This is Lamorna Cove. Streaming for tin was carried out here at least as far back as the 13th/14th Century. This is where the Penrose family (lol) moored their privateer/pirate ship during the 17th Century. That's right if the smuggling was going a bit slow you could always resort to piracy. It's in our blood. It's part of our culture. Why are people trying to destroy it?
(The copyright for this image is the property of Aspects Holidays)
There comes a time in every mans life when he finds himself facing a mock trial, because he helped someone out. We've all been there. Sweat dripping down our collars as the indictment is read out. Worried and anxious that blind justice is in control of our fate. For Michael Penrose this was that day. He wasn't worried or anxious though. He had to keep telling himself that to prevent himself becoming worried and anxious about what other effects this mock trial might have. He'd laughed it off after the initial surprise. What was Sophie up to, he mused? What craziness would ensue here? There'd be opportunities for dead pan humor, sarcasm, cynicism and hopefully a long lunch break. Once he'd ignored Stephanie's advice to get his own counsel, Michael was set. He slept well after sharing the tale with Luke. Whom he hadn't bullied for quite a while now. Other things on his mind or was that duplicitous fucker actually avoiding making Michael angry. You couldn't put it past him. Luke was evolving. Not so much in the personality department, more in his ability to escape from whatever trap Sophie lured him into. Just for a laugh Michael subpoenaed him as a witness for the defense. Knowing he'd crack under cross examination to hilarious effect.
Dressed in his best suit. His only suit. Michael prepared himself for what could be the ride of a life time. Miles would be presiding. That opened up the interesting possibility of stopping this dead in its tracks at some point. He'd leave that for now. This was a chance for him to talk endlessly about nothing of any real consequence. He could whine and moan obliquely about any subject he chose. He'd prepared by not preparing. Nobody would expect that. Or would they? No. They'd expect him to prepare because he was someone who was known to possess no forethought. They'd think he'd spend hours going over every facet of this. Then surprise them with his exhaustive preparations. Only he wouldn't do that. He might be a lazy layabout, but he had principles. He had a principle. One he'd only now thought of. Michael would remain faithful to his nature. He'd turn up, do the bare minimum required and free wheel his way through the whole thing. What could go wrong? Hundreds of things, but they didn't matter because he'd not bothered to think about them. A system that had failed him all his life was about to pay out big time. This wasn't a million to one shot. This was a billion to one shot. It couldn't fail.
He even had a shave. While he was avoiding looking at his own unremarkable face in the shaving mirror he thought it would be a good idea to rehearse Luke on his responses. Maybe get him to leap up at some random point shouting "that's the murderer your honor I saw it with my own eyes", which would be brilliant if timed right. Unfortunately he was dealing with Luke. The kind of man you instructed with a rolled up newspaper and the constant repetition of bad boy. His tiny religitarded brain wouldn't be capable of retaining instructions or spotting the opening. The odds were that he couldn't take direction either. If this was going to be a piece of performance work then he'd have to shoulder the full load here. Not something his precipitously sloped shoulders had ever done before. It couldn't be that hard when you looked at the dicks that did it all the time. It was only while he was sauntering over to the vllage hall that the doubts began to creep in. There he was congratulating himself on his first saunter, that was another one to scratch off the bucket list, when he remembered who he was dealing with. This was Sophie Deveraux, a woman of remarkable intellect that had been scrambled by severe head trauma. If Sophie trod on a sharp nail the nail would come off worst.
Michael had decided to arrive early, setting off an hour before the whole pantomime was to be enacted. The only reason for this being that they'd expect him to arrive late. Much to his surprise half the village appeared to be filing into the hall. Was there a fete or other similar fund raising event? He was pretty sure these sorts of things happened in villages across the land. Why would St Erile be an exception. The odds were that someone would have told him all about it and he'd either ignored them or forgotten all about it. His composure wasn't helped by the huge sign someone had expertly painted. "The Trial of the Century", seemed suitably hyperbolic for these local non-events. Back in the olden days, when the Deveraux's were lords of the manor, they sit in judgement over local disputes between tenants and villagers. Now that he was making up scenario's it seemed highly likely that this was one of those costume things. That would be right up Sophie's alley. Nobody was wearing a period costume. Possibly so they didn't outshine Sophie.
"Hold on. What the fuck am I on about? Nobody outshines Sophie." Then he spotted Tall Girl and Big Jeff filing in through the door. "Do either of you know what's happening here?" He asked.
"Oh yes." Tall Girl replied.
"We can't talk to you about it though." Jeff added. "It wouldn't be appropriate. We're on the jury.""
Alright. There was no need to panic here. They could be the jury deciding which cakes and flowers were the best. Only then they'd have said they were judges. As he entered there was a surge of incomprehensible chatter from the assembly. There had to be over twenty people there besides the jury. As he examined the set up it dawned on him that he was the one that had been set up. Stephanie had been correct in her assessment. He was quite literally fucked. Completely outmatched. Sophie had apparently come up with all this in a few hours. Then she'd organized it. Michael couldn't even think how you'd start something like this. Obviously Sophie had the huge advantage of being liked by everyone, universally. He on the other hand didn't pander to popularity. Perhaps he should rethink that philosophy. Better still he could pat his pockets, pretend he'd forgotten something then make a run for it. He'd be miles away before anyone figured it out. If he set off across the fields they wouldn't be able to track him. No. He was going to do the manly thing. Bullshit his way through the whole experience. Besides they'd closed the doors now. No sign of Sophie, Stephanie or Darcy. Although Doogie and Doidge were there in the front row. Along with Doreen, who'd brought along a flask and sandwiches. While Michael surveyed the scene, Luke arrived. At last a friendly face. He was screwed. Any fantasy that he'd escape this with at least a shred of dignity evaporated. He'd just classified Luke as a friend.
The more he examined things the worse it became. There was a jury section set up. Twelve good men and true so the old saying went. Whoever had come up with that hadn't every been to Cornwall. You'd find six if you were lucky and cast your net wide. There was a stage at one end. Nothing elaborate. About three feet high. In the exact center they'd set up a dais for the judge. To its right was what must be the witness box. Then at either side of the stage area were the places where he and Sophie would present their cases. Why it bothered him he didn't know. It was petty. On her part. He was above such things. While at the same time wishing he'd thought of it. Two signs dangled above the positions. One stating "Plaintiff" the other "Accused". They were entirely unnecessary apart from raising that old question yet again.
Where did she get the resources to do all this? The whole thing was a logistical nightmare for anyone who dwelt in reality. Michael didn't need any directions, stage or otherwise, to show him where he would be seated. On one side of the stage they'd set up a long table. A carafe of sparkling water in front of each of the three chairs. Each place setting even had a pad and pens. There was a modesty panel. On the other side of the stage they'd placed a collapsible card table. Complete wit green baize top and wobbly legs. No carafe of water for him. No pad or pens. Michael climbed up onto the stage then fell into his seat behind the battered card table. Fell was the right word to. The chair was only about a foot high so the top of his table came up to his chest. No sign of bias here then. They'd been lying in wait for him. Even though he'd deliberately arrived early they'd seen through his double bluff of not preparing. He'd been caught in the classic triple bluff. His adversaries made their entrance. Stage left.
"Awww. Come on? Somebody throw me a bone here."
Michael's exclamation came from the soul via the heart. Stephanie entered dressed in her advocate garb of professional suit and carrying a mountain of papers and files. Darcy and Sophie slightly behind. Darcy sobbing brokenly into a handkerchief. That was as nothing to Sophie's appearance. A balloon in one hand, a battered teddy bear in the other. The facet that crowned her spectacular entrance being her outfit. Classic little girl possibly based on Shirley Temple. High waisted cotton dress, mop of blonde curls, white ankle socks and Mary Jane flat shoes. You couldn't just hear the crowd going all gooey you could feel them. This was the show trial to beat all show trials. Stalin would have been helpless against this woman and her cadre of friends. She had to have almost limitless resources somewhere. Miles Deveraux stepped out from behind the stage curtain. A voice he thought he recognized as Big Jeff intoned solemnly.
"The court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Deveraux residing. Please be upstanding."
Everyone stood up. Michael fought his way upright catching his table on his knees and knocking it over. Just the start he'd wanted.
"I call this court to order. Please be seated." Miles declared. "The case before you is that of the Crown versus Michael Penrose. This is a court of arbitration and as such it is not our purpose to assign blame. We are here to listen to the facts then decide what punishment this miscreant deserves."
Michael decided to play his trump card. His only card. He disregarded Luke for good reason. Those women would make mincemeat of him.
"Your honor." Michael said. "I would like to suggest..."
Miles banged his gavel.
"Objection over ruled."
"Your honor I haven't raised an objection ye...."
"Yes but you were going to suggest that my relationship to the plaintiff should rule me out as arbiter in this most serious case. Frankly I'm disturbed by anyone, especially you, suggesting I would be in any way biased towards my darling daughter. Who is a constant joy to me and has brought me nothing but happiness since the day she was born. Someone I'd raised and nurtured as a loving, protective father. Sending her forth into the world only to be used and abused by you. Rest assured I will not allow the fact you are guilty to color my judgement of you. My only regret is that hanging is no longer an option I can use." Michael half raised an arm. "If you continue to disrespect the office of this court I will have no other option but to find you in contempt. Even though you are a serial corrupter of innocence I will maintain my impartiality. Ordinarily the clerk of the court would read out the list of charges. That will not be possible today as he is sitting on the jury. Besides which these crimes, committed by you, are numerous and so serious that merely stating them publicly would be far too damaging for the mental health of the victim of your excesses. Counsel for the Prosecution, would you be so kind as to hand a list of his calumnies to the guilty party."
Stephanie brought over a two page summary. Michael cast his eyes down the first page. Sexual harassment, corruption of a minor, corruption of a miner, indecent exposure, hazardous working conditions, unreasonable demands, frequent random changes of dress code, slavery, sex kitten trafficking. The list went on. He wasn't even a quarter of the way down the first page. Boy, it really did look as though this was going to be a long day.
"Will I get the opportunity to make a plea?"
"You certainly will. Not that it makes any difference."
"I'm going to plead insanity your honor."
"I thought you would. I'm going to put that down as not guilty. That way we won't miss any of the good bits. Counsel for the Prosecution you may make your opening statement."
Yes I are doing cliff hangers now.
