Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(6)

Daniel gulped. ‘Thank you, my lord. I would respectfully remind the court that the witness has admitted himself to having a considerable debt to Mr Blackwell, which he has not repaid; nor, as far as I know, is he in any position to do so. Therefore, I now suggest to the court that he is far from being as impartial in the matter as he has represented himself to be. I would like to exercise that doubt, my lord.’

The jury were all staring at him. They scented a fight at last.





Chapter Two


Daniel spent the last moments of the afternoon eliciting the details of Park’s debt. It was a frail thread to hang onto, but it was all he had.

He left the court with his mind in a whirl. The thought of assisting Toby Kitteridge, even if in name only, was both daunting and exciting. He did not like Kitteridge, who was approximately ten years older than Daniel and immeasurably more experienced. Kitteridge himself had made that advantage unpleasantly clear.

But it was an opportunity come far sooner than Daniel had expected. He might do nothing but run errands; however, he would sit beside Kitteridge in the Old Bailey, the central criminal court in London. Some of the most important cases in history had been decided there, beginning in 1585 with the medieval court.

He was so consumed in the thought he walked straight past his bus stop. He had to retrace his steps and wait for the next omnibus from Greenwich to his lodgings in James Street. It was not so very far away, but too far to travel on foot at the end of the day. He must find a way to help Roman Blackwell tomorrow morning. He had promised he would, and that was enough to hold him to the task. But he also knew no one else could do it this late in the trial. It was almost lost.

If only he could magnify the chink in Park’s armour and hope to raise some reasonable doubt. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Park himself, the chief witness against Blackwell, was the killer. But Daniel needed more than a slight possibility. Outwardly at least, Park was a respectable man.

So far, no question had been raised as to his honesty. It would be hard to introduce, unless he could be led into contradicting himself. The more he talked, the better chance Daniel would have of doing that.

He reached the bus stop again, and now the queue was lengthy! Three men were at the back of the line, two of them carrying briefcases, like himself, only theirs were not as new, nor as fine quality leather. Daniel’s was his father’s gift on gaining his degree, and carrying it still gave him pleasure, not only for itself, but remembering the look of pride in his father’s face. He wanted very much to live up to that. The fact that his father said nothing to push him increased the unspoken hope all the more.

The men in front of him shifted their weight impatiently. One changed his briefcase from his left hand to his right, as if it were heavy.

Wasn’t the bus ever coming? Had he just missed one?

He looked around the crowded street full of both motor vehicles and horse-drawn ones. He could not afford to make a habit of riding around in cabs. Very junior barristers, newly qualified, like himself, were paid little, and he refused to take an allowance from his father. He felt such a thing would place him under a moral obligation, not that his father would ever say so. There was a lot to be said for financial security, but just now there was even more to be said for freedom. It was a fine line.

He had half a day left in which to trip Park on his own words, and save Blackwell. It must be enough to turn the balance entirely the other way, against Park. What mattered to him? First of all, his own safety; second, money. It was money that had got him into this mess in the first place. And lies, of course.

Perhaps Daniel should ask a few more questions about who else owed money, and to whom? Among the men in the case, money seemed to form the basis of all the relationships. Daniel would go over all the papers he had and see what alternative ways there were to interpret them.

The bus finally came and he climbed on board. There was standing room only, but the passengers were wedged in too firmly to fall down, however much the bus lurched as they proceeded up Gray’s Inn Road.

He got off at the other end of his journey, walked the few hundred yards and turned the corner into James Street where he had rooms. It was quiet and very clean. Most of the time, it was also warm. Mrs Portiscale, his landlady, fussed over him a bit. At times it was annoying, but on the whole, he appreciated it. Having grown up in a family, albeit a small one, he was used to company. Then he had gone up to university in Cambridge where there was always company, whether he wished it or not. But most of the time, he was glad of it.

He had imagined he would welcome the independence of his own lodgings, no one interrupting him to know this or that, and to ask his opinion about something. But occasionally it was lonely, and he would have welcomed the awareness of other people around him. Most of the men at his law firm were considerably older than he, and he was careful not to be seen to be closer to any particular one rather than another. There were undercurrents of alliances and rivalries, and Daniel knew that he could make serious errors with a single misjudgement.

It was warm inside the hallway and smelled pleasantly of lavender furniture polish.

‘That you, Mr Pitt?’ Mrs Portiscale’s voice came from the kitchen at the far end of the passage. ‘Like a cup of tea, dear? It’ll be an hour before supper’s ready.’

‘Yes, please, Mrs Portiscale,’ he called back. He never refused, because if he did she might stop asking. Besides, it was nice having someone welcome you back and take that little bit of care.