The Black Rocks of Morwenstow

by John Wilcox

  ‘Thank you. And thank you for the mustard.’

  The door clanged shut.

  The milk was slightly sour but he drank it gratefully, for he was thirsty as well as hungry. On a thought, he emptied out his bag. It contained some undergarments, a second shirt, some woollen socks and his night attire as well as a face flannel and a piece of soap. But nothing else. He had half hoped that Rowena might have secreted away a knife of some sort or even a file, but there was nothing of the sort. He shrugged. It would have been discovered anyway.

  By the light of what was left of the candle he washed in the cold water from the jug, shook the blankets hard and brushed his hand across the mattress. Tiny, speck-like creatures were crawling across his palm and he felt one bite him. That was the end of the mattress. He would have to sleep on the stone floor or be devoured by these savage little creatures. Oh, for the soft white mattress and clean sheets of the doctor’s house!

  The stub of the candle guttered and went out. Carefully he folded his topcoat and laid it as a pillow on the floor. He put one of the blankets on the floor and, fully clothed, lay down on it, tucking the other blanket around him.

  So began the night, which proved to be acutely uncomfortable and very, very cold. He could find no succour in attempting to go through the list of people who might have accused him: Pengelly, Cunningham, the gossipy, all-seeing publican – even the doctor himself? He shook his head and managed to find a little sleep just before daybreak.

  The clang of the door awoke him and the giant jailer brought in a board, which contained – again no plate – two rashers of bacon, the fat already congealing on them, a piece of bread and a mug of tea. At least the bacon and the tea were comparatively hot and he devoured both, before washing, again in cold water – he could not, of course, shave and this worried him, because Josh had meticulously shaved all his life, even when at sea in stormy weather. He did not fancy facing the good Sir George, looking like an unshaven ruffian.

  But the magistrate did not put in an appearance that day and it was not until halfway through the following morning that his door was thrown open and the jailer cried out, ‘Stand up for Sir George Lansbury.’

  Josh rose immediately and regarded his visitor with interest. He looked liked the artist’s caricature of the English landed gentleman, in fact, he reminded Josh of the cartoons depicting John Bull he had seen in Somerset during his boyhood and dating from the Napoleonic wars. Sir George was of medium height but wide in build and portly. His red face was dominated by a cherubic nose and fringed by luxuriant side whiskers. He wore a stunted top hat of the ‘John Bull’ variety and a white cravat tucked into a shirt poking out from the checked waistcoat, which tried its best to restrain a very large waistline. Riding breeches and boots completed the picture of rural prosperity.

  ‘Sit down, boy,’ he gestured. ‘Sit down.’ His nose wrinkled. ‘Good gad, jailer. Don’t you ever clean out these cells? See to it as soon as I have gone. D’hear?’

  ‘Very well, Sir George.’

  The magistrate took out a vivid red handkerchief and mopped his brow. ‘Devilish hot,’ he said, to no one in particular. Then to Joshua. ‘But not in here. How many blankets have you got, boy?’

  ‘Two, sir. But they are extremely thin.’

  Sir George looked up immediately, in some surprise at Joshua’s cultured tones, tinged with a West Country burr. ‘Get him another blanket, jailer. He could freeze overnight and then I would have to sentence you to transportation, for what … ? Well, manslaughter in the least.

  ‘Well, now. What have we got here?’ He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, adjusted a pair of reading glasses and pulled out a sheet of paper. ‘Ah, he’s the only one this morning. Thank God for that …’ His voice trailed away as his lips formed one word: ‘Murder’.

  ‘By Gad, sir! Murder! Don’t get many of those down here.’ He looked at Joshua across the top of his spectacles. ‘Did you do it?’

  ‘Of course not, sir. I’ve never killed anyone in my life. I don’t even know the details of the charge and who has brought it. I am a sailor, a qualified second mate, who was shipwrecked on Morwenstow, on the north coast of Cornwall, some weeks ago. I injured a leg on the rocks there.’ He lifted up his leg. ‘I am still trying to recover, sir.’

  Lansbury stared at him for a moment, frowning. ‘I don’t care a damn about the state of your leg or where and why you landed here, sir. The point is that you have been accused of killing another human being unlawfully and you must be tried for it. As for your accusers,’ he consulted his paper, ‘they are, of course, the local militia. But someone obviously has given them information about the crime and you have been indicted. Who this person or persons are will come out at your trial.’

  ‘When will that be, sir?’

  ‘Oh, pretty damned quick, I would say. Just for once, we do not have a long list of miscreants waiting for trial in Barnstaple. I should explain that you will come before me in my magistrate’s court. As this is a capital charge and beyond the jurisdiction of my court, my task will purely be to examine the evidence put before me and decide whether it is sufficiently strong to commit you for formal trial at the Assizes in Exeter. If you are found guilty there you will be hanged. Very few people are acquitted of this sort of crime.’

  Sir George spoke without emotion. ‘However, sir, you should know that just because the militia brings people before me, I certainly do not shirk my duty and simply pass ’em on to the higher court as a matter of form. No, sir, I have no desire to qualify as a wig-wearer. Certainly not.’ He wheezed at his jest and blew his nose loudly on the red handkerchief.

  ‘In these cases, I always – always, sir – make absolutely certain that the evidence presented to me is convincing enough to qualify it being presented properly at the Assizes. I believe I can say that I have that reputation, which is, I must confess, a tad unusual amongst magistrates in these parts.’

  Joshua nodded. ‘Well, I thank you for that, Sir George. What happens, pray, if you are not so convinced?’

  ‘The case is dismissed. But do not take away the impression that this often happens. Indeed no, sir. The militia must have been impressed with the evidence against you before bringing the case. So do not build up your hopes.’

  Josh felt his mouth go dry. Whoever was behind this charge was obviously determined to see him hang. ‘Will I be able to see the evidence before I appear before you, sir?’

  ‘Oh yes. But I will have no delayin’ tactics in my court, sir. Be sure of that.’

  ‘Delaying tactics?’

  ‘Yes. Lawyer johnnies presentin’ points of law to hold everythin’ up.’

  ‘Ah, so I will be able to appoint someone to defend me?’

  Lansbury sniffed. ‘If you can afford it. I am not here to give you advice – and damn it,’ he pulled out a silver Hunter watch from his waistcoat, ‘I have wasted enough time here as it is. But if your resources are limited, as I suspect is the case, then you will probably be best advised to save your pennies and spend them on getting the best man you can to represent you at the Assizes. Now I must go. Jailer!’

  The jailer had left them during the conversation but Sir George’s stentorian cry brought him back almost immediately.

  ‘Right. I am off. See to cleaning this cell and getting another blanket.’

  Josh stood. ‘I am most grateful to you, sir, for taking the time to advise me. But I shall need help. May I have a visitor who can advise and help me?’

  ‘Certainly. But we can’t chase after ’em. If they arrive,’ he nodded to the jailer, ‘they must be admitted on proof of identity. No shilly-shallying. Understood?’

  ‘O’course, sir.’ The jailer knuckled his forehead.

  With a brisk nod, Sir George Lansbury swept out, the jailer pausing only to lock the cell door before hurrying after him.

  Joshua sat and thought quickly. He must get word at once to Doctor Acland and to Rowena. They were his only hope. He stood and banged on the door.

  Th
e jailer arrived, this time scowling. He had obviously not taken kindly to being criticised on the state of the cell. ‘Don’t you go bangin’ the door. You’re a murderer, not someone summonin’ service in an inn. Now what the ’ell do you want?’

  Joshua showed him a shilling. ‘Can you bring me a pencil, paper and an envelope? I must get word to my, er, lawyer. Another shilling afterwards if you can have it posted today. It is urgent.’

  The jailer’s attitude immediately changed. ‘Oh, of course.’

  The writing implements appeared and Joshua sat and scribbled a note to Dr Acland:

  I am being held in Barnstaple jail. I will be allowed visitors. Can you journey to see me, because I need legal help? I am to be formally charged in the magistrate’s court soon and then almost certainly referred to the next Assizes in Exeter. My life is in danger. Please do come.

  He tucked the message in the envelope and, this time, called through the grill on the door: ‘Jailer.’

  The man appeared quickly and unlocked the door. Joshua held up the two shillings. ‘This is to be posted quickly,’ he said. ‘You have been kind to me and I am grateful and sorry if I have caused you problems with Sir George, but if this man does not visit me soon, I will realise that you have not posted the letter. Then there will be no more shillings from me. Understood?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir.’ The shillings were quickly pocketed and the door slammed shut and locked again.

  Once more Joshua sat on the bed and put his head between his hands. Obviously, the so-called evidence that would be presented to the court would have to be challenged and proved to be fiction, but without knowing the details of the charge, he could not think constructively about it at this stage. He clenched his fist in anger. Oh, why had he shipped on that coffin ship Lucy? His life had been equable until then. Afterwards he had been shipwrecked, surrounded by violence, suspicion, and – he had to admit it – suppressed lust for an eighteen-year-old girl. Now he faced the hangman’s noose. What had he done to deserve all this?

  The self-pity, however, soon disappeared when the giant jailer – Josh realised now that he was dumb – arrived with a blanket, a bucket of hot water, scrubbing brush and mop and set about cleaning the cell. He paid no attention at all to its occupant, apart from throwing the blanket at him, and the water was splashed everywhere. Josh made a virtue of necessity by giving the mattress a superficial wash. He felt that lying on the wet straw was preferable to being invaded by lice.

  Dr Acland and, to his delight, Rowena, arrived the next day at midday. He realised that they must have set off before they received his letter and he shook the doctor’s hand warmly before embracing his daughter.

  ‘Take the chair, Doctor,’ he said, ‘and Rowena sit on the mattress. It’s still a little damp but spread your raincoat upon it and it should be comfortable enough.’ He sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you have come.’

  Rowena sat silently but with tears streaming down her cheeks. The doctor pulled a face. ‘What foul conditions,’ he said. ‘I have never been in a jail before and this place gives me an added reason to stay on the right side of the law.’

  Josh thought of the cognac and fine china and smiled inwardly. ‘Doctor, can you tell me anything about the charges that have been brought against me? Who has done this?’

  ‘Have they not told you?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Well, my boy, I can’t help you there. The militia will not reveal details until your trial. Cunningham says he cannot help. And that’s that. Now, listen. I am here to do two things. To try and get you out on bail – we have visited the magistrate’s office this morning and there is no question of that. The charge of murder, it seems, is too, er, extreme to allow bail. But I have been able to secure the services of a lawyer to represent you at your committal trial. You will need one.’

  ‘Oh, I am so grateful. But how will I pay him? I have only a few guineas left, saved for my, er,’ he stole a quick glance at Rowena who was sitting staring at him with wide eyes, ‘er, future and I doubt if it will be enough.’

  The doctor held up his hand. ‘Don’t worry about that. I shall settle this. He is not exactly a Queen’s Counsel but he is all I could get at short notice. I understand your committal trial is to be the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Good Lord! They are wasting no time. I shall find a way of repaying you, sir.’

  ‘Think nothing of that. Now we will stay for the trial, of course, and I have arranged for this young lawyer – his name is Bright, and I distinctly hope he is – to come in this afternoon and you must tell him all you know. We will return with him. I have bribed the jailer fellow to allow this.’

  The doctor leant forward. As his face moved into the light cast from the high window, Joshua noticed how much older he looked, with deep furrows running across his brow and from the corners of his mouth to his chin. ‘Now, all is not lost, my boy. Obviously, it would be best if we could avoid committal to the Assizes but if we have to go to Exeter, then that gives us more time to arrange your defence.’

  Rowena thrust something into his hand. ‘I managed to find a hot-pie shop that was open this morning,’ she said. She smiled wanly. ‘It is not my cooking but this is still warm and will probably be better than anything they give you here. Eat it now, while it is hot.’

  ‘Oh, thank you. Just what I need.’ He broke open the pie and offered pieces to the doctor and Rowena but they both declined, so he began eating hungrily.

  ‘It is not knowing what they are saying I did,’ he said between mouthfuls, ‘that is so frustrating. How can we construct a defence if we do not know this?’

  ‘We will talk to young Mr Bright this afternoon about that.’

  And so they did. Bright proved to be young, indeed, in fact hardly into his twenties, Joshua estimated, but already with a pronounced stoop and a receding hairline. He was tall, thin and bespectacled and he seemed to possess a nervous cough.

  As the three of them filed into the cell the young man looked about him with distaste. Oh no, thought Josh, don’t tell me that he has never seen the inside of a cell before!

  The lawyer took the only chair as, it seemed, a matter of right, and Acland and Rowena sat on the mattress, while Josh squatted on the floor once again.

  ‘Now Mr Wisland,’ began Bright.

  ‘No. It’s Weyland,’ said Josh.

  ‘Ah yes, of course. Weyland.’ He looked down at his notes. ‘I understand that you discovered the body? Where and how was this?’

  Joshua plodded through the events of that dramatic day while the lawyer made notes. In the end, he burst out: ‘Can you tell me, Mr Bright, who has brought these charges against me?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Well thank goodness for that. Who are they?’

  ‘It’s the militia, of course. It usually is in cases like this.’

  Josh sighed. ‘Yes, yes, I know that. But who has fed them the evidence and accusation against me? They would not do that unless they had been given such information, surely?’

  ‘Oh, quite so. Quite so. But we shall find that at the hearing, of course, and then I shall be able, er, to cross-examine the witnesses concerned.’

  ‘But won’t you need to prepare for that, in consultation, I presume, with me, beforehand?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think there will be time. You see, Sir George has arranged the hearing rather quickly. But have no fear. I shall cross-examine with, er, great care. Now, Doctor, please tell me again when you think the murder was committed.’

  ‘From my examination of the body, I think the man had been dead for about ten hours. Rigor mortis had set in.’

  ‘I see. Now Mr, er, Weymouth …’

  ‘Weyland.’

  ‘Ah yes, of course. Weyland. Forgive me. Can you tell me where you were on the evening before you discovered the body?’

  ‘Ah, yes. I believe I would have been having dinner at the doctor’s house with Miss Acland here.’
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  ‘And was anyone else there; the doctor, for instance?’

  Acland interrupted. ‘No, as I have already explained, I did not arrive back home until the next morning.’

  Bright nodded. ‘Ah, yes. Of course. So there was just the two of you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you leave the house later that night?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Very well.’ The young man stood. ‘That is good. We have a witness in Miss, er, Acland, which is good. That is all I need at the moment, I think. Now I must bid you good day. We will meet at the trial, of course. Be of good heart. Justice will prevail.’

  ‘Won’t we meet again before then, say tomorrow?’

  The young man adjusted his spectacles. ‘I fear not. I have another case to prepare and time is short. Good day to you all.’

  Then he was gone.

  The three regarded each other in consternation. ‘I’m afraid that was not very impressive,’ sighed the doctor. ‘But I am assured by a senior partner in his practice that he is a young man of promise.’

  ‘Will you give evidence, sir?’

  ‘Oh yes. The coroner always must do so in this case. And I will endeavour to give evidence of your character and, indeed, of your medical condition. A man on crutches is not the obvious first choice for someone who has overpowered a young man in his prime.’

  ‘I should think not, Papa!’ Rowena’s face was full of indignation. ‘How could anyone think that Josh could do such a foul thing? Really!’

  Bright made no appearance the next day and neither did the doctor. Rowena, of course, visited Josh but she explained that her father was not well and had taken to his bed in the inn where they were staying.

  ‘Oh, don’t say that he will not be able to support me at the hearing!’ exclaimed Josh.

  ‘Of course he will, my love.’ They were sitting side by side on the mattress and she put her arm around him and pulled his head down onto her breast. ‘I am sure he will be there. And so will I, of course.’