The Legacy (38 page)

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 beV

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 …’

Evelyne’s heart was pounding. She gripped Freda’s hand tightly. She could see the row of witnesses for the prosecution nodding their heads in agreement with everything Henshaw said. She looked only once at Freedom, and it was as if he sensed she was looking - he lifted his head and gave her the faintest glimmer of a smile. She bit her lips and stared at the floor.

Henshaw continued. ‘I beg you, consider the evidence that has been heard in this courtroom. This man is guilty, and he must pay the penalty. This is no Romany court, no eye for an eye or tooth for a tooth. I ask for nothing more than justice, and it is in your hands. You, the jury, must find this man guilty of murder in the first degree.’

Smethurst tossed his toffee-paper aside and began his speech in a low voice. ‘Oh, my learned friend is very persuasive and, looking around this court now, right now, I feel many people have already made up their minds that the man standing there, the man in the dock, is guilty.’ He swung his big, domed head from side to side, and gradually turned to look up into the gallery, not once directing his gaze at the jury. Instead, he looked over the assembled people with a faint look of disgust on his face.

‘Freedom Stubbs is accused of killing Willie Thomas, a boy who, as you have heard, raped and beat one of his people. Looking around this court right now I would say that any man here, any man confronted with someone they loved in the state that young girl was in, would threaten revenge. That is not to say that any person would actually go through with the threatened act. The defendant was not alone when this girl was discovered. There were at least forty other gypsy men at the boxing fair that evening - perhaps one of those men did take revenge, but we have a witness to prove that this man did not - could not, because at the time Willie Thomas was murdered she was with the accused.

‘My learned friend has taken pains to point out that the witness for the defence, Miss Evelyne Jones, was more than familiar with the accused man. Is there a woman here today who would not have gone to the aid of a raped girl? Who would not have felt a certain amount of disgust that William Thomas was not punished for this crime? We know he was scared, we know he went to the Cardiff police, terrified the gypsy people would take some kind of revenge. You have heard a statement made by William Thomas to the Cardiff Constabulary stating that he did indeed play some part in that poor girl’s rape. Miss Jones saw this girl, and has said, under oath, that she was raped and beaten. And what is the outcome? Her name has been blackened, she has been accused of being this man’s mistress, he her lover, and both have sworn on oath that this is not true … I say she is a woman who showed nothing more than simple, decent kindness to a group of travellers. Miss Evelyne Jones should be held up as an example to us all, instead of being belittled, her education sneered at because, as my learned friend pointed out, she had not the qualifications to teach at the school. We have had a witness stand in front of you and give glowing reports of her ability - a qualified man, a man with examinations, the present headmaster of that same school … But more, her character is without blemish, she is a Christian, a deeply religious, honest woman. She has not lied to this court, and her evidence is of the utmost importance. She has stated on oath that on the night of the killing of William Thomas she talked with the accused, that at no time could he have returned to the village, to the picture house, and committed murder.’

Smethurst was building up steam, facing the jury, his voice growing louder and louder as he swung his arms around. His black gown billowed like a bird, a big, dangerous bird. ‘Where is the witness to say the accused was at the picture house? Look at him, look at his face, the size of him - do you think you would forget that face? If this man paid over money for a ticket, don’t you think one person would remember? Come forward?’

Evelyne swallowed hard, and took a sneaky look around the court. All the faces showed rapt attention. ‘Dear God,’ she prayed, ‘let no one mention the back door, the other entrance to poor Billy’s picture house, always better used than the main door.’

Smethurst was sweating, his hair sticking to his head, his face redder than ever. Now he banged hard on the bench, slapping it, punctuating his words, ‘ Where is the murder weapon?’ he demanded, bellowing, ‘The police questioned every man in that gypsy camp, searched every wagon, and they found nothing, nothing! No blood on any of the accused man’s clothes, and at no time after he was arrested did he try to escape. Is this the behaviour of a guilty man? This man is innocent … he stands in the dock for one reason, and one reason alone - he is a gypsy. Can you really believe that Miss Evelyne Jones could have an ulterior motive for coming forward? She is one of you, one of your kind, you in the gallery, and she had been mocked and insulted because she dared, yes, dared to come forward on behalf of the accused. She gains nothing, she wants nothing more than to see justice done … and you, the jury, if you have any reasonable doubt, then you have only one choice - only one - give this man justice, and pronounce him innocent. He is not guilty.”

Smethurst slumped into his seat. He had not referred to his notebook once. He sat back, exhausted.

The judge called for a recess until the following day, when he would give his summing-up. Evelyne wanted to weep - it was still, after all this time, not over.

The following morning, the judge spent two hours summing up the case. He then instructed the jury in their duty. His voice was chesty and hoarse as he patiendy explained to them that they must digest all the evidence they had heard. That they must be unanimous in their verdict, and if there was any reasonable doubt in any of their minds they had no alternative but to find Freedom Stubbs innocent. The jury filed out, and the judge went for a glass of port with Smethurst and Henshaw.

Evelyne, Ed and Miss Freda waited in the corridor, afraid to leave in case the jury came back in. None of them felt like talking - they just sat with their eyes on the ushers standing quiedy in a group by the entrance to the court. Evelyne wanted to scream. She clasped Freda. ‘Oh God, Freda, they’ve been out over an hour, it must be a bad sign, it’s a bad sign - Ed, do you think it’s a bad sign? Oh …’

Ed saw the spectators streaming in through the main doors. The group of ushers broke up and began directing people back into court. ‘Here we go, Evie love, this is it by the look of it. Come on, or we’ll miss our seats.’