by Nicola Pryce
I held my breath. Everyone was holding their breath, everyone realising he was on to something. The colour drained from Josiah Troon’s face, James Polcarrow looked down at his hands. So, too did Mrs Pengelly and Alice Polcarrow. My heart was racing. We were all thinking the same…say it…say it. I felt sick with nerves. I could feel the smooth wood in my hands, the boat obeying my slightest command.
‘Mr Troon,’ continued Matthew with a smile, his head high with confidence, ‘I put it to you that you’re a liar, a paid witness. You did not sail the boat that night nor have you ever sailed that boat. I put it to you that your evidence is fabricated because someone in this very room wants to discredit Sir James and see him falsely hung. I put it to you…’
‘Objection, Your Honour. Supposition! There’s absolutely no evidence for that.’
Sir Richard’s eyes narrowed. He barely moved. ‘Objection granted. Answer the question, Mr Troon. Did you, or did you not, sail the boat on the seventh of November?’
‘I did, sir…I’m that put out bein’ stood here. It’s had me that confused…when I said the tiller…course I meant the wheel.’
Matthew Reith’s face fell. His shoulders slumped, his voice at once disappointed. ‘Are you sure about that? I thought you said there was a tiller.’
Josiah Troon’s voice grew stronger, soaring out across the court. ‘There was no tiller, just the wheel. I know there was a wheel – I remember holding it steady in the waves.’
Matthew fumbled for his handkerchief, wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘I’ve no more questions,’ he said as if defeated. It was so thrilling, so clever, such a simple, simple trip. I had to suppress my smile, try to look concerned.
‘He’s usually better than this,’ whispered Hannah. ‘It’s as if he’s given up without even trying. He’s not himself…’
I felt like hugging her. Matthew Reith made it look so easy. He would win, I knew he would. James Polcarrow would go free and Father would be taken to court. I felt the knot leave my stomach. ‘He’ll have a plan, Hannah. You said yourself he was the best.’
John Wallis shrugged his shoulders, playing the crowd by encouraging their shouts. Sir James hardly moved, standing bolt upright, chin held high, his eyes fixed firmly on Mrs Pengelly. Neither gave any sign of emotion. Mr Wallis reached for a glass of water and shouted, ‘I call upon Mr Samuel Spiller.’
Sir Richard Goldsworthy looked up, his piercing grey eyes sweeping over the crowd and up to the gallery. I looked away, desperate he should not catch my eye. There was power in those eyes. Power and cruelty. Fear shivered down my spine. My confidence was misplaced.
‘Do you swear by almighty God to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth…so help you God?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘Then please take the stand.’
Samuel Spiller was taller, thinner, with a shock of black hair. The sleeves of his borrowed jacket were too short, his cravat obviously choking him. He kept fiddling with it, trying to loosen it; his actions were jerky and uncomfortable, the oath he had just sworn clearly undoing his careful preparation. He glanced up at the jurymen and paled.
Mr Wallis stepped to his aid. ‘Mr Spiller, I believe that, like Mr Troon, you are anxious about giving evidence. You fear you’ll be judged alongside Sir James Polcarrow and you’ll be thought a spy. Am I right?’ He crossed his arms in front of his chest, one hand tapping his upper arm. It was a strange gesture. I only noticed it because he had done it twice before.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Samuel Spiller.
‘The court’s not judging you – indeed it commends you on your bravery. We have no place in our society for traitors to our king and country.’ He turned to the jury. ‘And the court is grateful for that courage. Are you ready to proceed?’
Samuel Spiller nodded. ‘I am, sir.’
‘How long have you been a sailor on L’Aigrette?’
‘A month.’
‘Only a month?’
‘They only hire ye for a short time. They pay ye good money fer yer silence, then ye’re gone.’
‘The court has been told what happened on the night in question, but could you tell us in your own words what happened? How did Sir James and Lady Polcarrow reach their boat?’
‘A tunnel, sir – a secret tunnel runnin’ from their house to the caves. Then they rowed out to us.’
‘And was the captain on the boat?’
‘He was, sir.’
‘And what nationality was the captain?’
‘He was French, sir…’ This was too much for the crowd. Loud shouts drowned his next words. It was as if they had been holding back, rotten fruit now raining down on Sir James. He did not flinch but stood glowering at the witness, his mouth clamping tight with anger as an egg landed on his jacket.
Hannah looked horrified. ‘Oh, poor Sir James…but French – ye’d have thought he’d more sense than that. Poor Mrs Thomas…’
‘Captain Lefèvre and Sir James Polcarrow knew exactly where they were going?’
‘No doubt about it.’
‘As if they had done it many times before?’
‘No doubt about it. Many times. I thought we was after brandy, but it was monks we took aboard. We sailed them to Fosse but let ’em off before the excise men could get to them. I swear to God, I never knew they was French spies.’
‘Of course you didn’t. The court knows that. Where did they take them?’
‘Just west of Polperro, sir.’
‘Thank you, Mr Spiller, no more questions.’
Mr Wallis sat down as Matthew walked slowly across to the witness stand. ‘Describe the captain if you would, Mr Spiller.’
‘The captain?’
‘Yes, Captain Lefèvre, this French captain you were quite happy to sail with. L’Aigrette is a very fine cutter, a good master, was he? You were able to understand him?’
‘He was…just like the rest. I understood him very well. His English was very good. He said he was from Jersey an’ I’ve sailed with a lot of men from Jersey. He was no different. ’Twas only afterwards we realised he was French.’
‘After Mr Wallis told you to say he was French?’
‘Objection…! Your Honour…I must protest. The defence has nothing to go on. His sole defence is to defame my witnesses.’
Sir Richard nodded. ‘Continue, Mr Reith. I do not believe in wasting the court’s time.’
‘Tell me, if you’d be so kind, exactly what this French captain looked like.’ He turned to the jurymen. ‘I’ve several witnesses who know the captain well, and I intend to call on them directly. People like the harbour master of Fosse, the chief excise officer, the victuallers who regularly provision the boat…’
Samuel Spiller paled. ‘He was…like the rest of us…like us all…we’re all sailors…we all look alike.’
Matthew rubbed his finger across his chin. ‘Try to remember if you can. Or at least, try and remember what you’ve been told to say. Was he old, was he young? Did he have grey hair…black hair…did he have whiskers…a beard? And there’s no point looking at Mr Wallis. He’s no signal for you to answer this.’
‘Objection, my lord…this is outrageous. I demand Mr Reith withdraw that at once.’
‘Objection agreed. Strike that from the records. Mr Reith, a warning.’
Matthew smiled at Samuel Spiller. ‘I’m sorry but it’s a very simple question and I’m surprised you’ve been so badly briefed. Captain Lefèvre is in his late sixties and is in very good shape for a man of his age…he has grey hair and whiskers…and yet you could not remember that?’ His voice rose, his finger jabbing the air. ‘I put it to you, Mr Spiller, that you’re not telling the truth. I put it to you that, like the last witness, you’ve been paid money to spread vicious lies against my client.’ He turned to the jurymen. ‘Lies that, if believed, would hang an innocent man. I put it to the court that someone has wasted his money because he’s too stupid or too ignorant to think I would not ask this man to describe the identity of
the captain.’
Samuel Spiller glared at Matthew. ‘The captain was grey-haired and whiskered. Ye didn’t let me answer.’
‘And does the boat have a tiller or a wheel?’
‘No, sir…not a tiller…that ye can be sure of that…’twas definitely a wheel.’
‘You heard the last witness?’
‘No, sir…we’re not to confer. I heard nothing. No-one told me to say that.’
Matthew turned to Sir Richard. ‘My lord justice, does the prosecution mean to waste the court’s time much longer?’ He shook his head, turning to the jury. ‘Believe me, gentlemen, I’ve no wish to waste your time or insult your intelligence. Waiting outside are two, no, three witnesses. In fact, I have any number of witnesses to swear the boat has a tiller and Captain Lefèvre is an unusually young man.’ His voice was steady, authoritative, his finger pointing at Samuel Spiller. ‘This man, just like the last witness, was told there would be no trial. Neither of them expected to be questioned under oath, by a defence counsel.’ He scowled at Samuel Spiller. ‘What were you told? Just a brief testimony in front of a stipendiary magistrate? No court. No jury – just two witnesses and enough suspicion?’
‘My lord, this is outrageous – sheer supposition. There’s no proof.’
Sir Richard’s eyes were almost closed. ‘Your point, Mr Reith?’
‘My point is that this man, just like the last witness, has never been near that ship. He has never met Captain Lefèvre…I put it to him that he is a liar and a perjurer, lying under oath, and that in itself has serious consequences.’ Samuel Spiller wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked petrified. Matthew Reith walked over to him, looking him straight in the eye. ‘If you have the courage to admit to perjury, the court will act more leniently towards you…’ He looked round. A commotion was disturbing the silence, everyone’s eyes drawn to the justices’ bench.
A man was standing at the other side of the court room, a letter, slowly making its way from hand to hand. It reached Mr Wallis and he slipped his finger under the seal. No-one was moving, everyone craning their neck to get a better view. Mr Wallis smiled, passing the letter quickly along the bench to Sir Richard. He, too, read the letter and smiled. I recognised the glint of anticipation and my fear returned.
‘Something’s wrong,’ whispered Hannah. ‘Mr Reith needs the verdict. He’s got the jury for the taking…’
Sir Richard Goldsworthy waved his hand for silence. ‘Mr Reith, one moment…if you please.’ He bent over the bench to talk to Mr Wallis, both nodding vigorously, their wigs bobbing up and down. In agreement, Sir Richard handed the letter straight to Sir William Molesworth. He, too, read it and nodded.
Matthew looked increasingly worried, casting an anxious glance at Alice. She looked scared, her face pale beneath her feathered hat. ‘I would like to call my next witness,’ he said.
Sir Richard ignored Matthew and spoke to the jurymen. ‘The case against Sir James Polcarrow is withdrawn—’
‘Withdrawn!’ Matthew looked furious. ‘My lord, I must insist. This is a court of law and my client has been accused of treason. My client does not want the case withdrawn. Sir James is an innocent man and, therefore, I must insist his name be fully cleared. The case against him is false. The two witnesses against him are paid liars and Sir James deserves the unanimous agreement of not guilty.’ Sir Richard did not even look up. He was gathering together the papers on the desk in front of him. Matthew’s voice rose. He was clearly furious. ‘This court has been witness to Mr Wallis’ attempt to defame Sir James and I demand the trial continue until the jury reach their verdict and justice is served.’ He stood glowering at Sir Richard.
A voice bellowed from the back of the court. ‘Justice for Sir James.’ Another voice repeated the cry, another and another. Immediately everyone around us started standing up, the whole room taking up the same chant: ‘Justice for Sir James, justice…justice…’ The man next to me rose quickly, his heavy boots narrowly missing my shoe. His elbows dug into my shoulders as he waved his fist. It was so cramped, all of us crammed together with almost no air. The heat was terrible, the building cogged with smoke.
James Polcarrow stood rigid in his stand, his hands clenched by his side. As he looked across the court I saw bewilderment in his eyes. Alice Polcarrow stared back, trying to smile. Sir Richard’s normally grey face was flushed with anger. Holding up his hand, he sat waiting for silence. ‘James Polcarrow will get justice,’ he said coldly. ‘Gentlemen of the jury, the crown dismisses the case against Sir James Polcarrow…there will be no further prosecution. The case is dismissed.’
The noise was deafening, a loud whoop of delight filling the air. Sir James walked slowly down the steps, nodding to each of the jurymen, shaking Matthew Reith warmly by the hand. Only when he reached Alice Polcarrow did his frown give way to the briefest of smiles. But Matthew Reith was not smiling. I hardly knew the man, but his frown was deeper than I had ever seen.
‘He’s done it. I told ye he would – Sir James’s free and I’m that glad…’ Hannah began clapping her hands along with everyone else but I could not join her. Dismissed, not innocent. Something was wrong. A feeling of panic began to fill me. Father looked hot and flustered, waving a paper to cool his face. He was not scowling. He was smiling.
The clerk was trying his best to be heard above the crowd, his voice drowned to everyone but those nearest to him. Gradually his words filtered above the noise. ‘Quiet please! The court will reconvene in fifteen minutes. Quiet! The court will break for fifteen minutes…After the break the court will hear the next case. Crown versus Lady Polcarrow…’ The hush was instant. James Polcarrow looked as if he had been hit, staring straight at Matthew Reith.
‘Your lordship…’ Matthew Reith protested. ‘I insist the case against Lady Polcarrow be dismissed as well. There can be no point in wasting the court’s time.’
Sir Richard Goldsworthy looked up and smiled. ‘The case against Lady Polcarrow will proceed.’ He rose from his seat, straightening his robe as the court stood in stunned silence. It lasted only until the door shut behind him, then the hall erupted.
I was not the only one to recognise the cat and mouse smile playing on Father’s lips.
Chapter Forty-eight
I sat back on the hard bench, holding Hannah’s lavender against my veil. The herb burners had been re-lit but they made no difference. The air was almost too foul to breathe. ‘Why’d he stop the trial? He can’t do that…can he? Ye alright, Miss Wells? Here, let me fan ye.’
‘I don’t think Mr Wallis had any idea those men were lying. Did you see his face? I think he honestly thought they were telling the truth.’ I flapped my fan, trying to calm my anxiety. My nausea was not from the stench or crush but seeing the smile on Father’s face.
‘Something’s wrong…I don’t trust that judge. He looks like a ghoul. He could be dead for all we know – sitting there, not moving, his eyes all hooded an’ that.’
‘He’s very much alive. He’s like a reptile, waiting to flick out his forked tongue.’
Hannah passed me a jar of cider. ‘Perhaps a drink may do ye good? We can’t leave…we’d never get back.’ I took a sip. It was surprisingly thirst-quenching, not strong at all. ‘Somethin’s wrong,’ she repeated, ‘I don’t like that judge.’
The jurymen had left the court, the judges’ bench was empty and Matthew Reith had taken Sir James and his party out with him. No-one else had left; everyone remained shouting, eating or drinking. Bets were being honoured and money changing hands. New bets were being laid, everyone sensing the stakes had just been raised.
I flapped my fan and declined the last slice of cake. Hannah was talking to the woman next to her and I sat back, not looking down at the court, but sideways along the rows in the gallery. Suddenly my heart leapt. A man was standing at the end of the row, staring at me. Not any man, but Arnaud Lefèvre. My pulse started racing. He was staring straight at me, his gaze unwavering, no hint of a smile. He was dressed like every other
man – brown jacket, cotton cravat, woollen waistcoat and working breeches; his hat was pulled low over his forehead, his beard quite grown. His eyes were boring into mine, intent on me seeing him. It was as if he had been willing me to look his way.
I stared back across the rows of people at those piercing eyes. He had recognised me. Even dressed as I was, he knew how to find me.
‘More cider…? The woman next to me knows Mamm from chapel – I gave her the last of me apples, ye didn’t want it, did ye? Oh dear God, ye’re not alright, are ye?’ She lifted up my lace. ‘Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost…drink this…’tis far too hot in here.’
I drank the proffered cider, looking over the rim to where Arnaud had been standing. He was no longer there. Another man had taken his place, Arnaud nowhere to be seen. I wiped my mouth with my hand, searching the crowd but I knew it would be pointless. Arnaud had wanted me to see him, now he wanted to stay hidden. Just like the time in the square when he had stood on the step and stared at me. Why did he want me to know he was there? Why come to court when it was so dangerous?
I could not stop the excitement running through me; the sudden thrill, the rush of pleasure I felt at the sight of him. I had sworn to renounce this man yet the hidden danger made me feel so alive. Yet he had not smiled. His eyes held warning – as if he was trying to tell me something. I handed back the cider, searching the sea of faces. Suddenly I caught my breath. Of course! Jacques’ bag. They wanted it back. He was warning me to give it back. Perhaps he thought I had it with me.
‘They’re coming back…Yes, here come the jurymen and Sir James. Ye alright? That’s better – ye’ve a lot more colour to ye now.’ I leant back against the wooden bench, watching the jurymen take their seats. Matthew Reith was escorting Sir James and Alice across the hall, Mrs Pengelly following closely behind. Father was making his way slowly along the bench.
The room was buzzing, all eyes expectant. ‘I don’t like this…not one little bit…’