Three Round Towers (10 page)
Read Three Round Towers Online
Authors: Beverley Elphick
A Poor Man's Soup: Pick a handful of parsley leaves, mince them fine, and strew over a little salt; shred six green onions, and put them with the parsley in a sauceboat. Add three tablespoons of oil and vinegar, with some pepper and salt.
A Cheap Rice and Meat Soup: Put a pound of rice and a little pepper and broth herbs into two quarts of water; cover them close and simmer very softly; put in a little cinnamon, two pounds of good ox-cheek, and boil the whole till the goodness is incorporated by the liquor.
MacKenzie's Five Thousand Receipts in All the Useful and Domestic Arts
The New Year has arrived and I endeavour to keep the troubles of the world from my family but, in truth, I am concerned. There is much local disturbance with the price of grain and lack of basic foodstuffs. The harvest last year was poor and the early frozen ground yielded nothing. We are fortunate that women make the daily trek from Brighton with fresh fish. As South Farm is on their route over the downs we are lucky to get first choice. The one advantage of the heavy frost was that food did not spoil too soon. Mrs Fisher, though only a plain cook, makes the best of supplies and Esther is a great asset as she has skills with herbs and spices that improve our plain diet. The unrest in France is of great personal concern to me, my brother and uncle are both in the navy and I feel them to be at great risk. Piracy as well as smuggling is commonplace and the taking of boats, fully laden, by privateers is nearly as much a problem for the forces as is the smuggling. No one balks at the taking of Frenchies but many lawless men who have no allegiance to king or country roam our waterways.
When Esther came into our lives we were in great distress at the death of our first child. I feared for Cecilia's health and state of mind as she was distraught and has no close family nearby to help ease her pain. Esther's arrival came just in the nick of time and her gentle care of my fragile wife will stay with me. It was difficult to see and hear the child Beth in our own cradle and know that we might have had one such baby ourselves but for the cruelty of fate. As the weeks passed Beth wound herself round our fingers and hearts and Cecilia recovered. If I am honest, she did more than recover, she became stronger, happier and I had hopes that nature would take its course soon and we would be blessed with our own child. It is not unnatural to want sons to carry on our name, and work the good land that I am privileged to have inherited. But, a little girl is something different, something delicate and beauteous that needs protection and nurturing and I long for one such for Cecilia and me to cherish.
Since Noel, I have spent a number of evenings with my friend, Dr Grieve, who also happens to hold the office of coroner in Lewes. I am concerned as to why Esther is being charged with a murder when the coroner believes that young Becca, Beth's mother, died of drowning before the dreadful injuries were inflicted. The Coad family clearly had the motive to hurt both the girls. Becca because she could talk and Esther as a scapegoat for the wicked deeds inflicted by Farmer Coad.
I am deeply indebted to Esther and I believe her story so with the agreement of my dear wife I decided to fund the girl's defence. Dr Grieve has to appear impartial but I know him to believe in Esther and knew he would help with practical advice and his particular knowledge of the court's machinations which, I am grieved to say, did not always come down on the side of the innocent. Esther's simplicity could work for or against her and it was necessary to find a barrister who would present her case with clarity and be able to knock down the arrogance of the Coads. I relished the prospect of defeating this odious family who are a disgrace to civilised humanity.
It is February and I have a meeting with our chosen barrister, Mr Josiah Button.
âTell me again, Mr Elwood, about the bag that the money was handed over in â you have it in your house?'
âYes, it is kept safe in my study.'
âWe need to fetch it â I will take it with me and make enquiries. I will also need to speak with the young woman before the case comes to court.'
âThat is easily arranged. Tell me, do you think we have a good chance of acquittal?'
âAh, that is indeed a question. We have a legal system that requires the jury to understand the evidence and act accordingly. Regretfully, in my learned opinion, juries are largely drawn from the less educated classes for the simple reason that there are more of them. Because of that we also need a judge who can see the wood for the trees and direct the jury to the proper conclusion. Alas, this does not always happen. A jury can be swayed by many things, not necessarily pertinent to the case.'
âSurely, the case depends on the evidence presented?' Mr Button laughed at my words and I was discomfited to hear him. I wasn't accustomed to people deriding my opinion.
âMy dear sir, clearly you have not been in touch with the courts before now. I congratulate you but regretfully the jury is often the Achilles' heel of the system.
I banged my fist on the desk in frustration.
âWell, what are we to do then? Why am I employing you, at great expense I must say, if you cannot be certain to win our case?'
Mr Button raised his silver topped cane to his mouth and tapped it against his teeth.
My dear fellow, you are employing me because I can out-think and then outwit any jury and certainly the public prosecutor.'
I was uncomfortable with this declaration but Dr Grieve seemed to think that Josiah Button was the best we could hope for in the defence of Esther.
Later, at home, I confided in Cecilia that it wasn't as clear-cut as I had believed; that Esther's very innocence made her a âsitting duck for the prosecution' according to Mr Josiah Button.
âBut how can that be, my dear?' A crinkle of concern had knotted her brow.
âHer testimony can be manipulated by the prosecution because she hasn't the knowledge of mankind to appreciate how wicked some people are. In other words, she is gullible in her innocence.'
âOh John, what are we to do?'
âWe must hand over the evidence â the stake, the bag, the money and prepare Esther for a rough ride. Mr Button will arrange investigators to seek out the facts and he will, God willing, find enough facts to carry the jury without putting Esther on the stand.'
Cecilia grasped my hands and we sat in sad silence at the unfairness of it all.
I am to meet the barrister that Farmer Elwood has employed for me at the inn near the court. He has arrived a few days early to question and prepare. He has been provided with a list of people who will give testimony on my behalf. I am frightened. I don't like this man. I worry that Farmer Elwood is spending money on me that should be going to his own family and farm. Times are very hard and no one can afford to waste money. I clutch Beth to me in fear and misery.
Esther is to be put on trial for murder tomorrow. Today, I am charged with preparing her for what will be a frightful miscarriage of justice if she is found guilty. We believe in her innocence, we don't even understand why she has been charged. That horrible man who will defend her has demoralised her, us, completely. He has tortured her with memories; he has browbeaten her with interpretations â false interpretations. He has bullied us all and we no longer know what it is we think. Today, my dear husband is to take Esther to the market tower where she will spend the night in a cell before being taken before the judge tomorrow. We have been told that the judge, his Honour George Pettigrew, is a stickler for procedures and, fortunately for us is considered a fair man.
This morning Esther rose and packed her little bag with some clean undergarments. She hesitated and then pulled a sweet comb from the bag and handed it to me saying, âIf, Cecilia, things go badly for me, then I ask you to save this comb and give it to Beth when she is older. It was her mother's and she loved it dearly. Please also give this brooch to Beth. Mrs Makepiece gave it to me for Christmas and I don't think it sensible to keep it by me.'
I dropped my eyes as I took the comb, I didn't want her to see my tears and believe that I had lost faith, not in her innocence, but in our ability to protect her.
I took Esther in the carriage to Mrs Makepiece who was all of a flutter and not much use in keeping either of us calm. We left Beth with her when my husband arrived to escort us all to the market tower. We were determined to show the town that this young woman was under our protection and as we are considered to be people of substance in this community our protection was a public declaration of her innocence.
I could not bring myself to enter the gaol but waited outside in the carriage as John escorted my dearest friend inside. I could hear a lot of noise and I gathered that the assizes were to try a very full list of cases. Later, John told me that Esther was incarcerated with some light women and several trampers. Mrs Fisher had prepared her a decent basket of refreshments and at the very least I can be assured she won't go hungry again. John had advised her to sew some coins into her hem in case of need. We went back to collect Beth and returned home. I retired to my room once I had made sure that there was a good dinner being prepared for John and Dr Grieve who had accepted our invitation to dine. I spent my time playing with my poor motherless Beth and saying prayers for Esther's deliverance. It was a distressing day for all of us.
The constable came and entered my name into a great book. He took my basket from me and searched it. I felt very uncomfortable when this uncouth man pulled my drawers and bits and bobs out for all to see. He then proceeded to unpack the food which Mrs Fisher had kindly put up for me. He smirked as he put the food and ale to one side. âThat'll make me a nice lunch today. Here, I'll leave you the apple.' I ignored his familiar looks and kept my eyes down. I felt beaten already. In some ways I hoped that I would be sent to the gallows rather than a long internment in a prison or a prison ship.
I felt I would not be able to adjust to incarceration no matter how brave I might become. I knew I should not be thinking like this â giving up hope. I should be full of my own innocence and people would see it and know me to be not guilty.
Somehow, I had lost hope that I would overcome the Coads. I was in such a low state that I considered pleading guilty just to get it over with. I had not told anyone my thoughts as they would be greatly shocked and distressed and I couldn't bear for them to suffer on my behalf.
We entered a cell that was already crowded with other women: coarse, dirty women who all stared at me. I cringed back and tried to stop but the constable put his hand on my back and gave me a great push. I fell into the squalid little room and grabbed at the nearest person to stop me from falling onto the dirty floor.
âOi, gerr off⦠what d'ye think yer doin?'
âI'm so sorry, I didn't mean toâ¦'
âOh, I say, a bit lah di dah ain't we? Look loveys we got us a posh one 'ere â what you in for m'lady?'
âMurder,' I whispered.
This seemed to startle the woman who peered at me with interest.
âLandsakes, who did you top then, yer ol' man?'
âNo, I am innocent of the charges. I didn't murder anyone. I am falsely accused by a man who wants to cover up his own wrongdoings.'
My voice had risen and grown stronger as I continued and in the end I told my fellow prisoners all about Farmer Coad and his wicked sons. It was the best thing I could have done because after that they seemed to have some sympathy for me and my night in their company was not so very bad. We were five in that cell and there were others all around waiting their turn for summary justice. There was only one pallet in the corner of the room and three of us sat on it side by side â the women decided I was entitled to a spot on the pallet because of my lipsy leg but in the end we all swapped round throughout the night.
No one could sleep because of the noise from the other cells. When daylight eventually filtered into our space I began to quiver with fear again. Sarah, one of my companions, told me that Justice Pettigrew was a sour but fair man and that I should put some faith in being honest.
âHow do you know?' I asked.
âI've been up before his almighty-self many a time and he and I is on remarkably good terms,' she cackled through her broken teeth. âI's expecting to go down for a whiles this time tho, maybe even transported. Suit me fine, getting out of this Godforsaken country, startin' afresh somewheres else, find me a man and a nice little cottage in a warm place.'
I listened to her dreams with pity, I had heard all about the conditions on the transport ships.
âI hope you are released,' I said, as optimistically as I could.
The constable came by with bowls of thin gruel and five crusts of bread, which Miss Wardle wouldn't even have given to her piggies. I handed my share to Sarah who tucked in without complaint dipping her bread in the gruel to soften it. I was called to the bars and told that I was up first and to prepare myself. A few minutes later the door clanged open and I was handcuffed and led up through a tunnel and into the heaving courtroom.
Balsamic and anti-putrid vinegar
Take rue, sage, mint, rosemary, and lavender, fresh gathered, of each a handful, cut them small, and put them into a stone jar, pour upon the herbs a pint of the best white-wine vinegar; cover the jar close, and let it stand eight days in the sun or near a fire; then strain it off and dissolve it in an ounce of camphor. The liquid sprinkled or fumigated will much revive and prevent attendants from receiving infection.
MacKenzie's Five Thousand Receipts in All the Useful and Domestic Arts
It was very noisy in the court and I couldn't make out where the judge was. I saw lots of beetley black men scurrying about in wigs and carrying files. A number of grandly-dressed women were sitting in the front pews waving fans under their noses for the smell was not pleasant. Clouds of dust rose as soon as anyone moved and there were a lot of people moving: coming and going â rising and sitting â moving along to allow others to squeeze onto the benches. At last it all settled down into a stillness of sorts and I was able to identify my friends in the crowd. Cecilia was separate; she sat upright and tense. I felt she should have stayed away: the court is not a suitable place for such a genteel person. I expect they were going to call her as a character witness. I gripped the rail in front of me as a loud voice shouted, âAll rise, for his Lordship Justice George Pettigrewâ¦' I didn't hear the rest, my hearing seemed muffled. Everyone stood as a stooped man in a black gown and yellowing wig made his way to the bench. He sat. Everyone sat back down but not me. I was held up by the determined young man.
âM'Lord, this young woman is charged with the deliberate murder of her colleague and friend Miss Rebecca Franklinâ¦' It all faded away from me as I swooned onto the hard chair behind me. I was aware of a lot of noise around me and the insistent banging of a gavel.
âSilence, silence! I will have silence in my court. Young lady, stand up and pay attention.'
The court was told of the finding of Becca's body, of the dreadful injuries inflicted on her, of the knowledge of a recent birthing and finally of the accusation from Farmer Coad that I had deliberately and wilfully held Becca under the water until she drowned and then had violated her poor limp body in a fit of temper. That I had stolen the child that Becca had borne just hours before. Not only had I done this dreadful deed but that I had boasted to the Coad family of my acts.
There was a lot of talk, back and forth, legal and plain speak. I lost track; I couldn't hear well and people seemed to be talking about someone other than me.
The judge finally addressed me personally, âYoung lady, how do you plead â guilty or not guilty?'
I gathered myself together and looked at him directly. âI plead, your Honour, not guilty.' There, I had done it. I spoke aloud and clearly for all to hear. Not guilty.
If I was not on a charge of murder I would have soon got bored with the progress of the trial. I thought the judge looked as if he was falling asleep. It was very warm and sickly in the court and I struggled to keep my attention on the prosecutor who was outlining, at great length, the detail of Becca's death and recovery from the river. At one point he raised his arm and pointed to me with a stick saying, âthis wicked young woman, who sits before you, in a parody of innocence, deserves nothing less than to be hanged.'
He turned on his heels and addressed the jury of men. âDon't let her innocent looks and good clothes distract you. This woman committed murder and stole a child and we will offer such facts that will prove it to you gentlemen of the jury.'
The judge sighed and held a nosegay of herbs beneath his nose as he said in a tone of utter weariness. âCan we get on with it then? Haranguing the court proves nothing. Let us get to the point, and quickly,' he looked at his pocket watch.
The prosecution brought forth every little detail that could blacken mine and Becca's name. How we had made an exhibition of ourselves at the fair, how we had flaunted our feminine charms before God-fearing men and women. How Becca had given herself to an upstanding local man who had been tricked; tricked with a love potion into committing carnal sin. And, as a result of the one transgression of this honest fellow, a child was born. Born out of wedlock to this tramp of a girl.
And then he came to me. How I, as a dowdy, disabled creature, marked by the pox and unlikely to ever find herself a man was overtaken by jealousy and when everyone else on the farm was warm in their beds had sneaked out and held Becca under the water until she drowned. Not content with murder, I had then taken a sharpened weapon and had beaten the poor girl's body to a pulp.
âMind, what I say, gentlemen of the jury. A pulp.'
According to the prosecution, with my dreadful deed completed, I had returned to the farmhouse and washed all traces of my wickedness away and had stolen the child. Farmer Coad and one of his sons, the eldest, were called to the stand and swore on the Holy Bible that the prosecutor's tale was God's honest truth.
This corrupt version of our tragedy was reiterated over and over again in one form of words or another until the judge called a halt for luncheon. I was returned to a holding cell in the passageway below the court while the judge and his retinue took their meal at the White Hart. It must have been a good meal as they were gone a long time.
Josiah Button appeared at the door of my cell, making me jump. âHow do, Miss Esther. Ready for the off? Now I want you to speak clearly, no mumbling or downcast eyes. Look at the judge and the jurymen and answer honestly or as I direct you
if
I call you to the stand.'
I was bewildered by that and just nodded. I would do my best. Beth needed me and I hated to see Becca spoken of as a light young woman who would sell her favours. These disgusting claims made me feel physically sick. I could only see the pitiful picture of a girl, barely out of childhood herself, who was wickedly violated over and over again. My poor Becca, how I missed her. Mr Button was bustling all around me, full of energy and conviction. If only I had just a small part of his demeanour perhaps people would believe me too.
I was served a small lunch and as I picked at it I reflected on the terrible things that had been said about Becca and me. How dare they? How dare they treat us like light women when all we had done was care for each other. By the time I was called back to the court I was beginning to feel a worm of anger; I would fight this. I would fight for Becca's reputation and my name. Back in the dock I could see Farmer Coad and his three sons in the room. They kept their eyes on me all the time and the eldest kept smirking at me. I wondered where Mrs Coad, their mother and my kinswoman, was.
Mr Josiah Button filled the court. He was everywhere â leaning on the jury box; walking the width of the courtroom; holding his arm out to the public as if each and every one of them were of the greatest importance to this trial. He addressed the judge in tones of respectful humility. He poured scorn on the prosecutor and made the public laugh at his wit. He tore the prosecutor's case to shreds. He called witnesses to declare me a paragon of virtue; he summoned Billy-alone to tell of the incident on the river and he humiliated the Coad sons.
He talked gently, almost caressingly, to Cecilia who whispered of my care and nursing in her hours of desperate need. He summoned the matriarchal Mrs Makepiece and talked to her as if she were the most respected inhabitant of Lewes, as indeed she was. Then, when I thought he was done he called the coroner who stated clearly that the unfortunate death of Becca was, indeed, a suicide as planned by a fourteen year old out of her mind with what had been forced upon her innocent young body. When he used the words ârepeated rape' there was an outburst of chatter in the court. Mr Josiah Button held Becca's fragile cradle aloft and took it to each jury member to touch; to smell the scent of newborn baby; to see the care of the mother in each bent and folded reed.
I cried silent tears as I beheld that tiny cradle again. I looked across to Cecilia. She was as white as a sheet and clearly suffering thoughts of her own child.
Mr Josiah Button used the courtroom as his own stage; he was an artist of imagery as he painted my story in its true colours. I felt blessed to have him speaking of me in such high regard. I felt that wonderful emotion. Hope.
Finally, and with great drama he called Mr Thomas James Paulter. I leaned forward to get a glimpse of a young man who I had never seen or heard of before.
âMr Paulter, will you tell the jury and the good people in this courtroom where you were on the day before this dreadful happening?'
âI was at work, Sir'
âAnd where, Mr Paulter, is your work and what do you do therein?' Mr Josiah Button examined his nails while waiting for an answer.
âI am a bank clerk, sir and on the day before the poor girl was drowned I was at Lewes bank which is just a few steps away from the câ¦'
âYes, yes my good man. I know where it is but what I want to know from you, is did anyone in this courtroom come into the bank on that day Mr Paulter? For example, did Miss Esther Coad come in and withdraw any money?'
âNo sir, Miss Coad does not have an account at our bank. I am pleased to be able to tell you that I know all the account holders personally. Anyways, to answer your question there are one or two faces I recognise here but they did not come in on the day in question except that one sitting over there, with his three sons.'
âCan you tell me his name my good sir?'
âYes, indeed, his name is Farmer Coad.'
âDid Farmer Coad withdraw any cash on that day?'
âHe did, sir, he was intending to buy some new stock and he had particularly requested a substantial withdrawal from his account.'
âAre you able to tell us how much cash was withdrawn on that day and what form of notes and cash was paid?'
âYes, Sir â I gave him thirty-five pounds in all and it was a mixture of notes and silver. Farmer Coad prefers notes on account of the lighter weight so I gave him three ten pound notes and five pounds in coin.'
âWas there anything unusual about the notes, young man?'
âNot unusual but the notes were all new. I drew them from the vaults that day and they were unused.'
âIf I were to show you some notes might you be able to identify them?'
âI might. I make a small pencil mark as part of my counting procedure.'
Mr Josiah Button spun on his heels and went to his desk in the foot of the court and picked up the bag that Farmer Coad had given me. He withdrew the notes and cash from inside it.
âYoung man, can you identify this bag?'
âWhy yes sir. It is the bag that the bank uses to give customers their money. They, that is the customers, also use it to pay money into the bank. See here, he has marked the bag with his own brand CF as well. People do that in case the bag gets mislaid.'
âLook carefully at these notes, young fellow. Can you identify them?'
The young man peered closely at the notes and pointed to a faint pencil mark in the top right hand corner. These are the notes that I gave Farmer Coad. Here, you can see the mark CF.'
âAre you sure? Is there not a shadow of doubt?'
âNo sir, there is no doubt whatsoever. I can't identify the silver but it is in the right denominations and adds up to the amount given to Farmer Coad.' The young man left the witness box and all was deathly silent in the court.
I looked across at the Coads as this detail was revealed and saw a look of fear cross the master's face, his sons, perhaps not realising the implications of the testimony, looked unconcerned.
Mr Josiah Button paraded from one tier of seating to the other on the opposite side of the court. He appeared to collect the inhabitants of the court in the sweep of his hand.
âGentlemen of the Jury. M'Lord,' He bowed deeply to the judge.
âI can tell you that Miss Esther Coad, who sits here in the dock in trembling innocence, has been maligned and cruelly used by a family who have conspired to blacken her good name. This man,' he pointed at Mr Coad dramatically. âThis man, was the reason for a tragic suicide. His behaviour, lust and wilful disregard of the integrity of British law and order is the reason why one young woman, a mere child of fourteen tender years, died needlessly and then, and then, gentlemen of the jury, suffered the indignity of a brutal vindictive attack on her mortal remains. An innocent baby had been born in the midst of this tragedy. That baby is motherless and if it weren't for the actions and care of young Miss Esther Coad, that baby, yes that blessed tiny baby would be, in all probability, dead. Yes dead.'
âGentlemen of the jury, my fine fellows, I beg that you acquit this young lady of murder. She never did it. That's a fact. She never did it. I rest my case, M'Lord.'
I held my breath. I believed him. I never did it, just as he said.
After a lot of arguing back and forth between the prosecutor and Mr Josiah Button the judge called the court to order and proceeded to sum up all that had been said, on one side and then the other. While he summed up the prosecution's case I felt they were in the ascendancy but then when he got to the defendant's side, my side, my spirits soared as it appeared so clear-cut. The story of Becca, the repeated rape, the cradle, the money and my rescuing Beth from the family was told in such a way as to convince the jury that I was innocent. No one spoke to me at all. I wasn't called to give evidence.
The jury were told to go and deliberate amongst themselves. They muttered together in a corner of the room and finally came back to the judge, asking to see the stave that was used to inflict the wounds on Becca's body and the stave that was thrown at Billy. They muttered again and everyone was getting restless. The aristocratic ladies yawned into their hankies and the public seating area shifted back and forth with people gossiping, discussing and wondering. I waited quietly, my hands shredding Billy-alone's handkerchief into little bits.