William Monk 19 - Blind Justice

turned to Knight. “Those sums must represent pennies and shillings collected over every week of the year, to have reached such an amount.”
    “Yes, sir,” Knight agreed.
    Gavinton rose again. “My lord, this is pointless. We agree that many people gave generously. It is a waste of the court’s time, and thesegentlemen’s indulgence.” He waved to indicate the jury, who all looked bored and impatient.
    “Mr. Warne, is there some point you wish to make?” Rathbone asked. “So far you have not shown us anything a simple statement of account would not have done.”
    Warne smiled bleakly. “My point, my lord, is that these individual figures show a pattern.” He turned to Knight, who was looking more and more wretched, as if Gavinton’s objections were his fault. “Mr. Knight, what conclusion did you draw from these figures, sir?”
    Knight swallowed yet again. “That these people had given money to Mr. Taft every week, sir. The amounts are random, often including odd pennies, as if they had turned out their pockets and given all they had. And because the number of donations every week corresponded pretty clearly with the number of adults attending the service, it seems as if they all gave … sir.”
    “Thank you,” Warne said with a bow. “Your witness, Mr. Gavinton.”
    Gavinton rose to his feet. The satisfaction still gleamed in his face.
    “Mr. Knight, do you go to church, sir?”
    “Yes.”
    “And do you give an offering?”
    “I do.”
    “And does it compare roughly to any of the amounts you found in these records?”
    “Yes, sir. I give what I can.”
    Gavinton smiled. “I imagine everyone in your congregation does. And in every other congregation in London, indeed in England.” He looked a little wearily at Warne. “I don’t understand your point. And forgive me, Mr. Knight, I haven’t any idea what you think you are testifying to! Other than the perfectly obvious fact that Mr. Taft has a more generous flock, and perhaps a larger one, than most congregations of rather more orthodox faith!”
    Knight leaned forward in the witness stand, his plump hands grippingthe railing. “You could if you understood figures, sir,” he said distinctly. “These people are giving all they can, pennies and ha’pennies, whatever they have left at the end of the week. All of them—every week.”
    “All you are saying is that they are noble and generous,” Gavinton pointed out with a faint smirk. “And possibly that Mr. Taft is a better preacher than most. Thank you, Mr. Knight!” The smirk was wider.
    “No!” Knight said loudly as Gavinton walked away from him. “It shows that they believed with all their hearts that Mr. Taft was going to do something with it that they cared about, so much so they were willing to go cold and hungry,” he said angrily.
    “Willing to make do with less, you mean?” Gavinton suggested. “Did he ask anyone to go into debt? To fall short on their own commitments?”
    Warne rose to his feet. “We shall show that that is exactly what he did.”
    “If he did, that is not a crime,” Gavinton shot back. “He could ask, but he couldn’t force anyone to do anything against their will. You are wasting the court’s time and bringing a righteous man’s name into disrepute by making those frankly absurd charges.”
    “Gentlemen!” Rathbone demanded their attention. “It is you who are wasting our time. We are here to provide evidence and test it on exactly these matters. Please continue to do so, with facts, however tedious they may be to unravel. Mr. Gavinton, have you anything more to ask Mr. Knight?”
    “I don’t think Mr. Knight can tell me anything at all,” Gavinton said ungraciously.
    Warne raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think anyone can,” he responded.
    There was a titter of amusement from the gallery, and one juror laughed outright.
    Gavinton was far from amused.
    Rathbone kept his face straight with something of an effort. “Have you anything to ask or redirect, Mr. Warne?”
    “Thank you, my lord,” Warne said. “Mr. Knight, you deduce from these figures that a number of people, almost the same number every week, gave random amounts to Mr. Taft’s Church. The numbers vary from a few pence to many pounds, in fact whatever they could possibly manage. Is that correct?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And in what way is that a crime?” His voice was very light, curious, no more.
    “It’s not, sir,” Knight replied. “So long as Mr. Taft used