positions around the house in the darkness; the other four to march straight up to the front entrance.
With some trepidation, but without comment, I accompanied the storming party.
To my surprise, the gallant captain made no attempt to seek permission to enter: we marched up to the imposing doors and when Captain Thomas pushed out his hand, the unlocked door gave way, so we found ourselves unopposed in the echoing hallway of Holbrook House. The astonished footman, one John Fry, was the first to come rushing out from the parlour where he had been attending his master. When Captain Thomas demanded to know where Job Pickett was being held he was quickly joined by a distraught butler, named, I recall, Robert Dawes. Strange how I remember these names after all these years … but then, they both gave evidence at the subsequent legal proceedings.
There we were in the hallway, a group of belligerent, grimacing, cudgel-armed villains headed by Captain Thomas, with me lingering in a strategic position a little way behind. Dawes dashed into the parlour and slammed the door. We waited a short while, the captain declaiming in a high, somewhat inebriated tone, thathis blood was up and he would see justice done by the release of an Englishman who was unjustly incarcerated. I had vague thoughts of
Habeas Corpus
and also
Trespass
writs floating around in my head, well aware that they would hardly serve in this situation, when finally the parlour door opened and a pale-faced, shaken Fitzgerald appeared before us, in smoking jacket and slippers. Our Tory candidate had a fire poker in his trembling hand.
‘You have intruded upon my
home
, sir!’ he challenged, somewhat tremulously.
‘To come to the aid of an imprisoned friend,’ Captain Thomas roared, waving his cudgel and flicking at his coat tails, allowing the pistol thrust into his belt to appear as though by chance.
‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ Fitzgerald replied lamely, his voice shaking in turn with his hands.
‘By God!’ railed the Captain, waving his cudgel in an arc above his head, ‘you lie in your teeth and you’ll release Job Pickett this instant or I’ll see your head bloodied and your—’
‘Captain!’
I said and stepped forward, placing a restraining hand on his arm. Things were going forward too hastily. I turned to our political opponent. ‘We have Mrs Pickett with us. She waits outside in the garden. She has informed us that her husband is detained here … for political purposes. Now it may well be that she is mistaken, that he is perhaps drunk, or unwell, and perhaps this is all a mistake.…’
I allowed my voice to die away. Captain Thomas was glaring at me, clearly furious at the opportunity lost if I were to continue to mollify the man into whose house we had stormed. Silence fell, and Fitzgerald stood there, shuddering, whey-faced, and somewhere in the house a window banged. Fitzgerald heard it and swallowed hard. He took a deep breath and grimaced. ‘Mr James … I must ask you to lead these friends of yours from this house. This is a blackguardedly outrage and—’
‘We seek only the release of Job Pickett,’ I remonstrated.
‘The man is not here,’ Fitzgerald asserted through grinding teeth.
I waited. Then, slowly, gently, I said, ‘Mr Fitzgerald, if you can give me your word as a gentleman, that Job Pickett is not to be found on the premises, we will immediately withdraw.’
Captain Thomas snorted in derision, but Fitzgerald swallowed hard, looked me in the eye and after a brief silence, in a low, defeated voice he said, ‘I give you my word as a gentleman, Mr James. Job Pickett is not on the premises.’
We both knew what he meant, but there was a gusty sigh of disappointment from my companions. The thugs that Captain Thomas had brought with him were clearly chagrined that the game was to be given up so easily. The Captain himself was far from pleased. But I knew we were on shaky ground legally, and it was best
With some trepidation, but without comment, I accompanied the storming party.
To my surprise, the gallant captain made no attempt to seek permission to enter: we marched up to the imposing doors and when Captain Thomas pushed out his hand, the unlocked door gave way, so we found ourselves unopposed in the echoing hallway of Holbrook House. The astonished footman, one John Fry, was the first to come rushing out from the parlour where he had been attending his master. When Captain Thomas demanded to know where Job Pickett was being held he was quickly joined by a distraught butler, named, I recall, Robert Dawes. Strange how I remember these names after all these years … but then, they both gave evidence at the subsequent legal proceedings.
There we were in the hallway, a group of belligerent, grimacing, cudgel-armed villains headed by Captain Thomas, with me lingering in a strategic position a little way behind. Dawes dashed into the parlour and slammed the door. We waited a short while, the captain declaiming in a high, somewhat inebriated tone, thathis blood was up and he would see justice done by the release of an Englishman who was unjustly incarcerated. I had vague thoughts of
Habeas Corpus
and also
Trespass
writs floating around in my head, well aware that they would hardly serve in this situation, when finally the parlour door opened and a pale-faced, shaken Fitzgerald appeared before us, in smoking jacket and slippers. Our Tory candidate had a fire poker in his trembling hand.
‘You have intruded upon my
home
, sir!’ he challenged, somewhat tremulously.
‘To come to the aid of an imprisoned friend,’ Captain Thomas roared, waving his cudgel and flicking at his coat tails, allowing the pistol thrust into his belt to appear as though by chance.
‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ Fitzgerald replied lamely, his voice shaking in turn with his hands.
‘By God!’ railed the Captain, waving his cudgel in an arc above his head, ‘you lie in your teeth and you’ll release Job Pickett this instant or I’ll see your head bloodied and your—’
‘Captain!’
I said and stepped forward, placing a restraining hand on his arm. Things were going forward too hastily. I turned to our political opponent. ‘We have Mrs Pickett with us. She waits outside in the garden. She has informed us that her husband is detained here … for political purposes. Now it may well be that she is mistaken, that he is perhaps drunk, or unwell, and perhaps this is all a mistake.…’
I allowed my voice to die away. Captain Thomas was glaring at me, clearly furious at the opportunity lost if I were to continue to mollify the man into whose house we had stormed. Silence fell, and Fitzgerald stood there, shuddering, whey-faced, and somewhere in the house a window banged. Fitzgerald heard it and swallowed hard. He took a deep breath and grimaced. ‘Mr James … I must ask you to lead these friends of yours from this house. This is a blackguardedly outrage and—’
‘We seek only the release of Job Pickett,’ I remonstrated.
‘The man is not here,’ Fitzgerald asserted through grinding teeth.
I waited. Then, slowly, gently, I said, ‘Mr Fitzgerald, if you can give me your word as a gentleman, that Job Pickett is not to be found on the premises, we will immediately withdraw.’
Captain Thomas snorted in derision, but Fitzgerald swallowed hard, looked me in the eye and after a brief silence, in a low, defeated voice he said, ‘I give you my word as a gentleman, Mr James. Job Pickett is not on the premises.’
We both knew what he meant, but there was a gusty sigh of disappointment from my companions. The thugs that Captain Thomas had brought with him were clearly chagrined that the game was to be given up so easily. The Captain himself was far from pleased. But I knew we were on shaky ground legally, and it was best
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