Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
AIDAN
“All rise for Lord Ruthven.”
The justice made his way to his seat on the elevated dais, and the courtroom settled in. Aidan looked over at the Chattan brothers, standing together in the dock. Desperate men, and the strain showed in their faces. The stakes could not be higher, and they knew it.
Edmund Chattan was twenty-two years old.
A weaver in Elgin, he was short and dark and wore a constant demeanor of unsmiling earnestness that, Aidan was certain, marked him even in the best of times.
His brother George was fierce and hotheaded, quick to fight and quick to forgive.
The two young men were not complicated fellows, and he knew they were more worried about their aging father than their own future.
Still, their long period of incarceration and the first day of trial had been hard on them.
The charges of treason were heavy. Conspiring to devise plans to subvert the Constitution. Conspiring to murder the Military Governor of the Highlands and the Lord Mayor of Elgin and a dozen other charges.
If they were found guilty of any one of them, the punishment would be swift and brutal.
Aidan overheard that the plans were to erect a scaffold on Castle Hill for the execution.
The Home Office wanted the spectacle to be as public as possible.
The Chattan brothers were being portrayed as monsters, and their end would be seen as righteous, swift, and final.
Aidan knew who was directing these dramatics.
Sir Rupert Burney was sitting in the front corner seat of the spectators.
He and the judge, Lord Ruthven, exchanged a discreet nod of greeting.
Known for his speed and lack of mercy, the judge was the scourge of the Outer Court of Session in Edinburgh.
Loose in his interpretation of law, careless of justice, Ruthven rode roughshod over the rights of the innocent.
It was Lord Ruthven who was brought in to see that “justice” was done when young Hardie and Baird were duped into marching to the Carron Iron Works to seize weapons there. After a quick trial at Stirling, the two men were executed.
Aidan knew the judge well from skirmishes they’d had previously in Edinburgh.
He was not just merciless; he was a fawning tool of the Crown.
The man had been maneuvering for years for a position on the High Court of Judiciary.
Hanging these men—after finishing the case with an eloquent final address to the jury—would serve him well.
He had no more thought of fairness for a defendant than a butcher had for a side of old mutton.
As far as Aidan was concerned, there were only two monsters present in this courtroom, and one of them was presiding over this sham of a trial.
The other, Sir Rupert Burney, sat wearing the alert look of a fox about to devour a hen he’d made off with.
And he was not about to let this prize get away.
Lord Ruthven peered over his spectacles at his courtroom. Everyone was in place. Two journalists from government-supporting newspapers were in attendance, as they had been the first day of the trial.
Ruthven turned his attention to Aidan, gesturing for him to stand.
“Before we begin today, Mr. Grant, I’m warning you that I’ll not put up with your disruptions and the verbal gymnastics with which you clearly attempted to confuse the jury.
Neither will this trial be used as a platform for your radical views.
This is a court of law, sir. I insist that your addresses be pertinent to the grave matter your clients have been charged with. Do I make myself clear?”
Aidan scoffed, making certain his disdain was evident.
“Since you appear to have brought your schoolmaster’s rod to court with you this morning, Your Lordship, let me remind you that my duty here is not to sit by and allow my clients to be given short shrift by the prosecution nor anyone else . . . sir.”
Yesterday, the groundwork for this mockery of justice had been established.
After the jury was seated and the charges explained, the prosecution had made a daylong presentation of irrelevant argument, fabricated evidence, falsified documents and letters, and hearsay testimony sworn to by lying witnesses who’d obviously been coached and paid for their perjury.
Aidan had spent most of the time on his feet, objecting and arguing with both the judge and the prosecutor.
Once, when he’d caught his opponent directing the most condescending of smirks toward him, he’d been sorely tempted to drag the barrister over the table and thrash him.
Instead, Aidan had to be satisfied with simply crushing him with a verbal assault that left the man ashen and humiliated.
“If you are suggesting, sir . . .” Ruthven sputtered angrily. “If you are suggesting that this court is interested in anything but the even-handed dispensation of justice, then your defense of these men shows a warped bias that will not be tolerated.”
“My lord, I have not even begun my defense, so I question such an expressed judgment of ‘warped bias’ on the part of the court.”
“Take care, Mr. Grant. Your attitude is veering dangerously close to contempt of this court. You are treading on exceptionally thin ice.”
“Pray understand, my lord, that when it comes to contempt, I make a clear distinction between the court and the individuals present.”
Aidan thought for a moment that, judging from the scarlet color of Lord Ruthven’s face, his judicial wig might burst into flames.
He was treading close to the line, but Aidan knew exactly where that line was located.
If he nudged a bit over it, he was willing to take the risk.
Arrogant bullies like Ruthven needed to be kept off-balance, even in their own court.
Especially in their own court.
While the judge was still searching for the correct words of admonishment, Aidan gestured toward the wide-eyed jury and the prosecutor, who was staring stony-faced at the table before him.
“If Your Lordship wishes,” Aidan said calmly, “I am prepared to begin my defense.”
Hardly happy with the exchange, Lord Ruthven glared at him for a full minute before nodding curtly. “Proceed.”
Aidan looked casually at the notes he had spread on the table. At the back of the courtroom, the door opened, and two men entered, carrying satchels. He turned and gestured to the chairs reserved for the press.
“See here,” the judge snapped. “Who are you?”
“Journalists, my lord,” Aidan replied.
“I’m not addressing you,” Ruthven stormed, turning his attention to the newcomers. “Whom do you represent?”
“The Edinburgh Review, Your Lordship,” one replied.
“The Scotsman, my lord,” said the other.
The judge scowled at them before glancing at Sir Rupert.
“Is there a problem, my lord?” Aidan asked innocently. He knew perfectly well the problem. They were independent publications, highly critical of Parliament and Crown policies in Scotland.
Before Ruthven could respond, the door opened again, and two more men appeared and made their way toward the press section.
The judge sat back in his chair, his gaze following them as if they were pheasants fluttering into range.
“And you two,” he snapped. “Journalists?”
“Aye, my lord,” they answered in unison.
“The Manchester Observer.”
“The Times of London, Your Lordship.”
Ruthven swung his killing stare to Aidan. “Your work, I presume.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, sir. But freedom of the press is one of bulwarks upon which our society exists.
Even though certain branches of our current government see fit to manipulate and place restraints on our newspapers, the traditions of our noble land pertaining to such a valuable and venerable institution—”
“Enough! I need no lecture from you, Mr. Grant.”
The judge adjusted his gown and, resting his elbows on the table, shot a look at Sir Rupert over his clasped hands. He was not difficult to read. Ruthven was trying to see how this could be turned to his own advantage.
When the judge spoke again, he suddenly sounded like a gracious host.
“This court welcomes the members of the press who have come so far to bear witness to the justice of our system, and who will undoubtedly report the fair and impartial treatment that these defendants receive. And you may quote me, gentlemen.”
“If I may proceed then, Your Lordship.”
“The court is looking forward to hearing your defense, Mr. Grant.”
Aidan gestured to the bailiff. “I’d like to call Robert Wemys to the stand.”
At the back of the courtroom, the door opened, and the bailiff called for the witness.
A low rumble of murmur and whispered questions swept through the gallery. The pitch and volume rose, and Aidan didn’t need to turn around to know that Sebastian had entered, supporting Wemys.
“I believe this witness will shed a great deal of light on this case, my lord, as well as a number of other cases.”
Aidan looked up in time to see Sir Rupert Burney quietly whispering directions into the ear of a clerk, who immediately slipped out of the courtroom.
Lord Ruthven was staring at the spymaster, unsure of what threat this witness presented, but astute enough to realize that a problem had arisen.
Aidan watched as Sir Rupert’s eyes slid expressively from the judge toward the press section.
Sebastian and Wemys reached the defense table.
The journey to Inverness had taken its toll on the dying man.
His face was grey, his breathing shallow and forced.
His body seemed to have collapsed in on itself, and his clothing hung loosely from his bony shoulders.
Sebastian leaned him against the defense table.
“Brace yourself, Wemys,” Aidan whispered. “This is the moment in which you redeem your entire miserable life.”
“If that were only so,” he rasped.
Across the aisle, the prosecutor looked on blankly, unaware of who Wemys was but clearly unconcerned by the appearance of the surprise witness.
On the far side of the gallery, the motioning of Sir Rupert’s hand toward the door of the judge’s chambers was discreet but effective.
Rising calmly, as if he’d just remembered another engagement, he sauntered out of the courtroom.
But as he left, Sir Rupert directed a momentary and deadly glance at Aidan.
“The court will take a brief recess,” the judge announced, standing and hurrying from the courtroom before anyone could move.
Aidan helped lower Wemys into a chair at the defense table. Minutes ticked by.
The audience in the gallery was growing louder, and the clearly bewildered members of the jury were glancing at the judge’s door, wondering what was causing the delay. In the dock, the faces of the Chattan brothers showed their confusion.
Searc Mackintosh was sitting toward the back with the shipowner Captain Kenedy and another man that Aidan didn’t know. Searc’s bristly eyebrows were darting around the courtroom, taking in everything.
Finally, the door of the judge’s chambers opened, and Lord Ruthven reappeared, looking like he’d been struck by lightning.
He staggered to his chair and sat down heavily.
Silence fell like a blanket over the room.
Every eye was on him. He looked vaguely at the members of the press and pushed a stack of papers around on his table.
Gathering himself, he was all business when he finally addressed the prosecutor.
“I must say that I am appalled, sir, by the shoddy preparation of this case. In fact, it has become abundantly clear that evidence of wrongdoing on the part of these two weavers has been tragically exaggerated.” He straightened his judicial wig and then shook his head.
“I’ll not allow these proceedings to continue.
Edmund Chattan. George Chattan. The charges against you are dismissed.
You are free to go. Bailiff, release the jury. Court is adjourned. God save the King.”
Everyone in the courtroom watched in silent disbelief as Lord Ruthven rose and scuttled off. No one moved for a long moment. Then, suddenly, the courtroom erupted in shocked cries.
Aidan turned to Sebastian. “Sir Rupert was willing to surrender the field, rather than have Wemys’s testimony go into the record.”
“That worked out well,” Sebastian responded.
Friends surrounded the two weavers, whose faces showed that they still didn’t believe they were free.
Aidan drew Sebastian aside. “Take care of our prize witness. Sir Rupert’s men may take a run at him before you get ten paces from the Tolbooth.
Get him to Searc’s house. I’ll send these distinguished members of the press after you.
We don’t want them to think they traveled all this way for nothing. ”
“I’ll make sure they hear what Wemys has to say.” Sebastian took hold of Aidan’s arm. “Take care, big brother. You made a deadly enemy today.”
Suddenly, the roar of a crowd outside could be heard.
“What’s that?” Aidan asked.
“I believe your public has just learned the outcome of the trial,” his brother said wryly. “You’re a celebrity now, God help us.”