Thus our conversation on this matter paused where it usually ended. This, as it happened, was the third time we had had the discussion. The first followed my visit to Mr. Donnelly to drop off the body of Mr. Bennett. (Over his protests, of course, for he was to leave with his bride-to-be for Ireland the next day.) I ran into Number 4 Bow Street and blurted out to Sir John that Lord Lamford had been killed-and little more.
“Murdered?” he had asked.
“Perhaps,” said I. “I shall give you all the details soon as ever I return.”
And that I did less than an hour later, seated in his chambers, telling a much longer version of the same story, including many details. At that point, he seemed satisfied. Finally, after dinner that evening, he requested my presence in his “study” to talk a bit more of the case of Lord Lamford: “Some information has come in from Mr. Donnelly that fills out the picture a bit more completely.” The “new information” of which he spoke was that in the opinion of Mr. Donnelly, which he had freely expressed in his report, Mr. Bennett had almost certainly been murdered. The wound was in the back of his head, which made a suicide physically possible but highly unlikely. Then did he ask me to go through the entire story once again, for he had caught some hint earlier that I actually believed Deuteronomy Plummer to be in some sense responsible for the death of Lord Lamford. And so have I included here the lively talk we then had on these matters of the culpability of humans who act through the agency of animals. Yet there was, as I recall, a bit more to the matter; for having talked through it thus far, he added a sort of coda, as I sat puzzling through what already had been said.
“Jeremy, let me ask you something. What is the purpose of the statements that you have made supporting the notion that Pegasus killed Lord Lamford on the instructions of Mr. Deuteronomy? What result do you seek? Do you wish me to bind him for trial at Old Bailey? The charge: murder. The weapon: a three-year-old stallion.”
Even to speak of such a thing did chill me. “Oh no, sir. I would not wish that at all.”
“I mention it in this way because your intention is still to be a barrister, is it not?”
“Oh yes sir, most emphatically so.”
“You must remember then that the job of pleading is by and large a game of wits. You must win over the judge and the jury, which is hard enough in itself, but to give the prosecution something to work with-that would surely be quite mad, don’t you think so?”
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
“Why, a good lawyer for the prosecution could work wonders with a jury if he had something like your theory to go on. Intellectual speculation in its proper place is one thing, yet its proper place is not the courtroom, nor is it a good subject for discussion with a magistrate, such as myself. Lucky for you I put no faith in such theories of communication between humans and animals. Why, I would sooner credit Divine Intervention in this case. Yes, Divine Intervention might work very well indeed. Such a pity that such a fine animal as Pegasus must be destroyed.”
“Must he be?”
“So says the law.”
I let that stand without comment. Thinking that he had said about all he wished to say, I made ready to take my leave of him. Yet before I did, a thought did occur to me.
“I wonder, Sir John,” said I, “if there have been any further developments in the matter of Elizabeth Hooker.”
“Ah, yes, indeed there have been,” said he. “If Saunders Welch is given a push by the Lord Chief Justice, there is no magistrate can match him for swift justice.”
“Why? What has he done?”
“Mr. Bailey informed me when he came in that he had just heard that Welch had called a special session of his court, had his constables bring in Mother Jeffers, and based solely upon the testimony offered by Elizabeth Hooker, had bound Jeffers for trial in Felony Court.”
“On what charge?”
“The only one possible-wrongful imprisonment.”
“Can she be convicted?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps. I will say, however, that in his haste to please Lord Mansfield, Mr. Welch has put a burden upon the prosecution much greater than usual. Whoever it is appears for the Crown must build his case from scratch-and he will have little time to do it.”
“Why so little time, Sir John?”
“Because the trial has been set for Monday next,” said he.
“Monday next? Why, that is but four days hence!”
“So it is.”
“But why such dispatch? This is no matter of state. No insult has been thrown at the King. What is the great engine that drives this with such urgency?”
“Ah, you have it right, Jeremy. This indeed is no matter of state. And certainly no insult of any sort has been offered. What then is the great engine? It is known quite prosaically as Public Opinion.”
Well have I learned the power lodged in those two words. Though the public’s opinion may be right or wrong, it is seldom that much can be said against it once it is formed. How then is it formed? Why, most often by those who write pamphlets on such subjects as fall before the public’s view. The purpose of these pamphlets, in fact, is to form the opinion of the public. That is why those who write them take on such airs, and why it is said up and down Grub Street by such as these that they are the true rulers of England.
True enough, there are occasions, and many of them, when the writers of pamphlets have done good works, supporting this or that cause that needed and deserved support. In other instances, the pamphlets had attacked that which richly deserved it and brought the light of opinion upon that which many would have liked to keep hid. These are, in this way, battles of the pamphlets, wherein pamphleteers on either side of a question will rage and contradict each the other through their pamphlets, fighting to form public opinion.
Nevertheless, the weakness of the pamphlet as a means of public discussion lies precisely in that. A pamphlet presents only one side of a question, argues only for innocence or for guilt. I have seldom (not to say never) read one which presented a balanced, detailed picture of any situation, or admitted that there was something to be said for both sides. Pamphlets tend, by their very nature, to be splenetic, rather than intellectual.
The only place one may expect to find both sides of a question presented with a degree of fairness is in a court of law. That is what first attracted me to the law, and what, in spite of occasional disappointments, has kept me at it for a good many years. It would, however, be altogether vain to pretend that the law is uninfluenced by public opinion. On the contrary, it is indeed often a factor in ways that Sir John suggested. Public opinion will often bring a matter to trial with unseemly haste-that is, before one side or the other, or indeed both sides, are ready for the trial. And beyond that, public opinion may put undue pressure upon members of a jury, making those who must ultimately decide a case fearful of voting yea or nay in contradiction to the popular cause.
Pamphleteers had first discovered Elizabeth Hooker when she disappeared. They brought her a sort of fame. They declared her the most beautiful and clever, the sweetest-natured, and above all, the most innocent of all maidens. How could such a one be stolen bodily from the streets of London? Was ours then a city so unsafe, populated by criminals, kidnappers, and the like? Et cetera. And then, when Elizabeth returned, telling her tale of abduction and imprisonment, word came to the writers of pamphlets, and they flocked to her, interviewing her (some did not even bother to do that), accepting her every word as truth and fabricating those she did not supply. Her captor, Mother Jeffers, looked every bit the wicked witch. Her imprisonment was like that of Rapunzel. Her escape from her tower was like unto that of a princess in some fairy tale set in the dim long-ago.