Declared Dead

by John Francome

  After taking the oath, I was allowed to sit down and as I did so I noticed a middle-aged woman juror mutter something out of the corner of her mouth to the young man on her right. He nodded knowingly and I could sense that my reputation, whatever it now was, had preceded me. I turned nervously towards the judge, expecting him to say something, to give the signal to begin.

  The Honourable Mr Justice Snipe was not, at least in appearance, anything like I had imagined. The stern face under the white horsehair wig was pinched and ascetic, with tortoise-shell glasses perching uncomfortably on the bridge of a hawk-like nose. Tufts of hair protruded from his cheeks, a fashion that I thought had disappeared with the Victorians. He remained buried in his notebook. Then I heard my name being called from the other side of the court. A barrister in a silk gown had risen to his feet and was addressing me. I assumed that this must be the counsel for the prosecution, Redvers Scott, who, according to Amy in her pre-trial briefing, was possessed of a devastating turn of phrase and a merciless manner in cross-examination. He was a highly paid and much sought-after advocate, who was brought in to act for the Crown whenever it was faced with a murder case dependent upon circumstantial evidence or with sensitive undertones. I assumed that the identity of this particular deceased meant this trial fell into both categories. Having led me through the formalities of my name and address and the chronological details of my marriage, he turned to my relationship with Tom.

  It was only then that I noticed what was lying on the table in front of him. I had always kept Tom's letters tied together with a red ribbon and now Scott's left hand was gently playing with the bow as he questioned me. My heart sank. They had been missing when I searched the chimney of the cottage and here they were, two months later, in the Old Bailey. It just didn't make sense.

  'Mrs Pryde,' he asked in his soft yet resonant voice, 'would you please tell His Lordship and the jury how and when you first met the accused?'

  'Tom, Mr Radcliffe, was kind enough to let me ride a number of horses in his yard. I was an amateur then, of course.'

  'And when was this?'

  'I suppose the first occasion was about three years ago.'

  'And did you see each other regularly?'

  'Only when I was riding for him. Our relationship at that stage was purely platonic.' I knew that seemed a strange word to use but I was already anticipating his line of questioning. I told myself to calm down.

  'And when did it cease to be "platonic"?'

  'About eighteen months ago. I think we had both tried to fight against it for some time.'

  'How would you describe your relationship with the deceased at that stage?'

  'Edward? We were still living together and I had no desire to be parted from my young son.'

  'Try and be more precise, '• snapped Snipe. 'Ask Mrs Pryde the question again, Mr Scott.' There was no doubt whose side the judge was going to take.

  'Let's put it another way, Mrs Pryde. Did you still love your husband?'

  I hesitated. 'No.'

  'Was the accused aware of this?'

  'Yes. I told him my marriage was unhappy, yet equally he accepted that I had to stay with Edward for the sake of my son.'

  'Did intercourse take place between you and the accused?'

  What a ghastly, impersonal way of putting it. 'Yes, we made love together.'

  Snipe's snort was loud enough to be heard by the jury, as he no doubt intended.

  'Where did this occur?'

  'If we were away racing together we sometimes made love in a hotel room and on other occasions in the back of the car or, if the weather was warm, in the open air, in the country.' Discussing our love-life like this in front of a crowded court made it sound so cheap and unsavoury. I could see the journalists scribbling away furiously in their note books.

  'Do you know the disused chalk pit near Melksham?'

  'Yes.'

  'How often have you been there?'

  That was a difficult one. I didn't want to mention the picnic with Tom; on the other hand, if they had intercepted and read that letter he sent me from prison, there was no point being caught out in a lie. I decided to tell the truth.

  'Twice. Once with my husband and son, and once with Tom.'

  'When did you visit it with the accused?'

  'In, I think, May of last year.'

  'And whose idea was that?'

  'Mine. He'd never heard about it before.'

  'How often did you see the accused during your relationship?'

  'Not regularly, it just wasn't possible. I'd just turned professional and was trying to establish myself and then of course I had to do my best for my son.'

  'But you still found time to sleep with this young man?' boomed a voice from the bench. It was clear that I could trust Snipe to know when and how to put the boot in. I didn't know how, or even whether, I was meant to answer that kind of judicial comment and decided reluctantly to hold my tongue. No doubt Lord Pryde's lawyers were in court taking all this down for the custody proceedings. The uncaring selfish adulteress was not a very flattering image.

  'And during this time did the accused write to you?'

  'Yes, at least once a week.'

  'How did these letters reach you?'

  'I used to collect them from a hiding place in the woods above his stables.' However I had answered that one I was on a loser. If they had been sent to my house I would have been called brazen and by telling the truth I appeared duplicitous and secretive.

  'Would you look at this bundle please, Mrs Pryde?' He handed the bundle of letters to the usher who marched ceremoniously and self-importantly across the court towards me as if he was carrying the crown jewels. 'Can they be numbered exhibit seven, My Lord?' asked" counsel. A grunt from the bench presumably meant they could.

  'Are these the letters you received from the accused?' There was a slight change in inflection in his voice, a quickening of the pace.

  'May I look at them?' I asked. In fact there was no need for identification, but I wanted a few seconds to compose myself.

  'Finished? Would you please take the first letter in the bundle? Do you have it?'

  'Yes.' My hands were shaking as I put the others down on the ledge in front of me.

  'Is that dated 16th November and does it begin "My precious darling"?'

  'Yes.' It might sound like sentimental bilge in the cold and heartless atmosphere of a court room but at the time I used to live for Tom's letters, and the warm show of genuine affection they contained.

  'Would you turn to the third page and read out loud the second paragraph?'

  In my anxiety, I dropped one of the pages and only after a good deal of reshuffling did I find the passage.

  'Do get on with it, Mrs Pryde,' barked Snipe, looking at his watch and tut-tutting. I began reading in a faltering voice:

  '"Why won't you give him up? You say you're afraid of what he might do, but why should you go on indefinitely allowing that bully to stand in the way of our love and your own happiness?"'

  The counsel stopped me there. 'By the word "he", does the accused mean your husband Edward?'

  'Of course,' I snapped back, and immediately regretted doing so.

  'And do the sentiments expressed in that passage fairly represent the accused's attitude at the time?'

  'Yes, but you must understand that Tom would never hurt a fly. I don't deny he wanted me to leave Edward but…'

  'Would you please take the next letter in the bundle, I think it's dated 22nd December.'

  'Just before Christmas Day,' remarked Snipe, pointing out the unchristian timing of my adultery.

  Grange continued. 'Do you remember receiving that letter from the accused?'

  I nodded.

  'Please answer, Mrs Pryde, as otherwise your response will not be recorded.'

  'Yes, I remember.'

  'Was that left at your usual point of collection?'

  I had prayed he wouldn't ask that question. 'No, he left it inside a magazine in the women jockey
s' changing room at Fontwell race course.'

  'What magazine?'

  'Playgirl, but it was just a joke,' I muttered weakly. A titter of moral reprobation went round the court.

  'Would you kindly turn to the last paragraph at the foot of the second page and read it out to My Lord and the jury. And a little louder this time, please.'

  I found it straight away and tried to throw my voice so the whole court could hear me. Neither Tom nor I had anything to be ashamed of and now was the time to stop being so defensive.

  '"I cannot go on like this much longer. I love you, Victoria, and want to spend the rest of my life with you. Unless you are prepared to leave Edward…"' I stopped at the foot of the page. 'Shall I continue on to the next page?'

  'Please do, Mrs Pryde.'

  I read on, '"… I will see to it that he gets the end he deserves."' I stopped reading. 'But this isn't the next page, there's a page missing, My Lord.' I turned imploringly towards Snipe but My Lord was not impressed.

  'Are you suggesting,' he growled, 'that this letter has been tampered with?'

  'Yes, I am. I know these letters almost off by heart. Tom never threatened to harm, let alone kill, Edward. It's absurd. What he's referring to here is an old steeplechaser he once used to train. The horse was being neglected by his present owners and Tom was planning to buy him and give him a decent retirement in one of the paddocks behind his yard. I tell you, there's a page missing. ' I could see Tom nodding vigorously in the dock. My raised voice resounded ominously round the court room and I had the awful feeling that my explanations were being met by a silence of disbelief and contempt.

  The counsel for the prosecution simply ignored my outburst and continued with his questioning: 'Did there come a time when your relationship with the accused ceased?'

  'Yes. At the beginning of this year we talked it over many times and finally agreed that it had to end. I had no intention of leaving Edward if it meant giving up custody of my son. Tom accepted that.'

  'So when was the last occasion you saw the accused before your husband's death?'

  'The day after the Gold Cup, 18th March, a Friday. I went over in the morning to his yard to school some horses.'

  'Did you discuss your husband on that occasion?'

  I had wondered when this would come up. No doubt Jamie Brown had already given evidence about it that morning.

  'Yes, but only briefly. Tom was upset because he knew Edward had attacked me the night before. He made some remark about giving him a thrashing, he didn't mean it.'

  'Thank you, Mrs Pryde, I've no more questions. Will you just stay there, please?'

  Immediately another counsel, sitting at the other end of the row, rose to his feet. I assumed he must be acting for Tom.

  'Mrs Pryde, it is true, is it not, that Mr Radcliffe readily accepted that your relationship had to end?'

  'Yes, I think we both realised it couldn't go on, and he took the initiative in bringing it to an end.'

  'And Mr Radcliffe recognised and accepted that out of love for your son you were determined to stay with your husband?'

  'That's right. We often discussed it and Tom never suggested that I was wrong in putting Freddie, my son, first.'

  'Shortly before your husband's death, did you discover something unpleasant about him?'

  'Yes. He was a blackmailer.' That took the court by surprise and I could see the heads of the public in the gallery and the press corps jolt forwards in anticipation of what was to come. Counsel for the prosecution however had other ideas. He was on his feet quicker than a greyhound out of the trap.

  'My Lord, I must object. I cannot possibly see the relevance of this line of questioning. It's not the deceased's character which is on trial here.'

  'I agree with you, Mr Scott,' answered Snipe, who wasted no time in turning on Tom's counsel. 'Mr Fenton, what on earth has this to do with your client's case?'

  Fenton, thank God, wasn't of the school that quaked before Snipe's feet. 'If Your Lordship will be so good as to be patient, the relevance of this line of questioning will soon emerge.'

  Patience, as far as Snipe was concerned, was a game for ageing spinsters. He snarled with exasperation and his jaw moved as if he was about to savage poor Fenton. Then for some reason it stopped as if he had thought better of it. 'Very well,' he grumbled. 'Continue for the moment, but be careful.'

  'I'm much obliged,' said Fenton, dutifully bowing in feigned respect.

  'And how did you discover this, Mrs Pryde?' was Fenton's next question.

  'He told me himself, after the Gold Cup. I, or rather Freddie, had discovered a diary hidden in my husband's wardrobe and I challenged him about the entries. He boasted to me that the initials on a number of the pages were those of his victims and the figure against each set was the monthly sum the particular victim had to pay for his secret to remain just that.'

  'Did he identify those victims?'

  This time counsel for the prosecution flew the trap: 'My Lord, this just won't do. Is my learned friend seriously suggesting that this witness should tell the court about the contents of a diary no one has ever seen and in the process expose to the public gaze and obloquy a number of individuals who have no right of defence or reply?'

  Snipe was with him all the way and now Fenton had become the hare. 'Mr Fenton, I sincerely hope you were not inviting this witness to name names. You are well aware that these courts frequently grant anonymity to the victims of blackmail and indeed in this case we have only the word of this witness that such blackmail ever took place. Tragically, her husband is in no position to defend himself against such an allegation.'

  Two of the jury nodded in approval, and I could tell from the way he was swaying back and forward that Fenton was no longer relishing his present position.

  'I hope to avoid any unnecessary naming My Lord. I will restrict myself to one individual, who it is intended to call to give evidence on behalf of the defendant.'

  I couldn't control myself any longer: 'But that's unfair. That list of names includes the very people who would have a motive for…'

  'Silence!' boomed Snipe, glowering at me through his spectacles.

  I carried on defiantly: '… killing my husband, such as…"

  'I said silence!'

  I looked over at Tom with a sigh, and realised by his demeanour that I was doing more harm than good. I stopped talking and waited for Snipe to lay into me. I wasn't disappointed.

  'If that happens again, I will have no hesitation in committing you to prison for contempt of court. Mr Fenton, continue and don't forget, one name only.'

  'Have you seen this note before?' He handed up via the usher the piece of paper on which Corcoran had written out his confession.

  'Yes, I found it amongst my late husband's possessions.'

  'Would you tell the court whose signature appears upon it?'

  'Yes, a Mr Michael Corcoran.'

  'And who is he?'

  'A stable lad who used to work until fairly recently for Mr Radcliffe.'

  'Would you please read that note out loud to the court.'

  I did as I had been asked.

  'Do you know how your late husband came into possession of that note?'

  'He told me he obtained it from Corcoran by a trick and since then had been blackmailing him with it.'

  'I've no more questions of this witness, My Lord.' Fenton sat down and I picked up my crutches to stand up and leave. No more questions.

  'May I look at that note, Mrs Pryde?' The counsel for the prosecution was again on his feet.

  I handed it to the usher, who in turn delivered it to counsel. He read it and then said, 'Perhaps the jury would also like to see it, My Lord.'

  'After I have,' snapped Snipe.

  It passed up and down the two rows to the accompaniment of a great deal of muttering. I was now to be re-examined: 'You told My Lord and the jury that you found this piece of paper amongst your husband's possessions?' asked the prosecuting counsel.

  'Tha
t's right.'

  'Was that after his death?'

  'Yes.'

  'Why didn't you hand it over immediately to the police?'

  'Because I knew they didn't believe me when I said my husband was a blackmailer.'

  'So you gave it instead to the accused's legal advisers?'

  'Yes. They asked me for it and I willingly handed it over.'

  'You appreciate that you are under oath, Mrs Pryde?'

  'I am very aware of that fact, sir.'

  'You know Mr Corcoran in his capacity as a lad in the accused's yard at Wantage?'

  'Yes.'

  'How do you know that it is his signature on this note?'

  'Because it is his name there.'

  'Have you ever seen his signature other than on this document?'

  'No.'

  'So anybody could have signed it with his name?'

  'No, you're wrong. Corcoran did. I know he did.'

  'Then no doubt he will come to this court and tell us so himself.' And with those words he sat down.

  I felt impotent and helpless. I walked slowly across the court, found a place on a bench near the back and wondered what on earth would happen next.

  My interrogator rose again to his feet: 'That, ladies and gentlemen,' he announced dramatically, 'completes the case for the prosecution.'

  Chapter 16

  After a brief opening speech by his counsel, Tom was now called to give evidence. His chances of an acquittal depended on the impression he made in the witness box and to an even greater degree on the testimony of Michael Corcoran. Despite the ordeal he must have been going through over the past two months, he walked purposefully from the dock. His voice was strong and clearly audible as he took the oath and I even detected a hint of defiance as he looked out onto the court.

  His counsel began taking him through his evidence and for the next hour he spoke about his early days as a trainer, the initial struggle to succeed and attract owners and finally the fun and responsibility of running a successful yard. The picture emerged, at least as far as I was concerned, sitting at the back of the court, of a thoroughly decent, modest and agreeable young man. Then, candidly and without a hint of embarrassment, he told of how he fell in love with me and freely admitted that he had implored me to leave Edward. Questioned about the letters he had written, he categorically denied ever having threatened to end Edward's life, or indeed that he had ever even considered doing so. He confirmed exactly what I had told the court about the missing page in the letter of 22nd December.