First Fleet

by M Howard Morgan

  ‘The vicar tried to rape her my boy. It is as simple or as complicated as that. He will give some story that she stole some of his books, but the reality is that he tried to rape her, and she fought him.’ Henry held his son’s shoulders, could feel him shaking, saw the fire in his eyes, as his anger flared. ‘I can scarce believe it, but am in no doubt but that Mary speaks the truth.’ He held his son’s eyes, willing him to take control of his anger. ‘You must be strong, for her sake, Jack. She is hurt, not badly,’ he added quickly, ‘and very frightened. She fears she will not be believed and that the vicar, a man of the Church, will be preferred to a servant girl.’ He looked back over his shoulder. ‘I have called for a physician to examine her. Her eye will need some attention and I suspect a rib is broken.’

  Jack brought himself under control and said with feeling, ‘I will have the bastard’s black heart, father. I swear it.’ Jack resolved that moment that he would deal with the reverend Barnwood and answer to God himself if need be. First however he must see to Mary.

  They returned to the small room where Giles and a guard were glaring at each other in silent animosity. Mary sat on the chair, her head resting in her hands, tears still on her bruised face. He went to her and crouched before her.

  ‘Father has spoken to the magistrate and we will see that this business is dealt with speedily so we can bring you home. Is there anything you need now?’ Jack’s voice trembled but he displayed more confidence than he felt.

  ‘Oh my sweet Jack, I am lost, can you not see? He will have me rot here I know. You must help me, please.’ She implored him, her eyes begging him to take her with him. She held him very tight; he kissed her and turned away, before she could see his pain.

  13

  The Trial

  ‘If it please your Lordship, I will call Elizabeth Clutterbuck.’

  Jack looked to the dock, smiled to give Mary some encouragement, but saw that she was in despair.

  Henry had used all the influence at his disposal to bring Mary’s trial to court as quickly as possible, but still two months had passed. The trial was not going well. Given earlier in the day, Barnwood’s evidence was avidly accepted by this judge, Mister Justice Paul, without demur. It had become quite plain to Jack that the judge, newly appointed to the western circuit, was biased. The prosecutor had been allowed more latitude than any counsel should. Henry had challenged several matters during the vicar’s examination in chief, each time his protests dismissed.

  His father had cross-examined him, although Jack had pressed him to allow him to have that particular pleasure. Henry was equally adamant that to do so would not be in Mary’s interests. Jack was too closely involved he said, and would not remain calm or dispassionate. He would incur the court’s displeasure, he said.

  With reluctance, he admitted the wisdom of his father’s words. As Barnwood coldly but confidently gave his version of the incident, suitably embellished with some fiction of his own, Jack had angrily shot to his feet to accuse the clergyman of perjury; immediately incurring a severe reprimand from the judge and warned that he would be barred from the court in the event of any further outburst. It had not helped Mary’s case and the knowledge of that caused him a good deal of anxiety.

  He was on safer ground with an examination in chief of a defence witness. The clergyman was plausible, a credible witness and Henry made no ground in discrediting his account. Even the scratches on the man’s face had been explained away to the judge’s satisfaction.

  Elizabeth Clutterbuck hobbled into the court looking old and very troubled. She had aged considerably in the two months since the night her employer raped Mary. Her grandson, Tom, held her arm as she climbed the steps to the dock, glancing towards Jack who avoided any recognition. Murmuring in the public gallery grew with anticipation, until silenced by the hammering of the judge’s gavel. Beneath his full-bottomed wig, he glowered with anger at the gallery.

  Several villagers had found places on the benches, but mostly townspeople, with a morbid interest in the prospect of a capital punishment, occupied the forward positions, leaning over the rail the better to hear the proceedings.

  Jack leaned forward, hands spread on the bench, and dealt as quickly as he could with the preliminaries, moving to the matter of the assault itself more slowly and with some care, as Clutterbuck’s face wore an anxious frown

  ‘Now Mistress Clutterbuck, please tell his Lordship what it was that first alerted you to the assault that was taking place in...’ The question went unfinished as the prosecutor interrupted.

  ‘My Lord, I hesitate to interrupt the proceedings, but I really must protest most strongly at my learned friend’s terminology.’

  Charles Willoughby was not such a fool as to let that pass without objection and Mister Justice Paul was pleased to have the chance to take this cocky young man down a peg.

  ‘Quite right, Mister Willoughby, quite right, sir. This is the last time I will tolerate your insolence, Mister Vizzard. When you have a little more experience, you will understand that I do not permit unprofessional behaviour from members of the bar. You are aware of the rules of evidence, are you not? Any further disrespect, sir and I will have you leave my court.’

  This judge was determined to see the girl in the dock convicted. Jack could almost smell the bigotry emanating from the bench. He seethed silently.

  Justice Oswald Paul glared back at him, then turned his gaze on the girl in the dock. He could see the type of girl she was. Quite obviously a temptress, a provocative type, he thought. No humility was apparent in that face, no remorse, no contrition but only false tears. A damned actress.

  The reverend Barnwood was a known friend of the Dean, and the Dean of Gloucester, Josiah Tucker, was a man of influence, not only in the county, but also at court. He was acquainted with the Chancellor, Lord Loughborough. Oswald Paul had ambition and was not inclined to offend such a personage. He looked at Mary, his eyes narrowing. The girl was obviously guilty and what is this young upstart doing wasting my time with this case, he wondered. There can be no defence to such obvious crime.

  Biting his tongue, Jack continued. ‘As it may please your Lordship. Your lordship is correct, and I am in error, as your lordship often is.’ He said, the sarcasm passing unnoticed, except by his father, who smiled at the floor.

  Turning to the witness, he resumed the examination. ‘Please tell the court what it was that first alerted you to some disturbance, Mistress Clutterbuck.’

  ‘Well sir, it’s as the reverend says, sir. I hears this big commotion see, and when I comes out of me room there’s Mary George screamin’ and yellin’ like a thing possessed.’ Her eyes blinked in rapid succession. ‘I ain’t never seen ‘er like that afore, sir. But I can’t says what happened.’ Eliza looked at her feet.

  ‘I will leave for the moment the question of how you come to know Mister Barnwood’s evidence; he is of course your employer;’ he paused briefly, ‘but the books that the defendant is accused of stealing, you are aware that they do not belong to your employer?’ Jack wanted to shout at her. He controlled himself with difficulty.

  ‘As I says, sir I don’t know nothing about no books. The vicar, sir... well he has a heap of books in the library, an’ I always been most careful with ‘em, sir. I dunno know what books he got. I can’t read y’see.’ Eliza Clutterbuck fiddled with her hands, looking nervously from Barnwood and back to Jack.

  ‘Her case, the defendant’s case, Mistress Clutterbuck, is she borrowed those books, not from Mister Barnwood but from a friend, you know that much at least, do you not?’ Jack was not going to dignify his enemy by using his clerical title. And Barnwood was his enemy, as assuredly as if he had a drawn sword or a musket in his hand.

  ‘As I says, sir, I knows nothin’ about any books.’

  ‘She had told you the week before she had borrowed some books I believe. Do you not recall?’

  ‘No, sir. I know nothing about any books.’

  He looked coldly, disbelievingly at the old lady
, suspicion rising in his brain. ‘Mistress Clutterbuck. Your employer had been drinking heavily that evening, had he not?’

  ‘Well, sir, the reverend likes a drop of wine with ‘is dinner, but he weren’t drunk far as I knows.’

  Jack stared hard at Barnwood across the courtroom. The bastard has bribed her, he thought. That or he has threatened the old woman. She is lying for him. The man avoided his look and Jack felt his anger rise in his chest again. He looked at a sheet of paper in the brief, breathing steadily to retain control. He decided to change his questioning.

  ‘You left your room because you heard some commotion, a disturbance of some kind? Is that correct?

  ‘Yes, sir’

  ‘The defendant was running from her room along the hall, in some distress, would you agree?

  ‘Well, like I said, she was howlin’ a good deal.’

  ‘Did you not hear Mistress George call on you to help, saying, ‘Help, please help, he’s mad, he’s mad’, and Barnwood calling her a ‘whore, a daughter of Satan? You did hear that, did you not? Have in mind your solemn oath to tell the truth now.’

  ‘She was cryin’ and shouting somethin', sir, but I didn’t hear what. She might ‘ave sworn at him, sir.’ Eliza Clutterbuck was now looking very frightened, and there were mutterings from the public gallery with a shout of, ‘shame on you Eliza Clutterbuck.’

  Barnwood looked towards Jack, a thinly disguised smile of triumph on his lips.

  The judge struck the bench with his gavel, ‘Silence, I will have silence in my court! You may continue Mister Vizzard, if you feel the effort worthy of it.’

  Jack ignored the jibe and turned to the witness.

  ‘Mistress Clutterbuck, I must press you on this. Did you not believe that Mistress George was in distress and in need of your help? For what did you think she needed you at that hour? To help with some baking?’

  There was some laughter in the public gallery that Jack had not intended.

  ‘I have heard enough, Mister Vizzard,’ the judge interrupted. ‘Now you are browbeating your own witness, and I will not permit this comedic questioning any longer. You will sit down, sir... sit down and Mister Willoughby may cross-examine if he chooses, although I doubt that to be necessary. Mister Willoughby?’ The judge leaned back in his chair, with an imperious countenance.

  ‘But my Lord, I must insist.’

  ‘You will insist on nothing, Mister Vizzard. Sit down, sir. I will not hear from you again.’

  His face flushed with growing anger Jack sat, throwing the brief at his father in petulance.

  ‘Be silent my boy. You cannot help her in this court.’ His father cautioned him, a troubled look on his face.

  The prosecutor, Charles Willoughby rose to his feet slowly, hands resting on his hips, a shallow, insincere and patronising smile on his face, as he turned to the witness.

  ‘My dear Mistress Clutterbuck, so in essence your evidence to my Lord’s court is that you were aware of some commotion, you heard the defendant shouting and swearing obscenities at the vicar, throwing something and your employer trying to restrain the defendant, but know nothing of the books that she had in her room...’

  Jack jumped to his feet, ‘My Lord, I must strongly call upon your Lordship to admonish my learned friend for his last remark. He implies...’

  ‘Sit down, Mister Vizzard. I will decide who and when to admonish and if I hear from you again, I will hold you in contempt. Now be seated, sir, at once!’

  Jack remained standing and glared at the judge belligerently. His brain goaded him to swear at this judge, to shout at the arrogant old man in red gown and full wig, to denounce his partiality, to declare to the room the innocence of the prisoner. Instead, he turned and without bowing, strode from the court throwing his wig down and his gown trailing in his wake. The judge’s command to return he ignored, faces turned to him but he saw them through a blur of fury. The heavy door slammed loudly behind him. He needed to breathe clean fresh air and think.

  Turning a corner, he found himself in Westgate and the cold hit him like a hammer. Carts and carriages passed by, and flurries of snow, churned by a cold easterly wind, swirled about his head. Townspeople, busy with their own lives, walked by hurriedly, heads down, intent on their business, unfeeling, uncaring.

  Jack stood looking down towards the River Severn lying beyond the Cathedral, grey and murky in the dying sun of a cold winter’s day. He wondered at the insupportable scene he had just witnessed, of which he had been a part, and knew, understood that he could not continue. The majestic equality of the law! Hah, he thought, what justice is it that permits this. People crushed by law have no hope but from power, and if the law is their enemy, they will become enemies to the law. Now he saw with his own eyes, had been an integral part. Well no more, I have made the right decision.

  He walked briskly into the snow, head low and his heart lower. His shoulders pushed townspeople aside, oblivious and heedless of their oaths and curses. He ducked into the courtyard of the New Inn. Pulling open the door he summoned the innkeeper, and took a seat in a gloomy corner, feeling miserable, and stared into the glow of the fire, burning slowly in the grate. An hour or more passed by, a glass of mulled wine on the table still unfinished.

  ‘Well my friend,’ Giles was at his shoulder, breathless from his search of the town, ‘tell me how do you intend to help her from here?’ He sat heavily in front of his friend, his expression a mix of relief and concern. Concern because of the anger that burned in Jack’s eyes, like the coals of a fire.

  ‘The bastard, Giles. That bastard is in the Bishop’s pocket. You heard him. I was never to be permitted to defend her. He means to send her down, or worse - you must see that. What can I do for her now?’ Jack was in torment. ‘Barnwood has bribed the housekeeper, or threatened her. She perjured herself today, Giles. There can be little doubt of it.’

  ‘You can go back and fight. ‘Tis not like you to give up on a fight. Here, take a mouthful.’ Jack shook his head. ‘Christ on the Cross, it is damned cold.’ Giles produced a small silver flask from beneath his cloak and drank fully, feeling the fire of the spirit as it travelled into his stomach. His ears were so cold he felt they would break if he rubbed them.

  Jack first sipped on his wine then he drained the glass. Taking the flask from his friend he took a mouthful. The brandy made his head reel.

  ‘I will kill him for this, Giles. I swear I will. Did you see his smug, corrupt, rotten face? It is he that should be in the dock, not her. Not Mary’.

  ‘Come back with me. Let us see what may be done. Mary has given evidence, and I believe did well. She was very brave.’ Giles omitted to volunteer the opinion that she would have performed better had Jack been present to provide some support. ‘Regrettably, the prosecutor simply dismissed her account as the ‘lurid fiction of fancy by a young servant’!’ Giles looked despondent, embarrassed. ‘I am ashamed that a relative of mine...He - your father is addressing the jury. Perhaps he can sway them.’ Giles tried vainly to offer his friend some hope.

  ‘Oh Christ, Giles, she is gone. He has won. His bloody Lordship will see to that.’

  14

  The Murder

  Giles lost sight of Jack on the Stroud road. He thought he saw a solitary horseman, heading up to Painswick Beacon, but could not even be sure that it was a rider. It might have been a mere shadow; was not at all sure that it was Jack. He took that path but although he searched the area until it was nearly dark, he could find no trace of him. The air was cooling and he decided to ride on to Woodchester in the hope of finding him there. Turning his horse, he rode south towards Stroud.

  The breeze was rising, more apparent on this, the highest point of Gloucestershire, and Jack pulled his tricorn hat tighter on his head as he watched his friend from the security of the dense copse. Not tonight old friend, he thought. You will not see me tonight, nor I suspect for a very long time, for I have urgent business of which you cannot be part. Must not be a part of.

  He wa
ited another five minutes and left the beacon taking the path along the higher ground through Pitchcombe. I have little need to return home tonight, but perhaps I must collect some clothes, personal papers, and some books. And I should see father. A shiver rippled along his spine at the thought of that conversation. Then I must be gone because she is lost to me now. Yesterday is lost, and what of the morrow? He had failed and could do no more for her. Now he must try to forget that which could never be, and move on, take up his new life and forget. Except for one thing. He would ensure that Barnwood never ruined another life.

  He rode quietly across the fields towards the village and tied his horse to a tree in the meadow, disturbing the sheep there, walking the rest of the way to the rear of The Vicarage and the orchard keeping close to the hedges, bare now in the cold of Autumn. He heard the rumble of carriage wheels and a horse clattering to a halt by the front porch, and the sound of Barnwood talking. He was loud, the voice thick and slurred, and Jack could not make out his words. Then he realized that he was talking to Eliza Clutterbuck.

  He climbed the apple tree at the rear of the orchard, smiling wryly at the memory of that tree. He settled as comfortably as he could in the bare branches, pulling his cloak closely about him and prepared to wait. He chewed silently on an apple, suddenly feeling hunger. An hour passed, and he observed Eliza in the kitchen, preparing an early supper, no doubt for Barnwood. His limbs started to ache and he carefully and very slowly stretched his legs, then his arms. As the moon climbed higher, it threw a silver sheet across the wet roof, offering him light to observe. He again heard the sound of the carriage moving out from The Vicarage, and for a few moments, panic hit him. Was Barnwood leaving?

  As he wondered what he should do his quarry appeared, briefly, in the kitchen. Jack did not move, and slowed his breathing, although he knew he was sufficiently distant to escape detection. He could not see Eliza, and reasoned that she must have left for some purpose unknown. That must have been her leaving in the carriage, he decided. Good. No obstacles or witnesses then, he thought.