here coz she likes pigs.’ The clerks were laughing now with mouths wide open and hands to their stomachs, seeing who could make the most noise. The jury were not much more restrained. Even the judge smiled. Looking thoroughly ashamed of himself, looking at the toes of his feet, only Hill was not amused. So it should be. It was clear which way he had chosen to walk.
‘Nothing to gladden a man’s heart in Cocksmouth. Nothing for me to do save help her brother in the shed. Can’t make shoes here. You caring for the shop? Some hope.’ Disapproving groans from the Attorney General’s willing audience. It was almost artistic the way he orchestrated their reactions. I had to acknowledge his expertise.
‘I note you haven’t been to visit. Your mother notes it too.’ More of the same.
‘You have a cuz, name of Anne. Married to a man called John Giles. Don’t think you knew your cuz Anne. Not likely to now coz she dead. Someone killed her. I took the liberty of telling Mr Prynne esq. that you have to leave his employ.’ There were some low groans and mutterings at the mention of Prynne’s name.
‘We’ll be back when your grandmother has died. About time, I say.’ The paid help behind me gasped their horror at such callous words and the jury turned to look at me, eyes burning with affronted loathing. Me? I just sat there fuming. Some villain had taken this letter from my house — which implied prior knowledge of its existence. And where the boggins was my father?
‘Mr Hill,’ cried the Attorney General in a strident tone designed to bring the court to order. ‘Did you succeed in establishing who murdered Anne Giles?’
‘Aye, sir. A man named Richard Joyce killed Anne Giles and was hung for it.’ I looked at Hill. This was a lesson. The face of a man telling a very big lie. This was the same man that had casually dismissed the possibility that Joyce was the killer and had urged me hasten to Epsom.
The Attorney General feigned puzzlement. ‘The accused protested against Joyce’s indictment and said that in fact he did not kill Anne Giles and that there was none that saw him do it. That he was merely seen running from the church of St Bride’s …’ he paused for theatrical effect ‘… in fear.’
Hill said nothing.
‘Who was this man Joyce?’
Hill cleared his throat and wiped his brow. ‘Joyce was an old soldier, a Roundhead. He was injured on the field of battle, an injury that left him unbalanced, indeed mad. He had been trepanned.’ The jurors all wrinkled their noses in revolted synchronicity. ‘He was a man that often showed signs of furious rage. The killing itself was not witnessed, true, but he was seen running the streets of London with blood all over his hands, on his clothes and on his face. Later the girl’s necklace was found about his person. All this was shown at his trial.’
‘A trial conducted by Lord Keeling,’ the Attorney General finished, looking to Hill for confirmation. Hill nodded.
‘How did the accused respond to the conviction of Richard Joyce?’
‘He was unhappy and came to talk to me.’
The Attorney General sat down. ‘Why did he come to talk to you? Did he know that you were conducting the enquiry on behalf of Lord Shrewsbury?’
Hill at last turned to look in my direction. His eyes were rheumy, red-rimmed and bloodshot. He looked very tired. ‘No, he did not. Harry Lytle is an old friend of mine. We went to Cambridge together.’ More gasps from the audience. I sat back, vexed. Not only was the sole witness testifying to my own misguided depravity, but he was doing so from the perspective of ‘old friend’. Old friend, indeed. I narrowed my eyes, bared my teeth and glowered at Hill, who quickly looked away.
‘So he came to you as an old friend.’ The Attorney General waved a hand in my direction. ‘What did you advise him as an old friend?’
‘I advised him to go to Epsom to make peace with the Ormonde family.’ Not entirely untrue, I supposed.
‘What did he do instead?’ The Attorney General stood up again suddenly with arms outstretched, succeeding in focussing the jury’s attention on Hill.
‘He was certain that Anne Giles had been killed by Matthew Hewitt of Basinghall Street. He believed that John Giles had been blackmailing Matthew Hewitt and that Hewitt murdered his wife as a warning to him.’
‘Could that have been the case?’
‘No, sir. It is inconceivable that a man as esteemed as Matthew Hewitt would kill Anne Giles, especially if you consider the manner in which she was killed. It is clear that Anne Giles was killed in a mad frenzy by Richard Joyce.’
‘But Hewitt was a bit of a scoundrel?’ The Attorney General winked. Oh aye, a bit of a ruffian and a scallywag. Again I had to congratulate the Attorney General for the way he was leading his jury. Meantime they sat there all self-important.
‘He may have been,’ Hill nodded, ‘but no more than that. The Exchange is a place where hard words are often spoken and agreements sealed by a handshake. I think that Harry Lytle mistook what he saw there. I have a better understanding, since it is my trade.’
‘Mistook what he saw there, you say.’ The Attorney General grasped his chin between forefinger and thumb. ‘How did this ignorance manifest itself, I wonder?’
‘He came down to the Exchange and followed Matthew Hewitt about the place. It was inconvenient for Hewitt since it prohibited him going about his business as he would.’
‘How do you know that the accused went to the Exchange and followed him about the place?’
‘I was there and saw it.’
There was one of the jurors that I was beginning to loathe with a passion. He kept looking over at me, shaking his head and tutting audibly.
‘I see.’ The Attorney General shuffled some papers in silence. The jurors’ heads slowly stretched outwards in his direction, necks craned, as if to try and read those papers. ‘John Giles died soon after, did he not?’
‘Aye, he did.’ Hill’s eyes started to dart and flicker and he started shuffling again.
‘How did he die?’
‘He hung himself by the neck,’ Hill replied.
‘Godamercy,’ I muttered to myself. I turned to the guard on my left and whispered into his ear. ‘That is the biggest lie he has spoken today!’
The court quietened and I found myself being stared at once more. The guard inched himself away from me, looking embarrassed. I could feel the judge’s stern gaze upon me though I chose not to meet his stare. The prosecutor shook his head slowly and smiled sympathetically at me. I waited for the judge to speak, but it was the prosecutor that broke the silence.