33. An Apothecary, a Dutchman, and a Jeweler #2
From the dock, Lilith’s expression remained unreadable. Rudi, by contrast, had taken to grinding his teeth audibly.
“My Lords, if it pleases the court, I should like to present evidence that reveals the nature of the accused,” Creswell said gravely, casting a look at Miles, prompting him to leave the courtroom. “The abominable cruelty toward an helpless beast.”
Moments later, Miles re-entered, his arms cradling the slight form of Periwinkle.
The little dog’s pitiable state drew immediate murmurs of sympathy from the gallery, especially the SPCA members.
There was a strip of linen wound around his slender torso, concealing the worst cuts along his ribs, but even his ears bore signs of mistreatment, the edges nicked and raw.
When Miles placed him on the prosecution’s table before his seat, the little creature whined softly and lifted his injured leg off the surface.
“My Lords, good men of the jury, before you stands a harmless creature, cruelly snatched from it’s owner and shamefully abused.
For what purpose? To extort payment from Mr. Sinclair.
” Creswell’s voice dropped. “I take leave to remind the court that the debts incurred by Mr. Sinclair were fraudulently contrived at the Sixes & Sevens gaming tables.” Creswell went on, pointing to the pitiful animal on exhibit.
“What sort of man, my lord, sees a defenseless beast and responds not with compassion but with his heel?”
He let the image linger. “This is the deliberate handiwork of a monster—Rudi Bittermann!” He threw an accusatory finger toward the dock.
Rudi grabbed the edge of the dock. “Lies!” he shouted, his voice echoing.
There was a hubbub rising from the audience, causing Justice Holroyd to bring order by several gavel strikes. He then fixed the accused with a stern gaze. “Mr. Bittermann, silence yourself or be removed.” Of the prosecution, he asked. “What proof have you of this claim?”
From the depths of his brief-bag, Creswell produced a document. “My Lord, I present this affidavit—a sworn statement attesting to the abuse of the dog and of the person who shielded him.”
The clerk crossed the floor to relay the affidavit into the judge’s outstretched hand, who received it with a solemn nod.
Miles wanted to whirl around and eyeball Lucinda, but kept his composure and whispered to his brother. “That’s not from who I think it is. What’s she playing at?”
“Justice, my brother.”
Judge Holroyd read the affidavit, a frown deepening with every line. Reaching the bottom of the page, he looked displeased.
“These are grave allegations of violence, Lord Creswell.” He returned the document to the clerk and signaled for it to be presented to the defense barrister.
“Nevertheless, their statement is straightforward, their evidence compelling. This account accuses your client, Mr. Pettigrew-Hill, specifically Mr. Rudi Bittermann, of repeated acts of violence against a woman of repute.” The judge addressed his recorder.
“Add assault and battery, sir, to the list of charges.”
The defense barrister, still devouring the document, was speechless.
“My Lord,” Creswell’s voice distracted Holroyd from his note-taking. “It is the earnest desire of the witness to remain anonymous. For reasons that are, I believe, obvious.”
“I would imagine so after such scandalous behavior, sir. But it’s out of my hands. Does the defense accept the affidavit into evidence?”
The courtroom held its breath.
“I repeat, Mr. Pettigrew-Hill, what say you?”
Rudi Bittermann exploded once more. “It has to be lies!” he bellowed. “Say something, you fool!” he growled at Mr. Pettigrew-Hill.
Rudi’s menacing tone sent a shudder through the gallery.
Before the judge could reprimand him, Mr. Pettigrew-Hill leaped to his feet. “I must object, My Lord!” he cried. “This so-called affidavit is no more trustworthy than that infernal ransom note! A forgery! It’s all of a piece!”
“Mr. Pettigrew-Hill,” he said, annoyed, “you allege the document is forged—on what basis, sir?”
“Well—it must be forged!” came the reply. “Why else hide the witness? If the accusation were true, the lady—if she can be called such—should come forward and own her deceit!”
“A poor argument, Mr. Pettigrew-Hill,” the judge replied.
“A witness’s fear for their safety is no indication of falsehood.
Still—” He turned to Creswell. “The law is obliged to see and hear its witness. Anonymous allegations, however persuasive, cannot carry the weight of sworn testimony in open court.”
There was a pause. Creswell looked annoyed, then schooled his features into composure. “The witness is present in court, My Lord, and is prepared to testify.”
A stir passed through the gallery.
Even Lilith Bittermann briefly lost her composure, scanning the audience as though trying to guess who the woman would be that dared to testify against them.
The judge leaned forward. “Then call your witness, Lord Creswell.”
From one of the tiered rows of the gallery, a figure rose to her feet.