Evidence bearing out the above details was given. The court rose at half past five, at which time the case for the prosecution was not concluded.
The case for the prosecution was continued yesterday morning.
Dr. Alexander Gray, Dalton-in-Furness, deposed that he attended the elder prisoner in her confinement at her father’s house on 15 Dec. 1882. She was then delivered of a male child. When attending the prisoner’s mother in April this year he saw a little boy apparently just over two years of age at the house.
Agnes Creary, wife of John Creary, Lower Brook-street, Ulverston, stated that at Whitsuntide, 1883, the elder prisoner, then Grace Gardner, visited her at Ulverston, having with her a baby a few months old. She said the child’s name was James Thomas Gardner, and that its father was a man named Dockray, living at Dalton. As she (Grace) was going to a situation she wished to place the child out to nurse, and witness undertook the care of it for 4s.6d. a week. She kept the child for 27 weeks. In consequence of not receiving her money regularly she returned the child to Grace’s father’s house.
Mrs. Coward, Dalton-in-Furness, gave evidence as to nursing a child named Thomas from the Gardners’ house in November 1883, and kept it till June, 1884.
Mrs. Jane Gordon stated that she, in the course of last summer nursed the child known as Thomas Gardner. He was the same child whose body she saw at the Black Bull, Slaidburn, at the inquest. At that time some of the clothes which had been produced were worn by the child.
Further evidence was given respecting letters received by Mrs. Creary, which were afterward read by his Lordship. The writer, who was then in service at Crosshills, chiefly concerned herself in the letters about the welfare of the child, and the struggle she had to pay the money necessary for his maintenance. There were also several letters to Mrs. Gordon from Meanley, one or two of them after Grace Gardner was married, and these also referred to the child and the payment for its nursing.
Elizabeth Dockray, aged 15, living at Dalton, said she saw Isabella on one occasion this year and she then told her she was going to see her sister and would take her sister’s child Thomas. Did not know any other Elizabeth Dockray at Dalton.
Dorothy Dockray, an inmate of the Ulverston Workhouse, said she had a child — the only one she had had — which was in the Workhouse with her. Grace Gardner did on one occasion ask her to nurse the child Thomas Gardner, but she declined. Grace had told her that the father of the child was Wm. Dockray, a miner.
Evidence was called to disprove the statement as to Grace Gardner and Elizabeth Dockray having lived at Silecroft in service, and Thomas Thornton, landlord of the Black Bull Inn, Slaidburn, stated that on Saturday night, May 16th, neither Stables nor a woman calling herself Elizabeth Dockray was at his house.
Mr. H. A. Bridgeman, surgeon, Slaidburn, who made the post mortem examination, attributed death to asphyxia by drowning.
Mr. Thomas Scattergood, surgeon, Leeds, and lecturer on forensic medicine in the medical department of the Yorkshire College, said the evidence was consistent with death by suffocation by covering the mouth, but the probabilities were in favour of death by drowning.
Isabella here read a written statement to the jury, in which she said that John Isherwood had been very kind to her sister. He suspected that the child was hers, but she denied it to him, and said it was Elizabeth Dockray’s. She being afraid that he would find it out, they arranged to get it into the Workhouse at Clitheroe, and, failing that, they agreed to take it home, her sister saying that she would tell John all about it. They accordingly wrapped it in the rugs, and it was quiet all the way home. She (Isabella) lifted it out of the cart and placed it on its feet, but it fell to the ground as though it were dead. They dared not take it into the house, being afraid that the husband would think they had done something at it. They agreed that she (Isabella) should take the child in the direction of Slaidburn, Grace following as soon as she could. She went and turned back again, then met her sister, and went with her along the Easington-road to Langcliffe Cross Bridge. There they decided to put the child into the water, Grace remarking that they must take the coat off. They did so, and Grace handed her the dead little boy. She decided to put the body where it would soon be seen, and carried it to the river. Neither of them did anything to it.
Mr. Gane, there being no witnesses for the defence, then addressed the jury, whose attention he called to the improbability of the suggestion that the child was suffocated in the rugs. Considering the size of the child, its healthy condition and the nature of the journey from Clitheroe, could it be believed that the child could meet its death in this way without the attention of the women being called to it?
Mr. Tindal Atkinson said the defence was, and had been throughout, that the child was dead when it was put into the water, and did not meet its death by drowning. He pictured the painful position in which the mother of the child was placed as the wife of a respectable man, who was unacquainted with the fact that she had more than one illegitimate child, and who, with the knowledge that there was another child, would possibly become estranged from her; and went on to argue upon the improbabilities which in his opinion were noticeable in the case for the prosecution. He pointed out that on the way from Clitheroe to Slaidburn there was every opportunity of disposing of the child had the women entertained this murderous design, and was simply inconceivable that having this idea, the child should have been brought all the way to the farm and then taken to a spot where any act of theirs was open to the view of anyone passing the bridge. He showed how the medical evidence came to no definite conclusion on the question of death by drowning, and urged the fact of undigested food, which had been partaken of at Clitheroe, being found in the stomach, as conclusive evidence that death must have taken place before the body was placed in the Easington brook.
His Lordship summed up to the jury in a most exhaustive manner, his address lasting considerably over an hour, and embracing all the facts of the case.
The jury retired to consider their verdict at five minutes to six o’clock, and were absent three-quarters of an hour. They then returned into court with a verdict of acquittal in the case of both the accused. The result was applauded in a crowded court.
The Result Was Applauded in a Crowded Court
When the jury retired, it was nearly 6:00 p.m.
Back in their cell, Isabella was a bundle of nerves; every part of her anatomy was in some form of motion. Her seated body shook from the hips, radiating down to her feet and up to her head, and she flailed both hands at the wrists as if to shake the tension from her body out through her hands. For once she didn’t say much, just sat there, periodically shutting her eyes.
Grace was the same small, pale bundle of a person she had been throughout, eyes wide and terrified. John, still in the courtroom, was frightened too, but he felt it his responsibility to seem confident. He had put his faith and his fortune in the hands of Mr. Atkinson, and he would soon know if that faith had been misplaced.
For those still in the courtroom the waiting seemed interminable, punctuated as it was by moans emanating from Mrs. Gardner. No one blamed her, but the noise only added to the atmosphere of tension.
Mr. Atkinson had hurried from the courtroom and over to his chambers in Park Square, leaving Mr. Morley to monitor proceedings. As he walked briskly down the street, his thoughts on the outcome of the case veered from positive to anxious. He had become quite sympathetic to the plight of his clients, and certainly did not want them to hang for their crime. He had a suspicion that the judge had similar feelings, although he knew he was unlikely to be able ever to confirm that suspicion.
As the twelve jurors, city dwellers all, filed back into the courtroom, they worked at making their faces unreadable. They had been instructed that the audience in the court would be scanning them for clues of their verdict, and that they must leave that information to the foreman to read out.
A verdict of “not guilty” was delivered, first for Grace, then, to a hushed and crowded c
ourt, for Isabella. A collective sigh of relief was heard, followed by an instinct to celebrate, which the judge quickly curbed. The plight of Grace and Isabella — Grace’s obvious delicacy and Isabella’s girlish feistiness — had clearly aroused the protective instincts of those present.
On hearing the verdict, Grace and Isabella, both stunned, sank into their seats in the dock. Isabella had picked up her crumpled statement and was spindling it in her hands. A little dazed, she then looked about for the young lawyer to whom she believed she owed her life.
Grace focused on Justice Wills, her eyes filled with abject gratitude. She did not fully understand it all, but she felt certain that his lengthy and detailed summation of the case had moved things in their favour.
Grace didn’t shift her gaze from the judge until she was jolted into movement by the clerk of the court intoning “All rise,” and the judge left for his chambers. Only then did she turn to look for John.
Summoned by messenger, Edward Tindal Atkinson had hurried back from his chambers, managing to look poised and relaxed as the jury had filed into the court. He had been acutely aware that the outcome of the case was delicately balanced. He accepted the ensuing grateful tears and handshakes from the Isherwoods and the Gardners graciously.
“A fortunate outcome,” he murmured softly to Charles as they gathered up their papers and left the court.
The Youngest Witness
Three times she’d had to stand up in front of old men with serious faces and tell them what had happened that evening. Three times her father and the men who asked the questions had assured her that all she had to do was tell the truth, tell what happened as accurately as she could remember.
She told what she had seen. Mother and Aunt Isabella had been away to Clitheroe all day and, when they got back, things were hurried and confused. She had run out into the yard when she heard the trap drive up, eager for her tea, but the women had barely noticed her there.
Aunt was already out of the trap and holding a bundle wrapped in a shawl. She said something in a low voice to mother, then she went off down the meadow. Mother came into the house, handed baby James to her with barely a word of greeting, and then went off out again herself.
James was in a sorry state, wet and cold, and she had to tend to him right away. Before she could even change his nappy, he started crying. The others were hungry. They’d had nothing to eat since midday, so she fixed them all a piece of bread and cheese while Dick dandled the dry and happy James on his knee.
The trap was just sitting there in the yard, the horse still in the traces and the groceries ignored in the footwell, when her da came in from milking. She could tell he was shocked at the state of things, but he said nothing, just carried in the groceries, asked Matthew to return the trap, and went off over the fields himself.
It was late when the adults all got back. She’d had to put the boys to bed all by herself. Matt had been no help at all. He claimed he was tired from taking the trap back and then stabling the horse. From below, she could hear Aunt Isabella talking fast and loud, loud enough to wake the children, and she could hear da speaking slow and soft. She couldn’t hear mother saying anything at all.
After the policeman took mother and aunt away, she’d had to tell her story first at the Black Bull and then over in Bolton-by-Bowland. She had always wanted to visit Bolton-by-Bowland, where her friend Hattie was born, but the trip had been no fun. It was all driving and sitting around and waiting and da was very stern. She saw mother and Isabella in the room at the courthouse in Bolton. They kept shutting their eyes like they weren’t listening, but when the man asked mother if what Maggie had said was true, she had answered “Yes.”
After the journey to Bolton-by-Bowland, mother still didn’t come back to the farm. Da seemed to be so upset and busy and he hardly ever joined the family for tea anymore. He was always off somewhere.
It seemed a bit like the time after ma had died. No one paid her and the boys much notice and they were able to run a bit wild. Grandma Gardner called them a bunch of little hooligans, but she was smiling when she said it. Aunt Margaret let them come to her house for tea whenever they wanted, as long as they promised to tell grandma where they were.
The kids who lived at Town End had a new game. They wrapped a straw doll in an old bit of rag and ran about shouting, “Hide it, quick.” Then one of them would play the farmer and go looking for the wrapped up dolly. Maggie and the boys never got asked to play with them and Aunt Mary told them: “You take no notice of those ragamuffins. They don’t know what they are playing at.”
Maggie had been looking forward to the trip to Leeds. She and Grandma Gardner went on the train all by themselves while the boys had to go over to Aunt Margaret’s to stay. Da was waiting for her and Grandma G. at the station, and he had found them lodgings in a public house. It was such an adventure that even the long faces of the adults couldn’t dampen her excitement.
Sleeping at the pub wasn’t at all the treat she had expected. There was a lot of noise from downstairs and she had to share the bed with Grandma Gardner. Grandma was soft and warm, but she snored so loud it shook the windows. Poor grandpa!
Grandma dressed her up for court. She even braided Maggie’s hair, although grandma didn’t quite pull the hair tight enough to make it tidy. At the courthouse, the bench she was left waiting on was hard wood and her feet wouldn’t touch the floor, but it wasn’t long before someone came and took her into the big room where she was asked to tell her story all over again.
She hadn’t seen mother and aunt for a long time and they both looked quite ill to her. Still, she smiled bravely at them. Her muslin dress with the little blue sprigs had been made by mother for her to wear on May Day, and she thought it suited her well. She tried not to think about how small she felt alone on the chair in that big formal room with everyone watching her.
When she had finished telling about the clothes that Thomas Dockray was wearing when she saw him last, she got to go and sit on the bench between da and grandma. At the lunch break, da wanted her to go back to their lodgings, but there was nothing to do there and grandma said she did not want to miss any of the trial by journeying back and forth. Maggie promised to be very quiet so that no one would notice her and da just sighed and patted her on the head.
Da had told her before they left Slaidburn that what was happening was called a trial and that the people like herself who were asked questions were called witnesses. There sure were a lot of them. She gave a little wave to Mrs. Wilson when it was her turn to speak at the front, but Mrs. Wilson did not wave back. Luckily, no one noticed.
Late in the day, grandma took her back to the public house where they had a boiled dinner and went right to bed. More snoring!
The next day at midmorning they went over to the courthouse again, where lots of old ladies talked about caring for little Thomas and about mother sending lots of letters and some money, although it seemed that what she sent was never enough. At times grandma would quietly say, “Oh dear, oh dear,” and one time the judge in his big white wig stopped talking and stared right down at her. That was scary, and afterward grandma was much quieter.
Lunch was a meat pie on the street, and it was after they had all settled in the courtroom again that she noticed Aunt Isabella had stood up to talk.
Aunt spoke very quietly so that even the judge had to lean forward to hear her, but her voice was clear. She told everyone that da had been so good to her sister that Grace didn’t want to tell him about Thomas. That was hard to understand. Da was good with children: he often carried James in his arms to church and he surely had been upset to learn that Thomas Dockray had died.
After aunt had said her piece and sat back down, there was a lot of talk about whether Thomas had drowned or suffocated. She really couldn’t understand why that mattered now. They had buried him even before summer had started.
Then they had to sit around waiting in the courtroom while the men called the jury went away, probably to get their tea.
She sure wished that she could have some tea instead of sitting in the big hot courtroom.
When the jury came back, everyone looked at them, probably wondering why they got to go specially and have something to eat. Then the red-nosed man with the big ears who sat at the end of the row stood up and told the judge that they had found the prisoners “not guilty,” and da and grandma jumped up and shouted, “Hooray.”
The judge said “Order in the court” in a big loud voice, and then he looked over at mother and Aunt Isabella and told them that they were free to go.
Mother and aunt just stood perfectly still and then slowly lowered their bodies into their chairs as if mesmerized. They stood up again suddenly when the clerk sitting below the judge’s bench called, “All rise!” and the judge swiftly left the room.
Grandma was all blown up with emotion, but she took a moment to explain that she and da had cheered because now mother and aunt could finally come home. Now her da was crying and he had gone over to put his arms around stepmother. Aunt Isabella, looking lost, walked over to them and laid her head on her mother’s soft bosom.
For her part, Maggie wasn’t sure if this turn of events made her feel happy or not. She needed to think.
Coming Home
The Slaidburn Angel Page 13