Emily (23 page)

Ginny bent over and kissed her. ‘You don’t deserve to be in here, Emily. God must have been looking ’other way when all this happened. I hope Hugo Purnell rots in hell.’

The following weeks leading up to the court hearing passed very slowly. It was so cold. The wind whistled down the passageway and the damp walls had a thin layer of ice on them. Mary brought in extra blankets and a warm bonnet for Emily, and when Mr Hibbert the lawyer came to see her, his greatcoat buttoned up to his chin and a warm scarf over his ears, his voice echoed through the gaol as
he complained of the cold, and he never stayed long.

Then one day Mary brought her a new skirt and woollen shirt and said she would take Emily’s clothes home to wash. ‘It won’t be long now, Emily,’ she said gently, ‘and we must have you looking presentable.’

‘How do I look?’ she asked.

‘Pale and thinner,’ she said, ‘but that is hardly surprising. But’, she stroked her cheek, ‘still beautiful.’

Emily knew that she didn’t speak the truth. She knew from the way her skirt twisted around and her shirt hung on her that she was very much thinner. She felt dirty, even though she washed every day in a bowl of cold water. And when she looked down at her hands they seemed to be ingrained with grime, for everything she touched in the cell was flecked with soot and the dirt of many years.

A few days later she was surprised to hear Meg’s voice as she was led past her door. ‘Cheerio, my lovely,’ Meg called. ‘I’m off out again. I’ve served my time.’ She grabbed the bars to Emily’s cell and peered in. ‘I’ll not forget you and what you did for me,’ she whispered. ‘Saved my miserable life you did.’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘I didn’t think there was any kindness left in ’world, but I was mistook.’ She swallowed hard and shook off the warder’s hand as he tried to move her on. ‘It wasn’t just ’food that you sent,’ she said, ‘it was ’thought that somebody was thinking o’ me. God bless you. You’ll get what you deserve one day.’

Emily thought of her words as two constables
came the next day to take her to the magistrates’ court. Once again handcuffs were put on her and a rope was tied around her waist. Only this time she didn’t walk, she was bundled into an open wagon with other prisoners, ready to be driven through the thronging streets of the town to the court-house.

The sharp bitter wind caught her breath and she screwed up her eyes against the brightness of the morning, used as she was to the gloom of her cell, and she thought she would never again know such shame, as the crowds and market traders shouted abuse at the prisoners as they were driven past them. Someone threw a rotten apple and the wagon was followed by jeering children and laughing youths. Emily was shackled by the rope around her waist to a painted whore with dyed red hair, who shouted obscenities at the onlookers and made indecent signs with her fingers. Next to her was a thief with a scarred and evil-looking face and on Emily’s other side was a ragged young boy who cried constantly for his mother. If she could have sunk to her knees in prayer she would have, but the prisoners were packed so tightly together that they were kept upright by the press of each other’s bodies.

Still shackled, she was put in another basement cell at the courthouse. ‘Will it be today?’ she whispered to one of the guards. ‘Will the hearing be today?’ But he was busy coping with the louder complaints of other hardier prisoners and didn’t hear her.

‘You’ll have to shout up if you want to be heard,
dearie.’ The whore leered at her. ‘Nobody listens otherwise. What you up for?’

Emily couldn’t say the word. It wasn’t true. She hadn’t murdered the baby. ‘I’m accused of – killing a newborn baby.’

‘And they caught you?’ the woman said as if amazed. ‘By, there’s many a woman should be here then! Who can afford to bring a bairn into ’world? Who’d want to anyway?’

‘But I didn’t!’ Emily was shocked. ‘And it would be a sin if I had! A child has a right to life.’

The whore laughed. ‘You’re a little innocent aren’t you? Don’t know much about ’world that’s for sure!’

‘I know more now than I did,’ she murmured miserably. ‘More than I ever thought I would.’

‘Some man’s brought you down, I bet. Did he promise to marry you?’ The woman scratched vigorously at her body.

Emily shook her head. She wouldn’t discuss it, especially not with such a woman as this.

‘Took you then?’ the woman persisted. ‘And then left you to carry ’burden? I know all about that,’ she snarled. ‘See it every bleeding day that dawns. Two-legged scorpions! Lechers! Destroyers of women!’ She cursed and ranted, then pointed a dirty finger at Emily so that she cringed away, ‘Tek my advice. Name him! Let his family and friends see him for ’thief that he is for tekking your virtue!’

‘Emily Hawkins! Emily Hawkins! Come forward.’ She jumped as she heard her name being called. This was it, then. The time had come. Frightened and trembling, she was led up stone steps, down a
long gloomy corridor which was thronging with clerks carrying piles of parchment, young bewigged counsellors lounging idly against the walls and constables with prisoners shackled to them waiting impatiently for their turn to be called, and through heavy wooden doors into the courtroom.

She was only vaguely aware of the silence which descended on the room as she entered. A few murmurings and tut-tuttings as she was led toward a partially enclosed wooden dock where she was brusquely told to stand. One constable remained fastened to her by handcuffs and two more stood behind her. She turned her head. To the side of her, sitting on a long bench, was one of the constables who had arrested her. She saw Mr Hibbert dressed in his court robes and another ferret-faced man who sniffed down his long nose and shuffled his papers and scratched at his wig.

In the main area of the courtroom there was a great press of people, strangers to her; but no, there was Ginny, who gave her an encouraging nod. There was Mrs Anderson too, sitting next to her; she didn’t acknowledge Emily but sat with her head down and her mouth in a thin line. Behind her was a young woman wrapped in a thin shawl with a mewling child on her lap and Emily wondered if it was Mrs Anderson’s niece who had also fallen to Hugo Purnell’s advances.

She lifted her eyes to the balcony above. There was Mrs Marshall with a handkerchief to her nose, the feathers in her hat bobbing as she chatted to other well-dressed ladies of society sitting beside her. There was no sign of Mrs Purnell, but Emily’s
eyes filled with tears as she saw Mary Edwards in a long grey cloak with a hood over her head, taking her seat.

After the silence which had greeted her, there rose a hubbub of noise and laughter as if the audience were waiting to be entertained at a theatre show, but this died away again as the doors once more swung open and all eyes swivelled to see Hugo Purnell with his wife by his side being escorted in.

Emily drew in her breath. Why did he have to bring Miss Deborah? She didn’t look well. She was pale and trembling and stumbled as she took her place besides the long-nosed man, who, Emily now surmised, must be their lawyer.

‘All rise!’ called the clerk to the court and Emily’s eyes were transfixed on the bewigged and black-robed justice who entered and took his seat at the bench. She looked on his face for a sign of warmth and human compassion, but saw only an austere and authoritarian resolve. This man then was to judge her. This man with the forbidding frown on his forehead would decide on her future, whether she should live or die.

Sergeant Harris, who had arrested her and who had also been sent for by Hugo Purnell, was the first to give evidence. It was his opinion, he said, that the child was stillborn.

‘Have you seen a stillborn child before?’ asked Mr Sneepe, Hugo Purnell’s lawyer.

‘No sir, I haven’t,’ the sergeant admitted, ‘but I’ve seen children who’ve been murdered, and I know this one wasn’t.’

‘But you have never seen a stillborn child,’ the counsel persisted. ‘Therefore you couldn’t be sure.’

‘No, sir.’

‘And you saw the damaged painting? Did you assess whether the damage was deliberate or accidental?’

‘It appeared to be deliberate, sir.’

Hugo Purnell was called next to give evidence on finding the dead child and the damaged painting.

‘What was your reaction, Mr Purnell, when you came across this poor dead child?’ Mr Sneepe rubbed his hands round and round in an unctuous manner.

‘I was shocked,’ Hugo said smoothly, ‘and horrified’, he added, ‘that such a thing should happen in my home. I tried to keep the discovery from my wife –’, he spread his hands wide ‘but too late, she had seen both the child and the burnt painting.’

‘And did you know whose child it was?’

He shook his head. ‘Not until I was told by my mother’s housekeeper that one of the maids had become pregnant and that it was probably hers.’

Mr Hibbert stood up to question him. ‘Did you call a doctor to attend the child?’

‘I did not.’ Hugo stared defiantly at him. ‘I could see the child was dead, therefore I called the police. I understand a doctor was in attendance later to examine the child.’

‘Do you have any idea why the child should be left on your bed? Was there an implication that the prisoner, Emily Hawkins, might have been suggesting that it was your child?’

Hugo indicated towards his wife in the court. ‘I am a newly married man. Is it likely that I would dally with a young maid?’

There was a sudden guffaw from the balcony, where some of Hugo’s friends had gathered. He stared stony-faced up at them. ‘There has never been any such suggestion. Nor is there any reason why there should be.’

The doctor who had examined the child’s body was a thin, nervous young man who answered in a low and hesitant voice when asked his opinion on the child’s death. ‘It was probably a premature birth,’ he said, ‘and therefore the child was unlikely to survive.’

There was a great sigh as if of relief from the main body of the court and the justice frowned impatiently. ‘In your opinion, doctor,’ he asked, ‘would this child have survived with medical care?’

‘It is possible, though unlikely,’ he answered slowly, ‘and it would depend on the mother’s state of health and the conditions at its birth.’

‘You mean if the mother had had medical attention?’

The doctor agreed and started to say something to the effect that many mothers were not able to afford a doctor, but the magistrate cut him short.

When Emily was called she could barely stand and had to hold the side of the dock for support. She answered to her name and agreed that she had been in Mrs Purnell’s employ.

‘You gave birth to an illegitimate child. Is that correct?’ Mr Sneepe asked.

‘Yes, sir,’ she whispered.

‘Was this your first child?’

She gasped. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘When discovering that you were with child, did you consult a doctor?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Why not, if this was your first child?’

‘I was too afraid.’

‘Afraid or ashamed?’ He peered at her through narrowed eyes.

‘Both, sir.’ Emily kept her eyes to the floor.

‘Do you have any marriage prospects?’

She agreed that she hadn’t.

‘So you took this newborn child to your employer’s bedroom, where you laid him on the
bed. You took the poker from the fire and burnt the picture on the wall?’

‘Yes, I did, sir.’

There was a murmuring throughout the court as this damning evidence was given.

‘Why did you damage the picture?’

‘I was angry, sir, and upset.’

‘Angry and upset? You were upset that you had given birth and had no marriage prospects! You had made no provision for the birth of a child, no clothing or lying-in sheets. If you were angry and upset enough to damage the picture, could it be that you were also angry enough not to try and resuscitate the child?’

Emily stared at him. How could he say such a thing? ‘The baby was dead, sir,’ she whispered. ‘He never drew breath. I tried to make him live,’ a tear ran down her cheek, ‘but he wouldn’t.’

Mr Hibbert stood up. ‘Were you a virgin when you went to work at the Purnells’ household, Miss Hawkins?’

Emily’s cheeks burned and she hung her head. ‘I was, sir.’

‘And do you know the name of the child’s father?’

There was another gasp from the court and the people in the balcony jostled and hung over each other in anticipation of a revelation.

She was silent for a moment, then spoke so quietly that the magistrate leaned forward and said, ‘Speak up! I can’t hear you.’

She looked at him and Mr Hibbert, and then looked around the courtroom and caught sight of
Deborah Purnell’s white face. If she should tell that it was Hugo who had seduced her and made her pregnant, how would the Francises ever hold up their heads again? They had successfully kept from the world that they had insanity in their family and that Roger Francis had a mistress. Would they become a laughing stock if the world knew that their daughter had married a libertine, a seducer of innocence?

‘I do know, sir.’

‘And are you prepared to say who this man is?’

‘No, sir. I am not.’

Mr Hibbert clasped his hands to his head; there was a great hubbub around the court and the justice banged with his gavel on the desk and ordered quiet or he would clear the court. Then he leaned forward and spoke to Emily. ‘Why not?’

‘There would be no point, sir. The baby is dead. If I name his father, it won’t bring ’poor baby back. I didn’t kill him, sir,’ she pleaded, ‘but I did damage ’painting and I’m sorry about that. I’d willingly pay for it if I had the money.’

‘But that isn’t good enough,’ the magistrate barked. ‘We can’t have people damaging other people’s property and then just saying they’re sorry for it! And it seems to me, young woman, that either the unfortunate child’s father wouldn’t marry you, or else you are seeking to protect him and endeavouring to place the blame elsewhere! You had made no provision for the child, no clothing for it was found when your room was searched. By your own admission you abandoned the child and damaged the property of Mr Purnell, who
had shown much kindness in employing you.’

He glanced around the court. ‘Who knows the working of a woman’s mind? I’m sure that I don’t, not without further questioning at any rate.’