by Mary Wood
‘I reckon as the least said and done is best. Lady Eleonore gave me this potion for you. She said it would help you to sleep. I’ll fetch you a cup of hot milk and then you can take it. Things’ll look better in the light of day.’
But nothing looked better when Katrina woke. The heavy, drugged feeling held her low. The news that Frederick had left for Blackburn, without saying when he would be back, punished her more than anyone could imagine. And despite her stubborn nature, which never allowed her to give in, she crumpled into a ball on her bed and wept.
Hours passed, before a knock at her door announced her mother-in-law. Lady Eleonore had regained her composure and looked younger than her years once more. ‘Katrina, dear, this won’t help matters. This is a dreadful situation, but it can – and has to – be handled. I have sent a telegram to your mother and received one back. She is on her way.’
‘Oh no.’
‘Yes. It is essential that we come together and contain this. The servants have all been briefed to the effect that your sister – that stupid girl – is ill. I have had Marcia removed to a friend of mine, until your mother can take her home, but in the meantime the staff believe she has gone to a sanatorium. Annie is a great help. She insists that she knows without doubt that you and Frederick slept together that night. I hope and pray that, with these measures in place, the staff are convinced, and this will not travel from servant to servant in house after house, as these things are inclined to. The staff believe that you are distraught about your sister’s illness and that Frederick has gone to fetch your mother. Now I need you to play your part. You are to wash, dress and come down, with your head held high and with as much dignity as you can muster. I want you to attend me in my sitting room, where we will talk and you will tell me how all this came to happen. If I die trying, I am going to disgrace that – that . . . Ooh, I don’t have words to describe him. But he will pay. Oh yes, Lord Bellinger will pay dearly for this.’
27
Ruth
The Trial
Ruth couldn’t have said what hurt her most. Agony encased her whole body. Lying on the hard bench in this solitary-confinement cell had caused the pain in her back to flare up, and it radiated through her. But at least things had improved a little since the first hearing.
Initially the blanket darkness had enveloped her, making her feel as though she was in a coffin. Panic had quickened her breathing until she thought she would suffocate, but she had got used to it and had kept her eyes closed most of the time.
The worst was not knowing whether it was day or night. She’d tried to keep the hours in her head. She’d worked on the assumption that the night was when the rats’ scurrying feet made a noise that was almost as loud as the clogs of the cotton-mill workers going to and coming back from their shift. Her screams, when the rats first appeared, had worn her out and made her feel as though she was going mad. Now, when they came, she scrunched herself up in the corner and waited, knocking the rats away from her if she felt their bodies touch her.
Dirt had matted her most of the time in those early days, and her slop bucket had overflowed or been knocked over by the rats, before anyone came to change it. The first time someone came she’d begged them to help her. Her sobs had hurt her chest with the vicious way they had flowed from her, but the man had kicked her away, knocking Ruth unconscious. His action held fear of her rather than malice. After that, she’d remained quiet and as far away as she could from whoever came to her cell.
Every few days or so – she had no way of marking the time – her door would open and buckets of soapy water gushed in, thrown with force by a person unseen. Sometimes it drenched her. And then for a little while afterwards the putrid air would lighten and she would feel a bit better. Her only food had been shoved inside her cell through the door: a basin of water and some bread. As soon as the door had closed, she’d made her way to her meagre meal, holding onto the wall and counting the bricks, moving slowly so as not to knock it over, and then lifting it and taking it to the bench. She eked out this ration, not knowing if she would get another. But it had come each day.
Tiredness had become her friend, and still was, as the more she slept, the less she needed to endure it all. After the first hearing at the court, things had improved. Now she had a bowl of water and a towel every day, and a candle and matches, which she made last by blowing the candle out every so often. Her slop bucket was emptied two or three times a day. This, she knew, was because she had a lawyer.
Through all of this she worried about Alice: how could an old lady like Alice stand this? But she had been afraid to ask. It had been the first thing she’d told Mr Cotram, but not even he had been able to gain access to her, even though Alice was a key witness. When he’d said he would get an order, or some such, to force them to let him talk to her, they told him that Alice was too ill and was back in the hospital. He’d visited and had told Ruth that Alice wasn’t conscious and was close to death. Hope had died at that moment, leaving Ruth sure of her own death; and yet her despair had vied with a wish that Alice, for her own sake, would die and know some peace.
After this Ruth had been convinced that she would hang – so much so that she tried to strangle herself, to see what it felt like. It hurt, and she hadn’t even been able to cut off her breath. The rope would do that. The pressure would be so strong, the loop so tight . . . And then her neck would break, when the rope fell as far as it could go. Would she feel the pain of that?
Nothing had given her hope until Haydon Green had come. She’d held onto that hope as soon as she received the message Mr Cotram had given her from the Earl, saying that he had put Haydon onto trying to gather what information he could to help her. This went some way towards Ruth almost forgiving the Earl for not coming to see her. Though it was strange that he hadn’t said why he hadn’t been. Mr Cotram had no idea, and had been shocked that Ruth had such a friend and yet had suffered so much.
She wondered if it was because the Earl didn’t want to be seen to be giving her too much attention. But she discarded this, as a man such as the Earl could do as he pleased, and no one would dare to stop him.
The key turning in her cell door, and hearing Mr Cotram’s cough – the one he gave every time as he was about to enter – stopped her heart. Today must be the day. He’d said the next time he’d come would be the day of the trial.
Shifting her bottom and twisting herself till her one good leg hung over the side of the bench, Ruth tried to rise. Holding onto the wall and dragging her gammy leg, which was already hurting as much as she could endure, she groaned. It throbbed with even more pain as she lowered it over the side, too. It hurt both on the inside and the outside, as the sores, which were still not healed, ate into her flesh, exposing her bones in places; and they hung in pus-filled sacs of skin in others. Her despair deepened as she reached the door and the stench of ale-soaked breath hit her. Mr Cotram was drunk. His greeting confirmed this.
‘Ulshers. That’s what they are on your legs, girl. Ulshers, and they should be sheen to. You could get gangrene, then you’ll be in a proper mesh, girl. I know ulshers when I see them. I’ve had enough, on account of my blood doeshn’t go round fast enough, or so the quack shays.’
Anger at him, and at the plight he might put her in, saw Ruth talking to him in a sharp tone. ‘Well, ta very much for caring about me, but I reckon as you’ll more than likely not have to worry later, when they put the noose round me neck. No ulcers will matter then.’
‘That won’t happen. I have a defensh.’
If she’d been able to, she would have clawed at him, but not even her despair and anger could move her body. ‘The judge will laugh in your face, the state you’re in. I thought as you had more respect for the likes of me, but if you did, you would have made sure you were sober, so as you could give me every chance. I stand none now.’
All hope leaked from her as she looked at the lawyer, who’d given her the very hope she was now losing. His body wobbled on unsteady legs. Some pity
came into Ruth for him, as his expression showed his remorse. His jowls hung, his eyes did not look at her, and his lips worked as if he was chewing something, but she knew this was his effort to control them, as they seemed to want to hang slack.
As she’d got to know Mr Cotram over the last weeks, she’d found him to be a kind man, a learned one, and one with his heart in the right place, with a desire to make the lot of those such as herself a little better. It was a shame the drink had taken him. It was this affliction, Haydon Green had told her, that had gradually lost him clients and put him almost on the breadline. Feeling the pinch, he’d begun to think what it was like for those who never even reached the breadline, and wondered how they got justice. He’d talked to other lawyers. And so the Union of Solicitors and Lawyers against Injustice for the Poor was formed. But it appeared that most of its members were too busy to participate actively, so they just put money into a monthly fund and left Mr Cotram to take up the cases he felt were most deserving. This made her wonder if the lawyers really cared, as they must know that, at worst, he’d not turn up at court when he should, and at best he wasn’t really capable, as he couldn’t leave the drink be.
‘Look, I’m sorry as I snapped. It’s cos I’m scared. From what happened last time, the judge ain’t for me and would sooner see me hanged than look at me. And you coming today must mean that I have to go to court?’
‘It doesh. But nothing will happen, I promish. I can shober up. The trial is the last of the day – two o’clock – and it is only twelve now. I just wanted to shee as you were all right and to get you these clothes.’ The candle flickered from the draught he caused as he threw a parcel onto her bench. ‘You’re not to worry. Haydon has given me plenty of stuff and I have a good case. I’ll go now and shleep this off, as I’ve all my papers in order for M’Lord judge.’ With this, he swayed towards the door, where he turned, saying, ‘I’ll tell the warden as shomeone should dress your wounds.’
‘Naw, don’t do that. The more fuss is made of me, the worse they treat me. Does you know if the Earl is coming today?’
‘He is. And he told me to tell you he has arranged for your shister—’
‘Our Amy! Naw. What if I get to hang? He shouldn’t have done that. It’ll be too much for us both. She—’
‘I can’t stop it. The Earl is a law unto himshelf.’
There was nothing more she could say. It was all out of her hands. Just before he left, Ruth asked him to set the bowl of water and towel on the bottom of her bed. She’d have to make some effort to look better than she knew she must appear, if only for Amy’s sake.
The door of her cell closed, enclosing her once more in darkness. She lay back down, careful to avoid the water. She’d become adept at moving around in the dark and sensing where things were.
The tear that seeped out of the corner of her eye trickled into her ear, as the folk she’d loved and lost came to mind. And to think, Ma, that I’m to see our Amy today. But, eeh, I didn’t want to see her while I’m like this. Help me, Ma, help me.
Wiping the tear away did no good, as another followed. Inside she felt a hollow pit of despair. If this were her last day on earth, she would face it with courage, like her ma said: ‘Build up your self-worth, me precious lass, as despite your gammy leg, you are worthy of folk’s respect, but you’ll only get it if you respect yourself.’
With this thought, she pulled herself through the pain to sit up and set about washing and dressing herself. If for no one else, she had to look right for Amy.
It lifted Ruth some to have the same warden come for her. Though he showed no sign of knowing her, she knew this was to keep the help that he gave secret, and she respected that. Coming out into the light hurt her eyes, making it impossible to open them until they arrived at the court. It was the shock that overcame her, as the warden clamped heavy irons on her wrists and feet, that got her opening her eyes and looking at him. His look told of his pity, but his words were harsh. ‘All prisoners facing the death-penalty have to have irons on, as the likes of such go mad sometimes, when the sentence is passed. This makes it easy to drag them to the gallows and get it done.’
‘It – it would be that quick?’
‘Aye, afore midnight usually. Now, shut your mouth. I ain’t for talking to no prisoners.’
Again she knew this was a cover, but still it hurt. ‘I’ve to say ta for everything.’
‘I said you’re to shut up!’
His hands grabbed her. Ignoring her cry of agony, he lifted Ruth and carried her into the courtroom. The sound of her name, on a gasp of pain, got her looking upwards. Amy was looking down at her. The sight of her beloved sister had Ruth’s heart taking on the weight of a bucket overflowing with water. Tears threatened, but she swallowed them down and smiled. Trying to raise her arm to wave proved impossible, as the irons were too heavy for her, but at least she knew she looked the best she could in the grey frock, with a white bib insert. And somehow she’d managed to tug the comb that Mr Cotram had left for her through her tangled, greasy hair. While doing so, she lamented the loss of her beloved ribbon.
Just along from Amy another dear face appeared. Lines of anguish creased it. The Earl! Ruth gave him a weak smile. Did she see him wipe away a tear? A loud sob cut through the silence, bringing her attention back to Amy. ‘Don’t cry, our lass. Be strong for me. Everything’ll be all right,’ Ruth muttered.
‘Shut up. You’re not allowed to speak. You can be done for Contempt, or trying to influence the jury. Just keep quiet.’ This the warden said in a kinder voice.
They had reached the dock and he sat her down. The iron on her gammy leg chafed at her sores. Now she could see the front of the court. The bench on the left looked busy: two men shuffled papers. The one on the right stood empty. He hasn’t come. Oh God!
A familiar voice brought some hope back into her. ‘May I approach the prisoner, Sir?’
Haydon! Oh, thank God.
At the warden’s nod, he leaned forward. ‘Hello, my dear, don’t be afraid. Everything will be all right. There’s some good testimonies. Have you seen Cotram?’
‘Oh, Haydon, he were drunk.’
On her telling of Mr Cotram’s visit, Haydon’s shocked ‘Good God – damn the man!’ ground Ruth’s fear even deeper. ‘Look, I’ll sort something. I’ll talk to the Earl. And, Ruth, you look nice. Nothing like a witch. Keep calm, and keep your head down. Don’t look at anyone. Rumour has put fear into folk. The jury are all God-fearing people, so they won’t be looking to believe in witchcraft, but we don’t want them thinking you try to use your powers, as it is said that just the fear of this can induce death. That’s the angle the prosecution is taking. Don’t give anyone reason to believe it.’
With this, she knew her own doom. How could she convince folk that she didn’t try to use her powers? If the prosecutors knew about the lads back in Pradley and . . . Oh God, she mustn’t think about the deaths on that terrible night of the fire. Josh . . . my Josh. At this, she couldn’t stop the tears. They flowed without her bidding. Perhaps I should give in. Tell them I done the murders – all of them – because there is one that is laid at me door. Going to the gallows will atone for that, and aye, it will take me out of me misery and back to Josh and Ma, Da and little Elsie. Aye, that’s what I’ll do. I’m sorry, our Amy. Sorry to the heart of me. But you’ll come to know it’s for the best. Folk’ll never let me live in peace.
With this, a serenity of the kind she’d not known for a long, long time settled in her and she knew she’d made the right decision. Even the thought of the rope tightening, and the snapping of her neck, didn’t change her mind. It would all be over in a second, but her release would be eternal. She was tired and in unendurable pain. This world wasn’t for her. Lifting her head, she shouted, ‘God have mercy on my soul!’
Silence clawed at her, then a hubbub started up all around. Above it all she heard Amy screaming, and the Earl calling out her name: ‘Ruth, no. Ruth, don’t give up. Don’t. RUTH!’
&nb
sp; This last followed her into the pit of blackness into which she descended.
Cold water brought her round. It hadn’t been splashed onto her, but trickled gently over her. Opening her eyes, she looked into those of her beloved Earl. ‘Ruth, come on. I will speak for you. I don’t care what the world thinks. Come on, my love.’
‘Aye, and I will an’ all,’ said the warden. ‘I knows what went on, M’Lord. I don’t care about me job, except as being in there, I can help them, in me own way.’
‘I know your way, Warden, and it is a good one. But, you know, sometimes speaking up can help even more. As you know at first hand what goes on in that terrible place, and you will be listened to. Thank you – your courage will be rewarded. Ruth, there are people here from Pradley. They seek to discredit you, but don’t react to them. They don’t know it, but Haydon Green has been working through all the evidence, and he was witness to some of it. He has material that will send most of those who survived to jail – and some, like Whalley Bradstone, to the gallows. Life will change for you; it will.’ His head drooped. ‘I did wrong by you, Ruth, my love. I should not have arranged for you to go to jail. I should have taken you right away from it all. Hidden you somewhere you wouldn’t have been found. Looked after you. I – I’m sorry. Oh, Ruth, I’m sorry.’
She couldn’t even smile at him. Her heart had turned to a solid mass of impenetrable coldness. And her decision had been locked inside it. Nothing could change that.
‘I – I killed your brother.’
‘What? My God, Ruth, you’re delirious. Don’t say such a thing. You didn’t, it was an accident. An accident.’
In this last there was a seed of doubt. It was up to her to make the Earl believe her, so that he could let her go. ‘I killed him. I hit him with the butt of his gun and he died.’
This time the Earl remained silent, staring at her, but still a little doubt showed in his eyes. And, she knew, that was the way of it. If she told the truth, she wasn’t believed; and yet they could lay vile things at her door and they would all be believed.