Old Bailey, and the oak-paneled office was bustling with clerks and juniors with inky fingers and grave expressions. An elderly gentleman with white whiskers and a portentous air came up to him, peering at him over the top of his gold-rimmed pince-nez.
“And what may we do for you, sir?” he enquired. “Mr. er …?”
“Pitt—Inspector Thomas Pitt, of the Bow Street station,” Pitt supplied. “I am here in connection with the death last night of Mr. Justice Stafford.”
“Terrible news.” The clerk shook his head. “Very sudden indeed. We had not even heard the poor gentleman was ailing. Such a shock! And in the theater. Not the most salubrious place from which to depart this vale of tears, dear me, no. Still, what cannot be changed must be endured the best we can. Most unfortunate. But …” He coughed dryly. “In what way does that involve these chambers? Mr. Stafford was an appeal court judge, not a barrister. And we have no case presently before him, of that I am quite sure; it is my business to know.”
Pitt changed his mind about his approach.
“But you have had in the past, sir?”
The clerk’s white eyebrows rose. “But of course. We have tried cases before most of the justices of the bench, both in the Old Bailey and in appeal. So, I imagine, has every other reputable chambers in London.”
“I have in mind the case of Aaron Godman.”
Suddenly there was a hush as a dozen quill pens stopped moving and a junior with a ledger in his hands stood motionless.
“Aaron Godman?” The clerk repeated the name. “Aaron Godman! Oh dear, that is some time ago now, at least five years. But you are perfectly correct, of course. Our Mr. Pryce prosecuted that one, and secured a conviction. It went to appeal, I believe before Mr. Stafford, among others. There are usually five judges of appeal, but you will know that.”
The junior with the ledger continued his journey and the pens began to move again, but there was a curious air of listening in the room although no one turned or looked at Pitt.
“Do you by any chance recall who they were?” he asked.
“Not by chance, sir, by memory,” the clerk replied. “Mr. Stafford himself, Mr. Ignatius Livesey, Mr. Morley Sadler, Mr. Edgar Boothroyd and Mr. Granville Oswyn. Yes, that is correct. I believe Mr. Sadler has retired from the bench now, and I heard Mr. Boothroyd had moved to the Chancery division. Surely the case is no longer of any interest? As I recall, it was denied at appeal. There really were no grounds for opening up the matter again, none at all. Dear me, no. The trial was conducted with perfect propriety, and there was most certainly no new evidence.”
“You are speaking of the appeal?”
“Of course. What else?”
“I had heard that Mr. Stafford was still interested in the matter, and had interviewed several of the principal witnesses again in the last few days.”
Again the writing stopped and there was a prickly silence.
“Indeed? I had not heard that!” The clerk looked quitetaken aback. “I cannot imagine what that would mean. However, it did not concern these chambers, Mr.—er … Mr. Pitt, you say? Quite so—Mr. Pitt. We prosecuted the case, we did not defend. That, as I recall, was Mr. Barton James, of Finnegan, James and Mulhare, of Fetter Lane.” He frowned. “Although it is most odd that Mr. Stafford should be enquiring in the matter. If indeed there is some new evidence come to light, I would have thought Mr. James should take it up—if it is of any importance?”
“Miss Macaulay, Godman’s sister, appealed personally to Mr. Stafford,” Pitt explained.
“Oh dear, yes indeed. A most tenacious young woman-most misguided.” The clerk shook his head. “Unfortunate. An actress person, I believe. Most unfortunate. Well, sir, what is it that we may do for you?”
“May I see Mr. Pryce, if he is available? He was at the theater yesterday evening, and Mr. Stafford also called upon him earlier in the day. He may
“And what may we do for you, sir?” he enquired. “Mr. er …?”
“Pitt—Inspector Thomas Pitt, of the Bow Street station,” Pitt supplied. “I am here in connection with the death last night of Mr. Justice Stafford.”
“Terrible news.” The clerk shook his head. “Very sudden indeed. We had not even heard the poor gentleman was ailing. Such a shock! And in the theater. Not the most salubrious place from which to depart this vale of tears, dear me, no. Still, what cannot be changed must be endured the best we can. Most unfortunate. But …” He coughed dryly. “In what way does that involve these chambers? Mr. Stafford was an appeal court judge, not a barrister. And we have no case presently before him, of that I am quite sure; it is my business to know.”
Pitt changed his mind about his approach.
“But you have had in the past, sir?”
The clerk’s white eyebrows rose. “But of course. We have tried cases before most of the justices of the bench, both in the Old Bailey and in appeal. So, I imagine, has every other reputable chambers in London.”
“I have in mind the case of Aaron Godman.”
Suddenly there was a hush as a dozen quill pens stopped moving and a junior with a ledger in his hands stood motionless.
“Aaron Godman?” The clerk repeated the name. “Aaron Godman! Oh dear, that is some time ago now, at least five years. But you are perfectly correct, of course. Our Mr. Pryce prosecuted that one, and secured a conviction. It went to appeal, I believe before Mr. Stafford, among others. There are usually five judges of appeal, but you will know that.”
The junior with the ledger continued his journey and the pens began to move again, but there was a curious air of listening in the room although no one turned or looked at Pitt.
“Do you by any chance recall who they were?” he asked.
“Not by chance, sir, by memory,” the clerk replied. “Mr. Stafford himself, Mr. Ignatius Livesey, Mr. Morley Sadler, Mr. Edgar Boothroyd and Mr. Granville Oswyn. Yes, that is correct. I believe Mr. Sadler has retired from the bench now, and I heard Mr. Boothroyd had moved to the Chancery division. Surely the case is no longer of any interest? As I recall, it was denied at appeal. There really were no grounds for opening up the matter again, none at all. Dear me, no. The trial was conducted with perfect propriety, and there was most certainly no new evidence.”
“You are speaking of the appeal?”
“Of course. What else?”
“I had heard that Mr. Stafford was still interested in the matter, and had interviewed several of the principal witnesses again in the last few days.”
Again the writing stopped and there was a prickly silence.
“Indeed? I had not heard that!” The clerk looked quitetaken aback. “I cannot imagine what that would mean. However, it did not concern these chambers, Mr.—er … Mr. Pitt, you say? Quite so—Mr. Pitt. We prosecuted the case, we did not defend. That, as I recall, was Mr. Barton James, of Finnegan, James and Mulhare, of Fetter Lane.” He frowned. “Although it is most odd that Mr. Stafford should be enquiring in the matter. If indeed there is some new evidence come to light, I would have thought Mr. James should take it up—if it is of any importance?”
“Miss Macaulay, Godman’s sister, appealed personally to Mr. Stafford,” Pitt explained.
“Oh dear, yes indeed. A most tenacious young woman-most misguided.” The clerk shook his head. “Unfortunate. An actress person, I believe. Most unfortunate. Well, sir, what is it that we may do for you?”
“May I see Mr. Pryce, if he is available? He was at the theater yesterday evening, and Mr. Stafford also called upon him earlier in the day. He may
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