25. Mr. Wilberforce Recommends an Advocate
Mr. Wilberforce Recommends an Advocate
That his hound had suffered grievous injury was an affront that the youngest of the Sinclair brothers could not allow to pass unchallenged. And so it was a day later that Miles and Alex debated how they would proceed against the Bittermanns after receiving a visit from Erik, the apothecary.
He had returned their sample wine bottle and with it, his report of its exact contents.
Alex stood at what had once been his father’s desk at the center of the library, drumming the surface, staring down at the green bottle. His brother and the count studied the apothecary’s report—now lying open before them on the desk.
“The wine was laced,” said Miles, brandishing his forefinger aloft. “Trace amounts of opium it says here. Just as you predicted, Johan.”
The Dutchman began a slow, knowing nod.
“So we’ve proven their wine is drugged, along with the weighted dice and Peri’s injuries, Bow Street must surely secure a conviction on such evidence. If they fail, they are greater fools than I credited.”
Lord Sinclair drew a long breath. “We will present the evidence, of course. But Miles, Peri’s injuries are hardly a matter for the courts.”
“But they didn’t just come after me; they went after him too.
They used him as a pawn to get to me, and they hurt him.
They would have seen him dead, Alex. That the Bittermanns would stoop so low as to kidnap and harm an innocent dog reveals their true nature—utterly despicable and devoid of empathy.
We must ensure Periwinkle’s injuries are included in the charges,” he insisted fervently.
“It must form part of the indictment—I insist upon it.”
“And what of Lucinda? She’s sustained injuries. Don’t you think I want to seek retribution for what they did to her?”
Miles shook his head. “But we don’t know what they did to her. She could have fallen and hurt herself!”
“Having witnessed Rudi’s ungovernable temper, I find that unlikely,” Johan said. “But gentlemen, gentlemen, you cannot have forgotten. Lucinda for the sake of her reputation, has never been to the Sixes we might find room for three,” he said, gathering papers from seats.
Alex took the seat closest to the man’s desk. “Mr. Wilberforce, we come to you with a matter of grave importance. One that involves not only the welfare of animals but the very fabric of justice in this city.”
“Well, now,” William said mildly, “that does sound quite dire. Do enlighten me.”
The narrative was laid before him in full—beginning with whispers of the Bittermanns’ villainies on the Continent, meandering through their London ventures in gambling and deception, and reaching its crescendo in the scandalous abduction of a greyhound.
William listened intently, his expression growing graver with each revelation. As the last notes of the tale fell into silence, he leaned back in his chair, considering.
Discomforted by the silence, Miles imbued the dry account with emotion. “They took him, sir. My dog . They hurt him, and for what? To prove they could? To show they hold the power?” He swallowed hard, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. “I will not let them go unpunished. I cannot .”
Wilberforce regarded him with some interest. “A grievous business indeed,” he murmured at last. “The evidence is compelling, I grant you. If half of what you allege is true, the Bittermanns have overstepped in ways that cannot be ignored.” He paused, his gaze shifting to Miles.
“And your concern for your dog does you credit, Mr. Sinclair. Cruelty to animals is a blight on our society, and those who perpetrate it must be held accountable.”
“Then you will help us?” asked Alex.
Wilberforce stood with some effort, bracing his hands against the desk. “In the best way I know how. What you need, gentlemen, is a magistrate—one who can issue a warrant with appropriate discretion. Fortunately, I’ve just the man. If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
He shuffled to the door with determined dignity. When he returned, it was with another gentleman in tow—shorter, stouter, robed, and bearing a bundle of papers.
“What’s this, Wilber? A council meeting or a game of sardines?”
“Gentlemen, may I present Mr. Dolben, a magistrate and friend of mine. Billy, this is Lord Alex Sinclair, his younger brother, Miles, and Count van der Meer. They are in need of justice—or at the very least, an arrest warrant.”
Dolben offered a dry smile and a perfunctory bow. “Delighted to oblige, so long as none of you expects me to chase the villains down alleys. Those days are long past.”
Alex rose to shake the man’s hand. “Please, sir, take my seat.”
Once more, the story was related—this time with more emphasis on the Bittermanns’ talent for evading prosecution, their sordid fondness for drugged wine and loaded dice, and finally, their descent into dog-thieving.
A pencil appeared as if conjured in Mr. Dolben’s hand, and he began scratching out notes. “You have a bottle of the wine in question?” Dolben asked, his keen mind working on the crimes with a view to the evidentiary scope.
“Yes,” Miles was quick to corroborate.
“And the dice?” asked Dolben, eyes on his paperwork.
Johan nodded. “Weighted for certain, and not even subtly.”
Dolben grunted. “The dog’s injuries will be trickier, they’ve broken no laws there. Anyone witness the assault?”
He received only reticent head shakes to that question.
“Were there no witnesses to this despicable act?” asked Wilber.
The brothers exchanged uneasy glances. Mentioning Lucinda’s presence was fraught with complications.
“There was a witness, sir,” Johan offered, with the air of one reluctant to elaborate.
Both Sinclair brothers turned sharply toward him, their expressions alert.
“Though,” he added with measured care, “their involvement might be viewed as delicate.”
Dolben’s legal mind objected. “Delicate? You must be more specific. Was the witness of questionable character?”
“Not at all,” Alex said, a little too defensively. “Merely someone who prefers to remain unmentioned,” he concluded with reserve.
William suppressed a smile, recalling a mass of red curls. “Ah, I see. A lady, perhaps?”
Miles shifted uncomfortably. “We did not say so.”
“You did not need to,” Wilberforce said with a chuckle. “Well, no matter—the testimony can be managed.”
“Precisely, sir. Will you speak for us in the King’s Court?” asked Miles. “And Mr. Dolben will you preside at the bench for the hearing?”
Mr. Dolben smiled indulgently at the young man.
“I can and will issue the arrest warrant, Mr. Sinclair. Getting the Bittermanns under lock and key before they can abscond yet again would be prudent. But as for the court, you’ll have to take your chances with the magistrate on duty, I would need to recuse myself from further involvement.
But rest easy. Your evidence is strong, and your enemies notably unsubtle. ”
“Thank you, Mr. Dolben, your input will bring relief to many,” said Alex.
“Not at all, Lord Sinclair. Thank you for bringing these scoundrels to our attention. Wilber, I’ll see you at supper?” He received a grateful look and a nod in reply. Offering deferential head nods to the other gentlemen, he left the overcrowded room.
When the door had closed behind Dolben, Miles turned back to Wilberforce. “Will you take the case then, sir?”
“No, Mr. Sinclair, I would only do you a disservice.”
“But, sir, you see how important—”
“Gentlemen, victory being of paramount importance in this affair, I should strongly advise you to secure the services of Lord Edwin Creswell, without delay.”
The name landed in the room like a thunderclap. Johan tilted his head with a skeptical twist in his lips. Miles stiffened, sitting straighter with a frown, as Alex, ever the diplomat, raised a hand to forestall his brother’s inevitable protest.
“Lord Creswell?” he repeated, as though tasting something bitter.
“Not that insufferable windbag?” muttered Miles, his dislike of the man unable to be silenced. “I would sooner argue the case myself. Surely you cannot be serious, Mr. Wilberforce?”
“Wholeheartedly, Mr. Sinclair,” Wilberforce replied.
“He is the most formidable advocate in all of London. Whatever his flaws—and I do not deny that they are numerous—his skill in the courtroom is precisely what you require. Creswell may not be to your liking, but his success rate speaks for itself. You’ll not find a better advocate for your cause.
You do not need to befriend the fellow, that would ask too much of any man.
But you ought to recognize his value. If you wish to see the Bittermanns brought to justice—and I know you do—then Lord Creswell is your best hope of success. ”