4127.105 · April 15, 1807 AD
The Gaoler's Counsel
Dawn has come to Portsmouth Gaol, and with it, the hour William Jeffries has been dreading. A gaoler with roughened hands and an unexpected tongue delivers more than bread and cheese — he delivers a truth that cuts deeper than any sentence. But when the name of a powerful accuser hangs in the damp air between them, can a few honest words outweigh the fortune stacked against one man's innocence?
The oak door grinds open on swollen hinges, and with it comes the scent of bread, cheese, and a reckoning. Mr Culpepper is not a man built for tenderness — his years are written in the stone of this place, in the iron at his hip and the furrows at his brow. Yet on this morning, something shifts. A cup of water offered with care. A warning spoken not as command, but as counsel from one who has watched too many men crumble before they ever reach the dock.
William Jeffries has a fortnight of damp stone in his bones and a trial that will not wait. The courtroom will be full — all of Portsmouth wants its spectacle. And somewhere beyond these walls, a man with deep coffers and a spotless reputation is preparing words that will fall like chains. The scales of justice tip before they are even held.
But Culpepper has left something behind that no magistrate can confiscate. A single, stubborn truth: that dignity belongs to the man who keeps it, not the court that tries to strip it away. Whether William can carry that truth through the doors of the courthouse — and beyond — remains to be seen.
