by Diane Janes
‘So, you looked out of the window and saw that the garage was on fire. Why did you not shout out to Brown, for assistance?’
‘I was afraid. I feared that my husband might be in the garage. I was afraid that Brown might have killed him and was going to kill me too.’
Though watching Dorothy Morton closely, Ernest remained aware of the judge. He was a pernickety old fellow, Ernest thought, and for some reason seemed particularly interested in the plans of the farm, which he was peering at again now. Every time some location had been mentioned in the evidence, he had insisted on having it indicated on the plans and periodically he returned to his complaint that the draughtsman who had drawn up the plans on behalf of the prosecution, had shown all the doorways only as openings in the walls, with no indication that they actually had any doors in them. For some reason this obscure detail appeared to trouble him much more than any of the other material facts. Now he decided to interrupt the cross examination in order to query whether or not the garage was fitted with doors. Dorothy confirmed that it was, adding that the doors would normally stand open until both cars had been put away for the night.
By now even the obsequious Mr Paley Scott had become fed up with the recurrent issue of the missing doors, and when Mr Justice Humphreys tetchily complained for the umpteenth time that, ‘For some reason this fellow has not put a door in,’ the prosecuting counsel said: ‘Presumably my lord, the door will be found in the doorway.’
Ernest managed to suppress the desire to laugh, though one or two others in the court did not. Dolly, he noted, remained impassive.
Pretending not to notice the snub, the judge turned his attention to the woman in the witness box. ‘There is something I would like you to help me with,’ he said, adopting the voice of the kindly headmaster, Ernest thought, rather than Mr Streatfield’s much more censorious teacher. ‘Though this man had behaved, as you say, brutally towards you that evening, you did not, I think, suspect that he might harm your husband, until the shot was fired in the yard?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘So it was not until the shot was fired that you became really frightened.’
‘I had been frightened of him for a long time.’
‘But that night in particular?’
‘Yes. Because he seemed like a madman.’
‘I see.’ The judge nodded, turning his attention from the witness box to the dock and favouring Ernest with a long, hard look, before saying: ‘You may continue, Mr Streatfield.’
The defence counsel resumed as invited. ‘I want to ask you about the rope which you and Mr Stuart noticed on the landing, when you returned to Saxton Grange and searched the house in the early hours of the morning,’ he said.
Ernest watched as Dorothy nodded, tight lipped. The rope had already been brought into court as an exhibit and now it was carried across the room to be shown to the witness. In order to reach the defending barrister, it had to pass before the man in the dock: a rope with a loop made in one the end. It was by now late afternoon and the recently installed electric lights which had been burning all day, were beginning to cast grotesque shapes around the room. The barristers in their gowns were transformed into gigantic birds, flapping high above the heads of the jurors, the policeman at the door had become a stunted tree trunk, which lay diagonally across the wooden floor. As Mr Streatfield held the rope aloft there was a collective gasp among the spectators in the public gallery, for unbeknown to Ernest himself, and unseen by Streatfield, it had cast the shadow of a noose, suspended above the man in the dock. If Dorothy Morton was aware of the eerie symbolism, she gave no sign.
‘Now you have told the court that this rope only appeared on the landing, after you and Miss Houseman had left the house, and also that Ernest Brown threatened that he would use it to strangle you, if you breathed a word of what had happened to anyone.’
‘That is right.’
‘I put it to you, that this story of Brown threatening you with this, or any other rope, is a complete fabrication.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘Mrs Morton, isn’t it the case that spare rope for making halters is kept in the attic of the farmhouse?’
‘Yes.’
‘So there would be nothing out of the ordinary in Brown going upstairs to fetch some rope on that night or indeed on any other night, and that this is exactly what he was doing, when you and Miss Houseman met him coming downstairs, as you went to answer the telephone?’
‘He was not supposed to go upstairs without asking permission.’
‘I will let that pass. Can you tell me whether there was a light burning on the upstairs landing that night?’
‘No. Not on the landing.’
‘So if Brown had gone up to the attic and taken an armful of ropes, one of which he had inadvertently dropped on the landing, it is entirely possible that it would have gone unnoticed until you and Mr Stuart searched the house some hours later, with the benefit of a torch.’
‘No. Miss Houseman or I would have seen it.’
‘You cannot be definite on that point, I think. And isn’t it also the case, that although you have described the rope as being left outside your bedroom door, when the police marked the plan of the house to show where the rope was found, they put it in this corner of the landing – you see it here on the plan, marked with a blue cross – and that this cross is not outside any door at all.’
‘I saw it outside my door.’
‘Mrs Morton, isn’t this whole story of the rope being left outside your door, and of Brown telling you that he had left it there on purpose, a complete invention?’
‘No. It is not.’
‘You have told us that you had conceived a real hatred of Brown last summer.’
‘I had hated him for a long time.’
‘I suggest Mrs Morton, that you are blackening this case against Brown, in order to shield someone else. Isn’t it true that there was another man with whom you were on affectionate terms last summer – a man who has a motor car and who lives less than thirty miles from Saxton Grange?’
Dorothy Morton hesitated. For a second she glanced appealingly in the direction of the judge, but realising that she would get no help from that quarter, she turned back to Streatfield. ‘I have already said so.’
‘Not, I think, that the man lived less than thirty miles away.’
‘Not that perhaps.’
‘Nor that he had a motor car.’
‘Nor that.’
‘I suggest that there was a second man at Saxton Grange that night, and I suggest that you know who this man is.’
‘That’s nonsense.’ Though she had been standing in the witness box for several hours by now, neither her voice nor her demeanour betrayed the slightest sign of fatigue.
‘I put it to you again that some other man came to the house that night. That it was not Brown, but some other man who cut the telephone wires, shot Frederick Morton and set fire to the garage. I suggest that you are blaming Ernest Brown, in order to shield some other person.’
Dorothy’s voice slid higher up the scale as she declared, ‘Nobody else came near the house that night at all.’
At this point old Humphreys intervened again. For a moment Ernest wondered if it would be some irrelevant point regarding the blue cross on the plan and the lack of bedroom doors marked thereon, but instead it was to suggest that if Mr Streatfield had a particular person in mind, then he should put the name to Mrs Morton and give her the opportunity of confirming or denying it.
‘I’m afraid that isn’t possible, my lord.’
‘But I understood you to be identifying a particular person: someone with whom Mrs Morton was on close terms of friendship and who might therefore be assumed to be antagonistic toward her husband.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Mr Streatfield. ‘That is the kind of possibility I had in mind. I am obliged to
your lordship for raising the question.’
‘If you can identify this person, Mr Streatfield, then all of Yorkshire, if necessary all of England will be scoured in order to bring him here.’ Travers Humphreys glared expectantly at the defending counsel, who had begun to look discomfited and took a couple of sips from his ever ready glass of water.
‘I’m afraid that I cannot identify him, my lord.’
‘You are not then, specifically pointing a finger in the direction of this one particular man?’
‘My lord, only Mrs Morton can tell us if such a person was there that night.’
‘So you are suggesting that Mrs Morton knows perfectly well who this person is, and whether or not he was present at the farm that night?’
To Ernest’s horror, Streatfield began to flounder slightly. ‘It is going to be suggested that it is a possibility.’
‘That Mrs Morton knows to whom you refer, or that the man to whom you refer was at the house that night?’ The judge appeared to be genuinely confused.
Mr Paley Scott took this as an opportunity to clamber to his feet and ask a long string of questions about this hypothetical, unnamed man, which – since Mr Streatfield could not answer any of them – swiftly had the desired effect upon the judge’s patience. ‘Need we pursue this any further, Mr Streatfield? You seem to be heading off in an extremely speculative direction. You are suggesting, I think, that this mysterious man might have been a lover, or an ex-lover, or a poacher, or a man who was unhappy about a business matter, or indeed any human being that you care to mention, but apparently there is no clear idea that this man ever existed at all.’
Mr Streatfield conceded defeat. He had no further questions for the witness. Dorothy Morton left the stand. Tall, slim, elegantly clad in her dark suit and her little fur, she passed within feet of the man who had once been her lover, glancing neither right nor left, with her head held high.
‘Look at me, Dolly,’ he willed her. ‘Look at me, damn you.’ But she did not turn her head.
Chapter Seven
Tuesday 12 December 1933
Leeds Town Hall, The Yorkshire Assizes
‘The court calls Miss Ann Houseman.’
Like her employer, Ann Houseman walked directly in front of the dock, without so much as glancing at the man who sat inside it. She took the oath in a clear, rather piping voice, then focussed all her attention on Mr Paley Scott. Yes, she said, in answer to his initial questions, she was a nurse maid and companion, and had been employed at Saxton Grange since July that year.
Ernest sat in the dock, watching her closely. She was trying to ape Dolly, he thought. Very aware that all eyes were upon her. Very aware of her considerable importance in the grand scheme of things. It didn’t quite come off though. She wasn’t a lady and she hadn’t the maturity. Silly little chit. Companion indeed! Companions were drawn from the ranks of distressed gentlefolk, not young lasses like herself, with one brother a bus conductor and another labouring on a farm. If Dorothy had been like the grand lady, giving out the speech day prizes, then Ann Houseman was a shoe-in for the part of the overly eager Head Girl, reciting a carefully memorised speech of welcome, prior to dropping a curtsey and handing over a bunch of flowers.
‘So, Miss Houseman, you only joined the household after Brown had been reinstated in June?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now Miss Houseman, I want you tell us in your own words, what happened on that fateful evening in September. You had been sent on an errand to fetch a jam pan, had you not?’ Mr Paley Scott prompted, using his gentle, guiding voice.
‘That’s right. I went out in the Essex motor car. I was only away from the house for about half an hour. I left at about seven thirty and got back at about eight o’clock. I left the car at the top of the drive as usual, walked down the drive – it’s only a few yards – then went straight into the house with the pan, to start on the jam-making. The next thing I specifically remember was hearing Mrs Morton, calling out “Ann, Ann!”’
The witness paused but on receiving a nod of encouragement from the prosecuting counsel, she continued: ‘I went into the yard to see what the matter was and as I crossed it, I saw Mrs Morton, coming out of the barn. She seemed frightened, but when I asked her if she’d called me, she said “no”. We went back to the house together, but I went back into the kitchen and she went straight upstairs.’
‘And did you see Brown at this time?’
‘Not then, but the horse box was back in the yard, so I knew that he must have returned and I guessed that he must be in the barn or something.’
‘And when did you first see him that evening?’
‘He came into the kitchen a few minutes later. He looked quite wild. He said he wanted to see Mrs Morton, so I ran upstairs to fetch her, but she said she couldn’t come down just then. She was obviously frightened and didn’t want to see the man, Brown. I could tell that there was something wrong.’
‘What did Mrs Morton actually say to you?’
‘Mrs Morton said that she would be down in a few minutes, so I went back to the kitchen and continued boiling the fruit. I told Brown that Mrs Morton was coming and he stood waiting for her. Eventually she came downstairs, but instead of telling her anything urgent, he just told her about a cow he had brought back from Greetland and then he went outside again.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘A little while later – by now it was probably nine o’clock – he came in again and asked Mrs Morton if she would help him put the ducks away, but she told him that she couldn’t, as she was waiting for a phone call from her father.’
‘And was she in fact waiting for a phone call?’
‘No. She just said it as an excuse.’
‘Thank you. Pray continue.’
‘Brown went out on his own again. It was about half an hour after that when we heard the shot’.
‘Did it seem to you to have been fired from somewhere close at hand?’
‘Oh yes. It sounded as if the pellets had hit the kitchen window. Mrs Morton and I both cried out and ran towards the front of the house. Mrs Morton hid under the dining room table and I went back to the kitchen. Brown was already back inside and I asked him what he had been shooting at, and he said, “a rat”.’
‘Did he have the gun with him when he came into the kitchen?’ enquired Mr Paley Scott.
‘No, not then.’
‘And what took place after that?’
‘He went back outside and after a few minutes Mrs Morton came back into the kitchen and got out her sewing, and I was carrying on with the jam. It was dark by then, so I drew the curtains and lit a paraffin lamp. Mrs Morton sat near it, so that she could see to do her sewing. Then the telephone rang and we both rushed to answer it. As we crossed the hall, we saw Brown, coming downstairs.’
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘No. We were both too afraid to speak to him. I answered the phone. It was a long distance call from Scotland, asking for Mr Morton. I said he was not at home, but was expected back at any time and I suggested that they should call back in about fifteen minutes. After that we went back into the kitchen and Brown came in again soon afterwards and took something from the knife drawer and went straight back outside with it.’
‘Did you see what it was?’
‘No. Only that he took something from the drawer and then returned with it a few minutes later and put it back. Then he went outside again and a couple of minutes later he came back in with the gun. He laid the gun on the dresser and said to me, “You go, as I want to speak to Mrs Morton alone.”’
Ernest wondered if everyone else had noticed the way the girl drew herself up, and gave a little theatrical pause in readiness for her big moment.
‘I said, “I will not go out. If you have anything to say to Mrs Morton, you can say it in front of me.” Then he said, “No, I can’t do that. It
will be much better for you, if you go out.” He picked up the gun, and I said, “You had better give me that gun,” but he refused… Then he offered it to me, but I wouldn’t take it.’ The young woman’s voice dropped at the admission.
Not quite so brave after all, Ernest thought.
‘I didn’t have time to take it from him,’ the witness continued, ‘because he snatched it back, when I reached out my hand. After that he began to clean the gun.’
Ernest did a double take at this new addition to the evidence. At the magistrates’ court, she had simply admitted to being afraid to take hold of the gun, but Ann Houseman now seemed intent on embellishing her role as the heroine of the piece.
‘Did you notice anything about the gun? How many cartridges remained in it, for example?’ asked the prosecution counsel.
‘No. He took the gun apart and cleaned it, piece by piece, but I wasn’t really paying that much attention, because I had to carry on watching the jam. When he had finished, he put the gun away in the cupboard and went out again. He came back in soon afterwards, with the big dog and sat down at the kitchen table. Mrs Morton said to him, “Some people have been ringing up from Scotland, asking for Mr Morton,” and he said, “The phone hasn’t been ringing lately.”’
‘And after that?’
‘We all sat talking. He kept hinting that I should go to bed and making the big dog growl at me.’ Just for a second, she darted a look across at the man in the dock. It was a look of pure loathing.
She had always been afraid of that dog, Ernest thought. She was a thoroughly silly, prissy kind of girl, not at all suited to a life out in the country.
‘I said that I couldn’t leave the jam,’ she continued. ‘Eventually, at about eleven, Brown went outside again. He had been gone for some time when we heard a car pass the kitchen window: it was going down the drive in the direction of the garage. Mrs Morton and I were listening intently, of course, because we were constantly expecting Mr Morton to come home.’