by John Wilcox
‘Well, of course, Jem was hanging and my first thought was to get him down in case there was still life in him. So, with Miss Acland’s help, we cut him down and put him in the donkey cart. We were about to drive away when I stepped down from the cart to inspect the state of the ground, for it appeared to contain marks that could, perhaps, throw some light on the manner of his death.’
‘And what did you find?’
‘The marks of a horse’s hooves that were quite deep, showing that the horse had perhaps been carrying a double burden. And there were clear footprints from a man who had been wearing riding boots, quite large boots, I would say. After that, of course, I climbed back into the cart, leaving behind my own footprints with those of the splints attached to my injured leg.’
‘Now look here, Bright,’ Sir George was clearly becoming annoyed. ‘Did you say that the defendant was the only witness you were going to call?’
‘Yes, My Lord, er, Your Worship.’
‘Are you not calling Miss Acland to confirm or deny everything that the defendant has said?’
‘I did not intend to do so, sir.’
‘Well you damned well should. Is Miss Acland in court today, by any chance?’ He looked around over the top of his glasses.
‘Yes indeed, sir.’ The cry came from high on the public benches at the rear of the courtroom. Rowena’s voice rang loud and very clear. She stood and removed her bonnet. ‘Very much present, Your Honour, and anxious to give evidence, although I was not asked to do so.’
The magistrate’s irritation immediately disappeared as he looked up at the slim figure, holding her bonnet by its red ribbon. ‘I certainly can’t think why not, my dear,’ he beamed. ‘Pray, come down now. Let us hear what you have to say right away.’
Bowyer rose. ‘I really must protest, Your Honour,’ he began.
‘Yes, yes, I know, Bowyer. Highly irregular, of course. But we are all in this courtroom anxious to see justice done, of course, and sometimes the rules have to be, if not broken, at least slightly bent to that end. By the way, is Pengelly still here?’
‘Yes, Your Honour.’
‘I shall wish to see him again later. Don’t let him leave. Now where is this young lady? Ah, there you are, my dear. Please stand in the witness box. Yes, that’s right. Now, you have heard what the defendant has to say. Do you agree with it?’
Joshua noticed that Rowena had applied a touch of lip rouge and a trace of face powder and looked exceedingly pretty and certainly older than eighteen. He looked around the courtroom and up to the gallery but could see no sign of Dr Acland, or of Pengelly or Cunningham.
Rowena nodded. ‘Yes, Your Honour. We turned to go up to the Point at my suggestion, for it did occur to me that people do jump off that if they are in distress, it’s a four hundred foot drop, you see.’
‘Quite so, quite so.’
‘We found poor Jem just as, Jo—Mr Weyland described it. I also concur that there were traces of a riding boot on the ground at the foot of the tree and that they were much bigger than those that he left. Oh, and there is one more thing, sir.’
‘Pray continue.’
‘It is not true to say that there were no witnesses to the attack on the … er … defendant earlier. I saw it – well, I saw the end of it. The two men were heavily cloaked so I could not see their faces but there was blood on the cloak of one of them and also on the ground where they had left poor Josh—the defendant, swaying on his bad leg. I took him down to our house and the doctor treated him.’
Sir George frowned. ‘Is the doctor still in the courtroom?’
Bowyer shook his head. ‘He has been forced to leave, Your Honour. It seems he is not well.’
The magistrate put his head in his hand in an exaggerated gesture. ‘I well know how he feels, the way this case is being conducted,’ he growled. ‘Now, Miss Acland. You were in the same house as the defendant at the time when, it seems, the murder was committed?’
‘Yes, Your Honour.’
‘But it would have been possible, surely, would it not, for the defendant to steal out of the house while you were asleep and without you being aware of his absence?’
There was a pause before Rowena answered. ‘Oh no, sir. Absolutely not. Because Mr Weyland lied about that, sir.’
An audible gasp ran through the courtroom.
‘He lied, you say?’
‘Yes, Your Honour.’ Rowena cast down her eyes prettily. ‘He lied to protect my honour, sir. You see, we were in bed together throughout that night. I can assure you he did not leave the house until we both rose to answer the door shortly after dawn. I would have known had he left.’
Sir George frowned to try and hide the smile that had begun to steal across his face. ‘You slept together throughout the night? You are telling the truth – remember you have taken an oath on the Bible to do so?’
‘Yes, Your Honour. We were together throughout the night. I remember it well.’
‘Hmmm, I am sure you do. Is this true, Weyland?’
‘Of course not. She is trying to protect me.’
‘Well, damn it all,’ Sir George blew his nose noisily, then continued.
‘This case is complicated enough without people deliberately lying to protect their honour.’ He adjusted his spectacles.
‘Before we go any further, can I establish one thing? Is there anything known about the defendant, anything on record of past misdemeanour of any kind, any transgression of the law? Mr Bowyer, I presume you will have checked?’
‘There is nothing that I could find, Your Honour.’
‘Well, now.’ Sir George settled back in his seat. ‘There are quite a few factors about this case that I find unsettling and which give me no confidence in retaining the defendant to stand trial at the Assizes. For instance, you sir,’ he glared at Mr Bright, ‘took the unusual step of offering no independent witnesses in his defence and, further, you made no effort to cross-examine the prosecution’s witnesses. Now why was this so? Would you care to tell us, Mr Bright?’
‘Well, My Lord …’
‘I am no one’s lord, Mr Bright. I am merely Your Honour.’
‘I am sorry, Your Honour. To be frank, sir, I felt that the defendant’s answers to my questions would be sufficient to establish his innocence.’
‘So you disregarded the evidence, produced by the prosecution’s witnesses, about the defendant’s alleged bad temper, his alleged antipathy towards the murdered man, the marks in the mud under the branch from which he hung, particularly those showing that someone had been there wearing a splint on his leg and, further, that the deceased’s head had virtually been severed by a weapon, similar it seems, to that the defendant had carried? You chose not to pick back the layers of these allegations and show them to be exaggerations or false? Eh? Why not?’
Bright’s sallow face was now coloured a bright red. ‘I-I am sorry, Your Honour, but, I felt that … that … well, that this was, much, if not all of it, a matter of innuendo.’
‘Did you now? Hmmm. Well, it may surprise you to hear that I rather agree with you.’
Joshua suddenly felt his heart lift and he exchanged a quick glance of surprise and hope with Rowena, still standing in the witness box.
‘Innuendo is the word you used, Mr Bright and there was too much of that in the prosecution’s case to make me happy about it. Which reminds me. Mr Bowyer?’
‘Your Honour?’
‘Is your witness, Mr Pengelly, still in the courtroom?’
‘He is waiting outside, Your Honour.’
‘Good. Have him come in, please.’
The silence that had hung over the courtroom following the recent exchanges now was broken and replaced by a buzz of conversation as Pengelly was brought to the witness box.
‘Now, Mr Pengelly,’ said the magistrate, ‘you are still bound by your oath. D’yer understand?’
‘Er, yes sir.’
‘Roll up your sleeve of your right arm.’
‘What … ?’
> ‘I think you heard me. Roll up your sleeve.’
Reluctantly, Pengelly did so and there was an audible gasp in the courtroom when a still livid weal was displayed.
‘How did you get that, young man and that mark across your cheek?’
‘What? Oh, well, they are … they are … cable scorch marks picked up when a rope got entangled round me when I was bringin’ a ship in.’
‘Step forward and let me see.’
Pengelly offered up his arm to Sir George, who held it up high so that he could examine it closely. ‘Hmm. I would say that those are marks resulting from a cut from a knife. Mr Bowyer, Mr Bright, I would like your opinions on this matter of the origin of these marks. Pray, examine the arm. They are wounds made by a knife, are they not?’
‘Well,’ began Bowyer, ‘I can’t be sure, Your Honour.’
‘Er, neither can I,’ said Bright.
Bloody fool, thought Josh. Incompetent to the end.
‘Very well.’ Sir George leant back in his chair and looked hard at Pengelly. ‘So you deny they were caused by the defendant in defending himself when you and Drake attacked him?’
‘Oh, I do that, sir.’
‘Thank you. You may stand down.’
‘Now, prisoner at the bar. As you will have heard, it is my duty to be quite sure that the evidence presented against you today is such as to give me no doubt that you should be retained in custody and then presented for trial on the charge of murder at the Assizes. I have to say that I do have doubts about it. This countercharge of the alleged attack on you is strange and you yourself could give no reason for it.
‘This particular point could stand on its own as the subject of some future trial – the prosecution witnesses deny that it happened and say that no one saw the attack. But Miss Acland says she saw the end of it. Yet you could not explain it.’
The magistrate leant back and put the tips of his fingers together. ‘I noted that as a mark in your favour. Everyone else, it seems, except this lady here,’ he nodded and smiled at Rowena, ‘seems quite happy to attribute motives to you for your actions. But you do not, when they do not exist, and, I also have to confess here that in your attitude and demeanour you do not give me reasons to attribute criminality to you – and I have seen enough criminals in my time to recognise such signs when I see them.
‘I am also disturbed about the evidence given by Captain Cunningham, a no doubt distinguished officer in the Customs and Revenue Service. He said that your allegedly bad temper had resulted in a sword attack by you on one of his men, yet he took no action to bring you to task for it – and surely he could have done so. His evidence of the marks on the ground beneath the tree is contradicted by Miss Acland. He implies that the weapon that killed Mr Drake was a knife possessed by you. But the prosecution has made no effort to produce this alleged weapon and examine it forensically to detect signs of its use in this deadly way. Lastly, there is the evidence of Miss Acland – given, I may add, undoubtedly at some cost to her reputation – that you did not leave the doctor’s house on the night of the murder. Now,’ he spread his hands in a gesture of mock despair, ‘who am I to believe? Eh, who am I to believe? Well, you see, I don’t have to believe anyone. All I have to do is to convince myself that the case against you, prisoner at the bar, is strong enough to put you forward to the higher court.’
Sir George waited long enough to give maximum impact to his next words. ‘And, most emphatically, I do not. Case dismissed. You may step down, Mr Weyland and leave this court without a stain on your character.
‘Clear the courtroom.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Joshua closed his eyes and grimaced with relief. He looked down at Rowena, who, predictably, was crying. He rushed down to grasp her hand. She wanted an embrace but he felt that would be unsuitable, with both of them standing underneath the bench, so he held her at bay. He looked up to thank Sir George but the old man had gone. So, too, had the witnesses from Hartland and Morwenstow who had tried so hard to commit him for hanging. It was as though they had disappeared into the air.
‘Rowena,’ he said, keeping his voice low, ‘I couldn’t be more grateful for the evidence you gave. You may have saved my life. But, my dear, it was not the truth and I do hope it will not rebound on you to do you harm. Your reputation will be tarnished, you know.’
She smiled through her tears. ‘I don’t care, Josh. I would do or say anything to save your life. You know that. I love you, you see.’
He gulped. ‘But you mustn’t. I have nothing to offer you, my dear girl. You know the situation.’
Immediately, Rowena’s air of adoration changed, her eyes flashed and the Gypsy girl reappeared. ‘Yes, I do. And I know that your fat Mary has not replied to your letters. Oh, Josh. She doesn’t love you, otherwise she would be here, offering to look after you and take you back to bloody Dover. But I do love you. I have proved it today. And,’ she looked up at him provocatively. ‘I am here.’
They were interrupted by a touch on Josh’s arm from the court usher. ‘If you have a moment, sir,’ he said, ‘the magistrate would be grateful if you could spare him a minute. In his chambers, behind the bench.’
‘What? Oh yes, of course. I would like an opportunity to thank him, anyway. Excuse me Rowena while I go … oh, I am sorry. I forgot to enquire about your father. I am so sorry to hear that he is unwell.’
‘Don’t worry about that now, Josh. Go and see Sir George.’
‘Yes, well. Don’t move from here. I will not be long.’
Josh climbed the steps to the bench and tapped on the door behind. ‘Come in,’ a familiar voice growled. Sir George was sitting with his waistcoat unbuttoned with what looked like a glass of whisky in his hand.
‘Sit down, boy.’ He indicated a chair.
Josh did so and said, ‘I am most grateful, Sir George, for two things. Firstly, for acquitting me and secondly,’ he smiled, ‘virtually acting as my defence lawyer. I really am most grateful.’
The magistrate waved the familiar red handkerchief. ‘Well, we will say no more about that. That young man was a disgrace to the legal profession and I may well take the matter further. But I wanted to see you for a different reason.’
He blew his nose noisily and took a deep draught of the whisky. ‘Excluding your remarkable female friend – was she lying by the way?’
‘I have already answered that in court, sir.’
‘So you have. So you have. Well, excluding her, you had three witnesses in court today, all giving evidence against you. The doctor I must regard as neutral, although, given his relationship to the lady who seems to be so in love with you, I would have thought he could and should have spoken up for you.’
‘Yes. Well, I understand he is not well, sir.’
‘Ah yes. I had forgotten that. Amazing, ain’t it, how often physicians are not well. But enough of that.’ He leant forward. ‘Do you intend to return to Hartland?’
‘Yes, sir. I must. I am due to give evidence soon at an enquiry, which is being conducted by Lloyd’s of London in reference to the distressingly large number of ships that founder on the rocks on that coastline – as, indeed, did mine. It is to be held at Hartland.’
‘Humph. Sounds strange. Should have been held in London. Well, never mind. I think you would be well advised to leave Hartland and – what’s the name of the other place?’
‘Morwenstow?’
‘Yes, that’s it. Get out as soon as you can. My dear Weyland, it seems to me that people in those two villages have something against you, they have a … a … what is that damned Italian word?’
‘Vendetta?’
‘Yes, that’s it. They have a vendetta against you. Now, why do you think that is? Eh?’
Joshua paused. He had to be careful, for he was speaking to a man of the law. But better to speak the truth. ‘I believe that in both Hartland and Morwenstow a smuggling ring is operating and, worse than that, they are sometimes luring ships onto that terrible coast there with false l
ights.’
‘What? Smuggling I can understand. The practice goes on everywhere in this part of England, but wrecking … wrecking in the old sense of showing false lights is damned murder, there is nothing else to describe it. You have evidence, I suppose?’
‘Ah, that is the problem, Sir George. It is only very circumstantial.’ And he related his own experience of seeing the light at Morwenstow from out at sea and then finding the site of the brazier with the ashes at its base. ‘I am hoping,’ he concluded, ‘that the Lloyd’s enquiry will produce something harder.’
The magistrate’s frown deepened and he took another draught of the whisky while he thought. ‘I doubt it,’ he growled. ‘This will not be a proper court of law. One of the problems we face down here,’ he went on, ‘is the absence of a proper policing force. Peel has introduced one in London, which is beginning to do excellent work, I understand, but beyond the capital we have to rely on the militia, which is quick to put down rioting but useless, it seems to me, at detecting and doing general constabulary work. As in your case, for instance, which should never have been brought.’
The great red handkerchief was brought into play again. ‘Yes, but, apart from being shipwrecked, what was your involvement in these nefarious activities? Why should you arouse antipathy, eh?’
‘You may well ask, sir. The only reason I can think of is that my suspicions were alerted by that light, which drew us onto the rocks. You see, I was the only man saved from the wreck. I lost all my shipmates – some good men. As a result, I have been asking a lot of questions. Perhaps too many.’
‘Ah, that explains it. Well, now.’ He thought for a moment, his brow corrugated. ‘Trouble is, I can’t do much to help you. In theory these places are within my jurisdiction as a magistrate but they are on the edge of my territory, so to speak. And, obviously, I cannot play a role unless someone is charged and brought before me. So …’ He drew out the word.
‘So, my advice stands. Get away from those two villages as soon as you can. And, while you are there, watch your back. It sounds as though you are handy with your sailor’s knife. Don’t go out without it.’ He waved his hand in dismissal. ‘Now off you go. If you insist on still asking questions and you get meaningful answers – I mean evidence – come straight to me, to no one else. Understand?’
