overflowed them. Naturally, Old Bailey noticed this at the same time I did. I had become a voice for the reformation of the Bloody Code, for the laudable cause of equal justice under the law for rich and poor alike. But it was with the Aldermen’s renewed attention to my Accounts that I began a war on another front, one closer to my own heart: the freedom of speech of free Englishmen.
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One Alderman had lectured me at Old Bailey after my James Morneau &c. publications. Three together confronted me shortly after those eight Accounts went out. It was a more cordial meeting than the first, which had me wary, until I realized I had more power, and that explained it. One bade me sit down, which I did; another offered me tea, for which I thanked him; a third asked after my business, generally, to which I responded, primly. I have no experience being high born, but I have met enough high-born criminals to pass, in a meeting with some of the Court of Alderman, at any rate.
There were three secretaries, one for each man, all scratching like birds during the meeting, and all whispering in their master’s ear. Could have been reminders, what to say and what points to make. I sensed it was enemy intelligence – tactics for each one to maneuver around the other two.
In any event, hearing, as I am sure he expected, that my sales were satisfactory to me, the third Alderman bore down upon me more specifically: They were up, far up, were they not? It was true, my eight most recent Accounts, “embellished” to tell the stories of the lives of the condemned and to make eloquent speechmakers out of all of them, were brisk sellers. James Morneau’s Account had sold well, too – not as well as the most recent, but better also than I was used to.