Three Round Towers

by Beverley Elphick

  I listened to her dreams with pity, I had heard all about the conditions on the transport ships.

  ‘I 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.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  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 – rising and sitting – 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, ‘All rise, for his Lordship Justice George Pettigrew…’ 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.

  ‘M’Lord, this young woman is charged with the deliberate murder of her colleague and friend Miss Rebecca Franklin…’ 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.

  ‘Silence, 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, ‘Young lady, how do you plead – guilty or not guilty?’

  I gathered myself together and looked at him directly. ‘I 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, ‘this 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. ‘Don’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. ‘Can 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.

  ‘Mind, 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. ‘How 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 – 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 w
as, 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 ‘repeated 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.

  ‘Mr Paulter, will you tell the jury and the good people in this courtroom where you were on the day before this dreadful happening?’

  ‘I was at work, Sir’

  ‘And where, Mr Paulter, is your work and what do you do therein?’ Mr Josiah Button examined his nails while waiting for an answer.

  ‘I 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 c…’

  ‘Yes, 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?’

  ‘No 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.’

  ‘Can you tell me his name my good sir?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, his name is Farmer Coad.’

  ‘Did Farmer Coad withdraw any cash on that day?’

  ‘He did, sir, he was intending to buy some new stock and he had particularly requested a substantial withdrawal from his account.’

  ‘Are you able to tell us how much cash was withdrawn on that day and what form of notes and cash was paid?’

  ‘Yes, Sir – 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.’

  ‘Was there anything unusual about the notes, young man?’

  ‘Not unusual but the notes were all new. I drew them from the vaults that day and they were unused.’

  ‘If I were to show you some notes might you be able to identify them?’

  ‘I 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.

  ‘Young man, can you identify this bag?’

  ‘Why 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.’

  ‘Look 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.’

  ‘Are you sure? Is there not a shadow of doubt?’

  ‘No 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.

  ‘Gentlemen of the Jury. M’Lord,’ He bowed deeply to the judge.

  ‘I 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. ‘This 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.’

  ‘Gentlemen 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.

  ‘Gentlemen, have you reached a verdict?’

  ‘We have, M’Lord.’

  ‘What is your verdict?’

  ‘Not guilty, your Honour.’

  There was a great shout and hammering of feet on the floor.

  ‘Silence, silence! I will have silence in court!’ bellowed the judge.

  Everyone settled back down into their chairs and those that had left were scrambling back in. The judge looked at me.

  ‘Please stand, Miss Coad.’

  ‘Your peers, the men of the jury, have found you not guilty of Rebecca Franklin’s murder and you may leave this court today with your reputation untarnished, but, before you do so I wish to say a few words. You may sit.’

  I sat. The judge put his fingers together in the manner of a steeple. He looked round the courtroom his gaze finding every eye and silencing those who shifted or whispered, even the aristocratic ladies. He drew his cane towards his nose and inhaled deeply before speaking. ‘I find this case to be very disturbing. Why the case was brought in the first place appears to me to have been an act of malice. Mr Josiah Button, whilst I congratulate you on your thorough and effective work, I do not like such grandstanding in my court. Had you called the coroner and the bank clerk to the stand early on we could have dispensed with this case in better time, not to say spared Miss Coad the ordeal of sitting and listening to the evidence, much of which was distressing. However, for investigative clarity I commend you. As to whether there was ever a case to answer I require the justice’s clerk and the constable to come to my chambers to explain themselves on this matte
r once today’s business is done. I will recommend to the clerk of the courts that a summons be issued to the family who are at the heart of this dreadful story. Perjury is a crime that will be taken seriously by this court and I will personally see that this matter is investigated and punished fully within the scope of the law.

  Finally, I would like to be assured that the financial welfare of the child is undertaken by the father. I would also like to be assured that the child is cared for by Miss Franklin’s father, the child’s grandfather and, if that is not practicable, then by whomsoever he directs. Is the grandfather present? Let him address the court.’

  Becca’s pa rose from his seat. He looked very frail. He was alone; his wife had not accompanied him.

  ‘Are you able to care for the child Sir?’

  ‘No, M’lud. I am sorry to say that I have not the means and that my wife has not the inclination.’

  The court erupted into a babble of voices.

  ‘Silence.’

  ‘Are you able to appoint someone to raise the child and who is willing?’

  ‘Aye, your honour. Esther would have been Becca’s choice and she has been a fine mother to my granddaughter. I would like for that to be legal and above board, if it pleases you.’

  ‘A sensible option. Miss Coad do you agree to raise the child until she be of age? I will appoint a sum of money to be paid to you from the father’s income until such time as she is an adult. Do you agree to the terms?’

  ‘I do my Lord, and thank you.’

  ‘I wish you well young lady, you have suffered a despicable attack and you may be assured it will not go unpunished. Guard, remove the bindings. You are free to leave Miss Coad.’

  As I held my hands out for the bindings to be removed he continued.

  ‘Guard, arrest that family: all of them. Put them in the cells until such time as I have investigated their perjury and whatever other charges I can think of.’

  I staggered towards my friends who all rushed forward to hug me. Farmer and Mrs Elwood had their carriage brought round to the door of the court and I was carried bodily into it. Hurried arrangements were made to meet at South Farm and there I was able to absorb all that had happened and thank my dear friends who had done so much to bring the evidence to court.