Disappear with Me

Chapter 7-1

Chapter 7

1910, Southampton

The musty smell of the books engulfed the three men in the office. Raymond Weeks, a private solicitor, and his boss, Mr. Carter, were meeting with Bishop Greene about the Norris case. Although clean, the room was shabby.

“Can’t we persuade the reverend to take the plea deal?” Weeks asked.

The bishop took in a deep breath and asked, “Mr. Weeks, do you attend services regularly?”

“I take communion at Christmas and Easter as is customary,” Weeks said, his cheeks turning red.

The bishop grinned. “Aha, then you’re not familiar with your parish rector’s weekly message?”

“My wife fills me in with a summary of his message.” Weeks turned to Mr. Carter. “I really don’t see what my attending church on Sundays has to do with me taking this case.”

“You see, Mr. Weeks and Mr. Carter, if you don’t attend church regularly, then you aren’t aware of how a local parish priest’s sermons can be filled with admonishments for current events, including political issues.”

“But how can your local rectors speak against the crown? Isn’t he the head of the church?” Mr. Carter asked.

“Oh, the king is the head of the church all right. But, remember, our laws are created by parliament.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Weeks and Mr. Carter.

“So what you’re saying is that this is a matter of principle to him?” Mr. Carter confirmed.

“Yes, I believe so,” the bishop said.

Mr. Carter rose, and the bishop followed his lead. “Thank you for coming in today,” Mr. Carter said, and the bishop left the office.

“Are you insane, Weeks?” Mr. Carter railed at him once they were alone.

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Do you have such a large book of clients you can turn business away?”

“Sir,” Weeks said with a stammer, “it’s a matter of conscience. I simply do not believe in defending a bugger.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Do you have such a large book of clients you can turn away business?”

After a moment, Weeks let out a defeated sigh. “No, sir, I do not have the luxury to turn away clients. But please understand, when I set out to become a solicitor—”

“What, you set out to become a solicitor to right the world of wrongs? To defend the defenseless?”

“Why, yes, to defend the defenseless.”

“Rubbish. When you’re a private solicitor, your job is to find business and keep the firm afloat. There is opportunity in everything. Are you also a bit worried about your ability to win this?”

“I suppose that is a part of it,” Weeks admitted.

“There are three things I need you to understand about this case, Weeks. First of all, in this day and age, with King George on the throne, the memory of his grandmother Queen Victoria not that far in the past, this will be nearly impossible for you to win.

“Second, as I said before, there is opportunity in everything. If you defend the reverend gallantly and put up a good fight, imagine what that will do for your career as a solicitor?”

“And the third thing, sir?”

“Our firm cannot afford to turn away clients.”

“Yes, sir,” Weeks acquiesced.

“You may go: you have a lot of work ahead of you, including getting yourself to church on Sunday.”

“Will I see you there, sir?” Weeks asked before he left the office.

Mr. Carter wrinkled his brow. “Yes, I suppose you will. Good day, Mr. Weeks.”

Weeks grinned to himself as he shut the door to Mr. Carter’s office.

* * * *

Across town, in his small but private cell, Leander passed the time by reading. Prisoners awaiting or attending their trials were usually kept in a common cell. The warden took pity upon Leander and allowed him to have a private cell, normally reserved for convicts awaiting transport to long-term prison or execution. Dark and cold, the standard compartment still smelled of urine and feces from the waste buckets that were rarely emptied. Rats and mice and other vermin were regular company.

In spite of his dismal surroundings, Leander kept at his daily study. In case he was freed from jail, he prepared a weekly sermon for his parishioners. This week’s lesson came from First Corinthians.

Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not, charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up. Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoice not in inquity, but rejoiceth in truth; Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things…And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

Elizabethans. Beautiful masters of the English language, but poorly thought out to appeal to the masses. Not so different from Victorians, turned Edwardians, with their prudish attitudes turned into laws.

He beamed when he remembered studying this same passage with Raphael in their early days at Cambridge.

“I loved you so much,” he said coming out of the daydream. “I still do,” he said in a quiet voice.

Leander recalled the solicitor was coming the next day. He put away any further thoughts of his past for the night and went to bed.