****
While the judge was arranging his golf game, Elly was in the consulting room, feverishly practising her lines of legal jargon on Ned. As she recited, Katherine made up her face and wound her copper hair into a simple twist at the back of her head. Early that morning, Isabelle’s dressmaker had delivered a brand new, stylishly plain, midnight-blue frock.
The night before, Sir Douglas had tried to guess at every eventuality, laying out what she might need to say during the trial. Jeremy had taken the ideas and composed them into eloquent prose. Always a quick student, Elly never imagined she would have to learn so large a role, so fast. She had studied late into the night, and the lines began running together in her mind. They had all slept a few fitful hours stretched out on easy chairs or the carpeted floor. Forcing herself to speak slowly, Elly was horribly aware a bad performance could mean her death, or worse.
Katherine pushed in the last hairpin. “All done.”
Elly looked into a mirror and turned up her lip. “I look like a nun.”
Katherine agreed, “That’s exactly what Sir Douglas wants.”
Ned shook his head. “No, you look like an actress playing a nun. You’re far too beautiful. Any juror who doesn’t fall in love with you will be blind or a pouf.”
Katherine raised an eyebrow. “Then we hope he’ll fall in love with Jerry.”
Grateful to relieve their tension, they all laughed, then stopped abruptly as a warder knocked on the door. “Come to take Miss Roundtree.” After tense, good-luck hugs, she followed the warder out.
Katherine and Ned went to join Isabelle, Sir William and a legion of actors and crew who had come to watch from the gallery.
Minutes later, Elly slowly walked up the steps toward the prisoner’s dock. Trembling with cold and fear, she prayed frantically, “Dear God, please, give me the strength to do this. It’s all up to me. I must do it. I must.” The crowd stared silently. The jurymen whispered that she looked older than she had the day before.
Sitting alone on the barristers’ bench, Sir Douglas perspired under his wig and robe. Brown was already stationed a row back on the side, where Sir Douglas would move in a few minutes. Behind Sir Douglas, Rory sat at a study table. His clean shirt was already soaked with sweat.
“All rise!”
With his mind on the fresh air of manicured golf greens, Judge Reynolds loped into court with a spring in his step. Sliding onto his high-backed throne, he looked at Sir Douglas, and waited. As he anticipated, Sir Douglas raised a hand and slowly rose. “My Lord, I asked your kind permission to address the court.”
“Permission granted.”
“When I accepted this case, my lord, gentlemen of the jury, I intended defending Miss Roundtree myself.” After smiling at Elly, sitting like a porcelain statue in the dock, he turned back to the judge. “When my seventy-six-year-old heart refused further strenuous activity, I asked my learned colleague, Richard Reims to act as my junior. Shortly before this trial, his son was injured and he regretfully withdrew. Mr Andrew Milligan took his place and gave an admirable presentation yesterday morning, before collapsing with a burst appendix. He is presently in hospital, recuperating from surgery, and expected to recover fully. Today, my simplest course of action would be to request a postponement and take time to engage another junior with skill and experience.”
Smiling indulgently, the judge nodded, “Of course, Sir Douglas.”
“Simplest for me, my lord, but not for the accused.”
Scowling, the judge glanced at his golf partner. Rodney was seated with the press, enjoying a perfect view of the lovely prisoner.
Sir Douglas gestured to Elly. “A young lady of good breeding, Miss Roundtree is suffering from the harsh confines of Holloway Prison. Although her courage is admirable, the unsanitary conditions, lack of light, constant cold and damp, unpalatable food, and bodily injury she has suffered at the hands of prison staff, are all taking their toll. Confinement of this kind is very harsh punishment for a gentle lady who has been convicted of no crime.”
Suddenly faint, he closed his eyes and leaned against the balustrade. He fought to stand straight. “It is for her sake, that—”
Clutching his left arm, he collapsed onto the bench. Behind him, Rory on one side and Brown on the other held their breath, waiting for instructions. The old man’s face glistened white with perspiration. He forced words through gritted teeth. “Cookingham, get … her … up!”
“But, you haven’t presented her.” Rory lost his breath.
Brown urged, “Get her up, man.”
“But, sir, you were going to explain why she’s—”
“Sir Douglas, I grant you a postponement until which time you have engaged an appropriate successor. The prisoner is remanded to the custody of Holloway Prison until—”
“No!” A hundred heads turned as Elly stood, tall and trembling, in the dock. Her words rolled out. “It is with the greatest respect to you, my lord, this venerable court, and my learned council that I regretfully dismiss the services of Sir Douglas Thompson.”
The judge lurched forward. “What!”
The courtroom buzzed. Amazed spectators whispered to each other. Journalists expecting the trial to be postponed scribbled gleefully. Elly stared straight ahead and shouted over the crowd, “I claim the right of every citizen to self-defend in His Majesty’s Court of law.”
The crowd roared as the judge shouted, “Silence! Silence I say! I’ll clear the court if I don’t have silence!”
The crowd quieted. In the gallery, Sir William, Isabelle, Ned, Katherine, actors and crew from His Majesty’s Theatre, clutched each other’s hands in frozen dread.
Glaring at Elly, the judge spoke through a clenched jaw. “Surely … I … misunderstood … what … you … said.”
Feeling faint, Elly forced out her practised words, “So if it please the court, it is with the utmost regret that I dismiss—”
“It does not please the court.” The judge’s angry face matched his crimson robe. “You dare to dismiss one of Britain’s finest counsel—”
Sir Douglas stood painfully. “It is on my advice, my lord.” A hush fell over the spectators. “Miss Roundtree must do anything she can to free herself from the immediate abuses caused by her confinement in Holloway—”
“Sir Douglas, are you proceeding with her defence or are you not?” The judge glared.
In dramatic answer, Sir Douglas raised a weary arm, carefully removed his wig, and dropped it onto the bench behind him. A collective gasp was heard around the courtroom. Muffled voices were quickly silenced by the judge’s glower. Elly bit her lip as Sir Douglas began, one by one, to unfasten the buttons on his silk robe. When it hung loose, he pushed it off his shoulders, allowing it to drop back onto the bench.
Although Jeremy O’Connell had carefully staged this the night before, the actuality of the great and powerful barrister transforming into a bent old man, turned Elly’s legs to jelly.
Bracing himself on the balustrade, Sir Douglas walked slowly off the barristers’ bench, dragging his gown. Frederick Brown met him in the aisle, folded the gown over his arm, took his arm, and escorted him a row back, onto a solicitors’ bench. Rory, now alone in the second row, crouched behind his study table, trying to become invisible. Sir Douglas eased himself down. As planned, he and Rory could see each other peripherally without turning their heads.
Elly turned to the female warder on her left. “Kindly let me pass.” Stunned, the dark-clad woman stood back. While rehearsing The Tempest, Elly had learned to glide gracefully down a long flight of stairs without looking at her feet. Using that skill, she seemed to float from the prisoner’s dock down the steps to the lower level, across the floor, past the judge, and toward the barrister’s bench. A hundred people sat mesmerised. Heart pounding, she remembered Sir Douglas’s instructions, looked straight ahead, and kept walking.
The judge shouted angrily, “What do you think you’re doing?” His eyes bulged.
Wanting
to collapse in tears, Elly forced herself to keep walking. She moved behind the balustrade. Halfway down the barristers’ bench, she saw Sir Douglas’s wig, crumpled like a wounded animal. Pushing it aside, she glanced back at Rory. He stared back with fierce blue eyes, compelling her to continue. She faced front, clutched the rail with all her might, and looked squarely at the judge.
“My lord, I am ready to proceed with my defence. I thank you.” Her legs collapsed as she sat stiffly on the barrister’s bench.
“Your defence?” The judge glowered. “There have been men foolish enough to attempt such folly. Inevitably they were hanged.” There was a shriek from the gallery. Shaking with rage, the judge pointed a finger. “Never in my entire career have I encountered a woman with so much gall and so little common sense. The prosecutor said you were cunning and deceitful but never …”
Rory whispered frantically, “Bodily safety … bodily safety.”
Elly froze. With the judge shouting and Rory cueing, she was unable to take in either one.
“Elly!” Rory called out loud and she sat to attention. “Bodily safety!”
Surprised to hear a man’s voice, the judge stopped shouting.
Elly rose. “My lord, is it not common sense to plead for one’s bodily safety? In Holloway Prison I have been brutalised—”
The Judge pointed a finger. “No harm comes to prisoners in His Majesty’s custody.”
“A prisoner was killed, two nights ago.”
Journalists scribbling frantically, stopped short, then dived back to their notebooks.
Elly pushed ahead. “A woman, known to have a weak heart, died when she was force-fed with a tube down her throat. The—”
“So you don’t care for the accommodations.” The judge spat his words like venom. “However unpleasant your short stay may have been, a long stay in His Majesty’s penitentiary will prove far more unpleasant. Dismissing your counsel is inviting a very long stay indeed.”
Elly felt like she was drowning. “Once your lordship has allowed full disclosure of my case, I am sure my innocence will be proved beyond reasonable doubt, and I will be released.”
The judge shook with rage. “Never once, to the knowledge of this court, has a woman had the effrontery to suggest defending herself.”
Rory cued her, “The name, Judge …”
Elly recited, “Then, my lord, the name, Judge Reynolds, will become even more praised by history. These gentlemen,” she gestured to the journalists, “are ready to record the process of this trial in great detail, at great interest to the public at large.”
“The public at large will think it lunacy.”
Rory whispered, “Students.”
She gasped for breath, “Students of the law, for generations to come, will study these proceedings, praising your wisdom and forethought in dealing justly with a situation heretofore never encountered. As with all things new, someone must be the first. If I am unfortunate enough to be the first woman compelled to defend herself, I will thank God that he has provided me with a compassionate judge who appreciates that justice must be blind, and jurors with such Christian charity in their hearts they can overlook formal irregularities and see true—”
“Enough!” The Judge stared down at the journalists. They stared back, pencils poised with delighted anticipation. He looked at the jurors – alert, confused, but eager to proceed. He gazed into the gallery. A sea of faces stared back, silent and attentive. Beginning to relish the power he commanded, he took his time assessing the rest of the court personnel. Warders, ushers, the clerk, the bailiff, the shorthand writer – all appeared excited and eager to be a part of the adventure. Only the prosecutor sat frowning. Sir Douglas and Mr Brown sat like stone.
Finally, the judge looked at his golf partner. Rodney smiled, crossed his arms, and sat back, ready to enjoy the show. The judge took a deep breath. “I hereby open today’s proceedings in the Crown Versus Elisa Roundtree.”
At 9.45, witnesses Jeremy O’Connell, Robert Dennison and Constable Henry Wright waited impatiently in a soundproof room at the back of the courthouse. It was 10.15 when Robert Dennison was recalled for cross-examination.
Jeremy asked the bailiff, “So the trial is proceeding?”
“It is sir.” He shook his head. “Never saw the like. Prisoner’s defending herself.”
Slapping his thigh, Jeremy laughed out loud. “My God, it worked. At least so far. Damn, I wish I could see it. Has Sam Smelling sent word? He’s to testify today.”
The bailiff shrugged. “Sorry, sir. I couldn’t say.” Robert followed the bailiff out, past three reporters hurrying to get their stories into the midday editions.
Jeremy had warned Robert that Elly would be alone on the barristers’ bench. Still, he climbed into the witness box and his mouth went dry.
Rory handed Elly the notes Brown had taken the previous morning. She had studied them before, and needed only a glance to be reminded. She stood and nodded.
“Thank you for returning this morning, Mr Dennison. You were very thorough answering Mr Milligan’s questions and I will shortly offer you to Mr Johnson for cross-examination, reserving the right to redirect, if necessary.” She took a deep breath. “I would ask that you kindly elaborate on a casual comment you made yesterday.”
The jurymen were all attention. One whispered to another, “She speaks well, doesn’t she.”
The other smirked, “Should do. She’s an actress.”
Elly concentrated on Robert. “I believe you remarked that this trial was ‘laughable’.”
“Oh, that.” Robert relaxed slightly. “Yes, I said that.”
“Could you please explain what you meant?”
Facing the Judge and jury, he shrugged. “Well, with all due respect, gentlemen. It is … laughable. At the time the incident took place, Miss Roundtree was afraid of her own shadow. She’d jump if anyone said ‘Boo’.”
The judge scowled at Elly. “I find that very hard to believe.”
Robert continued. “It is true, sir. If I hadn’t interfered, she’d have gone meekly home and married that …” He bit his tongue. “Maybe she’d have been better off.” He sighed, “If I’d have stayed out of it altogether, she might not be here today.”
Elly opened her mouth, but the judge spoke first. “Are you saying that Miss Roundtree would not have run away from school, without your urging?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. It never would have occurred to her.”
Elly had been warned that the judge might ask his own questions. She forced herself to stand still. Rory looked to Sir Douglas, who gestured that all was well.
The judge pursed his lips. “She obviously found the idea agreeable.”
Robert shook his head. “She did not find it agreeable, at all. The idea frightened her. It frightened me. I was afraid of losing my position.” He grimaced. “But she was also afraid of getting married. She was relieved when the letter arrived from London, saying the audition was during the Christmas holiday. She knew she couldn’t get away from home.”
“But she did.” The judge scowled at her.
“Yes, I convinced her to stay at school over the holiday and run away from there.”
The judge sat back.
There was an awkward silence.
Rory whispered, “… no more questions.”
Elly said, “Thank you, my lord. I have no more questions, but I reserve the right to—”
“…to redirect, yes, yes.” The judge impatiently waved his hand. “Mr Johnson, your witness.”
Elly collapsed onto her bench as the prosecutor stood, casually leaning against the balustrade. “Mr Dennison, over the past two mornings, you have presented Miss Roundtree as the very picture of a saint.”
Robert’s eyes bulged. His chest tightened. “I stated my observations. You, sir, have painted your own picture.”
The prosecutor smiled graciously, “You say that Miss Roundtree took no initiative for her flight from school.”
“T
hat is what I said.”
“And yet I have a signed statement …” he held up a paper, “… from a Mr Ralph Smithson, dairy and poultry vendor, who said that Miss Roundtree, and Miss Roundtree alone, arranged for him to transport her from the school, early on the morning of December 18th and drive her to the train station.”
“I made her talk to him alone, so I couldn’t be implicated later on. I know your next question. I found out the train fare, and schedule, but made her buy her own ticket.”
Johnson looked at Elly, motionless except for the pulse of her nervous breathing. “Mr Dennison, I doubt there’s a man, old or young, who would not admire Miss Roundtree’s beauty.”
Robert clutched the railing. “Before you go further, Mr Johnson, allow me to assure you that I am not an admirer of little girls in hair ribbons and school frocks. The girl I knew at Heathhead School shared little resemblance with Sir William Richfield’s elegant ward, sitting on that bench.”
“You admired her beauty enough to paint her.”
“That was her idea.” He threw up his hands. “My God, man. Of course, she’s beautiful. She has a delightful personality. I liked her. I wanted to paint her. Where’s the crime?”
“Yesterday, you said that she cared for you.”
Robert nodded and the judge scolded, “Speak your answers aloud, sir.”
“Yes, I said that.”
The prosecutor smiled. “Are we to believe that she was incapable of making you care for her?”
“As I said, I thought of her as a child. I did care for her. I care for her still. If you want me to say that she seduced me like some harlot, I cannot, because it’s not true.”
Some of the jurors looked shocked to hear that word. Others smirked.
The prosecutor barked, “Is it not true, sir, that when you first arrived in London, Miss Roundtree spent an entire night alone with you in your lodging?”
Elly gasped as a commotion erupted in the gallery. A woman was struck with the vapours and administered smelling salts.
Rory whispered, “Objection … Elly … Objection!”
She sat paralysed with fear.
Rory shouted, “Objection!” and sank back behind his study table.
Beauty's Doom Page 16
