The day before the trial of Tommy Pidgeon, Spade sat with Sal in the back room of the Bell, on a dark winter evening, both drinking ale from tankards. The case was discussed in every house in Kingsbridge. Petty theft was commonplace, but Tommy was only fourteen, and looked younger. And he had committed a capital offence. No one could remember seeing a child hanged.
‘I hardly knew the Pidgeon family,’ Spade said.
‘They lived near me and Jarge,’ said Sal. ‘They didn’t have much, but they kept their heads above water until Jim disappeared. After that Jenn couldn’t pay the rent, so she was evicted, and I never knew where she went.’
‘I didn’t even know Jim had been impressed.’
‘Jenn complained bitterly about it to anyone who would listen, but there are so many women in the same plight that she didn’t get much sympathy.’
‘My guess is that about fifty thousand men have been forced into it,’ Spade said. ‘According to theMorning Chroniclethere are about a hundred thousand men in the Royal Navy, and something like half of them were impressed.’
Sal whistled. ‘I didn’t know it was that many. But why didn’t Jenn get poor relief?’
‘She applied, in the parish of St John, where she lives,’ said Spade. ‘The vicar there is Titus Poole, a decent man, but apparently Hornbeam was sitting in as overseer of the poor and he overruled Poole and said Jenn was not entitled.’
Sal shook her head in disgust. ‘The men who rule this country,’ she said. ‘How low will they go?’
‘What are people in town saying about Tommy now?’
‘There are two camps, so to speak,’ said Sal. ‘One says a child is a child, the other says a thief is a thief.’
‘I suppose most of the mill hands are in the sympathetic camp.’
‘Yes. Even in good times, we know that things can change anddestitution can come to us very quickly.’ She paused. ‘You know Kit is making good money now.’
Spade did know. Kit was earning thirty shillings a week as Amos’s mill manager. ‘He deserves it,’ Spade said. ‘Amos values him highly.’
‘Kit isn’t spending half of it. He knows that money may come and go. He’s saving in case of bad times.’
‘Very wise.’
She smiled. ‘He did buy me a new dress, though.’
Spade reverted to the Pidgeon case. ‘I can’t believe they’ll hang little Tommy.’
‘I can believe anything of that lot, Spade. People like you ought to be justices and aldermen, and members of Parliament. Then we might see a change for the better.’
‘Why not people like you?’
‘Women? We can dream. But for now, seriously, Spade, you’re a leader in this town.’
This was perceptive of Sal. Spade had thought about standing for election as member of Parliament. It was the only way to change things. ‘I’m thinking about it,’ he said.
‘Good.’
Quarter sessions began the next day. The council room of the Guild Hall was packed full. Hornbeam was on the bench as chairman of justices, holding a scented handkerchief to his face to take away the smell of the crowd. Two other justices were with him, one on each side, and Spade hoped they would have a softening influence. The clerk, Luke McCullough, sat in front of them, his job to advise them on the law.
The justices dealt briskly with several cases of violence and drunkenness, then Tommy Pidgeon was brought in. Jenn had washed his face and cut his hair, and someone had loaned him a clean shirt that was too big and made him look even smaller and more vulnerable. Now that Spade had a son of his own – Abe, aged five, unacknowledgedbut much loved – he felt keenly that children needed to be cherished and protected. He hated to see Tommy exposed to the unforgiving wrath of the law.
As always, the jury was drawn from the Forty-Shilling Franchise, the substantial property owners of the town. Spade knew most of them. They believed their duty was to safeguard the town from theft and anything else that might threaten their ability to do business and make money. They would decide whether the case against Tommy was strong enough for him to be sent to the assize court for trial. Only the assizes could deal with a hanging offence.
Josiah Blackberry was the main witness. He was self-important, but Spade believed he was honest, and he told his story plainly. He had seen the boy steal the ribbon, so he had seized him and held him.
Elsie Mackintosh was called to corroborate the evidence. She said much the same, and the case was made. But when Hornbeam thanked her for her testimony she said: ‘I have told the truth, but not the whole truth.’
The room went quiet.
Hornbeam sighed, but he could not ignore her. ‘What do you mean, Mrs Mackintosh?’
