The Summer of Sir Lancelot

‘I‘ve looked up the deeds again. They are quite specific.‘
    ‘Rubbish, man! I believe you‘re merely scared of that swindler Chadwick and his money. You wait till I‘ve stoked up a bit of fire in your belly. Next case.‘
    ‘Ernest Herbert Millichap,‘ came a voice below him.
    Sir Lancelot frowned. ‘Who?‘
    ‘Ernest Herbert Millichap,‘ the Clerk of the Court repeated helpfully. Sir Lancelot glared at the Clerk. He glared down at his list. He glared at his brother justices on each flank.
    ‘What the devil are you doing there?‘ he demanded, finally glaring at the accused.
    ‘Your own chauffeur it is, Sir Lancelot.‘ Mr Evans raised his eyebrows. ‘Dear, dear! I suppose you‘d better withdraw.‘
    ‘Withdraw? How the hell can I withdraw? I can‘t get out of this ruddy chair without Millichap down there to help me.‘
    ‘It would be most improper otherwise,‘ added Miss Morgan-Griffiths, wagging her trifle.
    ‘Most improper indeed,‘ agreed Mr Evans, glancing heavenwards to see the remark registered.
    ‘Very well.‘ Sir Lancelot folded his arms loftily. ‘I shall withdraw in spirit. With my back in this condition you can hardly expect me to embark on a game of musical chairs. Or possibly you do not trust me, Evans,‘ he added cuttingly, ‘to avoid involving myself in the slightest with the case? My dear man, everyone in court can simply ignore me completely. Now do get on with it. Millichap has plenty to do except stand there all day.‘ Constable Howells rendered an account of the crime while Millichap stood with dignity in the dock, like a Victorian bishop waiting for the hymn to finish before he could pitch into the sermon. Sir Lancelot sat tugging his beard, his complexion steadily progressing through the colours at the lower end of the spectrum.
    ‘That would be his third offence,‘ concluded Mr Evans, as Sir Lancelot hit ultraviolet.
    Miss Morgan-Griffiths pursed her lips. ‘On the same stretch of road, too, Mr Evans.‘
    ‘Six months‘ disqualification, I think, Miss Morgan-Griffiths?‘
    ‘A year I‘d say myself, Mr Evans.‘
    ‘Damnation, Evans,‘ Sir Lancelot burst out, ‘surely you must preserve some sense of proportion? This man is a most careful and considerate driver — ‘
    ‘But that‘s not evidence, Sir Lancelot, not evidence-‘
    ‘Damn the evidence!‘ Sir Lancelot thumped the desk. ‘You can‘t take Millichap‘s licence away.‘
    ‘Why not, pray?‘ demanded Miss Morgan-Griffiths.
    ‘Because how the hell would I get home from court?‘ Sir Lancelot explained crossly. ‘Not with a back like this.‘
    ‘We have our duty,‘ she declared, with a sharp wag of the trifle.
    Sir Lancelot eyed her like a trout who‘d refused his fly. ‘In that case I wish to make a special plea on behalf of the accused.‘
    ‘But, Sir Lancelot!‘ Mr Evans put a hand over his eyes, hoping heaven wouldn‘t overhear that one. ‘You can‘t defend the prisoner, man! Not from the Bench.‘
    ‘I‘m not on the blasted Bench. In spirit I‘m down there in the well of the court trying to inject some reasonable advocacy into the proceedings. Do you realize, Evans, you will be depriving this man not only of his licence but his livelihood? I assure you I cannot possibly afford to employ both Millichap and another chauffeur. He has a wife and children, Miss Morgan-Griffiths,‘ Sir Lancelot continued, with the air of Marshall Hall warming up at the Old Bailey. ‘Moreover, the poor fellow would be utterly lost in any employment but mine. He will go on the dole and even drift into a life of crime, causing misery to his family and eating great holes in the rates. You may he precipitating a ghastly human tragedy. Not something I‘d care to go to bed with on my conscience, Evans.‘
    ‘Well — ‘ faltered Mr Evans, who suffered badly from insomnia already. Millichap cleared his throat.
    ‘Your Worships, I happened to overhear the plea for leniency made on my behalf by Sir Lancelot, it was very moving, and I thank him from the bottom of my heart. But I could have saved him the trouble. In the past twelvemonth I‘ve got fair browned off driving all over the countryside on his little errands, and I‘ve been wanting an excuse to turn in this chauffeuring lark all winter. So I have today entered employment as gillie to a local gentleman, Mr Charles Chadwick — ‘
    ‘What!‘ Sir Lancelot quivered. ‘How dare you! You renegade! You turncoat! You rat! I‘ve employed you now