by Meira Chand
Jack Easely stood before her. She had not heard him enter. ‘Read this,’ he said. He put the paper in her hand. He was gentle, his voice kind. It was an effort now to move her head, to look at him. Her eyes would not focus, could make no sense of words. Jack Easely retrieved the paper.
‘Her Britannic Majesty’s Consul,’ he read, ‘has received a dispatch from Her Britannic Majesty’s Minister in Tokyo to the effect that he has had under consideration the subject of the sentence of death passed in Her Majesty’s Court here on 1 February 1897 on Amy Jane Redmore for the murder of her husband and that in view of the Imperial Proclamation of His Majesty the Emperor dated 31 January granting, in memory of the late Empress Dowager, to all Japanese subjects under sentence on that day a remission of punishment, it appears proper that a similar measure of grace should be extended to the criminal in this case, whose trial in a court sitting in Her Majesty’s dominions had been proceeding for some days before and was about to be brought to a conclusion at the time of His Majesty’s Proclamation. Her Britannic Majesty’s Minister has accordingly decided not to direct that the sentence of death be carried into execution and, in virtue of the powers conferred upon him by the Order of the Council 1865 and otherwise, has directed in lieu of suffering capital punishment Mrs Redmore shall be imprisoned, with hard labour, for life.’
‘Do you understand?’ he asked gently. ‘You will be returned to England to serve sentence. There is every hope of a successful appeal. Already there is agitation for you in influential circles. This case has been closely followed in England.’
She nodded. Soon he went, his duty done.
There were sounds outside in the corridor, footsteps passing, fading. A voice. The slam of a door. The noises had resonance. The voice came again, vital; it laughed. In the depths of the building there was a crash of crockery. Amy listened, as if for the first time, to the life beyond the door. Her mind was full only of the children, images suddenly flooding her, moving the warmth of tears through her stiff body again. There was Tom, so long ago, that Christmas after Matthew died, running into a snowy garden to hold his mouth open to the sky, licking the falling snow from his lips as if it were manna. And Cathy, dressing herself proudly for the first time, refusing Rachel’s help, her dress back to front, her bloomers twisted, joining Amy’s delighted laughter. There was no need to shut out the love now, no need to deny the images released to her again. Cathy, Tom. She whispered their names.
When at last she left the chair, it was nearly dark. She stood before the mirror, bleak and tiny on a shelf along the wall. She stared at her own face for a long while. It was not the face she had looked at last. Within her own destruction seemed a strange rebirth. She was free of all she had prayed to be free of, returned to her life, upon a far and unknown shore. She knew now she was a woman Matthew Armitage would look at and respect. Within her face were those lines she had once traced upon his, of the difficult disease of living. And suddenly, it no longer seemed of importance that she should have the respect of Matthew Armitage or that of any man, ever. She turned from the window and looked out anew upon a darkening world. In the road the lamps were lighting.
The story of Amy Redmore ends here. The character who inspired her creation, Edith Carew, was returned after her conviction in Yokohama to England, to Aylesbury Prison. There, despite repeated petitions for her retrial by a variety of eminent people, including Lord Salisbury, and also her dead husband’s family, she served sentence until 1910 when Winston Churchill, then Home Secretary, released her under licence. During her time in Aylesbury Prison she was reported to be a model prisoner. On her release from prison she intended to enter a convent and take holy vows.
Copyright
This ebook edition first published in 2012
by Faber and Faber Ltd
Bloomsbury House
74–77 Great Russell Street
London WC1B 3DA
All rights reserved
© Meira Chand, 1986
The right of Meira Chand to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
ISBN 978–0–571–29582–1