The Duke's Agent by Rebecca Jenkins Page B

turned to give him a surprisingly charming smile. He regretted being short with the man who had, after all, done his best to oblige him. ‘Yes, I think I will. Can you direct me? I am new to these parts.’
    Flattered, the innkeeper gave the question his serious consideration. ‘We’re blessed with three justices in this district, sir. There’s Colonel Ison – he’s Chairman of the Bench and Member of Parliament, sir. A much respected gentleman, lives half an hour down the road towards York.’ The innkeeper checked himself as he pointed in the general direction and shook his head. ‘But there’s no use going to him because he’s in London at present. No. Then there’s the Reverend Prattman at Woolbridge. Likely you’ve met him, sir?’ Jarrett murmured something about having shaken hands with the reverend gentleman that Sunday at church. ‘Very likely,’ the innkeeper responded comfortably and resumed his contemplation of the problem. ‘The Reverend Prattman, however, is not best to be relied upon, being too Christian a gentleman and a scholar to be very handy in such matters. No,’ he concluded decisively, ‘to my mind, sir, you should visit Justice Raistrick. A professional man, sir. An attorney at law and best suited to murder – failing the Colonel. You’ll find him at his chambers in the Horsemarket in Woolbridge.’
    *
    Justice Raistrick’s chambers were easily found. They were located in a narrow house standing in the broadest part of the main street of Woolbridge where the horse markets were held on fair days. The outside was unremarkable. A small plate to the right of the door read: Q. A. Raistrick, Attorney at Law and Justice of the Peace. Beyond the doorway shadows graduated down a narrow passage that splayed out into an open space at the bottom of a staircase. Justice Raistrick was clearly a busy man. There were several working men waiting about the stairhead and Jarrett had the impression there were more in the gloom beyond. He was not sure whether it was his mood, aggravated by the pain in his leg, but he sensed antagonism. The eyes glinting in the shadowed features seemed to watch him with more than casual interest. As he limped up the staircase, two men jostled him. They had the grimy pallor and dress of miners. They took no notice of Jarrett or of their own incivility. He paused to watch them stride out down the passage.
    The stairs issued into an antechamber dominated by the imposing oak door that guarded the Justice’s chamber. A desk was set at the mouth of the room. The chair behind the desk was at present unoccupied, but before it stood a slight man dressed in black in the fashion of legal clerks. The apparel did not particularly suit him. The black stockings and breeches emphasised the stick-like appearance of his legs and the silver buckles on his shoes drew attention to the considerable size of his feet. The most striking aspect of the clerk’s face was the unusually smooth texture of his skin and its waxy, uniform colour. It gave him an oddly fairy cast, an impression reinforced by the impersonality of his eyes. The clerk was in conversation with a woman whose whole appearance spoke of weariness. She had fine bones but her natural advantages were dulled by fatigue. She stood before the clerk submissively, allowing his monologue to flow overher. Other supplicants waited. A farmer stood by his wife. She was speaking to him in a low voice full of suppressed indignation. Jarrett caught a few hissed words.
    â€˜You just tell him this time,’ she said. ‘If you don’t, I will.’
    The farmer looked about him in a hang-dog sort of way, trying to evade his wife’s intensity, twisting his hat in his big hands. Beside them perched a thin, white-faced lad with huge dark eyes. The boy held himself bolt upright, watching everything in the room. The boy’s posture alerted Jarrett to some