‘Here we are, sir, miss,’ said Constable Lennox, opening the door of the carriage.
We filed directly into the courtroom – no night in the holding cell for a gentleman of Mr Hawkins’ standing. I was grateful for that. Sir John Solmes, the magistrate, had roused himself from his bed to meet us, wig askew, his eyes sleepy. I looked around in consternation: my friends had not yet arrived. I didn’t want to face him on my own and I didn’t like the feeling of being the only girl standing among all these great tall gentlemen. In my experience, there was some kind of secret understanding rich men shared. I was not of their sex, nor even of their class: I was therefore beneath their notice.
‘What’s all this?’ the magistrate barked at his constable. ‘A Quaker maid in chains and a gentleman – why are they here at this time of night?’
‘I brought the gentleman in compliance with this writ, sir,’ said Lennox, handing over the habeas corpus. ‘As for the girl – she’s no Quaker. It’s Cat Royal. You remember her, I think, sir.’
The magistrate rubbed his eyes and took a closer look at me. ‘Oh yes, I remember her very well. Has a taste for disguise this one. What is the charge? Can I commit her straight to Newgate and be done with it?’
Newgate! I didn’t fancy my chances of survival beyond a few weeks if I was pitched into that prison. It was an evil place by all accounts – a place of violence, squalor and misery.
‘It was assault, sir, against the gentleman here,’ said Lennox.
‘Good, good,’ said the magistrate, reaching for his gavel.
‘Hold, man!’ cried the duchess, flattening two runners behind the doors as she forced her way into the courtroom. Lizzie, Frank, Syd, Nick, Mr Equiano and Mr Sharp all followed. ‘Tell your flunkies to admit us. This is supposed to be a public hearing.’
‘Ah, your grace,’ said the magistrate, looking at her with a fearful expression. I guessed he had already met her earlier that evening and had reason to tremble under the lash of her tongue. ‘Of course you must come in. Do take a seat. We will not be long.’ And he raised his gavel again.
‘Wait!’ said the duchess. ‘You’ve not heard the counter-charge against this man on behalf of the girl.’
‘Your grace, I am sorry to inform you that you must not speak out of turn. This is a court of law,’ the magistrate said tentatively, the gavel drooping in his hand.
‘Then when is it my turn? Surely not after you’ve dispatched the child to prison?’
‘Er, of course not. She is entitled to representation in her defence.’
‘Then I am her defence. Can I speak now?’
Frank and Lizzie grinned at me, for once completely unembarrassed by their mother’s forthrightness. If I hadn’t been so worried, I would have enjoyed it too.
The magistrate coughed awkwardly. ‘It’s most unorthodox,’ (the duchess raised an eyebrow in warning), ‘but, yes, your grace, you may speak.’
The duchess bustled to the front of the courtroom and laid her ermine muff on his desk. Her be-ringed fingers glittered dazzlingly in the candlelight. It struck me now that the opposite sex probably banded together in their gentlemen’s clubs because they were plain scared of viragos like the duchess. She was like Athena, goddess of wisdom and warfare, come to shake the mere mortal men out of their complacency.
‘I believe two charges are laid against Miss Royal – one for damages by the proprietor of Brooks, the other by this man who claims the accused bit him.’
Sir John nodded.
‘The damages to the club will be paid by the Duke of Avon – double if need be. As for the alleged assault, I wish to say in her defence that the man in question was humiliating her and holding her against her will – shameful conduct for a gentleman whose duty it is to protect the weaker sex.’
Weaker sex? She must be joking. It was Sir John who was trembling before her.
‘But that is all as nothing when set alongside the events of this evening when the same man, before many witnesses, including myself, tried to run her through with a sword.’
The magistrate let go of his gavel. ‘Is this true?’ he asked Hawkins.
The slave owner gave a shrug. ‘She got in my way,’ he said. ‘Someone should’ve drowned the brat at birth – she’s always in the way.’
Mr Sharp stepped forward. ‘You may like to offer Mr Hawkins the chance to drop his charge against Miss Royal in return for Miss Royal dropping the charge of attempted murder. Not an entirely fair exchange, but one which should be to the advantage of both parties.’
The magistrate scratched his chin. ‘What say you, Mr Hawkins?’
‘I’ll drop the charge,’ Hawkins conceded in a resentful tone.
‘Well, that seems to settle that then. Case dismiss–’
‘No!’ I interrupted. ‘You haven’t asked me yet. And I’m not dropping my charge against him.’
‘Cat!’ hissed Pedro. ‘It’s the only way!’
I steeled myself. ‘No, it isn’t. I accuse Mr Kingston Hawkins of attempted murder,’ I repeated loudly.
My friends murmured among themselves, alarmed at my rashness. A sardonic smile curved Hawkins’ lips like the slash of a knife.
‘The bantling wants to fight it out, does she?’ he sneered.
‘I do. What’s the maximum penalty for a bite? Gaol with hard labour?’ The magistrate nodded. Neither of us added that this was tantamount to a death sentence for puny mortals like me. I had to pretend I thought I’d survive for this to work. ‘But for attempted murder – I’d say that’s worth the gallows or transportation at the very least. No slaves to make your life comfortable in Botany Bay from what I hear. You’d be under a harsh master there yourself on the chain-gang. It’ll do you good.’
Hawkins flicked his gaze from my face to the stern expression of the magistrate. The law officer said nothing to contradict my words.
‘What do you want?’ Hawkins snarled at me.
‘Pedro’s freedom – here and now, before all these witnesses.’