Outcast

by Josephine Cox

  ‘Got it!’ Tilly gave out a little cry of triumph as her groping fingers clutched the square cold box. In her excitement, she was almost flat on the floor, both arms reaching beneath the bed to secure the hard metal object.

  Tilly Watson’s guilty heart was beating furiously as she eased her reward towards her, but it almost stopped completely when old Mrs Denton’s arm slid from the eiderdown, to come tumbling on to her thieving neck like a tap from the devil! ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Tilly screamed at the top of her voice, scrambling to her feet and grasping the cash box to her chest, just as the two officials from below came crashing into the room.

  ‘You gave us the fright of our lives,’ said one.

  ‘What’s up?’ demanded the other, taking out his notebook and pencil.

  Tilly had to think quickly. Gave them a fright, she told herself, t’weren’t nothing to what that old sod did to me! With swift and dexterous hands, she pulled her shawl over the cash box, saying with a feigned look of regret, ‘The old lady’s gone, I’m afeared. Sudden like it was . . . gave me a real turn, I’m telling you!’ She hurried out of the room before they had the opportunity to detain her. ‘I’d best away and get help for the laying-out of the body, afore the bones begin to stiffen.’

  Thankful that she had been allowed to leave the house straightaway, Tilly didn’t stop until she’d safely closed her own front door behind her. ‘I’m sorry for thieving your valuables, old Ma Denton,’ she murmured, ‘but you’ll not be wanting ’em where you’ve gone and me an’ mine have more need of this ’ere box!’ Of a sudden, a startling thought entered her head. With both the old lady and her son gone, the cash box would next go to Emma. But not if Emma were never to come home again, she thought wickedly. Not if she was hanged for murder! A cunning and avaricious look washed over Tilly Watson’s hitherto homely face. ‘I’m sorry, Emma,’ she whispered into the night, ‘but, now I come to think on it more clearly, I swear it was your hand that sent poor Mr Denton to his maker. Oh yes, I saw what I saw and I’m duty bound to explain it in the very manner in which it all happened!’ Whereupon, she crept into the darkened front parlour, making sure she did not disturb her husband in the back room, hid her treasure and hurried back to have quiet words with the officials next door. She must be quite sure they’d got her story right. There was time enough for the old one to be properly laid out – that was none too urgent. But what she had to tell the officials, well now, the sooner that was done, the better!

  Part Two

  June 1862

  Hearts of Stone

  Beset me with trials

  Or test my heart

  And make my spirit lowly,

  But I will grow stronger

  Wherever the wind may blow me.

  J.C.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘You get yer bloody ’ands off my arse, ye randy sod! Else I’ll ’ave the law on yer!’ From somewhere beneath the street grime and layers of holey clothing, Sal Tanner’s weather-worn and wrinkled face expressed indignation at being so crudely manhandled. Her booted feet lashed out at the officer who had come up from behind the marauding trouble-makers, to thrust her out of harm’s way.

  ‘Now then, old Sal,’ he told her firmly, ‘if you’re locked up again, they’ll likely seal up the door for good and all!’ He took her by the scruff of her neck and as he propelled her from the black heart of the mob, his voice was kindly but threatening. ‘Be off with you, Sal Tanner. Afore I’m tempted to run you in along with the rest of them!’

  ‘Go on then, why don’t yer?’ she demanded, fighting and struggling in his determined grip.

  ‘Because I know you’re not here to cause real trouble, you old bugger! D’you think I don’t know that you’re just here to take advantage, whilst folks is looking the other way? Do as I say, and be off . . . else I’ll turn you in for the pickpocket you fancy yourself to be, you silly old bugger!’

  ‘I ain’t pickin’ anybody’s pockets!’ Sal was defiant, though she knew well enough now that she’d been tumbled. When he contemptuously threw her to the kerbside, saying with a laugh, ‘And as for being “randy”, well now, that might be the case. But if I wanted to touch anybody’s arse, Sal Tanner, it wouldn’t be yours, I can tell you! I’d be a bloody fool to risk catching the pox from the likes o’ you, wouldn’t I, eh?’ Sal knew when to leave well enough alone. As the constable turned to assist his fellow officers in trying to bring the ensuing crisis under control, Sal ambled away to where she might find better pickings – thinking there could well be a free gill o’ beer going begging at one or other of the alehouses round the market square, never mind that the last time she’d gone into such a place for a gill and a card game, the result had been to reduce her to living like a beggar and sleeping in the cobbled alleys. ‘Sod ’em all!’ she muttered now, as she scurried away into the descending darkness, jingling the few coppers she’d swiped from a few back pockets. ‘’Appen I can catch another game, where I might win back me barge an’ all me belongings! ’Cause if I don’t, our Marlow’ll likely skin me alive when ’e finds out what tricks I’ve been up to while ’e’s across the seas!’

  The scene which Sal Tanner had left behind was a bad one. Feelings of despair amongst a minority of the unemployed had erupted in a mutinous revolt. The cause of it had been the arrest and consequent imprisonment of a number of unfortunates who had been caught poaching. Following the harsh results of the hearing, an angry demonstration had ensued, which moved down King Street, causing much damage to property. From there, many of the marauders marched on to Pleasington Hall, smashing the windows, while others proceeded to the Town Hall and caused further aggravation. A meeting of magistrates was eventually called, the Riot Act read and special constables sworn in. In addition, a troop of soldiers was brought from Preston to quell what at first appeared to be the brewing of a long and bloody siege. As it turned out, hostilities quickly ceased and peace was sensibly restored. For many nights afterwards, however, talk of the commotion filled the alehouses and parlours, as ordinary, law-abiding folk condemned such behaviour, although they were themselves desperate for food and warmth, and still despairing of ever finding work. The community of Blackburn was shaken to its roots, and those in authority took a dim and serious view of what had taken place.

  Caleb Crowther was more condemning than most. His opinion of the working-class was that they should all be either flogged to within an inch of their lives or hanged from the tallest gibbet! When, at a late hour on this particular night, after peace had been restored, he emerged from Blackburn Railway Station in search of a carriage to take him home, it did not improve his irritation and fatigue after a long journey from London, to find a ragged and drunken tramp besieging him for ‘a copper or two for a poor unfortunate, if yer please?’ Being in a sourer mood than usual, he cracked his walking-cane about the shoulders of the ragged creature. ‘Out of my way!’ he snarled. ‘Unless you want to feel the weight of the law on your shoulders into the bargain!’

  Locating a carriage, he climbed smartly into it – leaving Sal Tanner raising a bottle to his departure. ‘May the divil keep yer company, yer miserable old bugger!’ she called after him, taking a hefty swig of the colourless spirit and heartily chortling as she set off drunkenly to the back alleys which were her home. ‘May the divil tek all yer fancy bloody folk an’ drown the lot of ’em!’ she told a passing constable, tripping away at a faster pace when he paused to eye her more closely. From a safe distance she turned to inform him, ‘The buggers are allus up to some’at! Allus whispering an’ causing trouble fer some poor sod or other! Drown ’em all!’ Shouting defiantly as the constable began making his way towards her, she repeated, ‘Drown ’em all, I say!’ Then, as he came too close for comfort, she tossed her head and ran off, stumbling and laughing as her legs gave way beneath her.

  The constable watched her out of sight. Then, smiling to himself, he went on his way. ‘Poor old bugger,’ he said with sympathy. Everyone knew the story of how Sal Tanner had come to
ruin since her brother had sailed away. She was a familiar sight, haunting the streets of Blackburn like a lost soul. Ah well, perhaps one of these days her brother would make his way back; there was nobody else who could handle Sal Tanner – and nobody else who could save her!

  Meanwhile, in the carriage, with only the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves to disturb his thoughts, Caleb Crowther reflected on the reason for his journey to London. Bartholomew Mysen was not an easy man to do business with. He had become stiff-necked and unapproachable since his appointment to Circuit Judge. At this point in his thoughts, Caleb Crowther smiled to himself as he softly murmured, ‘If you don’t want your sins to find you out, then you should be more careful, Mysen.’ It pleased him to have succeeded in the errand which had taken him so urgently to seek out his colleague of old. As he himself was not to sit in judgment at the trial of Emma Grady as was, then who better to be acquainted with the necessary facts than the man in whose hands her future would lie? Facts which might also affect the future of the learned Judge himself! Facts which told of past indiscretions in the brothel houses and gambling dens. Facts which, if made public, could topple a fellow from the pinnacle of his career in the time it took to wink an eye! Indeed, there might well be repercussions for others who also shared those indiscretions, but, somehow, Caleb Crowther’s instincts had been correct when they told him that Bartholomew Mysen would do anything rather than risk losing his own income and new-found status in society.

  As to the facts regarding Emma Grady and her accomplice . . . well now, wasn’t there more than enough evidence to show how they had deliberately murdered that poor young man? Wasn’t it obvious how Emma Grady herself was the ringleader? And didn’t the pair of them show such evil and cunning that warranted nothing less than to be publicly hanged! The fact that Emma Grady was with child and as such could not be hanged was no great stumbling-block, as had been painstakingly pointed out to the reluctant Bartholomew Mysen by his unwelcome visitor. By the time her trial came to court and the sentence called upon, Emma Grady would have delivered her brat into the world. There were institutions enough to see to such a burden on society.

  Caleb Crowther’s paramount objective was to ensure that Emma Grady be swiftly despatched from the face of the earth. That would conveniently rid him of his three greatest problems: his need to explain to her what had become of her legacy; his own nagging conscience; and his innate and desperate fear that, should she live, Emma might well discover certain things about the past which should be left forever buried, out of harm’s way! Then, there was Mrs Manfred, whose loyalties were steadfastly with Emma and her papa, and the very same woman who had seen more than she had revealed of Thadius Grady’s death and of his own unholy part in it! He’d never been really sure how much she had actually seen, but had suffered tormenting nightmares that she must surely have witnessed something! However, he was now satisfied that both of them would be dealt with forthwith and would no longer represent any kind of threat to him. Persuading his legal colleague had not been easy, but, when it came right down to it, a fellow must look out for his own survival. There was no doubt that when Emma Grady and her companion were brought before the Courts in two days’ time, they would each get their just rewards. It mattered not that they were probably innocent of all charges against them, only that here was a prime opportunity to be rid of them once and for all!

  Only once did Caleb Crowther’s thoughts touch on a much deeper issue. No one alive, apart from himself, knew that Emma was his daughter! His and Mary Grady’s, got during an illicit affair behind Thadius’s back. Oh, if only that was the single dark secret from the past, he thought now. If only that was all, he might rest easier in his sleep!

  ‘Emma Denton, you have been found guilty of a serious crime. Whilst in the company of another, you behaved in such a way that contributed to the death of your own husband.’ Judge Mysen’s voice echoed across the courtroom like the strokes of a hammer on Emma’s heart. Only now, after what seemed an eternity in these Lancaster assizes, did she raise her eyes to look into the face of Judge Mysen. She had told the truth of what happened on that fateful night some months previously, but her words had fallen on unbelieving ears; to them the more sensational accounts of others had seemed more credible. With every word now spoken, Emma could see the gallows looming up before her and her trembling heart was overwhelmed with fear. However, she was determined not to betray her terror, she would not let her spirit become cowardly at this late hour. Her love for Marlow and her cherished memories of him had been a great source of comfort and strength to her throughout. Her regrets were many, but, if she had the power to change anything, it would be only one thing; for her deepest regret was the injustice which would now be inflicted on the innocent inside her. Her heart ached when she thought of how that helpless little being, who was conceived in such joy and love, would be taken along with her to the gallows and there its beating heart would be stilled with her own. But Emma was prepared, and when the moment came, she would offer up a special prayer for her and Marlow’s defenceless unborn child.

  Although Emma gazed steadfastly at Judge Mysen’s serious face, her thoughts were far away, constantly churning and always concerned for others rather than for herself. As he gave out his declaration, Bartholomew Mysen found himself deeply moved by Emma’s calm strength and by the tragic innocence in those sad eyes which looked at him with such disarming directness. In his deliberations he was cruelly torn between the fate of this young woman who was so close to being a mother, and his own future, which rested on the sentences he passed here this day. He was not unaware of those who had sat in the gallery throughout this trial, in particular the man he had come to so despise; a man who, with other members of his family, had followed every detail with the utmost interest. Now, as he spoke, he could feel Caleb Crowther’s eyes feasting on him, urging him to deliver the ultimate penalty on the two women who stood before him. ‘Hang them!’ he had been warned, ‘Or face the consequences!’

  Bartholomew Mysen was under no illusions regarding the treacherous character of the man with whom he had once foolishly haunted the fleshpots of London. Yet, how could he live with his own conscience if he was to send Emma Denton to the gallows? The older woman, in his eyes, had been more damned by the evidence put before him and he believed, in all truth, that she was indeed the guilty party. He, like others, was not entirely convinced that the younger woman’s intentions had been truly malicious. Indeed, he himself had been half persuaded that initially, it was she who was being attacked. However, the verdict had been returned and he was now called upon to pass sentence. In a final effort to calm the dictates of his own conscience, as well as appeasing the demands of Caleb Crowther, he made his decision. There was one other option still open to him, which, though coming to a close, had not yet outlived its usefulness. In his eyes, it was as good as a sentence to the gallows. In latter years, such harsh sentences had been reserved mostly for males, but, as in cases such as this, there were always exceptions.

  While her fate was being decided, Emma remained calm. In her heart, she softly asked that the Lord look upon his children with mercy and that dear Mrs Manfred, who had become so ill and pale, should be spared.

  ‘And so, Emma Denton,’ Judge Mysen’s stern voice infiltrated Emma’s thoughts once more, ‘in view of these things, and taking into account both your tender years and advanced state of pregnancy, this court will show a measure of mercy.’ Emma’s heart was suddenly filled with hope, yet, not daring to anticipate her freedom, she held her breath and waited. But her hopes were not to be realized and, as the voice continued to reverberate around the courtroom, she had to grip the rail before her desperately tight, or all of her strength and resolve might have fled, and the black tide which ebbed about her senses would swallow her up.

  ‘It is therefore ordered and adjudged by this court that you, Emma Denton, of the parish of Blackburn in Lancashire, be transported upon the seas, to such place as Her Majesty Queen Victoria, by the advice of Her P
rivy Council, shall think fit to direct and appoint, for the term of no less than ten years.’

  Emma was devastated! She was not to be set free. She had escaped the gallows, yes, but only to be discharged from the beloved land of her birth and sent over some vast, terrifying ocean, to the edge of the world! All this time she had kept her strength, she had made herself hope against hope that justice would be done by both her and her unborn child. She had prayed as never before and she had tried so very hard not to be afraid. Yet, now, she was afraid! More than that, she was terrified, in awe of the unknown and in despair of what might become of her and the little one.

  Of a sudden, Emma’s fears were further charged as the court reacted to the sentence passed upon her, some people being in full agreement with it, and others – Caleb Crowther in particular – loudly condemning it to be a ‘travesty of justice!’ and ‘too lenient by far!’ Then, the court became quiet once again as they all awaited the sentence about to be imposed on the other defendant. When it was duly passed in echoing sombre tones, Emma’s heart collapsed within her and she gave out a cry of anguish. If she had thought her own punishment to be harsh, then Mrs Manfred’s must have come straight from Hell. Dear God above, it couldn’t be! Her darling innocent Manny was to be committed to the gallows! Manny was to be hanged! The words echoed over and over in Emma’s distorted and desperate thoughts. ‘No, it can’t be!’ she heard her own voice cry out. She saw the shock and disbelief on her dear friend’s face and when, suddenly, the child within her grew so agitated that the pains shot through her body like many knives, Emma felt her strength ebb away. She saw the peering eyes of strangers on her as the room spun into itself, until the darkness swamped her senses and she sank silently to the ground.