His eyes stopped on one smart-suited gentleman after another.
Land saw the danger and his body stiffened in alarm.
'Has the prisoner ever been a customer of yours?' he said loudly. 'Look at the prisoner!'
Albie affected surprise and removed his glance from the gallery to the dock.
'Yes.'
'Maurice Jerome bought your services as a male prostitute?' Land said triumphantly.
'Yes.'
'On one occasion or several?'
'Yes.'
'Don't be obtuse!' Land allowed his temper to show at last. 'You can be charged with contempt of court, and find yourself in jail if you are obstructive, I promise you!'
'' Several.'' Albie was unruffled. He had a certain power and he meant to taste the full pleasure of it. It would almost certainly not arise again. Life would not be long, and he knew it. Few people's were, in Bluegate Fields, still fewer in his occupation. Today was for the savoring. Land was the one with status and possessions to lose; Albie had nothing anyway-he could afford to live dangerously. He faced Land without a quiver.
'Maurice Jerome came to your rooms on several occasions?' Land waited to make sure the jury had taken the point.
'Yes,' Albie repeated.
'And did he have a physical relationship with you, and pay you for it?'
'Yes.' His mouth curled in contempt and his eyes flickered 130
over the gallery. 'Good God, I don't do it free! You don't imagine I
'I have no idea as to your tastes, Mr. Frobisher,' Land said icily. There was a very small smile on his face. 'They are quite beyond my imagination!'
Albie's face was white in the gaslight. He leaned forward a little over the railing.
'They're very simple. I expect they're much the same as yours. I like to eat at least once every day. I like to have clothes that keep me warm, and don't stink. I like to have a dry roof over my head and not have to share it with ten or twenty other people! Those are my tastes-sir!'
. 'Silence!' the judge banged his gravel. 'You are being impertinent. We are not concerned with your life story or your desires. Mr. Land, if you cannot control your witness, you had better dismiss him. Surely you have elicited the information you require? Mr. Giles, have you anything to ask?'
'No, my lord. Thank you.' He had already tried to shake Albie's identification and failed. There was no purpose in showing his failure to the jury.
Dismissed from the stand, Albie walked back along the aisle, passing within a few feet of Charlotte. His moment of protest was over, and he looked small and thin again.
The last witness for the prosecution was Abigail Winters. She was an ordinary-looking girl, a little plump but with fine, clear skin that many a lady would have envied. Her hair was frizzy and her teeth too large, and a little discolored, but she was handsome enough. Charlotte had seen daughters of countesses who had been less favored by nature.
The evidence was short and to the point. She had neither Albie's bitterness nor his vicarious education. She was not ashamed of what she did. She knew gentlemen and judges, even bishops, had patronized her and girls like her, and a barrister without his gown and wig looks much the same as a clerk without his suit. If Abigail had few illusions about people, she had none at all about the rules of society. Those who wished to survive kept the rules.
She answered the questions soberly and directly, adding nothing. Yes, she knew the prisoner in the dock. Yes, he had
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