Page 36 of Burying Venus

‘All rise,’ Grazier said.

Fast to mimic the crowd, Dermot stood as three old men hurried into the court from behind some sort of screen, each one in robes so long they might’ve floated to their desk.

‘Please be seated,’ the man at the centre said. Dermot guessed him to be the judge, the men on either side of him stooping low.

‘We present an unusual case today. Though unfortunately the justices of the assize could not be brought from the mainland…’ a little fellow monotoned from his seat below the judge.

The impossibility of any man with sense stopping the affair became clear. Robert mentioned it before, that they were hot after Thorne for a trial and had ordered him not to act in the meantime. But men who attended university oftentimes did not return to the island, and they had precious few learned men about. Dermot closed his eyes, realising they were in for a farce.

‘If you could please…’ the man began again, but to no end as he was soon interrupted.

‘I am Lionel Corrin,’ said a young man, enunciating each word with care. He was tall but slight in stature with blond hair cropped just off the shoulder. Complexion like that of milk unspoilt, dressed and buttoned up as some attendant would have him. His surname was that of the Stanleys’ favoured pets, having been bequeathed land and estates. ‘I am the prosecuting magistrate.’ A mere lad in his twenties.

‘And I am Mr Mailey,’ the man beginning the proceedings continued. He spoke stiffly and with purpose, refusing to so much as look at Corrin. ‘Mrs Kinnish stands accused of practising witchcraft with her young nephew. This is in opposition to the act against conjuration, witchcraft, and the dealing of evil and wicked spirits, as well as being heresy. Theboy was tried by water this morning and has been declared a witch. Now, as for the trial, we must act in accordance with the law and motions passed to ensure a proper execution.’

And that was the gist of it. They were not here to preside over a hearing, rather a slaughter. Seemingly no man of the defence was present.

‘If Lord Robert Stanley could come forth as the first witness,’ Lionel said.

Dermot watched as Robert stood, his seat all rosewood and fine cushioning while the rest of them were condemned to a bench. He strode forward as if on a pleasant walk in the castle, smiling. When he moved all the women parted like a great sea, murmuring to each other as he walked past.

‘We needn’t ask our lord to state his name, nor his many titles,’ Lionel said. He stared up at Robert and smirked, and Dermot surmised they’d grown up together.

Robert read his declaration with great conviction so anyone in attendance would be forgiven for thinking him sincere. He did not require Corrin’s assistance and did not so much as glance at the paper fitted before him for the purpose. The fumbling stupidity that possessed both Lord Stanley and his forefathers seemed to have skipped a generation; that it already wrought so much destruction was telling.

‘Now, Lord Robert, if you could please tell us what happened the morning of your most fateful discovery,’ Corrin said, simpering like a woman.

‘Well,’ Robert began, and immediately Dermot noticed he did not look at anyone. His attention was on the wall behind them. ‘That very morning, I decided on a bout of hunting with my brothers. I have scarce a moment to spend with them, you see, with all my duties about the castle and the many tasks I have to attend to in my father’s stead.’ The women actually cooed at this, nudging each other as if they might cultivate him into a happierman. ‘The three of us readied our horses and made haste as to ensure a good, long day. And, Mr Corrin, I would like to note here that I brought along a serving man. We have no cause for additional help, of course, but did require someone to bring back the trophies won.’

Immediately the court turned to Dermot, the only man on the bench they’d been corralled onto that actually looked fit to carry anything about. A woman pretended to faint upon seeing him, and he nearly walked out in shame.

‘That sounds perfectly reasonable, Lord Robert,’ Corrin said.

‘Continuing on, we had just about made it to the forest when a boy rushed out in front of us. It was a dangerous thing, any one of us could have been knocked to the ground,’ Robert said.

‘Hang him!’ one man shouted. Perhaps heaven finally touched them, the people rising at last. ‘Hang the pair of them! God rot all who would do harm to Lord Robert!’

The clerk, inclining his head upon realising Corrin didn’t intend to intervene, sat back, scandalised.

‘Silence,’ the judge murmured. His lips did not move, rather his mouth was slightly ajar as if in the midst of a fit.

‘If you would please continue, Lord Robert,’ Corrin said.

‘Indeed. Well, after that affront he ran, so I needed to pursue. To make sure he was well, of course, but also because this may have been an attempt to end my life by other parties,’ Robert said. The court, full of earnest people, was quick to believe in the goodness of their betters. They could not justify men living in luxury without decree. To them, Robert was not simply a man, he was chosen by God. Innocents could not philosophise on evil without coming to doubt the divine good.

‘Upon his successful capture, his aunt was revealed to us. She spat curses most cruelly, invoking her own earthly gods so we knew her as a witch,’ Robert said.

The crowd thrilled at this. Girls laughed as their beaus frightened them with a sudden noise, the whole town come together for a pleasant day.

‘It was a struggle for my serving man to apprehend her and the boy securely, yet we all had to assist, it not being right to subject a man of poor learning to such evil,’ Robert said.

Skin prickling with needles, Dermot scratched his face and said nothing, utterly humiliated.

‘For our own poor lord to lay hands on such evil. It doesn’t bear thinking on,’ Corrin said. If anyone doubted the legitimacy of the proceedings, they had their answer. ‘Lord Robert, please return to your seat. My most sincere apologies for making you relive such a traumatic event.’

Robert stepped out of the witness box and returned to his seat, waving at the spectators like an actor.

Corrin inclined one pretty finger, pale as the peeling paint of the castle, and signalled to Aubrey. He had lighted on Tristan for a moment before wavering. Lord Stanley’s second son was near keeled over, eyes coloured the same crimson as his lips so his drunkenness was plain to see. No doubt his involvement would’ve been disastrous, something even Corrin judged right.