A Greater World: A woman's journey

by Clare Flynn

  'Stop it!' she cried aloud to herself. Until he stepped onto the gallows, she would not give up hope or stop fighting. After the sentencing, everything had happened very quickly, but Mr Cody said he would be reviewing the grounds for appeal. The case for the prosecution had been won by Harriet Kidd and the testimony of Doctor Reilly had been damning. The poor man appeared devastated when he left the court, unable to look Elizabeth in the eye. She could not blame him. He had spoken the truth under oath. What choice had he?

  As these thoughts went through her mind, Elizabeth felt a new sense of purpose. There was work to be done. She would meet with Cody – haunt his chambers until he had explored every avenue for an appeal and prepared a case that would at least succeed in commutation of the sentence to manslaughter.

  As the sun rose, she sprang out of bed, impatient and filled with new energy. She would go to Sydney and find a way to do her own research in the legal library at Sydney Law School. She would leave no stone unturned. What else could she do? There was still no word from Michael and she started to realise there never would be. It was three months since he'd gone. She refused to doubt his love for her, but she started to suspect an accident had befallen him. A bleak feeling of loss haunted her. She had held his love in her grasp and let it slip away. There was nothing she could do about it and rather than confront the prospect of a future without him, she threw all her energy, anger and disappointment into getting a retrial and reprieve for Kidd.

  It was too early to call on Cody yet. The sun was barely up. She decided to take a leisurely bath before forcing down some breakfast. The little house where she and Will now lived lacked the scale and splendour of Kinross House, but, unlike Wilton's Creek, it boasted a rather temperamental water heater. She lay back in the bath, watching the steam rise as she soaped herself. She ran the washcloth over her body, then with a shock of realisation, sat bolt upright.

  How could she have failed to notice? She'd been preoccupied with the trial. Her thoughts raced ahead, as she realised all the signs were there. Her stomach was slightly swollen. Since Kidd's arrest, she'd lost her appetite and her clothes had felt quite loose – but then the styles of the moment were loose around the middle anyway. She ran her hand over her breasts. Her nipples felt tender. It must be weeks since her last period. Grabbing a towel she scrambled out of the bath and dripped her way into the bedroom and to the small escritoire where she kept her diary.

  'Rack your brains woman! When was the last time?' she asked herself.

  She had not menstruated since some time before the children's deaths. She had failed to register the changes in her own body. Her heart skipped a beat at the prospect of another child. She could not wait to tell Kidd. He had looked so defeated in the brief moments she was allowed to share with him after his sentencing. He had barely spoken, just squeezed her hand as he stared into the middle distance. But now another new life coming would give him hope and the will to fight on. She was all the more determined that he would not die.

  The meeting with Mr Cody did not go well. The barrister had taken the loss of the case to heart and his annoyance about being bested by the Crown seemed to bother him more than the fate of his client. He kept Elizabeth waiting for almost an hour before granting her a brief interview.

  'Mrs Kidd, I regret that the trial did not go our way. The Crown started off making a very poor fist of it and I was hopeful that we had won the jury over. I am disappointed you failed to alert me to the potential for damaging testimony that your stepdaughter represented.'

  'I had no idea myself. She had refused all contact with the family and indicated to a friend of the family that she would not testify on her father's behalf.'

  'It's unfortunate she did not stick to that conviction, as she proved to be, even unwittingly, a hostile witness. Had I the opportunity to meet with her beforehand, we could have called her as a defence witness and tutored her in the importance of keeping her feelings about you to herself if she wished to avoid the eventuality of her father's conviction. Her accusations about you were a critical factor in turning the jury against your husband. Whilst her evidence was circumstantial, added to that of the doctor and our case was lost.'

  'Can we appeal?'

  'Yes. I can argue again that her testimony should have been ruled out as hearsay, but that of Doctor Reilly was damning in its own right.'

  'What my husband said to the doctor was spoken in the heat of the moment. He was distraught. He was in shock. He thought Will might be mortally wounded. He would never have killed him had Nat not attacked William. It was a moment of fear and desperation to save William and me. Didn't you say there was a difference between the act and the intent?'

  'Indeed, but the evidence from the doctor that your husband long harboured a wish to kill his son....'

  'It was the heat of the moment. He was anxious for William and in shock at what happened. It wasn't a statement of intent.'

  'Possibly.'

  'If there is any possibility we must take it.'

  'Then there's the matter of the shotgun. Your husband came to Wilton's Creek prepared.'

  'For heaven's sake! He keeps a gun in the truck or the cart all the time. He spends half his time in the bush. If possession of a shotgun is evidence of intent to kill, they'd have to arrest most of the men in this town.'

  Cody scowled. 'Is there anything else we might use?'

  Elizabeth swallowed then spoke. 'Harriet Winterbourne uses drugs and is a heavy drinker.'

  Cody raised an eyebrow. 'What kind of drugs?'

  'Cocaine.'

  'That could help discredit her as a witness. I'll have someone look into it and see what we can gather. Otherwise I intend to discuss the matter with my colleagues. It may be appropriate to assign someone else to conduct the appeal.'

  'I thought you would do it?'

  'I plan to pass the case to Mr Somerton, a promising young fellow, keen to cut his teeth on a challenging case.'

  'Cut his teeth? Are you telling me he's some kind of trainee lawyer?'

  'I would not use the word trainee, Mrs Kidd. Mr Somerton did extremely well in the bar examinations and is a competent and intelligent junior barrister. All of us at Bracket, Fincham & Cody have high expectations of him.'

  'Mr Cody, I am expecting a child. My husband doesn't know yet, but I intend to tell him when I see him and make him understand that he has everything to live for and that you and your firm will stop at nothing to prove he is innocent of premeditated murder. Even if he has to serve a long prison sentence for manslaughter, I want him to know that at the end of it his child will be there beside me, waiting to welcome him home. Do you honestly expect me to tell him his barrister believes there's so little hope that he's going to assign a trainee to plead his case and he'll probably never live to see his child born, let alone have a chance of getting to know him or her? And what am I to tell my child? – "You're the orphan of an executed murderer, whose own lawyer didn't believe his case was worth fighting for"?'

  Cody leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows at the tirade.

  'First of all, Mrs Kidd, may I offer my congratulations for your forthcoming happiness.'

  'My forthcoming happiness? How can I even think of happiness when my husband is condemned to die for saving the lives of his wife and son?'

  'Very well. I will discuss this with my partners.'

  'If it's about money?'

  The lawyer's lip curled, as if money was a word too coarse to be uttered in these hallowed chambers.

  'You've made your points well, Mrs Kidd. We will make the appeal and I will lead the case. Mr Somerton can assist me.'

  'I intend to assist you myself too. Rest assured I will be studying every point of law in the book until I find a way to prove my husband has been wronged. I will be assiduous in sharing my findings with you.'

  'Mrs Kidd, that will not be necessary.' Again the lip curled. 'We will as always, be rigorous in our endeavours.'

  'We shall see.'

  She rose an
d stretched her hand to him. 'Good day, Mr Cody.'

  Will arrived home soon after she returned from the lawyer's chambers. He had been avoiding her since his outburst in the garden. During the court proceedings he'd sat apart, reluctant to talk. Elizabeth was puzzled at this out of character behaviour, but concluded he was distressed about his father.

  He walked into the small drawing room, wearing his oilskin jacket and holding a woollen cap in his hands. He stood in front of the fireplace.

  'Lizbeth, I'm going away.'

  'What?' she tried to hide the rising panic in her voice.

  'I'm going to sea.'

  'What? Why? What about your father?'

  'I can't do anything for him now. I can't stand to see him die when he did nothing wrong but save my life. It isn't fair.'

  'We're going to help him, Will! You and I. I've just seen Mr Cody. There are grounds for appeal. We'll get the sentence commuted! He won't die, Will!'

  'You and the lawyer can get him off. There's nothing I can do. I'm just a simple lad with no book learning. I've wasted enough of my life and I've made my mind up now. I'm going to go to sea. It's what I've always wanted. I have to get away from here. I want...' he hesitated.

  'What, Will? What do you want?'

  He stared down at his feet and she saw the blush rising up his neck to his cheeks.

  'Tell me, Will.'

  He raised his eyes to hers and spoke in what was little more than a whisper, 'I want to get away from you.'

  'From me? I thought we were friends.'

  The young man snorted. 'Oh yes, we're friends.'

  'So what do you mean? I don't understand.'

  'It's all we'll ever be.'

  'I know I'm not your real mother, but I'm as fond of you as if you were my own son. And right now we've only got each other and I need you to help me get through this terrible time.'

  'I don't want to be your son, damn it.'

  'Will. Please!'

  'Was Hat lying about you and Michael then? Tell me the truth.'

  'Will...'

  'You don't have to. I can see it in your face.'

  'Will. You need to understand...'

  'Understand? Yes I understand perfectly. I can't even blame you, Lizbeth. Pa's an old man. Michael would be much more your cup of tea. But I can't stand that you and he have both been lying to me. I trusted you both. He was my friend. And there you were sneaking behind my back and the old man's. Not to mention Hattie's.'

  'It wasn't like that, Will. We never lied to you. Hattie had it all wrong. Michael and I did discover we had feelings for each other, and that's why he went away. I'm here for your father. And your father needs you too.'

  'I love you, Lizbeth. There I've said it now. I can't keep it bottled up any longer. I know you don't think of me that way. And I can't bear to think of my old man having you. And if I stay here I'll just be wishing for him to be dead and I don't want to wish that 'cause he's my Pa and he saved my life and I don't want him to go to the gallows. But sometimes I can't stop myself from hating him. And if he does die I know now you'll never love me anyway because of Michael. So I've made my mind up. I'm going away. Maybe I'll come back one day and you'll see me differently. Maybe then you'll look at me as a man not as a young lad like you do now.'

  'Oh, Will!'

  'Don't feel sorry for me. I couldn't bear that.'

  'You believe you love me, but I promise you it's just a crush. Once you get out in the world and meet some young women you'll realise that I'm right. I'm years older than you, Will. You can do better than an old girl like me!'

  'Don't mock me.'

  'I'm sorry, Will. I don't intend to.'

  'You think I'm just a snot-nosed boy who'll grow out of it. But I'm not and I won't.'

  'I know you're not, Will. You're a wonderful person and one of the people I care most for in the world, but you will grow out of it. I love you as a mother or a big sister even, but I can never love you as a wife. And anyway, you deserve better. I know you'll find happiness because you're such a good and loveable person – not to mention a good-looking fellow. Your time will come.'

  'Maybe it will. Maybe it won't. I'm not staying here waiting to find out. I've had enough of these mountains. There's no future for me here. There'll be only bad memories of all the bad things that happened. Mikey's dead. Su's dead. Hat's dead to me now after what she's done. Michael's gone. Nat's dead and Pa's sentenced to death. Then there's you and Michael. I've had enough. I want a new life. You're right, I'm young and my future's ahead, so I'm going to go and find it. I'm going to sea and I'll sail across the world. I want to look at those stars in the North skies that you told me about. Maybe I'll go to England or America. Who knows?'

  'Oh, Will.'

  'Don't try to change my mind, Lizbeth. I've had plenty of time to think about it and it's what I want.'

  Elizabeth wondered whether to tell him about the baby she was carrying. A new brother or sister might change things for Will. But she concluded that it would be rubbing salt in his wounds. She'd wait and see if he changed his mind in a few days.

  He spoke again. 'You'll say goodbye to Pa for me? I don't want to see him in gaol. I want to remember him as a free man. I've written a letter to him. It'll be full of mistakes I know – never was much good at reading and writing – but he'll understand. Give it to him for me, will you?'

  She took the letter.

  'If anyone can get him out, you can, Lizbeth. You don't need me for that. Tell him I said thank you. Tell him I'll try my best to make him proud of me. Then maybe one day...'

  'When do you leave?'

  'Now. I'll take the pony and ride her slowly down to Sydney, then I can sell her to help me get by, till I find a ship to take me. There's the money Pa gave me when Hat got wed. I can't touch it till I come of age, but I'll get by on my rabbit skin money till then. I told you that's what I was saving it for.'

  'But you know nothing of the sea.'

  'And you knew nothing of the bush, but you managed to get by. I'll cope. If my Pa taught me anything he taught me to look after myself.'

  Elizabeth had to wait days before she was granted permission to visit Kidd. She was shocked at the change in him in the short time since the trial. He'd shrunk in on himself, like an old and infirm man. His eyes were empty, showing no flicker of emotion. His skin had a greyish hue and he had the beginnings of a scraggy beard, flecked with white.

  She tried to hide her shock and instinctively reached out for his hand, only for the guard to snap at her: 'No contact!'

  She and Kidd sat down on opposite sides of the small table. The guard rolled a cigarette and slouched against the wall. It was so hard to have a private conversation with a stranger watching, ready to pounce if she gave any sign of so much as grazing her hand over her husband's.

  'Don't come any more, Elizabeth. You've done your duty by me. I don't want you coming here any more.'

  'Of course I'll come. I'm sorry it's taken me so long – this was the earliest they'd let me visit. Your appeal is lodged so they've told me I can see you once a fortnight, but Mr Cody will keep me informed of how you're doing, as he can see you whenever he needs.'

  'I don't want you to come. I don't like seeing you in this place.'

  'I like even less to see you in this place but, God willing, Mr Cody will succeed with the appeal and get the verdict revoked and you'll be free again.'

  Kidd looked at her sadly. 'I'm not going to be free again. And I don't want the appeal. I killed my son and now I'll take the punishment given me. You'll be a free woman again, Elizabeth. I'm sorry there won't be much money left for you. I don't want the appeal to go ahead. You've thrown enough money at lawyers. William will be all right when his trust comes through. What's left is for you.'

  'Don't talk like that.'

  'I know I've not been a good husband. I know I'm not good at talking. And I know I'm not in the same class as you with your fancy education. You're a lovely woman, Elizabeth, and you've been a good wife. When th
ey give me the drop you'll be free to do what you want.'

  She started to speak but he held his hand up.

  'Let me have my say, woman. I did wrong to force you to wed me. I took advantage of your father and then I took advantage of you. But I fell for you as soon as your father showed me your photograph. I'd never seen anyone like you. I wanted you, but I wanted to punish him too. It felt as though he was looking down his nose at me and I wanted to show him and the world that I was as good as he was. I've had plenty of time to think about what I've done and I want to say I'm sorry.'

  'You don't...'

  'Damn it, woman, let me finish! I've said bad things to you and I'm sorry. I had no right to call you the names I called you. My first wife was a good woman and a good mother but she wasn't like you. When you... you know... in bed...when you seemed to take pleasure... you know what I'm saying... it was different. She acted like it was one of the household chores like hanging the washing out or scrubbing the floor. It was different with you and I'm sorry that I didn't show you more kindness. But you need to know you made me happy. I'm sorry I didn't have the guts to show you at the time. I know you don't love me. And don't try to lie to me that you do, Elizabeth. But I like to think there's a connection between us. An understanding. You've been good to me and I'm thankful, but now I want you to go and get on with your life. Find some happiness. You deserve it.'

  'Oh, Jack.'

  'My daughter wrote me a letter. Said she was sorry that what she said had made things worse for me. She asked to visit me, but I've told her I don't want to see her again. I can't forgive her for the lies she told about you and Mick and the shame she brought on us all. I should never have pushed Winterbourne into marrying her. I knew she was a basket of trouble and I can't say I'm surprised he walked out on her. She's had all she'll get from me. There's not a lot left but what there is goes to you.'