Page 39 of The Demons of Wychwood

CHAPTER 22

THE MAGISTRATE

After breakfast the liveried carriage arrived and Kit, Mr. Beckett, and I set out on our long journey to Exeter to meet with the district magistrate, who went by the la-de-dah name of His Worship Mr. Rupert Quintrelle.

The day was bright and sunny, a blessing after the stormy weather of the previous night. The carriage rumbled along the hilly coast road and passed the bustling fishing village of Starcross on the River Exe. The view from our high position was unhindered today and I could see across the river to Lympstone a small town on the far bank. I’d always loved the wild landscapes around these parts; they called to my heart like a song on the wind. Devon felt like home in a way London never had. Kit, in his lordly finery was sitting opposite me, his red leather clad hands atop one another resting on his silver topped cane. I knew from his closed expression that he was worried about what would come to pass at this meeting. Kit may well be the Duke of Penhelligan, but he’d been absent from his lands for the years since he’d reached his majority, favoring Oxford and London over Devon. He had his own reasons for becoming an absentee landowner, and who was I to judge him. I’d had another natter with Mrs. Trelawney after breakfast and she’d explained why she believed there was no justice for the girls who had been abused by the General.

“His powerful friend Quintrelle ensured that he was protected and our girls were treated like leavings for the pigs,” Lilly had said tearfully. I hoped that now, as Lord Penhelligan had returned to take on his responsibilities, he wielded enough power to make a difference to our petition.

The problem as I saw it was that locally, Kit Havelock was an unknown. He had few acquaintances or supporters. The locals didn’t know him as anything more than a child, the son of the great hero of the Sikh war, Charles Havelock, Duke of Penhelligan. They’d never met the man he’d become, a man I knew to be kind, thoughtful, and determined to right the many wrongs that had befallen his servants.

Mr. Beckett waited until we were well on our way before he spoke up about the uncomfortable business we were about today.

“Milord, I understand that in arranging this meeting with the district magistrate you wish to alert of your intention to petition on behalf of your deceased servants. It is commendable to take up their case but be warned, milord, as the bereaved family members tried and were refused, I do not think this will be an easy task. I am sure you are aware that magistrates are not legally empowered to try cases of rape. I know that many claim this power, but it is a blatant misuse of the rule of law. The law expects that the accuser themselves should stand before the magistrate and make their telling, along with any witnesses. The magistrate then, and only then, should decide whether there is a case to be heard, and if so, the case will be sent to the county Judge. In this case it would be the Right-Honourable Sir Edgar Hawthorne. Alternatively, the magistrate could, as happens in the majority of cases where rape is accused, dismiss it entirely.”

Mr. Beckett’s learned words made me shudder, because it was not a path to justice for the likes of Elowen. She had been too afraid and ashamed to speak out about what General Napier had done to her. She’d thought that if she spoke up, she would lose her position at Penhelligan Hall and become destitute. And so, Elowen, like the other young maids who had been prey for the beast, remained silent. And when their bellies grew new life, the fears also grew, because Napier had threatened that their babies would be taken from them.

Our carriage trundled down the busy road beside the River Exe leading into the city. Kit remained silent and thoughtful. “This is not going to be an easy task, gentlemen, not easy at all,” Mr. Beckett worried again, his jowls wobbling as he shook his head. I didn’t know what we should do for the best.

“I understand that magistrate Quintrelle and the General are longtime friends, birds of a feather as it were!” I said. Mrs. Trelawney had warned me not to trust a word from the old bastard’s mouth.

“Yes, I’m aware Quintrelle is a friend of my stepfather. This is why I will have to speak plainly and ensure he understands that I will do all within my power and influence in Devon, and in London, to find justice. I cannot find justice for my…personal wrongs, so I will fight for Elowen, little Bess, and the poor girls and boys who lost their lives.”

It was a market day and our driver had to stop several times on Cowick Street when throngs of people filled the road. When finally we crossed the bridge over the River Exe we headed for High Street and then took the turn onto the steep tree lined roadway up the hill to the menacing red stone walls of Rougemont Castle. Over a hundred years ago all of the buildings inside the walls were torn down to make way for a grand white stone Palladian style courthouse. The castle itself was a red stone ruin that dated back to the time of William the Conqueror. It was a place that many feared and where the last witches in England were found guilty. The likes of me only got to see inside the ruins at Rougemont by being brought before the courts, or by visiting someone standing trial. I’d been here a time or two when I was a nipper and witnessed my Pa, Ferron Lazarus being sent down for thieving and smuggling.

Stepping out of the carriage we were met by a nervous looking man in his middle years.

“Ah, Lord Penhelligan, it is an honour. I am Matthew Hale, Clerk of the Court,” he bowed subserviently. “If you would care to follow me, I shall take you directly to meet with His Worship Quintrelle,” the man said with a tremble to his voice.

As expected, building was fancy, with marble floors, wide staircases and huge oil paintings of old wiggy judges, historical scenes, ships, and landscapes. Mr. Hale led us up a staircase and along a carpeted hall to the double-doors of the magistrate’s chamber. He knocked twice and with a shout of “Entahh” Hale opened the door.

I spied the man seated at a huge oak desk, hunched over a pile of documents…and my blood chilled. See, I knew this cove, I’d seen him before, but he hadn’t seen me! I’d observed this fellow in a bedroom at Wychwood. He’d had his pink arse in the air while he was being given a seeing-to by another man of his age, and he loved it! It seems to me that there were indeed demons at Wychwood. They ain’t of the religious kind, sent by Satan to corrupt, but in the form of men, powerful men, liars, and hypocrites who judged the lives of others they consider beneath them, when their own lives are sinful in the eyes of their God. My blood burned with anger. I thought on how the families of the dead servants had petitioned this bastard to bring General Edward Napier before the court and he’d dismissed them for lack of evidence. This Rupert Quintrelle knew exactly what the General was made of, and he protected him.

While Mr. Hale was announcing the Duke of Penhelligan and us guests I leaned up and whispered a warning into Kit’s ear. “I know him; he’s a member of Club Fifty-five.” I felt Kit stiffen at my side.

“A moment, please gentlemen,” Kit said apologetically and then stepped aside pulling me with him so we could speak privately.

“Are you sure?” Kit asked in a harried whisper. “I’ve never seen him there before.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure. He has a favourite who he likes to bugger him. They always take room eight.”

“The General has been his friend for decades, and now we know he shares his tastes. He may well have been informed about…me.” Kit said with a fearful look in his eyes, one I hadn’t seen since he sat with me in the kitchen at Wychwood.

“I say we play by the book and use the witness statements to see if Quintrelle can be swayed. If that ain’t enough, this new information will come in handy,” I suggested with a nod and a wink.

“Yes, yes, you are correct, thank you for your counsel,” Kit nodded and then stepped back to the doorway where Mr. Becket was waiting for us.

“Is everything alright, milord?” he asked in confusion.

“Yes, yes quite alright,” Kit reassured, and then he stepped forward his hand out to greet His Worship Rupert Quintrelle.

The magistrate’s chambers consisted of three adjoined rooms, the walls were lined with dark stained half-paneling, and on the pale walls above were paintings of ships and local landscapes.

“Ah, milord, it’s so good of you to find the time to come down to Devon. I don’t believe you’ve been to Penhelligan since you reached your majority, isn’t that right?” Oh, so that’s how it was going to be! Quintrelle weren’t pulling his punches at all; getting the first dig in about Kit’s supposed failure as a landowner.

“Indeed sir, it has been far too long and now is the time to take up the reins of my hereditary responsibilities,” Kit said, then added, “I’d like to introduce my lawyer Mr. Beckett and my associate Mr. Lazarus.” Quintrelle shook our hands limply and then directed us to the right to a room with huge, dressed windows overlooking the castle gardens. In the center of the room was a long polished mahogany table where it appeared the magistrate took his meetings. After a knock, the door opened and a butler pushed a wheeled trolley with tea things for the four of us. We seated ourselves and the butler served us all then left. I swear you could’ve heard a pin drop as we each took a sip of the strong tea. Placing my dainty teacup back on the saucer made a sound that rang like a bell.

“Milord,” Quintrelle began. “I understand you wish to make a petition against General Edward Napier. I must say, I am quite surprised to hear this. As I understand it he has been a stalwart and formidable father figure for you and your sister. Penhelligan Hall is vitally important to the people of this area. Many families work on your land, and in the hall itself. However, since reaching your majority you have been absent. In my position as a magistrate governing from Exeter to Dawlish, that will not do. An absent landlord who shirks his responsibilities endangers the livelihoods of many poor, working class families. In my humble opinion, the General is a good man. He has done you a great service in taking on the paterfamilias responsibilities and he has done his best to guide you into manhood,” the magistrate blustered.