The Unseeing

by Anna Mazzola

  “Are you threatening me, Mr. Fleetwood?”

  Edmund paused. “As you know, Miss Sowerton, we are awaiting a decision on Sarah’s case. I anticipate that Lord Russell will pardon Sarah. I also anticipate that he will be most displeased if he finds that the prisoner he has set free has disappeared or been injured.”

  “What exactly do you mean, sir?”

  He met the woman’s cold-eyed stare. “You will keep this other prisoner, Rook, under lock and key and you will make very sure that no harm comes to Miss Gale. If anything happens to her, I will hold you personally responsible and I will do my utmost to ensure you are brought to account. Is that clear enough for you, Miss Sowerton?”

  He was tempted to report her now, to prevent her from harming others, and merely to see the look on her pock-marked face when she found she had lost her power. That would be a risk, however. If the matron were not removed from post immediately, he dreaded to think what revenge she might exact. At least this way he retained some leverage over her and over this Rook woman. He would report them both once Sarah was safely out of Newgate.

  “You will also ensure that Miss Gale is properly fed and given the medical treatment she needs in order to recover from her ordeal.”

  He saw the woman’s jaw twitch. “Since you expect so much from me, you will at least have the goodness to say who told you the prisoner Gale was here?”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t know, Miss Sowerton. The letter I received was anonymous.” This was true.

  “I would like to see that letter.”

  “You can’t. I burned it.” This was not true. He had preserved it, as evidence.

  “Someone must have seen who delivered it.”

  Edmund shrugged. “No, apparently not. It seems no one was looking.”

  Flora had seen the woman, of course, but Edmund felt that, in this particular instance, he was entitled to lie.

  • • •

  Edmund walked back into the cell where Sarah lay on her side beneath a gray calico sheet. Her dark hair was unpinned and spread across the pillow. Her eyes were closed. The right side of her face was badly bruised, and a red cut ran across her cheek.

  The young warder, who had been sitting on a stool next to the bed, stood up as he entered the room and put her finger to her lips.

  “She’s sleeping now,” she whispered. “Best thing for ’er.” Edmund nodded. “Thank you, Miss…?”

  “Hinkley. I’ll look after her till she’s moved to the infirmary.”

  “I’m sure you will, Miss Hinkley. I will ask Miss Pike to look in on Sarah as soon as she can.”

  The girl nodded. It must surely have been her who brought the letter to his chambers, and yet she was younger and slighter than the woman Flora had described.

  He paused, considering what to say. “Is there another warder, older than you—broader, perhaps, who has been kind to Sarah?”

  Miss Hinkley frowned. “Not that I know of, sir. Kindness ain’t exactly encouraged here. Especially not toward felons.”

  Edmund nodded. Perhaps, after all, Flora’s description of the woman had been wrong. She had probably been drunk.

  Edmund looked back at Sarah, her thin frame, her tangled hair, her damaged face, and he was seized with anxiety. Even if the Home Secretary lifted the death sentence, Newgate would kill Sarah. Whatever happened, she could not stay here.

  28

  “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face.”

  —1 Corinthians, 13:12 (KJV)

  Sarah held the piece of looking glass before her and stared at her reflection, the crack in the glass splitting her face in two. All that remained of Rook’s attack was a purplish mark to the right of her eye and a thin red line running down her cheek, like a faded imprint of Hannah Brown’s injuries.

  For the past three days she had been in the infirmary—a long, dismal, whitewashed room with flaking paint and twelve beds, all occupied. During the day, the warders treated her back with vinegar and witch hazel and brought her thin broths and stale bread. At night, the walls resounded with the coughing of the consumptive and the crying of the lonely. Sarah’s inability to sleep had hardened into something else, and she had begun to believe she might never sleep again. Each night, she lay awake, her eyes wide open in the darkness, thinking and waiting. How many more days before the Home Secretary communicated his decision? And would she survive long enough in this place to hear it?

  Rook was in a bed at the other end of the corridor, her face still bandaged. Since Edmund’s intervention, she had been kept under close watch, but how long would they be able to keep her at bay? She could almost hear the clicking of the other woman’s mind calculating how she would revenge herself on Sarah, how she would evade the gaze of the night warder, or persuade her to look away when the moment came. And Sarah knew that next time Rook would not make a mistake: she would kill her.

  Edmund was not permitted to visit her in the infirmary and Sarah had heard from him only once, by letter.

  “I have spoken to Lord Russell’s clerk,” he told her.

  Although he could not confirm to me the Home Secretary’s decision in the matter, he gave me reason to be hopeful. Indeed, his words were that the Home Secretary had been “most impressed” with my report and that a decision would be imminent. I have stressed to him the importance of removing you from Newgate as soon as possible.

  Sarah had read the letter over and over. She had done everything she could think of, everything she could stomach, but perhaps it was not enough.

  The hospital matron approached and held her hand out for the looking glass.

  “Visitor here for you,” she said. “The Gov’ner says you’re to see ’im in the legal visitors’ room, as it’s important, ’pparently.”

  • • •

  Edmund sat at a table by the far wall, holding a letter. “Please, sit down,” he said to Sarah as she approached.

  Sarah remained standing, however, her body tense.

  “What does it say?” she asked.

  Edmund unfolded the letter onto the wooden table and leaned forward, the better to view it. She could see that there was a sheen of sweat on his brow. In a clear voice he read the letter aloud.

  Sir,

  In response to your despatch of June 9th, I have the honor to transmit to you the Secretary of State’s decision in this matter.

  Lord Russell was strongly impressed with the reasoning in your report and sympathetic to the plight of the prisoner Gale, who it seems acted under the control of the criminal Greenacre. He concurs in your submission that the prisoner Gale’s actions do not warrant the death sentence in these particular circumstances. The evidence suggests that she only became aware of the murder after the event and was placed under considerable pressure to keep her silence.

  However, Lord Russell cannot accede to your suggestion that a pardon would be appropriate. Whatever the emotional constraints acting upon the prisoner, she should—both in legal and moral terms—have spoken out about what all agree was the most atrocious crime. To fail to do so amounted to helping to conceal the murder. Had she reported her concerns to the relevant authorities, it would have avoided an expensive and lengthy police investigation. That she failed to speak out is testament to a weakness of character and of morals. The Secretary of State has therefore recommended to His Majesty that Miss Gale’s sentence be commuted to transportation to New South Wales for the term of her natural life. He is pleased to report that His Majesty has accepted that recommendation.

  As you know, it is the wish of Lord John Russell to diminish, as much as possible, the number of transports sent yearly to the Australian colonies; and his Lordship is desirous of concerting with the authorities there to ensure that they are not overloaded with convicts. However, Miss Gale is a particularly good example of a felon who cannot continue to be incarcerated in this country an
d for whom there is no viable alternative.

  In order to ensure a speedy conclusion to this matter, I have personally arranged for Miss Gale to be taken aboard the next available ship. She will be removed within the course of the next week. Given the nature of the crime, it is not considered appropriate for Miss Gale’s child to accompany her.

  I am, Sir,

  Your faithful and obedient servant,

  Jelinger Spinks

  As Edmund finished reading, Sarah sank down into the chair, her body limp, her legs no longer able to support her. Transportation for life, that substitute for death.

  For a time, neither of them spoke. Sarah was dimly aware of the sounds around her—the scraping of pens and the hum of conversation—but it was as though they were far off, in another place altogether.

  “I’m so sorry, Sarah,” Edmund said. “I really thought…I really thought that they would do more than this for you.”

  She turned the words over in her mind, trying to comprehend them. For the term of her natural life. In a matter of days, she was to be shipped to the other side of the earth away from everything she knew. Away from Rosina. Away from George: her boy. She closed her eyes, unable to take in the enormity of it. The despair washed at her feet in waves. She had imagined and come to terms with the possibility of a short prison sentence, but not this. Not after everything she had said and done, everything she had risked.

  “I will not cease to fight for you,” Edmund said. “It is not the end.”

  Sarah stared at him, hardly hearing.

  “All those meetings,” she said after a time. “All those words. I told you my story. You said it would make a difference. I betrayed James. And for what? For this?” She jabbed her finger at the piece of paper, suddenly furious.

  “Why did you make me feel there was hope?” she said, tasting the salt of tears running into her mouth. “Why did you come here and make me feel again, when they were only ever going to kill me, one way or another?”

  Edmund flushed. “I thought Lord Russell meant to look properly at your case. I miscalculated the odds…” He trailed off. “But it is better than hanging. It is better than staying here, in Newgate.”

  “Is it? I’m to be sent away from everything I know. Everyone I love. From my own son!” She put her hands on her forehead. “Sent away on a convict ship for months on end, and, if I survive the passage, what will happen then? Do you suppose Australia is an inviting place? Do you suppose they send people there for their own enjoyment?” She laughed. It was as though she were on the edge of a precipice, staring down.

  Edmund did not say anything. He looked, she thought, as if he himself might cry.

  It had begun to rain again. She could hear the raindrops falling against the window like pins.

  You fool, she thought. You utter fool.

  • • •

  Edmund walked back to his chambers in a heavy downpour of rain, not bothering to hurry or to keep out of the rivers of water that slaked down the gutters and poured from waterspouts and rooftops, turning the streets into streams of filth. He carried the letter in his hand. Horse-drawn cabs overtook him, splashing water onto his trousers. He barely noticed.

  When he reached his study, he rolled out the letter from the Home Secretary. In the rain, the ink had run so that some of the words were now indecipherable. The postscript from Lord Russell at the bottom of the page remained clear, however.

  As you may know, I discussed this matter with your father, and he agrees that, in these circumstances, a woman cannot be pardoned.

  29

  “The best chess-player in Christendom may be little more than the best player of chess; but proficiency in whist implies capacity for success in all those more important undertakings where mind struggles with mind.”

  —“The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” Edgar Allan Poe, 1841

  Edmund awoke in a foul humor. He had slept little and thought much. Looking back to his initial meeting at the Home Office, he realized he had been played: he had been used as a pawn. The Minister had never intended to take his investigation report seriously—he had simply wanted to give the impression that he was doing something. Edmund decided to go and see Lord Russell immediately.

  It was a bright morning but the ground was still wet underfoot as he made his way through the Temple Gardens, emerging into the sunshine of Essex Street, silently rehearsing the words he intended to use before the Minister.

  He arrived at the high stone building shortly before ten o’clock and asked a liveried porter to inform the Minister he wished to speak with him.

  “Is he expecting you, sir?”

  “No, I confess I have no appointment, but it’s important that I see him as soon as possible.”

  The man looked at him impenetrably. “He knows your business, I take it.”

  “He does.”

  The man disappeared behind the tall oak doors, leaving Edmund standing in the wide portico. Five minutes passed and no other visitor arrived. Edmund paced the deep red carpet of the entrance room, hands behind his back.

  He looked up to see the porter returning with the clerk, Mr. Spinks, who smiled unconvincingly.

  “What can we do for you, Mr. Fleetwood?”

  “I received your letter regarding Miss Gale and the Minister’s decision. I was…surprised. I wished to discuss it with Lord Russell. There are certain matters that he may not have appreciated.”

  Spinks folded his hands. “I assure you, his lordship is fully apprised of all the facts. But if you would come this way…”

  He opened a door onto a long corridor of polished wood lined with pictures of former Ministers, bewigged and austere. He stopped at a door midway down the corridor and knocked lightly. When Edmund entered he saw that Lord Russell was sitting at his large desk, various papers spread in front of him.

  “Edmund, come in. I apologize for the disarray. You find me in the midst of my work on the Offenses Against the Person Bill.”

  “It is I who must apologize, my lord, for arriving here uninvited, but time is of the essence and I wished to speak with you regarding the Sarah Gale matter.”

  “Indeed. And what a matter. I congratulate you on your report excellently drafted, if I may say so. That is the wondrous thing about you young gentlemen of the bar: you have such a fine turn of phrase.”

  “I am grateful, my lord. And of course—”

  “Please sit down.”

  “Thank you. I was heartened that you commuted Miss Gale’s sentence—”

  “Tea?”

  “No, thank you. She is of course relieved that the penalty—”

  “Spinks, move these papers for me, will you?”

  “My lord,” Edmund said firmly, “surely justice in this situation demands that she be pardoned entirely.”

  Lord Russell looked up at Edmund over his glasses. “Justice in fact demanded that she be hanged. It is I, exercising the King’s Prerogative of mercy, who have spared her that fate. You cannot realistically demand any more.”

  “And I say again that I am highly respectful of your lordship’s decision. However, I wanted to make sure you were fully aware of the facts. Namely, that she was coerced into acting as she did. She had no choice but to assist Greenacre or she would have risked her life and that of her child. In those circumstances—”

  “I read your report. I read the affidavit. And, as I say, they were admirably drafted. However, fine words butter no parsnips. I did not ask you to look again at the investigation but at the punishment the court awarded. I thought my instructions on this matter had been clear. The reality is that this woman, who was not tied to Greenacre by the lawful bond of marriage, helped to conceal a murder. A horrific murder of an innocent woman that has shocked the nation. Whatever her reason for not speaking out, it is plain that she has no defense. The judge reviewed the matter and confirmed that he believes th
e conviction was correct, albeit that he has some sympathy for her plight. Mr. Spinks has also looked into this for me and we are quite certain on the point. Is that not right, Spinks?”

  The clerk stood with his hands folded. “That is correct, my lord. Coercion provides no defense to aiding and abetting a murder.”

  “There is no clear authority on it either way,” Edmund said. “It would be open to you to find that in this case it did provide a defense.”

  “Mr. Fleetwood,” Lord Russell laughed, “these are hardly the correct facts on which to establish new law. For a start, you have only her word that she was coerced.”

  “Miss Pike spoke for her. And one of the policemen who arrested her had some doubts.”

  “Yes, yes. But none of these people actually saw anything. That’s correct, isn’t it, Spinks? None of them saw anything firsthand. There were no eyewitnesses. It’s all…conjecture,” he said, waving his hands in the air to indicate the vagueness of it all.

  “Her son witnessed the threats.”

  “Her son? He’s a young child, isn’t he? Not exactly a reliable or appropriate witness. He’ll say whatever his mother tells him to.”

  “But, your lordship, with the greatest respect, if the jury had been presented with evidence that Miss Gale had been coerced, they might not have convicted her.”

  “They might have; they might not have. But there is no right to any appeal or retrial, so the matter is immaterial. The fact is, she had the opportunity to give a statement saying all this, or to direct her counsel to do so, but she did not.”

  “Because she was afraid for her life. She was afraid for her son. And because she was represented by the same lawyers who took their instructions—and payment—from Greenacre.”

  Edmund was doing his best to keep his tone level but he was furious.