Lord Epson was a short, stout man of about fifty-five, maybe older, receding hairline, sharp nose, gray eyes. Michael thought he looked a little like Napoleon.
They spoke briefly about the spreading lawlessness and how things needed to change.
Michael wondered how the law worked and what could be done about changing it, but he was whisked off to another man as this one stepped into the dining hall.
The hour had come. The guests were arriving. There would be twelve in all, including three judges, the duke, and him. Three of those men had a wife and two of them brought their daughters, the Baxter twins, Miss Katherine Longsley, and Miss Whimsey. The daughters were younger than Miss Whimsey, maybe six or seven years younger than him. Too young to pay any heed to their sparkling eyes and glowing smiles when they addressed him at the dinner table, after they were all seated.
He hadn’t been paying attention, too caught up was he on why Charlotte was late. Her empty seat was to the left of her father’s and his was beside it. Dinner was about to be served and she hadn’t arrived. Was she in the house? Where would she have gone? Back to Preston? It didn’t make sense. If she wanted to be with him, she wouldn’t have left him today.
He looked toward John. Did he know anything?
When it seemed even her father was tired of waiting, he stood up and looked over the table at them all. “Allow me to introduce to you my newdetective,Michael Pendridge of Brittany. He is here to help Croydon in its quest to keep the law under control. But he does not know our laws or how our justice system works.”
He motioned for Michael to stand. Michael hated this spotlight type of thing, but he stood quickly and then sat again.
“What, exactly, is a detective?” asked George Baxter while he dug into his meal.
It smelled like fish. When he was served, Michael had to admit it looked delicious. There was fowl and lamb and other kinds of meat, even meat inside cakes and pies. And endless wine.
“He is an investigator,” Judge Whimsey continued. “He has pledged to keep the law in Croydon and since he did it in Brittany, I trust that he could do a fine job here.”
“What will he be doing?” Epson looked up from the bread he was buttering.
“Catching criminals,” the duke told them.
“And after they are caught?” Lord Longsley asked. “Who will try all of them?”
“Longsley, why do you not explain our laws to Detective Pendridge? Then he will know what he can do.”
Lord Longsley chewed his food then sipped his wine before he spoke. “How much do you need to know?”
“Everything,” Michael answered.
“Do you know any of our cities or towns, where any place is?”
“No,” Michael answered honestly, realizing he might have bitten off more than he could chew.
Longsley stared at him, sizing him up and then looked at the duke for reassurance, which he received in the form of a nod. “Our system is badly broken.”
“But there are many judges who do not agree,” Epson muttered.
“If someone is robbed or the crime is petty thievery, the thief is usually never taken in. There are not enough constables, or men on the streets to keep them safe. Constables do not get paid, so there is no incentive to risk life or limb. If the thief is caught and taken in, it is up to the victim to prosecute, the cost of going before the local magistrate comes out of their pockets. They must then present evidence to the grand jury, and if the grand jury finds true bill, the victim, who is now the prosecutor, will provide evidence for a trial.”
Michael sat quietly listening, growing more stunned as Longsley spoke. Finally, he could stand it no longer. “This is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard, not to mention completely reprehensible. There is no justice making the victim pay for his or her own trial.”
“We agree,” the duke told him, motioning to himself and the others. “Most times, the thief goes free. For crimes like murder and other serious offenses, we impose only two sentences on the convicted. Either we turn them loose or we hang them.”
Michael shook his head. It was almost too primitive and unjust to comprehend. Why not turn to a life of crime for its benefits when you would probably never be punished for it while you were alive? As long as you didn’t kill anyone, you were good.
“The law breakers are out of control.”
Michael sat back in his chair and gave a short laugh. “I’m not surprised.”
“We do not know what to do,” the duke admitted. “I heard you captured a man who shot at you and my daughter today in the woods and you put him in a sealed room at the mill.”
“That’s right,” Michael said. “And now you’re telling me he goes free if I don’t go to a magistrate, then hope the grand jury thinks I have a case, and if I do, I have to become a prosecutor.”
“You see the problem then,” Epson said, barely looking up from his plate of chicken fricassee and carrots.
