Emily

by Valerie Wood

  ‘She’ll have gone to York already, sir,’ said the clerk at the magistrates’ office when he enquired. ‘That batch of prisoners went a week ago. You’ll have to enquire in York for ’dates of Assizes.’

  He boarded the coach to York the next morning and as he was jostled and bumped along the road, he gazed out at the gentle rolling hills of the Wolds in the distance, and thought of his parents up there in their fine old house, who didn’t even know he was back in England. I must write, he pondered, and tell them that urgent business has delayed me. They will wonder what it is, for if it was naval business then they know I would say so. Mother will guess that there is a woman involved. She is so very astute I can keep little from her. But of this I cannot tell them.

  The revelation exploded in his mind, bringing everything into focus. I cannot tell them that Emily, whom I love, is languishing in York gaol on a charge of murder.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Emily blotted out the days spent in the cell below the town hall and the horrendous journey by coach from Hull to York. She had refused to believe that this nightmare was happening to her as, shackled by the ankles and wrists, she rode beside other prisoners on top of the coach with the rain hissing down, whilst the guards, all but one, sat inside. The one guard who rode outside was surly and harsh and had pushed them brutally on top of the coach beside the coachman, and then shackled them all together.

  She spoke to no-one as she was led down to the cells in York gaol and waited for the nightmare to end. She had no visitors for four days and then Mr Hibbert appeared.

  ‘Miss Hawkins, will you agree to say who is the father of the child? It may appear better for you if we know who he is and so give a reason for you damaging the property?’

  ‘There would be no point,’ she said dully. ‘He would deny it.’

  ‘Are you protecting someone?’ he asked gently. ‘It’s no good, you know, it will be the worse for you if you don’t tell. If you had good reason for doing this –’.

  ‘I damaged the picture,’ she said. ‘I did it wilfully and I must take my punishment.’

  ‘But, my dear child,’ he pointed out, ‘you don’t know how hard your punishment may be.’

  She raised her head and looked at him. ‘I am prepared for death. Any other punishment cannot be worse.’

  He shook his head. ‘Believe me, Emily, it can. Death is not a punishment, in some cases it is a blessed relief. Think about what I say. Name the man!’

  Three days later he came again to tell her that the trial would be the next day and to ask her if she had changed her mind. But her mind was dull and she had no thoughts in her head but to get the trial over; it was as if she was walking down a long dark corridor; there was no light or window, but only a black door at the end of it.

  She had no idea of the pomp and ceremony that preceded the sitting of the Assizes, no conception of the procession of learned judges and dignitaries as they proceeded to court down the ancient streets of York and only knew as she was led upstairs to the courtroom, still manacled by the wrists but with her ankles free, that today was her Judgement Day.

  She answered mechanically to her name and former occupation and said that she understood the charge against her, except that she didn’t, not really, she was simply waiting to wake up. She saw, yet didn’t see, the crowded courtroom and thought she must be hallucinating when she saw Roger Francis and over by the door a man in naval uniform who looked like Philip Linton. She turned her head away when she saw Hugo Purnell take his seat, and Deborah Purnell looking thinner and paler than ever.

  The judge at the bench was conferring with Mr Hibbert and the prosecuting counsel and nodding his head in agreement. She saw Mr Hibbert point over his shoulder towards the witnesses and again the judge nodded his head and the prosecuting counsel looking displeased moved away and consulted Hugo Purnell.

  ‘It has come to my notice’, said the judge, ‘that there may be mitigating circumstances in this case. It is not for me to judge my fellow justices, but it appears that this case could have been tried at the Hull court rather than being brought to the Assizes.’

  He looked solemnly at Emily. ‘I have new evidence here from a separate witness; a gentleman of good standing, who is prepared to swear on oath that you were previously of good character and that Mr Hugo Purnell, who brought the case, may not be a reliable witness.’

  Hugo Purnell rose to his feet. ‘How dare you!’ he spat out. ‘How dare you sully my name!’

  ‘Sit down, Mr Purnell! Do not speak unless requested to do so.’

  Hugo, his face burning, sank down onto his seat and glared at the judge, who continued speaking.

  ‘I have therefore taken into account the testimony of the police sergeant and the doctor, who has been questioned further, and decided that in the case of the child born to you, there is no case to answer. That the child was indeed stillborn and did not die because of your neglect.’

  Emily lifted her head. Was there then some hope after all? She glanced around the courtroom seeking confirmation and saw Mary Edwards with a look of hopeful anticipation on her face, and she turned again to the judge.

  ‘However,’ he continued, ‘you have stepped out of the bounds of respectability by conceiving a child out of wedlock, and in causing the wilful destruction of the property of Mr Purnell it is apparent to me that you are about to fall into a well of evil and on this you must be judged.’

  The questions seemed to go on all day. They had a break at midday, when Emily was given water and offered soup, which she refused, and was then brought back into court again.

  Again she was questioned, first by the prosecuting counsel, who emphasized the value of the painting and then by Mr Hibbert, who asked her if she had been offended by the painting.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I was.’

  ‘And this painting belonged to Hugo Purnell, did it?’

  She hesitated. ‘Mr Purnell bought it in Italy,’ she said. ‘It was a wedding present I think.’

  ‘Did you think a painting of a nude woman was an unusual present for a man to give his wife?’ Mr Hibbert persisted.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered again.

  ‘And where did Mrs Purnell hang this picture?’ Mr Hibbert smiled and looked around the court.

  ‘It was in Mr Purnell’s room,’ she said.

  She was very tired. She had not eaten properly for days, she felt faint with hunger and the room seemed to swim before her. The figures of the judge and his clerk fused together giving two heads and one body, but only one mouth, out of which came language she couldn’t understand. The constables of the court, the men of the jury and the members of the public melted together, then coagulated into grinning gargoyles which floated around the room, even touching the high ceiling, then splintered into fragments of arms, legs and heads which hurled themselves towards her.

  ‘Prisoner at the bar. Do you understand what I am saying?’

  She gazed absently at the judge and became aware of the jury standing still in their box, and members of the public muttering to each other. Mary Edwards had both hands pressed to her face. Emily shook her head. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘The jury have agreed on their verdict and you have been found guilty of wilful damage to the property of Mr Hugo Purnell, and although I understand that the circumstances at the time were trying for you – and I have taken this into account – it is nevertheless a major offence. I accept that the damage was done in a moment of anger, perhaps you were slightly deranged after the trauma of the birth, but nevertheless it was a destruction of property. You are only a young woman and could have a full life before you, providing you are put on the right path. I have decided therefore that rather than commit you to a prison term, I hereby sentence you to three years’ transportation.’

  She could hear a woman screaming. The sound was echoing in her ears. She was held tightly by both arms by two constables. ‘Be quiet,’ one of them hissed. ‘You’ve been lucky. It could have been seven.’

 
The screaming went on and on and only stopped when the other constable put his hand over her mouth. ‘All rise,’ said the judge’s constable and the court rose as the judge left the bench and departed; but Emily couldn’t hold herself up, her legs were like water and she swayed between the two policemen.

  ‘It’s a mistake,’ she gasped. ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘It means, little lady, that you’re off for a sail to Botany Bay,’ one said as they half-carried, half-dragged her back down to the cells. ‘That’ll teach you to be a good lass in future.’ He grinned. ‘Not much chance of that though, not where you’re going.’

  But I am a good lass, she ached inside. My da said I was, and so did Granny Edwards. What happened? How have I come to this? What wickedness did I do? The enormity of the sentence struck her and she sank to the floor on her knees. Would she ever come back? Would she even get there? Botany Bay was on the other side of the world! She wept and wept until she was exhausted and was lying with her head on the cold hard floor when the guard nudged her with his foot. It was dark and he hovered over her like an enormous shadow. ‘A visitor for you.’

  It was Mary and she was as consumed with grief as Emily was herself. She put her hands through the bars to hold her. ‘I never thought they would do this. Never, never, never.’ Tears ran unchecked down her face. ‘Will I ever see you again, Emily?’

  Emily took a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I will come back. I don’t know how, but I will and I’ll have my revenge. Hugo Purnell has brought me down into this hell and I’ll pay him back.’

  Her voice was bitter and Mary, taken aback at her outburst said, ‘But why didn’t you name him as the man who raped you? It had to come from you, Emily! Roger spoke to the counsel and told him of the circumstances, he even told him that Hugo Purnell had married Deborah under false pretences and that he was an unreliable witness! That’s why Purnell wasn’t called to the stand.’

  ‘It was because of Miss Deborah and Mr Francis,’ Emily whispered. ‘She looks so ill. I didn’t want to cause her any more distress, nor Mr Francis.’

  ‘Oh, Emily! Whatever will we do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she answered wearily. ‘We can do nothing. I’m just glad that it’s all over.’

  Philip waited until the courtroom had almost cleared then stumbled out of the doors. He sank down on to the nearest seat in the entrance hall and put his head in his hands. Transportation! I can’t believe they can do this to her. Not for such an offence and under such circumstances! Criminals are transported, not innocent young women who have no badness in them. Why didn’t she speak? Why didn’t she tell of Purnell? Was it shame? Humiliation? Fear? Anger brought tears to his eyes and he pulled out a handkerchief to blow his nose. I’ll kill him!

  The courtroom doors swung open again and a woman dressed in a grey cloak and bonnet came out. She hesitated, looking round at the people milling about as if searching for someone, then catching sight of a man waiting in one of the alcoves, she walked across to him. What interest do they have? Philip wondered. Do they know Emily? They didn’t look the kind of people who were there just for a day’s entertainment as some of the public were. He was a gentleman by his dress.

  He watched as they spoke, then the woman went across to a constable, spoke to him, then followed him down a corridor.

  There’s Purnell! Philip rose to his feet. Anger enveloped him and he clenched his fists. If he punched him now in the law courts would he be arrested? Yes, probably, he pondered. Far better to catch him leaving his club and lure him into some alleyway. He watched as Purnell’s wife gave a sudden half-smile of recognition and started as if to move across to the gentleman at the other side of the hall, but Purnell caught her arm and held her back, then giving a barely imperceptible nod of his head to the man, he led her away.

  ‘Sir.’ Philip approached the man, who was sitting on a bench with his hand over his forehead. ‘I beg your pardon for intruding, but did I not see you in court during the trial of Emily Hawkins?’

  Roger Francis stood up. ‘You did, sir.’

  ‘My name is Philip Linton. May I ask if you have a particular interest in this case?’ He saw a stiffening of the man’s demeanour as he asked the question and hastened to add, ‘I ask not out of idle curiosity but simply because I have had the honour of meeting the young lady.’

  ‘The honour!’ Roger Francis’s face showed anguish. ‘There are few gentlemen who would deign to admit knowing her after such words of derision from the judge and the verdict he has given.’ He swallowed hard and rubbed his hand on his chest. ‘Do you mind if we sit down? I don’t feel well.’

  They sat side by side on the bench and Philip said hesitantly, ‘I am at a loss to know why the punishment is so harsh; from what I have heard Emily has been ill done by.’

  Roger Francis spoke harshly. ‘The punishment, Mr Linton, is designed not for the transgressor’s good, but for the country’s good. The system of transportation is designed to rid England of its mainly male criminal class – and the women, forgive me if I am blunt, are sent mainly as fodder for the men.’

  Philip cringed. He had heard that most of the women who were sent for transportation were whores and thieves and as such were treated with contempt by law-abiding citizens, but the idea of them being sent out purely for men’s pleasure was totally abhorrent to him.

  ‘You heard the judge,’ Francis went on. ‘Emily has given birth to a child out of wedlock and although he has been informed of the circumstances, he, like so many men of his class, is still of the opinion that she is to blame rather than the man who dishonoured her.’

  ‘Sir, may I know your name and your concern with Emily?’ Philip asked in a low voice. ‘I would like to know if I have an ally in overturning this decision.’

  Roger Francis looked at him with interest. ‘Roger Francis. I have known Emily’s family for some considerable time and she is also a relative of – of a friend of my family; Mrs Edwards. That is why I am waiting, Mrs Edwards has just requested that she be allowed to visit Emily.’

  ‘Oh! I understood that Emily had no family! I was mistakenly informed?’

  ‘No, perhaps not. Mrs Edwards has only recently discovered Emily. Emily’s father was Mrs Edwards’s cousin, but Emily was not aware of the relationship until a few weeks ago.’

  They spoke together for another fifteen minutes and discovered that Roger Francis knew of Philip’s family, so giving a better footing for their discussion when Francis questioned Philip’s interest in Emily.

  ‘I have met her only a few times,’ Philip flushed, ‘but I was impressed by her charm. I was on my way to seek her out when I was approached by a friend of Emily’s, who told me the whole sad story.’

  ‘Why did this friend approach you, Mr Linton?’ Roger Francis asked curiously. ‘Did she know you?’

  ‘Of me!’ He smiled. ‘There are some servants who know more than their masters and mistresses and Ginny appears to be one of those.’ He grew serious. ‘But it was mere coincidence that we met and I rather feel that she was clutching at straws. She could think of no-one who could help Emily.’

  ‘So she is a true friend?’ Roger murmured, then, looking up, he rose as Mary Edwards approached. ‘What news, my dear? How is she taking it?’

  ‘Badly.’ Mary’s eyes were red rimmed with weeping. ‘She is so very bitter and it is not in her nature to be so. And the news is that she will be moved tomorrow down to the Thames. There will be transport ready in the morning to take the prisoners.’ She stifled a sob, yet could barely speak for her emotion. ‘And Emily will be one of them.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Emily boarded the coach outside York Castle gaol with some difficulty. Her ankles were ironed as before and she was manacled to another woman by her right hand and a girl of perhaps fourteen by the left.

  The girl sobbed and screamed and refused to climb on board and Emily was pulled by the woman climbing aboard and dragged back by the girl, who fell to the floor in her distress, pulling Emil
y and the other woman on top of her. Emily felt that her arms had been wrenched out of their sockets as she struggled to get to her feet. The guard rushed over to them and verbally abused them all, roughly pulling the girl by her bodice and thrusting her with Emily and the other woman into the coach.

  He grabbed the handcuffs holding them and released the girl from them, then clasped her hands behind her back and manacled her wrists. ‘Out,’ he ordered. ‘Get up on ’top. You two stop here.’

  ‘Swine!’ the woman muttered. ‘I know his ma, she’s no better than she should be.’

  Emily turned away, the morning was dark and dismal with a light rain falling and she watched with glazed eyes, through the coach window, as other prisoners, men and women, perhaps fifteen or twenty in all, came out of the prison yard and towards the waiting coaches and wagons. If I can travel inside it will be preferable to being on top, she pondered, remembering the journey from Hull to York. I believe London is a very long way.

  Another guard looked inside. ‘Who’ve we got here then? Hello, Molly. Got you at last, have they?’ He grinned and winked. ‘Nice little sail for you to Sydney Cove! Weather’s good, so I hear, and plenty of husbands to choose from. I could almost wish I was going with you.’

  The woman leaned back against the seat and gazed at him from beneath wrinkled and heavy eyelids. ‘Why don’t you, then? Take a free passage.’

  ‘No thanks,’ he said. ‘Too many villains down there. Besides, my missus wouldn’t go.’

  ‘Leave her behind then,’ she said idly. ‘I’d see you all right. Go on,’ she urged, leaning towards him, ‘there’s plenty o’ land going cheap, plenty o’ women – even cheaper.’ She laughed coarsely.

  He shook his head. ‘I live in prison already. Why swap it for another one?’

  The woman sniffed. ‘You’ve no backbone. I’ll be glad to be gone from this land.’

  ‘Watch yourself, Molly,’ he said gruffly. ‘Watch that tongue o’ yourn or it’ll get you into trouble like it’s done before. They might not give women the lash any more, but they have other ways of punishing them.’