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damned
Running Rein
business. I tapped up my old man but—’
    I shook my head. I’d had my fill of Grenwood that evening. ‘I’d better get Wilkins back to the Inn.’
    I called for assistance from the waiters: they were well used to this kind of thing and two came forward immediately. When I finally managed with their help to get Charlie lurching out into the street he was barely able to stand. One of the waiters calledto a waiting cabman outside the Adelphi Theatre: he cracked his whip and rattled forward, scattering the small knot of hopeful whores at the stage-door entrance. I pushed my drunken colleague into the hansom cab and he immediately collapsed in the corner and began to snore. I climbed in beside him. There was a smell of damp leather in the close darkness. ‘Serjeant’s Inn. Then on to the Inner Temple.’
    As we clattered down into the darkness of Maiden Lane it began to rain, a fine light drizzle that thinned the clinging yellow mist, and I shuddered, drew my
roquelaire
more closely about me. It was an old cloak, and the style was going out of fashion. I’d have to get a new Chesterfield, I thought gloomily, as Wilkins belched, farted, and muttered incoherently in his stupor.
    We reached the corner of Maiden Lane and turned towards the Strand. It was then that, in one of the doorways, head down, arms crossed over her breasts, huddling against the rain, I caught sight of a young woman. She was familiar; I wondered briefly whether it was Harriet, and I hesitated, was tempted to call on the driver to stop. But I made no move; then we were rumbling on and I sank back in his seat. It was Grenwood’s business , I told myself. It was not for me to interfere.
    Looking back now, I realize that was a fateful error: if I had interfered, things might have been so very different, for her, and in the long run for me too. If I had stopped the cabman, got out, spoken to her, who knows but I might have taken a different path in my life? I doubt it, but who can tell?
    We clattered and lurched on through the damp streets. I deposited Wilkins with the gate keeper at Serjeants Inn and went on in the hansom to my own chambers at Inner Temple Lane. I felt vaguely depressed. The fire had died. I shook out my cloak, took off my boots and settled into an armchair to partake of another brandy and water alone in my rooms before making my way to my lodgings on the floor above. I contemplated looking over the papers my clerk Villiers had prepared for me, but thendiscarded the dispiriting thought. There’d be time enough in the morning I lied to myself. After another brandy and water I went to my chamber.
    I slept badly and when I woke it was still dark, perhaps four in the morning, and the feeling of depression was still with me. I drifted back into a semi-comatose state and finally rose, later than usual, groggy with snatched sleep; I was due in court at nine o’clock. Bewigged and gowned, I barely made it in time, clutching the unread brief papers that Villiers had prepared.
    To my amazement, when I entered the Old Bailey I saw that Charles Wilkins was already there, bright-eyed as a squirrel and beaming about him. He nodded a cheerful greeting to me and then, papers in hand, rose to his feet. He seemed completely unaffected by his night’s activities. He clapped his hand upon my shoulder. ‘An enjoyable evening, what I remember of it,’ he said, and winked. ‘I gather it was you who conducted me back to the Inn: you have my thanks.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘We must do it again some time.’ He looked about him. ‘Meanwhile, your clerk’s been looking for you.’
    Sure enough, that scoundrel Villiers was standing near the door. He caught sight of me, hurried forward, apologized for missing me at my chambers. ‘Mr James, I need to speak to you. I’ve arranged an appointment for later this morning, at Mr Cockburn’s chambers.’
    I raised my eyebrows. An appointment with one of the leading lights at the Bar? Alexander