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M onday morning, Silas reviewed the work that had to be done that week, and instructed Luke, the new junior clerk, in as much of it as he could before he accompanied Pemberton to Ezra’s hearing before the Queen’s Bench, which had jurisdiction over criminal cases such as murder. “Usually a case of this stature would be heard under the chief justice, but he is ailing,” Pemberton said, as they walked out of the Inns of Court. “So we have been assigned to Justice Kenyon, one of the puisne judges.”

“Puny?” Silas asked.

Pemberton spelled it. “It’s an outdated French term for an ordinary judge. As you are exposed to more of the court system, you’ll find that we have retained many terms from French or Old English.”

They entered Palace Yard, and Pemberton nodded to a few of the white-wigged gownsmen who straggled into the huge hall, followed here and there by an ink-stained clerk like Silas or an anxious client.

Pemberton led the way to the lobby of the Queen’s Bench Court, where an old woman sat at an apple-stall, selling a collection of gingerbread and sweet-stuff, and close by the side of a roaring fire large enough to roast a baron of beef.

Silas was in awe of everything. He followed Pemberton through a set of tall curtains and into a single chamber, some forty feet square, and about that many feet in height as well. It was a gloomy, wintry day, and the room was only dimly lit from a domed circular lantern in the roof. Pemberton moved easily through the crowd in his gown and wig, and Silas struggled to keep up with him.

The judge sat under a carved canopy in front of the royalarms, on a dais. Silas could only imagine how it must feel to be a defendant in such a court. And what of years or decades earlier when the actual sovereign would sit in judgment?

Judge Kenyon sported a white wig like Pemberton’s, but with two large side appendages that rested upon his shoulders. He wore a large scarlet gown with many folds, all of it brocaded with ermine.

Pemberton motioned Silas to a seat in the pit, amongst other clerks, witnesses, and anyone who had business before the court. He took his own place at a long table which had been amply supplied with writing materials.

Silas sat quietly as other cases were brought up and quickly despatched. It was clear that Kenyon had no patience for fools, and the smartest barristers, like Pemberton, kept their discourse to a minimum. When Ezra’s case was called, Pemberton stood and addressed the judge. “Mr. Curiel is a well-known figure in the community and owns a home in Hackney which he can supply as a surety to allow him release from prison until his trial.”

That was all, Silas wondered? No attempt to lay out the case against Ezra and rebut its charges? But Pemberton knew what he was doing. Judge Kenyon agreed to bail, slapped his gavel, and moved on.

Pemberton then rose and left the table, motioning for Silas to follow him. “Is that all?” Silas asked, when they were back in the lobby with the old woman.

“All we have to do,” Pemberton said. “Wigton will arrange the bail and have Mr. Curiel released. Please go to Ormond Yard now and confirm that we will be able to have a meeting there this evening to discuss strategy. Take a carriage there and collect the fare from the office account, because time is of the essence.”

Silas nodded.

Pemberton continued, “If that is acceptable, send invitations to Mr. Desjardins and Lord Therkenwell, and then compose a note requesting Mr. Curiel join us and have Robb carry it to the prison. I would rather that Mrs. Curiel not be aware of what we are doing, because we don’t know her motives in this case.”

Pemberton stopped to talk to another barrister, and Silas hurried out to the Strand, where he flagged down a carriage. When they reached Ormond Yard, he had the carriage wait until he was able to confirm, via Will and then Magnus, that the group could meet there that evening.

He sat back in the carriage for the return to the Inns of Court. He felt quite above his station scurrying around the city by carriage where he was accustomed to walking, and wondered if that would be a part of his new job replacing Cyril. Though if he recalled, Cyril had stayed glued to his desk and sent Silas out on his errands.

When he returned to the office he wrote invitations to John and Raoul, and the note to Ezra. “Take this to Mr. Curiel at Southwark Prison,” he said to Robb. “If you have already missed him, then go to the bailiff’s office, or failing that to his address in Hackney. Take care not to hand it to Mrs. Curiel. Then deliver the other two, which are of lesser importance.”

Robb agreed and took off. Luke had some questions about a document he was copying, and Silas looked it over with him. He was pleased to see that the new boy had a good handwriting and an attention to detail. They talked through the problems and Silas returned to the other cases on his desk. An hour or more later, Robb returned, having hand-delivered the message to Ezra. “He read it and said he will be there,” he said. “I also left the notes you wrote at Eaton Square and the French Consulate.”

“Excellent. Now I have these documents which must be delivered to Wigton’s office.”

“Will he be given an invitation this evening as well?” Robb asked. “Because I could take that at the same time.”

Pemberton had returned from court by then, so Silas stuck his head in the door of the office and asked. “Come inside, please, and shut the door,” Pemberton said.

Silas was worried. Had he done or said something that morning to cause offense?

“The meeting this evening will be populated largely by inverts,” Pemberton said. “Since Wigton is not one of us, I would rather we not involve him directly. I will control what information he receives.”

“Very good, sir,” Silas said, and returned to the outer office where he told Robb not to mention the dinner to Wigton or anyone in his office.

He went back to work, but his thoughts were consumed by the late Nathan Walpert. He was a very average-looking man, like many of the middle-class men who crowded the hall, and nothing about him spoke out, either as a consummate gambler or an invert.

The life of men like him was always shadowed by violence. Make a move to the wrong man, and you could be reported to the police, beaten, or even killed. He had heard several cases of men near molly houses or in lonely alleys who had approached the wrong man for sex.

Was that the cause of Walpert’s death? And if he was killed for being a man who loved men, what did that mean for Silas? If he was on his own once again, would he have to be wary of every man who caught his eye?