by Mary Hooper
The doctors and students observed this solemnly and in silence. Robert felt quite ill with disappointment.
Three fellows of Brasenose appeared, bristling with curiosity, having heard of what was going on. Nineteen people were now crowded into the room, not including the corpse.
“She does not hear us, and she does not swallow,” Dr. Willis sighed. “She appears to have no reflexes at all. What now?”
There was another long silence. “Perhaps the signs of life we observed were mere reactions of the nerves after death,” said Dr. Bathurst, somewhat reluctantly.
The others shook their heads unknowingly, then Mr. Clarke suddenly clicked his fingers together and dashed out of the room. He returned a moment later with a long quill feather.
“She is to mark her name?” Dr. Petty asked with an effort at a smile.
Mr. Clarke shook his head, holding the quill aloft. “One last thing to try . . . with your permission . . .”
Understanding what he meant, Drs. Bathurst and Willis between them managed to unclench Anne Green’s teeth once more, and Mr. Clarke inserted the long feather to tickle the back of her throat.
As one, the scholars and doctors leaned forward and held their breath. For a moment nothing happened, and then her limp body suddenly convulsed with a cough.
A thrill of excitement ran around the room.
“Again!” urged Dr. Willis, and the feather was inserted once more, to the same effect.
There were some gasps, several cheers, and muted applause from a dozen pairs of gloved hands. Robert, his hand shaking with excitement, wrote:
12.30 p.m.—Mr. Clarke obtained a feather. Anne Green’s teeth were unclenched and the back of her throat stimulated. She coughed three times.
Let her live on, Robert thought to himself. She must live . . .
Chapter ~ 19
What a short story mine seems, for it’s as though only minutes have passed since I awoke into this strange state. I’ve tried, several times, to see the angels again, to open my eyes (or to somehow see them, miraculously, through my eyelids) and feel the comfort of their presence in the black that surrounds me, but they do not appear. I wonder if I merely invented them to be a comfort to my troubled mind.
I survived my time in Oxford Jail because I truly believed that I only had to endure a certain number of days before the judge arrived and discovered me innocent.
I was prepared for the fact that I might be charged with fornication and was also prepared—indeed, almost willing—to take my chastisement for this, whether it was to be ducked, put into the stocks, or whipped behind a cart. After I’d endured this, I thought, then I’d endeavor to put the terrors I’d suffered behind me. I’d go home and live quietly with Ma and Pa until I was no longer a subject of gossip, then try to obtain a position as a laundress or glove maker, so that I wouldn’t be a burden to them. If I could, I’d find work in my own village, for I didn’t ever intend to go into service in a big house again. Hold the family you work for in high regard, I’d been told throughout my life. Obey your master with singleness of heart, for a good master will care for you like your own father. But who’d ever cared about me there, in the Reade household?
And one day, perhaps—or so I still dreamed—a kind young man might come along who I could trust, and I’d tell him all that had happened, and he’d still want to marry me. I tried not to think too much about this, however. I couldn’t believe in my heart that a good and true man would ever want me, and that as certain as the wolf is in the dog, he’d flee when he got breath of the ill luck and scandal that had been visited upon me.
Ma and Jane came to visit me again and, arriving on a day when my spirits were at a particularly low ebb, were able to cheer me somewhat. They brought some fresh bread with them, and a whole cheese and some cooked potatoes, and Jane also brought two pretty combs for my hair and a wash ball she’d made herself from pink soapwort, and these dainty things thrilled my heart. They brought news from home, too, for Bramble and Bracken were due to lamb after Christmas, and told me that the chickens had been frighted by a fox and had stopped laying; also that the cunning woman had treated Jacob Twister for a growth in his stomach and cured him completely (although I could not but show some disbelief at this). I listened eagerly to these stories of the outside world, but, once told, they flitted through my head like shadows, none seeming true or real. My only reality was the jail and getting through my time within it, minute by foul minute.
Every day I asked the turnkeys the date, and as it crept so slowly toward the fifteenth, I tried to temper my impatience, telling myself that the judge might have been held up on his journey and that I’d only had her—the whore’s—word for when he was due. That very day, however, on Friday the fifteenth day of December, we prisoners were roused early in the morning, and the turnkeys spread the word that on this day the judge would hear the cases of those of us who’d not yet been charged.
After we’d eaten the foul slop that passed for breakfast, Mr. Stegg, the prison governor, came down and read out some twenty names, including mine, and those called were herded and manacled together and presently led in a staggering, ragged procession out of the door I’d entered through two weeks before. This was the first time I’d been outside in all those days and, dazzled by the light, I wanted to stand and look about me and breathe in the fresh, frosty air. I dared not pause for more than a moment, however, or would have found myself upturned and dragged along by the others. I had just a few seconds to stare at the sky, and saw it was very soft and gray, tinged with pink, and the clouds drawn across it seemed like thin, translucent silk. There was but one tree to be seen, and although this was without leaves, frost had rimed its upper branches so that it sparkled in the chill air. And indeed everything about that small view of the world seemed different and heightened and beautiful after the darkness and stench of the jail.
We were taken across a mound of grass white with hoarfrost and then led to another part of the castle where the court was to meet, into a dim space named an anteroom. The judge was breakfasting, we were told by a man called an usher, and when he’d eaten and drunk all he wanted, then he would hear our cases. There was a wit among us by the name of Michael Lee, a footpad, small and shrunken and eaten up with scurvy, who, on hearing this, threw a shilling across to the usher and asked him to go and buy a decent bottle of brandy for the judge to have with his breakfast, because he would as soon have him merry as sober.
We waited a goodly time and there was not much talking among us, for, whether it was our first time or no, we were all afeared of what punishment we might receive and whether this might be accomplished quickly so that we could be out of jail for Christmas.
Michael Lee was called first. His irons were knocked off so that he was no longer chained to the rest of us, and he was pushed up the stairs that led to the courtroom. After only about ten minutes we heard a faint roar and some applause, and then he was pushed back into our room and manacled again.
We asked him how he’d fared, and he replied pretty well. He’d been sentenced to be branded on the cheek, and he professed he was content with this, for it was his third offense and he might have been hanged. He was more troubled than he cared to admit, however, and touched his cheek over and over, muttering that it was nothing at all, ‘twould be over very quickly, he would make sure he was in his cups so he wouldn’t feel a thing, and so on. In the end the others told him to quiet his mouth.
Another man went in then, accused of fraud. He was found guilty and sentenced to be sent to the Americas. They called an old widow woman next, who came back weeping, saying she’d been ordered to stay in the prison until someone paid the three shillings she owed her grocer, and she felt she might never see her home again.
There came another wait, and those of us who had not yet been called were a-twitching with the worry of it all. While we waited, I tidied my hair back as best I could with the combs that Jane had given me (although it felt lank and foul and was running with fleas), and
tried to rub some spots of dirt from my gown, for I didn’t want to appear frowsy and lackadaisical. Cleanliness is next to godliness, it says in a text on the wall of the dairy, which was sewn by Lady Mary’s own hand. If I looked clean, I wondered, would I appear more innocent? Was a maid who wore grimy clothes more likely to have killed her own babe?
At last an usher of the court came and called “Anne Green!” in a loud voice, and, although I had been waiting and looking forward to this moment for many days, when I heard that call of my name I felt a coldness and a terror go through me and became extreme afraid.
My manacles were struck off, and I’d just a moment to rub the smarting places on my legs where the bracelets had rubbed and blistered before I was pushed up the stairs by a uniformed sergeant at arms, who then followed me up and stood behind me all the while to prevent my escape.
My first impression of the courtroom was that we were in a church, for it was a tall and well-ordered space, with dark wooden paneling and windows all around. In this room were a great many seats and benches, and on these a number of people were seated. I’ve seen pictures of a play performed in a theater, and it reminded me something of this, for although the seats were at different angles, they faced toward one thing, and that thing was the little wooden box in which I was standing.
My legs were light and frail without the irons on them, and such was my apprehension of what was to come that I felt myself swaying and had to grip the edge of the box in order to stay upright. Once steady, I began hesitantly to look around me and saw, to my great horror, Sir Thomas and Lady Reade sitting very close and both staring at me with stone-cold eyes. Behind them the people seemed all of a blur, for my eyes were out of sorts having so much light after so long. I saw several of my fellow servants from the house, however, and my dear ma and pa dressed in their Sunday best, and my two brothers, who must have come from Banbury, and others whom I could not concentrate on or give name to just then, for I felt light in the head and full of wonder as to how I had ended up there.
To my right were seated two rows of gentlemen I took to be the jury, looking pompous and severe enough to make me tremble anew, and several legal gentlemen in wigs and gowns, and a lot more, I think, from the university, some with purple gowns, and some younger men who were perhaps scholars, with black gowns over their suits and an air of anticipation about them.
And all there to see me.
I began to sway and might have fallen if the sergeant at arms had not gripped my arm firmly, telling me in a harsh voice to keep my place. A man in a steel-colored wig, who was named Dr. Gray, then stood up and began to speak. He asked my name and where I was born and I told him, but I had to repeat this twice more, for he said he could barely hear me. And as I spoke, everything I said was written down by two scribes, who were sitting on low seats scribbling and scratching away with their quill pens.
I was asked to swear on the Holy Bible that I would speak the absolute truth, so help me God, which I did, and someone addressed me crossly, saying that I really must speak louder or they could not proceed, and when I looked up to where the voice had come from, I saw the judge for the first time. He was in velvet robes with fur at the edges and had a great waved mane of white hair. I found out later that his name was Judge Unton Croke, although I had to call him “my lord” whenever I addressed him.
Dr. Gray called the names of the men of the jury one by one, and said they were all gentlemen and would stand as jurors for his highness Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland, and Ireland, and I looked around fearfully in case he should be there too, but it did not appear he was. After calling out their names, Dr. Gray said that I could object to any of the jury if I wished, but I didn’t really understand what was meant by this, so said to him that I thought they’d do well enough, thank you kindly.
Someone stood, unrolled a parchment, and read out the charge against me, which was that on the first day of December in the year of Our Lord 1650 I had sought to cover the sin of fornication with a greater sin, namely I had most unnaturally and barbarously murdered my child so that it would not be discovered that I had conceived a bastard. And he asked if I pleaded guilty to this charge, or not guilty.
And I said not guilty, and he corrected me, “Not guilty, my lord,” and I repeated this.
And then things began to happen very quickly. Various people stood up in the courtroom and said different things, some of which I didn’t understand, and others went into another wooden box similar to mine and were spoken to by Dr. Gray or the judge and asked questions. And at some time Dr. Gray asked me if I’d known all along that I was with child.
I said that yes, I had thought that I was, and he then inquired how long it had been since my courses had ceased. This question embarrassed me somewhat, but I replied as sensibly as I could that I thought they had ceased about five or six months previous to my giving birth. Dr. Gray wanted to know if I’d informed my employers of my condition so that arrangements could be made for my lying-in, and I said I had not. And when he heard this, he said I had therefore concealed my condition from the world.
I began to weep and said I had not, for I had told my mother, and also told the father of the child.
“And who is the father?” asked Dr. Gray.
I took a breath, and was about answer up with the name of Master Geoffrey, when Sir Thomas stood up.
“I object,” he said. “How is the naming of the father of this poor dead infant relevant to this case?”
Dr. Gray said, “It may be—for perhaps its father had a hand in its demise.”
“But whatever she says, this girl’s word cannot be believed. Being caught out in her foul deed, she may name someone out of spite.”
“But I say it may be a way of discerning her intentions,” Dr. Gray answered. “Was she about to be married to the man in question, perhaps?”
“She was not,” Sir Thomas said. “And besides, she is nothing but a lying whore and always has been!”
I’m pleased to recall that there was a gasp of horror across the court at these spiteful words, and Sir Thomas was told to apologize to the judge for uttering them. He did so, but grudgingly, and I felt very much disquieted after.
I was asked about my travail in the house of office and how long I’d stayed there, and also if I’d picked up the child after I’d birthed it and tried to aid its breathing in any way.
I hesitated, longing to say that I had done something to help it, but, remembering that I was on an oath to speak the truth, did not dare. “The child was pale and still,” I replied haltingly, “and made neither sound nor movement, so I did not touch it.”
“But how did you know without a shadow of doubt that it was dead?” the judge asked me.
“I knew it, my lord, for it was too small to have ever lived,” I said, and these simple words sounded strange and unnatural to my own ears, and I began to be afeared that no one would believe me.
A midwife was brought up to the stand who said she’d been working for seventeen years and had attended hundreds of births, and they asked if she’d examined the body of my dead babe and what was her opinion of it. I held my breath here and could not look at her for fear of what she was going to say, but to my relief she answered up with conviction that in her opinion the child was not viable, for it was but nine inches long and hardly formed.
“It was formed enough for it to be seen that it was a male child, however,” Dr. Gray pointed out, and she admitted that this was correct. Someone else in the court asked if a certain test had been carried out to ascertain whether the lungs of the dead child had ever held air, and it was answered that it had not.
The midwife left the stand, and the judge addressed me. “Were you very frightened when you knew you were with child?” he asked.
“Yes, my lord.” I nodded. “For I knew the punishments that could be afforded me.”
“So did you ever seek to rid yourself of the burden of it?”
I felt my cheeks flush.
>
“Remember that you have put your hand on the book containing God’s word, and sworn to tell the truth before him,” he warned.
I hung my head. “Yes, I . . . I once took a cordial prescribed by a cunning woman,” I said, and heard a little stir in the court. He asked when this was, and I told him the truth of it.
“And—this cordial having not brought about the change you required, what arrangements did you make for your confinement?”
“I did not make any, my lord.”
“So it might be presumed from this that you did not ever intend the child to live?”
I heard a murmuring from the court.
“And that you sought to hide the sin of your fornication with the greater one of murder.”
“I never did, my lord!”
“But you admit the sin of the flesh?”
I nodded. “But I was tricked into sinning with false promises!” I said, and thought again to give Master Geoffrey’s name. When I looked up, however, I saw Sir Thomas glaring at me, shaking his head as much as to say, You dare to say . . . and I did not dare.
Next Sir Thomas went into the witness box to speak, and gave his name and a great list of all his titles, like Lord of the Manors of Beedon, Appleford, Barton, and a great many other places, and said that he was granted M.A. at Middle Temple and had served as High Sheriff of Berkshire, Oxfordshire, and elsewhere, and these accreditations went on for so long that I lost track of why we were being told of them. When he’d finished, Dr. Gray asked if he was the employer of the accused, Anne Green, and what he thought of my character.
“She is a maid in my employ,” he said, “but until recently I had no idea of what type of a woman she was.” Beside him, Lady Mary’s eyes were closed as if she didn’t want to see too much, and her hands clasped as if in prayer.