The Legacy (1987)

by Plante, Lynda La

  ‘I never been to no picture house, sir.’

  An usher gave Smethurst the nod that court was about to sit, and he rushed to his chambers to throw on his wig and gown. Henshaw was already waiting, spick and span, checking his appearance in the mirror. ‘So it’s the big day – your girl’s on the stand? Should be interesting.’

  ‘You get copies of those two statements? From Lord Carlton and Captain Collins?’

  ‘I did, old chap, I did. Personally I doubt if they’ll help, you’d need the prince himself to step on the stand to get your chap off this one.’

  ‘We’ll see, we’ll see – don’t count your eggs yet. Want a toffee?’

  Henshaw smiled a refusal as the judge entered, muttering about the riff-raff outside the court. Smethurst joked with the judge. ‘They say my client’s the spitting image of this movie star, fella called Rudolph Valentino.’

  The judge snorted, ‘Well, for the Lord’s sake I hope the press don’t pick that up, the wife’ll be here next. She’s seen Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse twice.’ Smethurst nearly swallowed his toffee the wrong way as the judge swept out. ‘Four Horsemen of the what?’

  Henshaw laughed, checked he had his glasses and then winked at Smethurst. ‘Old boy’s wife’s a bit of a lady, so I’ve heard. Well, come on, let’s get on with the show.’

  Evelyne was driven to court in Sir Charles’ Rolls-Royce. She was shaking with nerves and kept licking her lips because her mouth felt so dry.

  At the court they were surrounded by newspaper reporters pushing forward to speak to Sir Charles. The flashes and bangs of the photographers’ lights made Evelyne jump.

  ‘May I ask you, Sir Charles, what your interest in this case might be? Please, Sir Charles, just a few words?’

  ‘I simply want justice done, that is all. Freedom Stubbs is an innocent man who has already spent too long in jail.’

  Two police officers pushed the reporters back, allowing Evelyne and Sir Charles to enter. The massive marbled reception area of the Law Courts was daunting, and Evelyne would have found it awe-inspiring if she had not been so nervous. Voices echoed and people rushed hither and thither. She was thankful to see the familiar figure of Smethurst striding towards them.

  ‘Ah, you’re here, good, good – curtain up in about five minutes.’

  ‘Good God, man, can’t you afford a better wig, the tail’s over your left ear, looks dreadful.’

  Smethurst turned his wig round, only to leave the tail sticking out over his right ear. An usher was waiting to lead Evelyne round to the waiting area. Sir Charles went ahead into the courtroom as Smethurst, his gown floating around him, walked with Evelyne to a long bench.

  ‘Now just keep calm, and remember, don’t let Henshaw ruffle you. He’ll try his damnedest. Shouldn’t be too long a wait, and may I say you look charming.’

  He strode off before she could reply or thank him for his compliment. She could see what looked like food stains down the back of his gown.

  She became aware of a man scrutinizing her from the doorway. His cold eyes made her shiver, his drawn face was set and hard.

  Henshaw detected how nervous she was, and knew instantly she would be putty in his hands. He followed Smethurst into the court.

  One hour ticked by, then another. Evelyne paced up and down the marbled corridor. She walked to the far end and peered round the corner. There was another bench, with a number of men sitting on it, some with cigarettes in their cupped hands. Above them hung a ‘No Smoking’ sign in bold red letters. Evelyne returned to her bench and sat down again.

  In the courtroom Smethurst was in fine form, his face flushed a deep red, his big hands waving in the air. He called for the defendant, Freedom Stubbs, to be brought into the dock.

  The raised voices from the court made Evelyne’s nerves even worse. Suddenly the double doors were thrown open and an usher called her name. She dropped her handbag in her haste to follow him into the court.

  Evelyne’s hand trembled visibly as she held up the Bible, standing ramrod straight in the witness box. ‘I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.’

  Smethurst smiled at her. ‘Would you state your name and occupation?’

  Evelyne’s voice wavered, and she got another encouraging smile from Smethurst as she answered, ‘I am a schoolteacher.’

  ‘So at the time of the murder of William Thomas you were a schoolteacher. Now then, would you, in your own time, please tell the court how you first came to meet the accused, Freedom Stubbs?’

  Evelyne told the court how some friends had taken her to Highbury Hill for an evening’s entertainment. At this point Smethurst interrupted her. ‘I’d say that was a rather unusual evening’s entertainment for a respectable schoolteacher, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Jones? And just exactly who were these friends who suggested you go to this boxing match?’ He directed a half-smile at Henshaw.

  Evelyne replied, ‘Lord Frederick Carlton and Captain David Collins.’

  A murmur ran round the court at the mention of the high-society names. Sir Charles gasped and dropped his monocle. Smethurst had assured him that neither man’s name would even be mentioned in court. He slapped his kid gloves against his hand in anger – this was really outrageous.

  Evelyne was in the witness box for almost an hour before they broke for lunch. She had hardly looked at the dock, at Freedom – she couldn’t. He had never taken his eyes from her face. As they led him back to his cell he tried to catch her eye, but she was being escorted from the stand by an usher.

  The afternoon session began with Evelyne once more in the box. The court heard how she had helped Rawnie, but her name was not spoken. She had everyone’s full attention as she explained how she had collected the newspaper cuttings, how she had seen Freedom in her village and recognized him from the boxing match. She told the court why she had gone to his camp to warn him the police were looking for him. As she stated that on the night William Thomas was killed in the picture house, Freedom had been with her, the spectators stirred and whispered. Her voice was strong, confident, as she said that Freedom could not have committed the murder. She was calm and concise throughout the ordeal, and above all spoke clearly, accurately recalling dates and times. Smethurst turned to the judge. ‘At this point, Your Honour, may I say that both Lord Frederick Carlton and Captain David Collins have given statements to verify what Miss Jones has said, and they will both, if required, repeat their statements in court.’

  Sir Charles gave Smethurst a furious look as he sat down.

  Before Henshaw cross-examined Evelyne, he requested permission to approach the bench with Smethurst for a moment.

  They spoke in whispers. Henshaw had picked up on the newspaper cuttings and he was going to find it impossible to avoid mentioning the previous murders. Smethurst gave Henshaw the go-ahead. He had been prepared for this, and it did not involve any change in tactics. He knew he could turn it to his own advantage.

  Henshaw walked back to his seat and shuffled through his papers, waiting for the court to be brought to order once again. He took his time, lips pursed, carefully placing his glasses on his nose. He coughed lightly and appeared to be concentrating on his notes. In a blatantly sarcastic manner, he asked ‘Miss Jones, could you please tell the court where you gained your diplomas to teach?’

  Evelyne flushed and replied that she had not taken examinations, but had taught at the junior school in her village.

  ‘So you are not, as you stated, a schoolteacher, is that correct? And at the time you visited Highbury Fair, what was your profession then?’

  Smethurst jumped up and objected that the line of questioning was irrelevant and had no bearing whatsoever on the case. The judge dismissed his interruption.

  ‘So, Miss Jones, we take it that you were not in fact a schoolteacher but a pupil, am I correct?’

  Evelyne unwittingly fell into the carefully laid trap. She admitted that she had actua
lly left school because her family needed her at home. Henshaw gave a sarcastic smirk. ‘Ahhhh, I see, so now we have gone from being a schoolteacher to not even being at school. Dear, dear, this is all very confusing. Let us now take the reason why you were at the fair. As my learned friend stated, a boxing match is not really a fit place for a lady . . .’

  Smethurst was on his feet, objecting in his booming voice. It was irrelevant whether or not a boxing match was a suitable place for a lady to be taken – indeed, if the great Ethel Barrymore frequented boxing matches he felt sure there could be no slur attached to his witness.

  The judge had had enough and called Smethurst to the bar to reprimand him, saying that unless he curtailed his constant interruptions the court would be adjourned. Smethurst apologized and returned to his seat, then turned in astonishment as Evelyne blurted out, ‘I may not be a lady in your opinion, sir, but I assure you I was invited to the fair, unaware that there was to be a boxing match. I trusted my companions and I had no reason to believe they were taking me to anything more than an innocent fair. My companions were Lord Frederick Carlton and Mr David – Captain David Collins. Both gentlemen, I believe. So, in your rudeness to me you are also accusing two respected men of being less than gentlemen.’

  This speech caused the gallery to erupt in loud shouts and a spate of hand-clapping. The judge pounded with his gavel and called for order. Henshaw’s mouth twitched with anger, he shuffled his papers and was about to move on to another tactic when Evelyne, after a glance at the judge, spoke again. ‘I’d also like, if I may, sir, I mean Your Honour, I would like to explain my education. It was partly private, and from Captain Collins’ aunt. Mrs Doris Evans was her name, sir, and it was Mrs Evans who first brought me to Cardiff, and that is where I met Captain Collins. Just so you don’t think I met him for the first time on the night of the fair.’

  Henshaw snapped, ‘Thank you, Miss Jones. You are implying, I believe, that you were a friend of Captain Collins’ family?’

  Evelyne again had the court in uproar when she agreed that Henshaw was correct, that she was a family friend, albeit a poor one.

  Smethurst coughed and smiled at Henshaw behind his hand. He knew Evelyne had got him rattled, and it tickled him. Smethurst was also pleased to see the judge’s obvious delight in the witness.

  Henshaw was aware that he had to get the situation back under his control. ‘Let us move on to Freedom Stubbs.’

  From the public gallery a raucous female yelled that she’d move on to Freedom Stubbs any time they liked, and she threw down a single red rose. Again the judge resorted to his gavel to bring the court to order. He then announced a recess until the following morning and asked both Henshaw and Smethurst to come to his chambers.

  Smethurst proffered a toffee to Henshaw just as the judge entered. ‘Now look here, you two, tomorrow I want no more of your baiting each other out there. Just conduct yourselves and your questioning in an orderly fashion. Is it true? Ethel Barrymore goes to watch fights? Where on earth did you get hold of that?’

  About to reply, Smethurst stopped short as Henshaw slammed out of the room. It was in some way an omen, a foretaste of what was to take place the following morning.

  Evelyne had been in the witness box for more than an hour, answering question after mundane question, but although she was tiring she maintained her concentration throughout. Henshaw was unrelenting, eventually bringing up the fact that Evelyne had kept newspaper cuttings of the previous murders. ‘You cut articles from the papers and kept them for no other reason than mere interest? I find that hard to believe, just as I find your statement that you went alone to the gypsy camp on the night William Thomas was murdered hard to believe. It was almost dark, it was, after all, almost eight o’clock.’

  Smethurst had wanted Evelyne to watch every word. This time she made no reply. By not actually asking her a question, Henshaw had hoped to trip her up. He sighed, twisting his glasses around. ‘We are expected to believe an awful lot, Miss Jones, that you, just an ordinary girl, climbed a mountain to a gypsy camp to warn, warn, a man you insist you did not know, but you go alone, taking with you newspaper cuttings regarding that man’s possible association with certain murders . . .’

  At this point the judge clarified that the defendant had been cleared of all charges relating to the aforementioned murders. He allowed Henshaw to ask again why Evelyne had collected the reports from the newspapers, and why she took them to Freedom Stubbs. Evelyne answered that Freedom was illiterate, he could neither read nor write, and he was not aware that he was wanted for questioning. Henshaw raised his arms and shook his head in disbelief. ‘You expect us to believe this? This preposterous fairy-tale? Wouldn’t the truth be rather that you were less than a stranger to the accused? I think, Miss Jones, you knew him well, more than well – he is illiterate, how did you know this? What I believe you did know was that the defendant was in your village for the sole purpose of killing William Thomas, is that not the real truth?’

  Evelyne could hear Mr Henshaw’s breathing, the court was so quiet. Smethurst leaned forward, tense now. She kept her voice to a low whisper. ‘At the time I did not know whether or not Freedom Stubbs had any involvement with those other boys, but I had to find out . . .’

  ‘Could you tell the court why?’

  ‘I recognized Willie Thomas, and I knew there could be trouble. I wanted it to stop even though I felt he should pay in some way for what he did to that poor girl. I just wanted to warn Freedom Stubbs, that was all.’

  Henshaw shouted over Evelyne’s words, ‘You approve of murder, is that what you are saying?’

  Evelyne’s temper snapped and she pointed at Henshaw, her voice rising. ‘I never said that! What I said was, that if anyone saw what they had done to that poor girl, I mean if anyone had seen Willie that night, like I saw him, on top of her, ripping at her clothes, they would believe he should be punished. I never said I approved of murder.’ She gripped the edge of the witness stand. She was so angry, angry because tears were running down her cheeks. ‘You keep putting words into my mouth, sir. I just went up to the camp because I wanted to warn him there could be trouble and there might be a fight.’

  ‘Mr Stubbs was there that night to do precisely that – fight. Miss Jones, have you at any time had sexual relations with the accused?’

  All the spectators craned forward for Freedom and Evelyne’s reactions to this question. Evelyne picked up the Bible and held it high. ‘I am here because at the time of the killing of Willie Thomas I was with Freedom Stubbs, that is the sole reason I am here.’

  ‘I am sure it is, Miss Jones, but you have not answered my question. Did you and the accused have a sexual relationship?’

  ‘No! No, as God is my witness, I have not,’ Evelyne sobbed.

  Women in the gallery blew their noses and shook their heads. To them breaking down was somehow confirmation of her love for Freedom.

  There was a sudden commotion as Freedom tried to get out of the dock, pushing at the guards. He shouted, ‘Leave her alone! Leave her be!’

  He was dragged from the court. A scuffle broke out on the way to the cells. The judge broke off the day’s session.

  Evelyne was driven back to the hotel in the Rolls. She knew it had not gone well. She was unable to talk to Sir Charles, who appeared more concerned about Freddy and David’s names having been, as he put it, ‘bandied about’.

  After bathing and dressing, Sir Charles swept out of the hotel to dine with the Carltons. Evelyne watched from her window as he left. She felt drained, totally exhausted. Miss Freda could sense that she didn’t want company, and tried to cheer her up by saying she’d done well, but Evelyne knew she hadn’t.

  ‘Oh God, Freda, I was just dreadful. I went to pieces, I said things I was not to say . . . If he hangs, it’s my fault, my fault.’

  Miss Freda shook her finger at Evelyne. ‘I watched, all through the trial. He sits with his head bowed, his eyes down . . . but for you, he held his head high, he didn’t seem
afraid. So, you have faith too.’

  ‘I wish it was over, dear God how I wish it was over.’

  Freda hugged her, kissed the top of her head and whispered that if it was bad for them, think what poor Freedom must be going through.

  Freedom lay on his bunk. He could hear the other prisoners singing, ‘Swing me just a little bit higher, la-de-la, de-la . . . ’ He pulled his pillow over his head. It wasn’t the rope he was afraid of, he didn’t think of it, all he wanted was for the night to come down, for the silence. Only then, when it was quiet, when all was calm, could he believe that she had stood by him. He wrapped his arms around the pillow and whispered her name. The pillow stank of prison. A month ago he had been able to dream, even wonder what she would feel like, smell like, close to him in bed. This night he could not dream, could not even hope.

  The following morning the papers were full of the society names connected with the murder case. There was a large photograph of Sir Charles Wheeler and Evelyne pushing through the crowds.

  Today was to be the summing-up, and Evelyne sat with Sir Charles on one side of her and Freda and Ed on the other. The court was packed to capacity.

  Everyone rose as the judge took his seat and declared the session open. Henshaw gathered his meticulous notes, rose to his feet, his face stern. His voice rang out, ‘I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, to look closely at the man standing in the dock. The defendant, a man known for his prowess in the boxing ring, a Romany gypsy, a booth boxer, a fairground fighter. William Thomas was nineteen years old, a young boy ready to start out in life. His life was brutally cut off, as brutal a killing as I have ever known. His hands tied behind his back, his throat slit, and to add insult to injury he was marked with a sign of a cross, a cross of his own blood smeared on his forehead. That mark, as we have heard in this court, is the symbol of a Romany curse. The accused man was heard, by witnesses, men brought before you in this court, to threaten – threaten revenge for an attack on one of his own people. This girl has not come forward, and we cannot ask William Thomas whether or not he did in fact rape this gypsy girl. So what do we have? We have, gentlemen of the jury, a defendant who wanted revenge. Freedom Stubbs was in the village, seen close to the picture house where this unfortunate boy was slain – seen on the actual night of the murder, and recognized by Miss Evelyne Jones, a woman with whom he was already on familiar terms, a woman we are expected to believe tried to persuade him to leave because she knew, knew, there would be trouble . . .’