Authors: Jenny Oldfield
His unwitting words followed her on to the witness stand, the first to be called that day. Everyone sat or stood in place exactly as before; all the court officials with their own special piece of ritual to enact, the all-important Judge Berry presiding in his crimson robes and white kid gloves.
Forster got to work right away. Jess was the final witness for the prosecution, with information relevant to the state of mind of the accused when he returned home. She felt her fingers tingle to the touch of the calfskin cover of the huge Bible with its big gold cross. Her voice emerged faint and unfamiliar to swear the oath.
âNow, Miss Parsons, we want to hear how your brother, Ernest, behaved when he got back home from the music hall. He was alone, was he not?'
âNo, sir. He came in with Frances.'
This was a bad start. Forster looked irritated by the contradiction.
âFrances is my sister, sir.' Jess offered to help.
âQuite. You have a large family, Miss Parsons?'
âYes, sir.'
âBut it was you who dealt with your brother and got him to bed?'
âYes, sir.'
âHow did he behave?'
âHe was upset.'
âHow, “upset”? Was he raving and moaning?' Forster reminded the court of Syd Swan's last account of seeing Ernie outside the Palace.
âOh no, sir. More dazed. Upset in a quiet sort of way, sir. Frances found him outside on the street looking lost, and she brought him on up. Then I took over.'
âQuite, again. You say he was dazed. Did he say anything to you?'
âYes, sir. He said he'd lost Robert outside the theatre. He looked for him everywhere, but he never found him.'
âIs that all?'
âYes, sir.' âNow, Miss Parsons, what time did your sister, Frances, bring the accused upstairs with her?'
Jess faltered. âAbout midnight, sir.'
âSpeak up. About midnight, you say?'
âYes, sir.'
âAnd we know that the audience came out of the music hall at five minutes to eleven.' Forster included the jury in his calculations by walking close to their box. âDoes it take more than an hour to walk from the Palace home to Duke Street, Miss Parsons?'
âIf you're lost, it could do, sir.' She wanted to point it out as a fact, but the barrister turned it into a facetious remark with a frown and a sigh.
âLet's say he was
pretending
he'd got lost, Miss Parsons. Let's just suppose. If you came straight from A to B, from the Palace to the Duke of Wellington public house, how long would it take you? Walking briskly, as the crow flies?'
âAbout twenty minutes, sir.'
Forster placed his fingertips together and looked directly at the foreman of the jury. âMore than forty minutes unaccounted for, by my reckoning, sir.' He raised his eyebrows, then turned with a swish of his silk gown. âNow, Miss Parsons, we're almost there. We'll return to your brother's distress when he did finally make his way home. Didn't you think it might amount to something more than his simply getting lost?'
âNo, sir.' She could feel Ernie's full gaze fixed on her. âI never.'
âSo you thought the best thing to do was to pack him off straight to bed? Did he object?'
âNo, sir. Like I said, he was a bit dazed.'
âI imagine he was, Miss Parsons. Now think carefully, and remember your oath. We've learnt from fingerprint evidence, and
the presence of the cap of the accused that he had indeed been in the room where the murder had taken place. He doesn't deny that outright, at least. He only goes so far as to tell us that he can't remember having been there! Now, did he mention this vital fact to you?'
âNo, sir.' Jess fell into the same dull, monosyllabic replies. Her mouth felt dry. She looked up to the gallery for Maurice, but a sea of faces looked back.
âHm. It would account for his distress, would it not? If he had been in that room, I mean? No, don't answer that, Miss Parsons. That was merely for us to ponder. Now, he mentioned nothing about the murder. That suggests he was trying to conceal it from you?'
âMaybe, but maybe not.' This was where Jess knew more about Ernie than they did in this court. âIf he's upset, he goes quiet, sometimes for days on end. It's a kind of shock, I think.' She spoke eagerly, turning to the jury. âHe don't remember nothing till he comes out of it, then he's right as rain again.'
âVery convenient, Miss Parsons.' Forster stood and demolished her with a single look and phrase. âSelective amnesia, I think they call it, gentlemen.' He shared a joke with the jury, then reached the pinnacle of his questioning of this particular witness. âLet's say he was concealing it. We must ask ourselves, was there anything about him to suggest that he'd been in a struggle?'
âNo, sir.' Jess looked down at her own trembling hands.
âHe'd lost his cap. Did you not notice that?'
âYes, sir.'
âPerhaps in a struggle?'
âIt didn't strike me at the time, no, sir.'
âWas his clothing torn?'
âNo, sir.'
âWere his boots dirty, Miss Parsons?' The tension in Forster's naturally high, thin voice rose a further pitch.
Jess hesitated.
âYes or no, Missie!' Judge Berry barked.
âYes, sir.'
âWas there blood on them?' Forster realized he had her. Honesty was such a flimsy commodity in these circumstances; it could be turned both ways.
âYes.'
Foster's head went back. âWhat did you do? Did you dean it off?'
âYes.'
âLouder, Miss Parsons.'
âYes.' She looked up for help. There was none to be found.
âYou cleaned blood off his boots, yet you say there was no sign of a struggle on him?' He sounded shocked, disbelieving.
Jess's lip trembled. She hung her head.
âThat's all, Miss Parsons.'
Forster sat as Mayhew stood, quickly rethinking his tactics. This was more damning than Sewell had led him to believe, and the witness was in no state to act as character reference for the accused. But there was one point he must make clear in the minds of the jury. He would get it over with quickly. âMiss Parsons, I'm sorry to distress you further, but let's be clear about this matter of the blood.'
Jess fought to look him in the eye.
âIt was on your brother's, boots, you say?'
âYes, sir.'
âWas it on his trousers?'
She frowned. âNo, sir.'
âSpeak up!' Judge Berry snapped. âSo we can all hear your answers, Missie!'
âNo, sir!'
âWas it on his jacket?' Mayhew picked up the thread.
âNo, sir.'
âWas it on his hands or his face? Was it anywhere at all, except on Ernie's boots?'
âNo, sir,' she said, loud and clear now.
âThat's odd,' Mayhew remarked. He looked quizzically at the jury. âThis is an exceptionally neat murderer, whose hands and clothes carry not one stain of his victim's blood, don't you think?'
He waived any further questions and watched Jess half-stumble from the witness-box, then he bent to confer with the solicitor. Numb and weak, Jess returned to her seat.
âGood for you,' Hettie whispered as she sat down. âYou stood up to them, and Mr Mayhew nailed them good and proper.'
They brought Frank Henshaw to the stand next, to provide a good character for Ernie. The defence case would rest on the clean record to date of the accused. They would dismantle press reports of bad living and poor family support, and ask how a young man of unblemished reputation and admittedly limited capabilities to think for himself could suddenly transform himself into a vicious, frenzied attacker of a defenceless woman. His employer was the first port of call in the journey to re-establish Ernie's good name.
Henshaw took the oath and acknowledged judge and jury. He stood full square, hands behind his back, a solid tradesman like them. Mayhew established him as a chapelgoer and a thriving businessman, with the pick of a dozen errand boys to deliver his groceries. âSo why choose Ernie Parsons, Mr Henshaw?' Mayhew sounded relaxed. The shopkeeper wouldn't let them down.
âI knew him as a reliable lad,' Henshaw explained. âI've known the family more than twenty years, ever since they came to live on Duke Street.'
âBut as a chapel man, a Methodist, we might imagine you to have objections towards the family who lived at the pub, surely?'
Happy to be drawn out, Henshaw contradicted this view. âI ain't one to ram my religion down another man's throat, sir. Like I say, I get on well with the Parsons family. I offered work to Ernie and he turned out like I expected, a steady, honest, reliable lad.'
âHe presented no problems at all, Mr Henshaw?'
âNone, sir. And my wife, Mrs Henshaw, she found him just the same. You tell him what to do and it's good as done. The best lad we had in years.'
Mayhew nodded. The words penetrated even Ernie's bleak misery, and those who watched him saw his head go up and a faint look of pride appear on his face. A lump rose to the sisters' throats. Sadie allowed her hopes to rise.
âNo questions,' Forster said abruptly, hardly bothering to stand, dismissing the witness as a tiresome waste of time and unworthy of cross-examination.
A new figure took Henshaw's place. The reporters in the gallery licked their pencils and began to scribble anew as the woman's faint voice repeated the oath. âI, Mary Kathleen O'Hagan do swear by Almighty God . . .'
Annie Wiggin shouldered people aside for a better view. âGood for you, Missus!' she said under her breath. Who better to give evidence for Ernie than the mother of the corpse? She glared in triumph at the surprised prosecution bench, and hoped that the shrivelled scarecrow of a judge would sit up and take notice. Morale rose. Dolly came and settled close to Annie, shoulder to shoulder.
Mary found the ordeal truly terrible. Naturally reticent, and worn down by long years of struggle, her instinct at the best of times was to shy away from the limelight. And this was the worst of times. But she did it for Hettie. She put on her one worn and dowdy brown coat and she came to court. She knew she looked what she was; a poor washerwoman from an immigrant family, whom life had treated badly.
âThank you for taking the stand, Mrs O'Hagan,' Mayhew began gently. Sewell had done well to get her here. She was a strong weapon in the emotional argument. He said he really only had two questions for her. âFirstly, did your daughter, Daisy, ever talk to you about the accused, Ernie Parsons?'
âShe did, sir. She mentioned him to me every so often.' Mary swayed and grasped the brass rail which ran along the top of the witness-box.
âDid she like him? Would you say she got on well with him?'
âShe did, sir. She told me there was no harm in the boy and she liked to have him come to see the show. She was a good-hearted girl, sir, and she knew she could make Ernie's day, just by being friendly and nice with him.'
âDid she like him better than some of the other men who came to visit her backstage?'
âShe did.' Mary's voice grew stronger. âSome she didn't care for
at all, sir, but they could be difficult to shake off. She knew her own mind in these things, sir.'
âBut Ernie?'
âShe liked him a lot, in a friendly way.'
âNot a romantic way, Mrs O'Hagan?'
âNo, sir. They was just friends.'
Mayhew nodded. âShe trusted him?'
âYes, sir. We all do.'
âGood. Thank you, Mrs O'Hagan. Which leads me to my second question, and this is really very important. In your opinion, would the accused be capable of committing this brutal act against your daughter?'
They held their breath as Mary paused. Her face looked long and weary. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and a hopelessness at the centre of her being. But she pulled herself upright.
âDo you understand the question?' Mayhew asked softly.
âI do, sir.' She looked straight at Ernie and her whole heart went out to him. âI don't believe he done it, sir. Whatever they say against him, I don't believe he killed my girl!'
Ernie's defence counsel hoped he'd judged the public mood right as he watched Robert Parsons swear the oath. A special provision had been made for him to give his evidence from the floor of the court, still seated in his wheelchair, and it was true that he cut a sympathetic figure. Poetic phrases gathered around the injured man's head; âCut down in the flower of his youth', or more gloomily still, âThink not for whom the bell tolls'. And that was the problem. Robert stood for the frailty of the human condition as well as for glorious sacrifice. Worse still, his uniform was evidently useless on him now, except as an emblem of the supreme indifference of war. But this pessimistic knowledge lay deep under layers of brash patriotism. Although the generals battling it out in Belgium and France were now prepared to admit that the war might well continue beyond Christmas, the demon Kaiser remained a figure of intense public hatred against whom the British Tommy would willingly fight to the death.
Mayhew banked on this image of the common-or-garden East End boy giving his all for king and country as he began his even-paced questioning of the wounded soldier.
Robert listened, and explained why he liked to take his young brother to watch the shows at the Palace. âTo give him a bit of a break. He was always on at me to go and watch Hettie and Daisy with him.'
âWhy was that? Couldn't he go by himself?'
âNo, sir. He needs someone with him. He ain't too good by himself.'
âNo confidence?'
âNo, sir.'
âWhat would happen to Ernie out on the streets alone?'
Robert didn't hesitate. âHe'd get lost. Pa never let him go off, especially at night. And we wouldn't want him to neither.'
âHe'd get lost, you say? So it was entirely consistent for him to do so when he was separated from you on the night of the murder? I mean, you weren't surprised to hear he'd got lost while trying to find his way home alone?'
âNo, sir.'
âAnd what was the reason for your separation?' Mayhew let the jury get used to the sound and look of this, his last witness. Robert's deep, sure voice with its military overtones came across well.
âI came out ahead of him. I told him we had to get a move on if we wanted to nab the girls. They didn't know we was there. So I shot off. But Ern's a bit slow in a crowd. I never thought of that, so I lost him somewhere. Then I ran into a bit of bother of my own.' Robert was reluctant to tell this part of the story, knowing that it was his own hot temper that had caused him to make an enemy of the powerful Chalky White, and this had led directly to his altercation with Syd Swan that night. Still, Sewell had convinced him to tell the whole truth, after Jess's experience on the stand. âI planned to give Swan and his mates the slip as quick as I could, then double back for Ern.'
âHow long were you gone?'
âAbout a quarter of an hour.'
âSo you arrived back at the Palace at eleven fifteen?'
âYes, then I met up with Hettie and heard there was no sign of Ern, so we set off home together, then we thought better of it, so we cut back again and went inside to check.'
âInside the Palace, using the stage door?'
âYes, sir.'
âAt what time?'
âI'm not sure exactly. Before half eleven.'
Mayhew nodded. âNow we won't trouble the court with another description of events surrounding the discovery of the body. Suffice it to say that the disaster coincided with your enlistment into His
Majesty's regular army, and that your brother's arrest for this murder occurred on the eve of the fourteenth of September, the very day that you left Duke Street to join your regiment?'
âYes, sir.'
âIt must have been a terrible blow, Private Parsons?'
âWe was all staggered. Frances wrote me the news and I jumped right up and said, “Oh no, that ain't right!” They had to sit on me to stop me jumping on a train back home to put them right about Ernie.'
âWhat was so incredible?' Mayhew had taken off his gold-rimmed glasses and swung them horn his forefinger. He nodded encouragement at Robert.
âI knew in my bones they got it wrong. That's the first thing. Now, if they told me Ernie killed a bloke to stop him laying a finger on Daisy; maybe, just maybe I could see that. He'd die for that girl.
âSecond thing, like you said yourself, sir, why wasn't he covered in blood then? All right, so suppose he goes into the room and suppose he finds her lying there. The poor bloke goes to see what they done to her, don't he? He goes over and he tries to get her up. Only she don't get up, and he gets blood all over his boots, like we heard. But if he'd been the one, it'd be all over his hands and clothes and all. And there ain't no sign of that.' Robert followed the logic without flinching at the details. âHe ain't never seen a dead body before. I bet he's scared stiff. He finds the knife on the floor beside her, and he grabs it and throws it away âcos that's what done the damage. Now he's upset. He knows she ain't gonna wake up and he goes wild. He gets up and he runs out of the place quick as he can. That's when he bumps into Swan. By the time Frances runs into him, he's practically back home, and he's trying to block out what he just seen.'
âExplain to us why he would do that, if you please, Private Parsons.'
Robert sighed. â'Cos if he talks about it and tells anyone he's seen Daisy lying in a pool of blood, then it's true, ain't it? If he locks it up inside his own head, it can still be a bad dream. He
can wake up. Daisy'll waltz into the room like normal, and everything's fine!'
Mayhew let this version sink in before he finished off. âPrivate Parsons, why did you enlist with the army?'
Robert registered slight surprise. âThey need blokes like me,' he said, more subdued.
âBlokes like you?'
âYes. Fit and strong. We can do out bit.'
Mayhew left it at that. âAnd did your family approve?'
Robert looked straight ahead. âPa was with the army in India. He says it's the making of a man.'
âSo you did it in part for him? Your family has a strong loyalty to king and country?'
âYes, sir.'
âAnd finally, Private, could you tell us briefly the extent of your present injuries and how they occurred? No need to go into distressing detail, of course.' Mayhew's voice was respectfully lowered. He wanted to finish with this strong emotional impact.
Robert recalled for them the place, the time, the circumstances of the order to go over the top. He didn't tell them of the bitter cold, the muddle of command and counter-command, the sprawled bodies of comrades face down in the mud, the soft whine and thud of enemy shells. He said he was knocked unconscious by the explosion, and woke to find himself snagged on barbed wire, being hauled back to the Allied trench on the back of George Mann, a private in his regiment. âHe went on his belly with me slung round his shoulders, lying on top of him. He could've left me, but he never. They got me on a stretcher and they took me off in an ambulance. I never got a chance to thank Mann. Everything went black again. Next thing I know I'm in the field hospital. I've lost my right leg from the knee down, and they've had to patch up my hip and side.'
Silence reigned. Mayhew thanked him sincerely for gathering the strength to appear in court. He folded his glasses into his waistcoat pocket and sat down.
Forster stood and manoeuvred himself into position alongside
the jury-box. This mood of reverence required quick deflation. âPrivate Parsons, what was your relationship with the deceased?'
Robert pulled himself round to answer the snappy question. âWe was friends, sir.'
âNo more than friends?'
âNo, sir. We had a lark. We grew up in the same street together.'
âBut she was an attractive girl, would you say?'
âYou could say that, yes.'
âPrivate Parsons, the question is not whether or not
I
would say she was attractive, but what
you
have to say about the matter.' Forster's urbane voice picked up Robert's speech mannerisms and played with them. âDid you find her good-looking?'
âYes, sir.'
âHave you had lots of girlfriends?'
Robert's resentment began to show through. âA few.'
âYou're a good-looking man.'
There was a muttering in the gallery at the overt insensitivity of this remark, but Forster wasn't out to win any popularity stakes.
âYou were a favourite with the ladies?'
âIt ain't for me to say.'
âOh, come, no need to be modest. You had the girls practically falling at your feet, didn't you? Weren't you what we call a ladies' man, Private Parsons?'
âI went about with women, if that's what you mean.'
âBut not with Daisy O'Hagan?'
âNo, sir.'
âYou never flirted with her?'
The momentary pause cast doubt on Robert's answer. âNo, sir, not really.'
âBe precise, if you please,' Forster drilled into his man, his voice dry and sharp.
âOnly for a lark, sir.'
âDid your brother, Ernie, see you flirt with Daisy, “for a lark”, as you say?'
âHow would I know?' Robert felt himself being led helplessly into muddy insinuations. He reacted sullenly.
âLet's say he did. He saw you with your arm around her, let's say. Yet according to your own words, the accused would “die for that girl”. Isn't that what you said? Wouldn't he then feel jealousy when he came across you two spooning together?'
âWe never spooned!' Robert interrupted.
âWell, call it what you will. We reach the point where Ernie, dimly perhaps, begins to realize that you're the sort of brother who will steal a girl from a fellow the moment his back is turned.' Forster allowed Robert to glare at him for a few seconds before going on. âSo he must seize his opportunity in double-quick time. The bees are buzzing round the honey-pot, you might say.'
Judge Berry, who until this point had sat resting his chin on his hand, forefinger to his lips, suddenly leaned forward. âWhere is this colourful metaphor leading us, Mr Forster? Bees and honey-pots; what's the point, if I may ask?'
âThe motive, m'lud. That's where we're leading. “By indirections . . .”'
â“Find directions out.” Yes, quite, Mr Forster.' Judge Berry sighed but allowed him to proceed.
âNow, Mr Parsons, we've reached the night of the murder. The accused loses sight of you in the theatre. But he heads for the girls' dressing-room in any case. You admit that he could view this as an unlooked-for opportunity?'
âWhat are you getting at?' Robert frowned and twisted a finger inside his uncomfortably tight collar. He felt hot and flustered.
âI mean, he has Daisy all to himself, doesn't he? We all know how much he adored her. But what would Daisy make of Ernie's advances, there in the dressing-room, all alone?'
Robert let out a short laugh. But before he could frame an answer, Forster forged ahead.
âExactly! Let's just say, she wouldn't respond well. And who can blame her? She's a popular girl. She has the pick of all the East End scuttlers. Surely she would prefer you to your brother, Mr Parsons; a good-looking ladies' man like yourself? After all, wasn't it you she liked to flirt with? Wouldn't she make these feelings quite plain to Ernie? And then what?'
âThen, nothing!' Robert found his voice. âI'm telling you, you're going about this the wrong way!'
Forster glanced sharply at the jury, as if to say,
Pay attention. The witness is rattled
. Then he concentrated his sharp gaze on Robert once more.
âDo you believe that Daisy O'Hagan would reject Ernie's clumsy advances, Mr Parsons?'
âCourse she would!'
Forster cut back in. âWould she laugh at him? Would she put up a fight?'
Robert looked helplessly towards Duke. The old man's gaze was fixed on Ernie.
âDoes Ernie panic in a fight?' Forster insisted.
âHow should I know?' Robert couldn't find the right answer to put his finger on and clear Ernie of these ridiculous suggestions. Everything he said just dropped him deeper into Forster's trap.
âWell.
We
know the murder is the action of a man who suddenly loses control. We can tell that by the number of wounds inflicted on the corpse. This is no professional, premeditated act.' Forster took time to glance around the court. âWould you agree, Mr Parsons, that this murder was committed by someone who did not accurately judge his own power to inflict harm? Would you say that it was a frenzied attack, from what you yourself saw of the body?'
Robert took a deep breath and nodded. âBut Ernie never fights! He ain't never hurt no one!'
âQuite.' Forster's jaws snapped shut. He paused. âHe never fights. But he is a strong young man. Therefore he has no idea of how much damage his violent actions can inflict, when his temper is provoked beyond restraint. His thin thread of self control snaps when Daisy rejects him. A sudden idea takes hold; if he can't have her, then no one else will. Maybe she is laughing at him even now. He takes a knife he carries in his pocket; a common or garden kitchen knife available at the local ironmongers'. He advances. He's surprised by how easily the sharp blade plunges into the soft flesh. And by the blood. He steps quickly to one side. But there's no turning back. Again and again he plunges the knife into Daisy.
Then the struggle is done. He releases her. She slumps dead to the floor.'
Hettie hid her head in her hands and wept at the description. Frances felt pure hatred for the prosecutor. Sadie and Jess sat holding hands, stunned as Robert began to shout; incoherent words of rage that offended the jurors' ears and challenged the authority of the court.
âHe can't bleeding well say that! He's a bastard, he is, putting pictures in their heads. This ain't what I call justice!' Robert ranted, raising his fist in an impotent, destructive gesture as Duke rose from his seat, intent on being the first to reach his son's wheelchair. He spun the chair on the spot and rushed him down the aisle.