by Janet Few
Then the court was called to order. Mr Lefroy was on his feet requesting that the room be cleared of all the witnesses. Polly jerked to attention when the charge against her was read. The use of her full name compounded the unreality of the situation. It was as if her identity had been stripped away. She was Polly, no one ever called her Mary Elizabeth, except here, except now, in these unfamiliar surroundings where consolation was absent and reassurance was gone.
‘You are charged, under coroner’s warrant, with the manslaughter of your daughter on the 14th of November 1918. How do you plead?’
Someone, somewhere, was saying the word “innocent” but Polly did not identify the voice as her own.
Mr Warlow was speaking, ‘There is a body of fresh evidence that was not put before the coroner. The prosecution deem it to be manifestly fair that the defendants should have an opportunity of seeing and hearing the witnesses. The charge of manslaughter is based on the fact of the allegation that the defendants each had an active part in the care of their daughter, who was, in body and in mind, in a helpless condition.’
Odd phrases resonated with Polly. Helpless condition? Yes, that certainly was true but death had put Daisy beyond helplessness, her suffering was over. Whereas, for Polly herself, the torment was now, was immediate, was unending.
‘The deceased was twenty four years of age,’ Mr Warlow went on. ‘There was no legal obligation upon them to render her any assistance, any more than a stranger would be bound to do. But the law states that if a person takes upon himself or herself, the charge of a helpless person, they owe a duty to that person and if they fail in the performance of it and the person dies as a result, it is manslaughter. The charge against the defendants before us today is that they did not act in discharge of that duty in an ordinary and reasonable manner.’
What was ordinary? thought Polly. What was reasonable? They had done all they could. She flinched as she realised that she was now the subject of Mr Warlow’s attention.
‘One cannot expect from people in a fishing cottage the same luxury and comfort that anyone would get in the houses of the rich,’ he was saying disparagingly, ‘but there are certain things that anyone with ordinary intelligence would know that they were bound to do. They are bound to supply sufficient food and drink beyond other things. The broad outstanding fact of the case is that, unfortunately, within three weeks of the time that the girl was taken home by her father, she died. With regard to the wife only, we are looking at an additional allegation of actual ill-usage.’
Polly stood, head down, twisting her hands together. She felt desperately alone, unaware that Albert wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand, to offer solace. She could not know that his inability to reassure her left her husband tortured by his own impotence, defeated, in an agony that matched her own.
Mr Warlow visibly swelled as he resumed his case, confident now, ‘On the medical evidence alone we could rest our case, but we shall bring witnesses to show pretty conclusively that, although the victim was in a state in which she would object to receiving food, she was in fact fed by numerous people during the days which were material to this case.’
Mr Lefroy rearranged his papers. He wanted this strange little lady to go free and not just because it would enhance his professional reputation. He prided himself on his ability to represent and take seriously, the cases of the downtrodden and Polly was certainly that. Pity he couldn’t plead puerperal madness, that usually worked but it was six years since Polly had last given birth and Daisy was no newborn infant. This was going to be harder. The main witness for the prosecution was articulate, convincing, a Cambridge man, far removed from an overawed fisherman and his wife. Lefroy had hopes of getting the husband off. The charge was less serious and the evidence against him was circumstantial at best. The woman was a different matter. All the magistrates’ sympathy would be with the fresh faced young girl who had lost her life, not with this prickly, diffident woman, with her whispered monosyllables and constant glances to her husband, as if she were checking her story. He wondered if he could exploit Polly’s manner to strengthen the defence. Even the land agent, Mr Caird, had commented that the lady was regarded as odd by her community. Yes, thought Mr Lefroy, he would make the most of her recent past, the hardships she had suffered, the tragedy she had known.
***
As the morning ticked relentlessly into afternoon, witness followed witness on to the stand. Sat with his fellow journalists, Richard Ottley found that, in his absorption, he had written very few notes. He could not remember when he had last felt an emotional investment in the outcome of a trial. Objective observance was his second-nature but the drama that was playing out in front of him had awakened something deeper, had demanded that detachment be put to one side. He found that his long-forsaken fascination with human nature, which had first attracted him to journalism, was piqued.
‘Call Mrs Cornelius.’
Mrs Cornelius pulled her fox-fur necklet tighter and tottered forward, her new snakeskin shoes pressing on her incipient corns.
‘Please state your full name and address.’
Mrs Cornelius spoke slowly, taking care that her vowels should not betray her humble origins, ‘Mrs Kate Cornelius, 48 Upton Hill, Torquay.’
‘What is your relationship to the deceased?’ asked Mr Warlow in bored tones; to him this was routine.
‘She came to work for my husband and myself as a gardener and parlourmaid on the 12th of January last, sir.’
‘Did she give satisfaction?’
Mrs Cornelius paused, ‘Yes,’ she said, wonderingly, as if she had only just come to that conclusion.
‘And when did she first become ill?’
This was easier, facts she could deal with, ‘Up until the 15th of October she appeared to enjoy the usual health. On the 16th she came down with influenza, along with the rest of the household.’
The testimony went on. Mr Lefroy began questioning on behalf of the defence, ‘What would you say relations were like between the deceased and her parents?’
Mrs Cornelius looked uncertain, how was she supposed to respond? Non-committal, surely that was best.
‘She did not talk to me about her parents but as far as I know, she was on the best of terms with them. Her mother visited her at our home on the 21st of October, when the girl was ill. She returned to Bideford the same day, as she had other children who were unwell.’
Then it was the turn of Louisa Taylor. Gravely confident, she faced Mr Warlow, her uniform adding to her air of authority.
‘I am the Superintendent Nurse at the workhouse infirmary in Newton Abbot,’ she said crisply, in response to the request to state her name and occupation.
‘And what is your connection with the deceased?’
‘She was brought to us from her place of work in Torquay on the 23rd of October, on the orders of Dr Cook. There were seven in the house and only one elderly gentleman to care for those who were taken sick.’
‘And how long did the deceased remain in your care?’
‘The father took her away on the 25th of October, sir.’
Mr Warlow continued with his questioning, ‘How did you find the deceased? Did she exhibit any signs of violence?’
‘I myself found her to be quiet, sir and not at all excited or violent.’
There was a pause, Mr Warlow seemed to be expecting something more.
Nurse Taylor was less assured now and anxious to provide a suitable answer, ‘I was informed that she had been violent overnight.’
‘And were there any marks of violence on her body at that time?’
‘No sir.’
Still more questions followed, ‘How was the deceased’s appetite?’
‘She was on a milk diet, sir.’
‘And why was that?’
‘She was suffering from gastritis.’
It seemed that Warlow was not yet done, ‘How did she take her nourishment?’
‘It was only with difficulty that she took food at a
ll, sir. She only took three pints of milk in the two days she was with us.’
‘When her father said he was going to remove her from your care, what did you advise?’
On surer ground now, Miss Taylor replied, ‘I begged him not to, sir, on account of her weakened state.’
‘So she was removed against your advice, the advice of a medical professional?’ said Warlow, with a triumphant glance in Mr Lefroy’s direction.
‘Well, yes sir, she was.’
Unwittingly, Nurse Taylor had strengthened the prosecution’s case but then Mr Lefroy began his examination. Ottley found that he was willing the counsel to offer something that would stem the flow of detrimental evidence against the couple whose cause, incongruously, he had found himself championing.
‘Miss Taylor, when the deceased arrived at your institution, what were the arrangements? How long were you expecting her to stay?’
‘She was admitted as a temporary case, sir.’
‘So you would not have expected her to stay indefinitely? You would anticipate that some other arrangements would be made?’
Louisa Taylor appeared to take this as a criticism, ‘Indeed sir,’ she said, indignantly, ‘but arrangements that were in the best interests of the patient.’
Sensing that pursuing this line of questioning was not going to be helpful to his clients, Mr Lefroy changed tack. ‘Whilst the deceased was with you, what communication was there with her family at home?’
Still on the defensive, Miss Taylor responded, ‘I received six telegrams from the mother sir and I replied to them all.’
‘And what was the nature of the messages that passed between you?’
‘I told her about the deceased’s mental trouble.’
Mr Lefroy persisted, ‘Did you describe the course of this mental trouble?’
‘I said it remained unchanged.’
‘Did the defendant at any time ask if her daughter could go home?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘And,’ asked Mr Lefroy, ‘how did you respond?’
‘I said that she could go as soon as she liked.’
Mr Lefroy cut in, repeating each word deliberately and with emphasis, ‘You said she could go as soon as she liked.’ His tone made this a statement not a question.
Miss Taylor glanced anxiously at Mr Warlow but his expression gave her no indication as to how she should proceed.
‘Yes sir but that was before I realised that she was such a mental case,’ she said, speaking as she might to a not very bright child.
Mr Lefroy pressed home his advantage, ‘Members of the bench, you will recall that Miss Taylor told the mother that the deceased’s condition was unchanged. Now she would have us believe that she, a trained nurse, was unable to recognise the full extent of the debility of a patient in her care.’
He turned again to Louisa Taylor, who was now less sure of herself. ‘Did you at any time cancel the permission to remove the patient?’
‘No sir, I did not but I did write to the mother the night before the father came, explaining the seriousness of her condition. The next morning, I received a telegram from Bideford saying that the father was on his way.’
‘That will be all thank you Miss Taylor,’ said Mr Lefroy, dismissing the witness.
***
Polly was struggling to concentrate on the testimonies that were being given. It was as if they were reading a tale in a book. She could not relate the characters that were being described to her own family, or to her acquaintances.
An elderly man wearily took the stand. He gave his name as Dr Cook, his Northumbrian burr outlandish to west country ears.
‘I was first called to attend the deceased at her place of work in Torquay on the 23rd of October last. I diagnosed her to be suffering from influenza and gastritis. I advised her removal to the workhouse infirmary forthwith.’
‘Was there no one in the household who could attend her?’ asked Mr Warlow.
‘No. She was troublesome and took an aversion to those who were trying to help her. It was difficult, they were not well themselves. I gave a certificate that the patient was fit to be moved.’
‘And did you attend her in the workhouse?’
‘The influenza has given me many patients. Once she was at the infirmary, the staff there were responsible and well qualified to care for her but yes, I did see her before she left the workhouse.’
‘At that time, Dr Cook,’ said Mr Warlow, his manner suggesting that his examination was reaching its climax, ‘did you see any injuries on the body of the deceased?’
Dr Cook’s reply was damning, ‘There were no bruises on her body when she left the workhouse.’
Bruises, thought Polly. Of course there were bruises. When she’d been at home the poor maid would scarce stay in her bed. She had to be kept there somehow and she was so hauntingly thin that every finger you laid upon her left its purple stain.
Mr Lefroy rose to his feet, hoping to divert the magistrates’ attention to aspects of the case that would show his clients in a more favourable light.
‘Is mental trouble a feature of influenza?’ he asked.
‘Yes, it is,’ Dr Cook replied, ‘I have seen several such cases.’
‘And isn’t it also a common feature that people take aversion to other people?’
The small scufflings from the gallery ceased, those whose attention had not wandered could see where this was heading. Richard Ottley leaned forward, eager to hear how Lefroy would develop his argument.
‘Yes,’ responded Dr Cook, ‘it is a common thing.’
One medical man was replaced on the stand by another. This time it was Dr Kay but Polly drew no reassurance from the fact that it was now someone known to her who was giving evidence.
‘You were the medical attendant in this case?’ Mr Warlow was saying.
‘Yes indeed.’
‘What was your assessment of her condition?’
Dr Kay gave his testimony in ringing tones, ‘I visited the girl several times. When I first saw her on November the 3rd she was of unsound mind and was suffering from great weakness. She was too frail to be moved and I gave instructions for her to be fed hourly.’
‘Did you notice any particular aversion to her parents?’
‘I did not.’
When the time came for the cross-examination, Mr Lefroy took the opportunity to deflect some of the blame from the defendants, ‘Why did you not certify her as insane on the 8th of November, so that she could be admitted to the workhouse?’ he asked Dr Kay.
‘I am sorry now that I did not but the parents then said she was taking her food better and it was dangerous to move her until she was stronger. On the 9th of November the parents said that they had again been unable to feed the girl but I was able to get her to take nourishment, in spite of the mother’s protests. She said it was hopeless and it would be better not to disturb the girl. She said if her daughter wanted to die, she should be left alone.’
‘Do you find it a fairly common thing amongst country people, to dislike forcing their children to do anything?’
Doctor Kay looked at Lefroy. He appreciated this line of questioning. They were both professionals whose working lives were made more difficult by the rustic attitudes that they encountered.
‘I am afraid it is a common weakness.’
‘Why was a nurse not obtained?’
‘With so much illness in the locality, it would have been very difficult to secure the services of a nurse. On the 11th I thought the girl was a little better and could be moved to a neighbour’s house. I was disappointed to find two days later that she had not rallied.’
‘Would you say that when insanity occurs in this type of influenza, death invariably follows?’
‘I cannot confirm that view.’
Lefroy was building up to his final questions. He took a surreptitious look at the magistrates but they sat, implacable, giving no indication of where their sympathies lay.
‘In your professional opinion,
Dr Kay, to what do you attribute this unfortunate girl’s death?’
‘She was mentally affected by influenza and this weakness, together with want of proper feeding, led to her death.’
‘How did want of food contribute to her demise?’
Dr Kay replied firmly, ‘I am quite sure that the insufficiency of food accelerated her end.’
‘And if she had been ill-used, what would be the effect on her condition?’
‘Ill-usage would have had a bad effect on the girl and depressed her vitality. The mother refused to allow any other treatment that I suggested, on the grounds that it would be cruelty. A post mortem examination disclosed extreme emaciation due to lack of nourishment. All her organs were healthy. There were a few fading bruises about her legs.’
‘And what of the allegations that the mother had ill-used the girl? Was there any evidence of this?’
Dr Kay inclined his head towards the bench, ‘There is no foundation whatever for certain rumours which have been mentioned,’ he said, incisively.
Ottley looked at the defendants. Had they realised how crucial this statement by the doctor was? Albert, who had been standing dejectedly, with his head bowed, jumped, suddenly alert. It was Dr Kay who had started all this fuss, well, him and that interfering Collins from next door. Had he heard aright? Was the doctor now, after all this, on their side? Polly remained impassive, giving no indication that she had grasped the importance of the doctor’s last words. Polly sighed. She didn’t understand all this, what they were doing there, what she was supposed to have done. Mr Lefroy had tried to explain it to her but she had been unable to take it in. She needed it to be over, regardless of what over might mean.
Polly stood silently during Mrs Stanbury’s lengthy cross-examination. At just one point did she show any awareness of what was being said.
‘I saw her hit the girl when she was in bed,’ Mrs Stanbury was saying. ‘The girl was crying and said her mother had been beating her. She said that her parents were going to kill her. I pushed the mother back from the bed and told her that she must not do it.’
