Page 22 of The Demons of Wychwood

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.

Kit’s soon put pay to these falsehoods. “I do hope that all that is shared between us during this meeting remains confidential, sir.”

“Of course. It goes without saying, you can trust me, milord,” Quintrelle couldn’t hide the condescension from his voice. I knew by the look in his eyes that I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could spit! Lord Penhelligan nodded and spoke on.

“This is a rather embarrassing situation, sir, but you assume too much. Whoever told you I was petitioning solely on my hereditary rights was mistaken. I’m here to speak with you about multiple egregious occurrences that cannot be permitted to continue. As you are an external observer it may look, on face value, as if the General was doing me a service by looking after my estate. However, this assumption is incorrect. He did not take on my responsibilities as a kindness. The General was a kind and thoughtful man when he first married my mother, but over the years he changed. He became cruel and has wrought a coercive grip over me and my family for many years. There are times I’ve been afraid of him, fearing for my life. I was unable to stand up for myself because of my young age and my fears about the ramifications of speaking up,” he paused and licked his lips. “I have grave concerns about the safety of my mother and my sister in relation to General Napier, and after what I’ve discovered about the events at Penhelligan Hall in my absence, I can see that my concerns are warranted.”

The elderly magistrate harrumphed in disgust at what he’d heard, he moved to comment, but Kit held up a stilling hand. “But I will stay silent no longer. I’m claiming my birthright, and taking on the responsibilities my father passed on to me on his death.” Kit paused for a breath and turned to me for reassurance. I gave him a nod, and pacified he continued.

“Your Worship, I confess that I’ve discovered that my estate is in disarray. I spent yesterday speaking with the servants at Penhelligan Hall in the presence of my lawyer, Mr. Beckett, and my associate Mr. Lazarus who witnessed all that was said.” He gestured to us both as we sat silently either side of him.

“What the servants at Penhelligan told is the type of villainous aberrations one would read of in a Penny Dreadful. I understand that you are the General’s long-time confidant; however, as the magistrate of Exeter to Dawlish you should know that General Napier was never given the lawful permission to take control of my Estate. He also did not cease his influence from Penhelligan when I came of age. He has overstepped, actually, that term is far too tame for what he has done. The General abused his power and has behaved as if he were the Duke, and not me. When my mother is not in residence, he is a menace. He drank my father’s wine cellar dry and plundered his way through the bordellos of Exeter, bringing both girls and boys back to debauch at my family home. To add insult to injury, he ensured all of the bills for his debauchery were sent to the Penhelligan account for payment. I believe that the General has defrauded me for a considerable sum. My accountant is working on a full tally of debts as proof of his crime, and my banker has been told that General Napier has been cut off and no invoices in his name will be honoured. My servants endured terrible, terrible abuses at his hands and I am determined to find justice.”

I have to say, my heart fluttered listening to Kit’s oration. He was so very brave in facing one of Napier’s cronies with the truth of the situation and I was proud of him.

Magistrate Quintrelle took a gulp of tea, then pinned Kit with his gaze. “Milord, these accusations are egregious. You are correct in your belief that General Napier is known to me for many years, but forgive me, milord, they do not sound like they were carried out by the man I know. The General is and always has been a generous upstanding gentleman. He is a war hero no less, and his service to the crown should be respected!”

Kit did not wait a beat to answer, and my adoration for him grew. “If the General has shown you generosity it is I who unwittingly bankrolled it. And no sir, I don’t know what tales of bravery Edward has told you, but is no hero. His title was purchased and the only damage he’s done with a sword is to accidentally cut his finger.” Kit was on fire now and I was enthralled.

“Sir, do you know the names Elowen Lazarus, Jenny Penrose, Tamsin Birch, Lamorna Carne, Myrna Darke, Annie Gregor, Jago Traynor and Elias Kellow?”

The elderly man stared blankly at Kit, then grimaced, pushed back his chair, stood and with his hands behind his back strode to the nearest window where he stilled and looked out into the Rougemont gardens. I though this terribly rude. This bugger knew those names alright, but he couldn’t look Kit in the eye.

Kit was not put off by having the magistrate’s back to talk to. “Your Worship, surely you must remember these names? The families of six maidservants from Penhelligan, all got with child by General Edward Napier, petitioned you seeking justice and you dismissed their case,” Kit said outraged.

Quintrelle turned and raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Milord, the law of the land is clear. It states that the age of consent is twelve. If the General took these girls for a tumble, what business is it of ours what happens behind closed doors? No law was broken,” he sneered as if he was speaking with a simpleton.

“Sir, I must insist that you reconsider this case.”

“Accusation of Rape is most heinous, milord. And multiple sexual assaults, if proven, would show the General to be a dangerous predator who should face the full force of the law. However, there is much ambiguity about the nature of the offence. Rape is an accusation easily made and hard to be defended by the accused. For instance, in the cases you’ve insinuated about between General Napier and servant girls and boys, were there any witnesses?

“No, I do not believe there were witnesses to the actual offences, as was the General’s design.”

The magistrate held his hand up again to silence Kit. “The issue remains that there are no witnesses and no proof. These girls have passed, God rest their souls. The dead cannot speak, and without firm proof of wrongdoing by the General, accusations by these families are merely hearsay.”

“Sir, I witnessed a firsthand telling by the surviving young woman Elowen Lazarus, and it is my solemn belief she was indeed raped by General Edward Napier. When her belly began to show he took her to London and abandoned her. She wishes to make a formal complaint. Justice must be served.” Kit demanded.

“This young woman is quite welcome to follow regular judicial procedure and petition me directly with the details of her accusation.” Quintrelle sneered condescendingly, then he turned back to gaze out of the window as if the conversation we were having was meaningless and he was done with it. I could stay silent no longer. Elowen had been too afraid and ashamed to speak out about what Napier had done. And if she thought that she could have gotten justice she would have sought a reckoning herself. But all in the district knew that the General and the magistrate were thick as thieves. There could be no justice through regular channels. I rose up from my chair and roared,

“How much is he paying you for your silence?” I knew I should have kept schtum but I was so outraged that couldn’t keep the words in.

Quintrelle turned from the window and gasped “I beg your pardon!” I may well lose my job at Wychwood if word of what I was about to say got back to the employer, but I’d just about had enough of this rich bully.

I stepped away from my seat and began to stroll towards the hypocrite whose bushy lamb chop sideburns had jiggled in time with his fleshy arse as he was pounded.

“I’ve seen you before your worship,” I sneered. “You like a little trip up to London once a month for a particular type of party, ain’t that right?” I saw the old bastard’s cheeks start to pinken.

“I recall that you take room eight.” Quintrelle’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. I didn’t want to shame him for his desires or share his membership number, but hearing the room number he used with his beau, that was enough to scare the piss out of him.

“Who the devil are you, man?” he sneered low and vicious, like a dog readying to pounce.

“I’m the brother of the only girl who survived Edward Napier’s unwanted attention. He fathered her daughter. She told me what he did to her, and she did not consent. I won’t stop until she finds her justice, and if sharing the sordid secrets of you, and Edward Napier with a fellow in the press is what we need to do, my friend the Duke of Penhelligan and I will make that happen.”

“Are you blackmailing me…a magistrate?” Quintrelle chuckled unperturbed by my threat.

“Oh no sir, there’s no need to be getting a head of yourself. We ain’t blackmailing you, cos that would assume we want payment in return for our silence. What we want is for you to do your job is all. Arrest him. It really would be in your best interest to make that happen.”

I pivoted to see both Kit and Mr. Beckett looking at me with a mixture of horror and wonder in their eyes.

Quintrelle turned back to the window and was silent for a tense moment. Then without looking back to face us, in a waspish voice he said, “Very well. I will issue a warrant for the arrest of General Edward Napier. Now, good day gentlemen, milord, I have business to attend to.”

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