Admonition

by Chris Throsby

  Do you understand me now, Mr Herne? I’ll put it to you again. Would you agree with me that the salt you found at my client’s property, far from being worth fifty shillings in reality, was worth less than two shillings?"

  In reply, I can say only that Herne gibbered. He seemed to have lost the ability to construct a cohesive sentence. Not wanting to miss the chance now offered, I changed tack.

  “You told us you found the salt in a barrel hidden at the back of my client’s cellar. Is that correct?”

  Like my first, he knew this was a simple question; he also knew what had just happened when he answered the first one. So, no longer the confident Excise Supervisor, used to being obeyed, used to everyone hanging on his every word, he hesitated. I knew I had to keep working the wound.

  “Come on, Mr Herne. I just want you to confirm that you found the salt in a barrel at the back of the Boar’s cellar. How hard can that be to answer?”

  Some in the gallery laughed and I could see the jury settling back in their seats; they’d enjoyed the previous exchange and they were looking forward to this one, wherever it might go, or more correctly, wherever I may take it.

  Herne rallied a little; some of his bravado returned.

  “Of course, I’ve already said that. I’m just wondering what clever lawyer point you’re going to make out of it.”

  I tried to look as though he’d hurt my feelings.

  “I’m sorry you feel like that, Mr Herne. I rather thought my questions were straightforward.”

  I didn’t give him time to answer.

  “So we’ve established that you found one barrel of salt hidden away at the back of my client’s cellar. Tell me, when you examined it, what was the condition of the salt?”

  I could see he was ready with his answer.

  “I’ve already explained. It was ruined and that’s why it hadn’t been delivered.”

  I wasn’t going to let him get away with that.

  “‘It hadn’t been delivered.’ So where, in your opinion, was its planned destination?”

  I knew he couldn’t possibly know, but I’d forgotten one thing.

  “I couldn’t say.”

  That was the answer I wanted – or thought I did.

  “Well, if you couldn’t say, don’t you think you shouldn’t say – this is a Court of Law, after all. We’re looking for facts, not supposition.”

  He looked triumphant. I didn’t know why; I was about to find out. Herne drew himself up to his full height and said,

  "I don’t know about that, but if you want facts, it’s a fact that the six barrels we discovered last week in Manchester were all made to the same design as the one found in Payne’s cellar; it’s a fact that in addition to salt, they all had a little beer left in them and it’s a fact that three months ago I stopped Payne when he was delivering six barrels, apparently containing only beer but which must have been the same six that I had just discovered.

  So there’s some facts for you and I think they’re facts that prove Payne’s as guilty as Baker – and he’s as guilty as Satan."

  This was new to me, I’d heard about the raid in Manchester but the details of what had been discovered had been unclear. I knew I’d made a mistake because now, in addition to the single barrel in his cellar, Jabez was being tied to a further six found in Manchester. I could have pointed out that there was no proven link, but that would only serve to emphasise for the jury how likely it was that there was a link. So I knew there was little I could do other than get this man off the stand as quickly as possible and hope to make enough of the prosecutor’s second witness to make the jury forget Herne. So with the sound of the gallery and the jury drawing their own conclusions in the background, I told the judge I had no further questions.

  Herne’s triumphant look as he left the stand was matched by Bernshaw, and I’m certain as his second witness took the stand, the lawyer believed he’d have the same success with him – from his opening line of questioning, it was clear he expected to keep the Court’s sympathy.

  Thin and dishevelled, wearing little more than rags, Tom Rider was a pitiful sight – and Bernshaw knew it. He got Rider to tell the jury how he and his wife took in Admonition and her brother William after the rest of their family were killed. Then he encouraged him to explain how he allowed William to work with him in the salt pans until, without any warning, the boy up and left. Finally, he played his trump card.

  “Mr Rider, can you tell the court, are you working now?”

  Almost with a sense of pride, he replied,

  “I haven’t been able to work for over a year. Me and Liz bin relying on the Parish to keep us from starving.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Rider.”

  Bernshaw glanced at the jury to make sure he had their full attention for his big moment. Satisfied, with all the drama he could muster, he said,

  “Could you tell the jury why you haven’t been able to work?”

  “I can do more than that,” Rider faced the jury. “I can show ’em.”

  Up until then Rider had held his right hand behind his back, but now he brought it forward and held it high for the jury and the entire gallery to see. Although it appeared to be healing, the new skin that covered his hand was so thin that it failed to hide the red and angry flesh beneath, and was so taught he was unable to straighten his fingers.

  Much to Bernshaw’s satisfaction, there were loud gasps, particularly from the gallery, although, because Jabez had told me what had happened to Rider, I knew what to expect. I was much more interested in hearing his explanation of how and why it had happened. Having waited long enough for the full extent of Rider’s injury to be absorbed by the whole court, Bernshaw indicated he should lower his hand and then asked him to explain what had happened.

  Keeping his hand in clear view and looking piteously towards the jury, he began to tell his tale; although, as it turned out, he wasn’t to get very far.

  “After Will left, leaving me working on my own, when he could be spared, another young lad came to help me. One day, me and the boy were on the hurdles dragging salt from the pan when the boy over-balanced. He would have fallen in if I hadn’t grabbed him, but as I did I slipped on the hurdle and put my hand in the hot salt and this was the result.”

  Once again he held up his hand for all to see.

  “Still at least the boy wasn’t hurt; he probably would have been killed if I hadn’t been there.”

  A sympathetic murmur ran round the court, but for one woman sat at the back of the gallery it was too much. Hefty, ruddy-faced and with exceptionally large forearms, she was quite a formidable sight. When she called out, her voice was equally formidable.

  “You’re a liar, Tom Rider, and everyone should know it.”

  I looked questioningly at Jabez, but he just shrugged his shoulders; like me, he obviously had no idea who this woman might be. But she hadn’t finished.

  “The truth is, and you know it, that your hand was held in the salt as punishment for all the evil things you’ve done.” Looking across to the jury she added, “I know because I saw it done and I know why. He’s been chasing young girls and ruining marriages, that’s why”

  As the judge banged his gavel and threatened to have her ejected, as a final shot, she added,

  “Saving my Josh indeed, just one more of his lies.”

  I didn’t know who the woman was and she’d left before the trial concluded, so I was unable to talk to her. However, her outburst had achieved one thing, the air of sympathy towards Rider had evaporated and been replaced with hostility. I later discovered and it was clearly known by a significant number in the courtroom, that what had happened to Rider was a not uncommon punishment meted out in the salt pans to anyone they felt was guilty of a serious crime – especially against a fellow worker.

  The change the woman’s outburst brought about in the court’s mood was patent, so now that it was my turn to cross-examine the witness, I tried to build on it.

  I was sure Rider
was as aware of the sudden hostility towards him as I was, so I plunged straight in with no preliminaries to see if I could catch him off guard.

  “So Mr Rider, can you explain to the jury why you are the prosecution’s only witness?”

  Appearing untroubled, he replied,

  “You’re forgetting the Excise man.”

  “No, Mr Rider, I’m not forgetting him just as I’m not forgetting many other things. For example, I’m not forgetting that you have been using the Boar’s Head for twenty years, but apparently in all that time saw nothing untoward. And I’m not forgetting that merely three months ago, you not only told the Excise that my client was selling contraband salt, but told them that it was a matter of common knowledge, yet there’s no one here, other than Mr Herne, to support your story.”

  Looking defiant he said,

  “I told ’em those things because it’s the truth.”

  Ignoring him, I carried on; I still wanted to unsettle him if I could.

  "And I’m not forgetting that it was about six months ago you fell out with my client over his wife. I’m also not forgetting that, overnight, she left your tender care to live with my client.

  So, I repeat my question. If it’s common knowledge that my client was dealing in smuggled salt, where are all the other witnesses?"

  Of course, prosecuting counsel objected; his client ‘could not be expected to answer for the number of witnesses called by the prosecution’.

  His objection was upheld, but I could see I had the jury’s attention and they were beginning to understand what sort of man Tom Rider was. So I first apologised to the judge but then continued.

  “You’re quite right, milord. It should be for prosecuting counsel to explain why they were only able to find one witness other than the Excise Supervisor. My apologies.”

  Ignoring the dark looks from Bernshaw, I pressed on.

  “So Mr Rider, would you agree that you have been a regular customer of my client for the past twenty years?”

  He thought about this and obviously decided this question was safe.

  “I s’pose that’s about right, yes.”

  “And over that time, how would you describe your relationship with my client?”

  His look hardened.

  “Don’t know what you mean, relationship. I didn’t have a relationship with him. I bought ale. He served it then I drank it. That’s about it.”

  “And his wife, how about her? Did you have a relationship with her?”

  Rider was a dowdy character, but the question seemed to raise his colour a little.

  “You know I did. I took her and her brother in when the rest of their family was killed.”

  “Her brother, and do you know what became of him?”

  “I’ve already explained that he left us.”

  “So where did he go?”

  “When he left us, he said he wanted to better himself so he was going to work for Marshall’s; work for those who killed the rest of his family, funny way of bettering himself if you ask me.”

  “He must have been pretty desperate to get away if he went to work for the people he believed killed his family. Might there be any other reason for him leaving you so suddenly?”

  “Look, me and Liz did the best we could for those two and he just up and left so he could ‘better himself’; ungrateful, that’s what I call it.”

  “And is he still at Marshall’s?”

  “No, he hasn’t been there for years. Sent us a note saying he was going to the West Indies; we haven’t heard from him since.”

  “So you feel he let you down?”

  “’Course I do. Look, when he was with us he brought a bit of money in ’cos he worked with me in the pans. But he still expected us to keep his sister when he left and she wasn’t earning anything.”

  I was getting nowhere with this line of questioning, in fact Rider might even be regaining some sympathy. But fortunately he had just introduced for me my next line of questioning; one I hoped would give the jury even more reason not to like him, but more importantly, real cause for them to doubt his word. So I asked him,

  “You felt you were owed then, didn’t you? Felt Admonition owed you for her keep.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  His face was really red now so, sensing progress, I pressed on.

  “Well then, perhaps you can explain for the jury why she left your home even more suddenly than her brother, to go and live with someone who, at the time, was more or less a complete stranger to her?”

  Rider reddened as he answered.

  “I couldn’t tell you. Maybe he wanted a bit more than a cleaning service in return for the money he paid her.”

  He was angry but the anger was suppressed; I needed to provoke him a little more.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Mr Rider. Perhaps you could make yourself a little clearer; for the jury’s sake, if not for mine.”

  From their salacious mutterings, I was sure that everyone in the court knew exactly what he meant, but I hoped to show precisely what type of man Tom Rider was and just how jealous he was of my client.

  “She was still only fifteen when she moved in with him, and I reckon there must have been only one thing on his mind right from the start.”

  "She was old enough and there was only one thing on his mind. Is that right? Really I’d say there was only one thing on your mind, Mr Rider, the one thing that was on your mind when you caught her in the gennel. A completely innocent and unsuspecting girl who trusted you, but who, when there was no one else around, you told owed you – and exactly how she was going to pay.

  Yes, that’s right, Mr Rider. My client knows. Mrs Payne told him all about the way you treated her."

  I could tell I’d achieved my aim, so in a final salvo I asked him,

  “But she escaped your clutches, didn’t she? And you knew you’d lost her forever, didn’t you? That’s why you argued with him, isn’t it? And why you told the Excise he’d been smuggling salt for a long time? Why not be honest, Mr Rider, just this once? Because I’m sure it’ll make you feel better. You’re driven by jealousy of my client and the truth is no one can believe a word you say.”

  The court was in uproar. The public in the viewing area and even the jury were cheering and clapping and haranguing Rider. In fact it took the judge a full five minutes to get the courtroom back under his control and when he did, Rider was looking like death. It didn’t matter that he denied everything I said; nor did it matter that the judge threatened me with contempt. The jury knew exactly what they thought of Rider and I knew that that was precisely what I wanted them to think.

  As for Jabez, he just stood quietly, not saying a word. You might think he was unaffected, but I had got to know him quite well in the months he’d been waiting to go to trial, and I’m certain there was a glint of satisfaction in his eye.

  Rider stepped down and left the court with the jeers of the gallery ringing in his ears. I didn’t have time to dwell on my success; I had a client to defend and it was now time for me to present the case for the defence. It was a surprise to me that Jabez had agreed to take the stand without any argument, but because both sides had seen no advantage in calling Admonition, like the prosecution I had only one other witness. So before we heard from Jabez, I called Sam Jervis.

  Finding Sam had been straightforward because Jabez had learnt of him from one of his customers who knew he was a regular in the Black Lion in Macclesfield – but getting him to attend court had proved more difficult. I had spent several evenings in the pub plying him with gin and ale, but even then he continued to refuse to come to court and I had resigned myself to presenting our case without him. But then, only three days before Jabez was due to appear in court, unannounced he appeared in my office. It turned out his reluctance to appear was caused by his association with Sam Baker. Though never a member of the Nantwich Gang, he had occasionally been used in the past by Baker to make deliveries and he had been worried that if he appeared in court,
especially for the defence, Herne might gain a sudden interest in him. Fortunately, I don’t know how, Sam Baker learnt of my request and sent Jervis a message telling him that Jabez should be supported in any way possible.

  In his testimony, Jervis repeated what he’d been told by Tom Rider, and coming as it did straight after Rider stood down, it caused even greater mayhem in the court and any residual sympathy for Rider was lost. As he stepped down, I saw Jervis glance up to the gallery where someone had caught his eye. Following the line of his gaze, I saw, standing with a face like thunder, was Rider’s wife, Elizabeth. She, like everyone else, now saw in Rider what we’d all seen when he was on the stand and had now been confirmed by Jervis. Lips pursed, and without a word, she turned, forced her way out of the gallery and left the court.

  Finally, I turned to Jabez in the dock. I knew we couldn’t win the case, but I still hoped to win the jury’s sympathy.

  “Mr Payne, can you tell us, how long were you the landlord of the Boar’s Head?”

  Jabez sucked his teeth.

  “Now you’re asking.”

  After a moment he carried on,

  “Old Dodds left me the Boar in his Will. Now, when would that have been? I remember it was the same year they bought in that Enclosure Law and threw all those poor farmers off their farms. So, what’s that? Twenty-five, thirty years ago; something like that.”

  “So were you related to Mr Dodds in some way? Is that why he left you the Inn?” I asked.

  Jabez smiled.

  "Not at all. I didn’t have any relatives alive and so far as he knew, neither did Mr Dodds. In fact, I think that’s really why he went looking for an apprentice in the first place.

  And as far as I was concerned, my mother died when I was six and my father abandoned me outside a workhouse when I was seven. Luckily, the workhouse took me in. If they hadn’t, I think I would’ve been done for."

  I hoped the Jury would catch that here was someone whose life had been so wretched that he was grateful he’d been taken into a workhouse.

  “So Mr Payne, perhaps you can tell us what this has to do with you becoming the landlord of the Boar’s Head?”