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confident in his social and professionalsuperiority, made no attempt to rise from behind his desk when we entered. Small in stature, neat in appearance, vain, red-haired and somewhat vulpine in features, Cockburn had built himself a powerful reputation over the years. Not just in the courts, I should add: I had heard he’d scrambled out of numerous windows in his youth, just before irate, horsewhip- in-hand husbands had burst into marital bedchambers. But the wild young bachelor was now considered to have matured into an eminent, sage and successful pleader before the courts, known for the vehemence and insistence of his cross- examination technique. At the Bar, of course, I still heard whispers of liaisons and visits to married ladies in the afternoons, but they were muted, and the talk now was of the significant successes that Cockburn had won in cases of moment.
    So there I was that day in Cockburn’s chambers, briefed in my first big case. I was convinced about the implications.
Wood v Peel
was destined to launch me on the road to fame and wealth.
    I did not realize, of course, that it would also hurl me into eventual infamy, poverty and disgrace. At the time, I saw it only as opportunity.
    ‘This is not going to be an easy matter to handle,’ Cockburn announced in his thin, squeaky tones, tapping the brief on the desk in front of him. He took a delicate pinch of snuff, brushing some of the grains from the front of his coat as a stray shaft of sunlight gleamed in his thinning, reddish hair. ‘On the one hand, we have an Epsom corn merchant – our client, Mr Wood. On the other hand, formidable opposition: a Member of Parliament and brother to the Prime Minister….’
    ‘Ranged with Lord George Bentinck, Baron le Tissier, and the worthies of the Jockey Club itself,’ I made so bold as to add. ‘The considerable weight of the Establishment.’
    Cockburn eyed me warily, weighing me up with a suspicious lifting of an eyebrow but Bulstrode was clearly excited at the prospect of battle. He intervened eagerly. ‘There is a point in ourfavour, however. I understand there had already been a degree of internal dissension prior to the running of the Derby itself. Baron le Tissier and Lord George have been at odds. There were arguments about
Running Rein
before the race was run. This dispute between Colonel Peel and Mr Wood has been the culmination of a long established dispute involving other parties and it seems to me that our client Mr Wood might be able to take advantage of this situation….’ His voice tailed away as he caught the hostile gleam in Cockburn’s eye. He licked his lips nervously. ‘I would of course defer to the consideration of the strategy you would wish to employ….’
    ‘Strategy,’ Cockburn humphed, and tapped a doubtful finger on the pink-stringed brief in front of him. ‘It will be all important if we are to sway the jury.’ He hesitated, eyed me once more in a speculative fashion. He knew I was a mere junior, not yet fully blooded. ‘What thoughts do you have on the matter, James?’
    I hesitated, aware of the self-important figure of Bulstrode beside me. It was there the purse-strings lay, not with Cockburn. And the solicitor wanted a battle. I affected an air of sagacity. ‘I believe the strategy should be a bold one. The dissension Mr Bulstrode has identified is a weakness in their defence: mention of their disagreement needs to be brought out into the open; the dispute between Lord George and Baron le Tissier needs to be highlighted, because it tends to undermine Colonel Peel’s case. We need also to obtain more information on the betting syndicate that is behind the whole thing. There are shadowy figures behind the scenes, putting pressure on Peel to raise this issue in court.’
    Bulstrode shivered with excitement. Cockburn smiled drily: he clearly felt my description of the situation would be more in keeping for the courtroom argument than a sober discussion here in chambers. But