The Gentleman & The Rake

Day Two: Mr. B vs. Committee for Literary Fairness

Entering the courtroom, Mr. B made a point of cold-shouldering the interfering busybodies from the Committee for Literary Fairness. He still couldn't grasp why he was here. He had never excused or dismissed his mistakes with Pamela.

Settling at the fictionals' table, he said to Mr. Shorter, "I encouraged Pamela to publish her account of my misdeeds. She forgave me everything." She'd married him. "Aren't any of these people Christians?"

Mr. Shorter shrugged. "I don't think it matters."

It mattered to Pamela. Mr. B didn't see who else it should matter to.

Then again, he wasn't always sure the people in this hearing were talking about his and Pamela's novel. His testimony followed Pamela's account: he'd read and reread her letters so often he knew the order she gave to events. She was more effusive, he more blunt (though not more caustic); she noticed more details; he was more analytical. Still, she and Mr. B concurred on who said what when, where, and even why.

But the people in this courtroom-more precisely, the people at the opposite table-seemed to think Pamela's writing said something other than it did, that Pamela was not honest when she spoke of softening towards him, of loving him.

Perhaps, these non-fictionals wouldn't leave Odysseus alone.

"Do you think they hate novels?" he said to Mr. Shorter.

"I'm not a huge fan of them myself."

"Because they endanger society's morals?" Mr. B said, surprised. Mr. Shorter had never struck Mr. B as an alarmist.

"What? No. I just prefer reading news."

"They seem frightened," Mr. B said, glancing towards the CLF table. "Like they don't want our novel to exist."

Like they didn't want Pamela to have ever been.

Under the table, Mr. B clenched his hands.

* * *

At the opposite table, Dr. Matchel chided the CLF psychologist, Mr. Hatch, "I thought we agreed to leave Pamela in Herland."

"We did. She's there now."

"But you extracted her last evening."

"Our therapy sessions have to take place in the courthouse."

"She doesn't need therapy," said Professor Just-Call-Me-Gary. "She needs to get away from her bullying husband."

"She doesn't behave like an abused wife," Mr. Hatch said.

Dr. Matchel said, "Women in these situations don't always know they need help, Mr. Hatch."

"That's why I have to interview her." Mr. Hatch was annoyed. His was the awesome responsibility of acquainting Pamela with non-repressive forms of self-expression. "Last night, I used yesterday's transcripts to point out patriarchal assumptions in Mr. B's testimony."

"How did Pamela respond?"

Mr. Hatch twitched defensively. "She demanded to see her husband."

"You see!"

"I'll get through to her eventually."

* * *

Leslie Quinn and Lonquist strolled into the courtroom together. They had met at the coffee stand in the rotunda where they'd shared a pastry and discussed Wilkie Collins's Woman in White.

"Our judge would be more comfortable with a murder mystery," Lonquist said.

"Oh, he'll find his legs. The eighteenth century is a lot to take on."