The din was indescribable; Simon's call to his horse to be steady was lost to his own ears. The pavements along each side of the road were full of people. These in a way were fortunate because they were walking on flagstones, a new acquisition to the streets, but the road where the traffic was jammed was still made up of mud and broken stones.
When at last there was a movement and Simon turned his horse's head towards a lane that led off at the top of the street he found his passage again blocked. Standing up in the trap he could see that the hostelry ahead where he usually left his horse was jammed full. He looked to the side of him where a man in a similar trap to his own shouted, "The town's out, it must be the case at the court house, the parson's wife," and he nodded; but Simon didn't return the nod. He glanced behind him.
No one had turned in from the main road to block his return passage and so, jumping down from the trap, he took the horse's head and eased her backwards, to the main road where he mounted the trap and rode onwards.
Agitated inside, he pulled out a lever watch from his waistcoat pocket. It said quarter past eleven. The case would have already begun and Tilly, looking round for just one friend, would encounter nothing but the hostile gaze of the villagers. And these would undoubtedly be making a day of it. Oh yes, they'd be making a day of it all right.
He did not at this moment think of what might happen to the parson's wife; she had lawyers and big men on her side, her family were important. Anyway, she was only being charged with manslaughter, not murder, and whatever her sentence, one way or another, she'd be gone from the village after today. But not so Tilly, Tilly had to live there, as long as her granny was alive Tilly would stay there. But what would happen to her? Apart from Tom Pearson and himself, aye, and young Steve, there wasn't one soul in that whole place that had a good word for her. After Laudimer died they would have killed her. Now that was strange for it wasn't she who had struck the blow; but they'd worked it all back to the beginning: the parson's wife was in the pickle she was because of Tilly Trotter.
My God! if only he could get out of this jam.
It was a full half hour later when he found a stable where he could leave the horse and trap, and from there it was all of a ten minute run back to the courthouse. And run he did; but when he tried to enter the building his way was blocked by the spectators. The outer hall was a mass of people, yet all strangely quiet, until he began to thrust himself between them, when there were angry murmurs.
But he took no notice. Some made
way for him, thinking he was some kind of an official, that was until he came to the main doors leading into the courtroom itself, and there he was confronted by an officer of the law.
"How... how far is it on?"
"Over half-way I should say, sir."
"The main witnesses, have they ... ?"
"Yes, I think so. The young lass is on the stand now."
"Please let me in." Simon brought his face close to that of the officer, saying again, "Please, let me in. You ... you see I"--he gulped in his throat--"I'm about the only friend she has."
They stared into each other's eyes for a moment; then the officer said, "Well, even if I could, sir, I doubt if you'd make it, it's as bad in there as it is out here, it's crammed."
"Let me try, please." His hand came out of his pocket and slid unobtrusively in front of him and pressed something into the officer's hand and the officer not taking his eyes from Simon's now, said, "Well, you can have a try, sir," and on this he turned the big handle of one of the double doors, and as he opened it a number of people almost fell backwards. Simon, pressing himself forward with the aid of the policeman, forced himself into the throng, and the door was pushed slowly behind him; and there he was looking to where Tilly stood on a railed dais gazing towards the bench and the man who was speaking to her... .
"You have heard what the other witnesses in this case have said. To their mind you are the cause of Mrs Ellen Ross being present here today and being charged with manslaughter. One of them has definitely stated that you have some ... well"--the judge now looked down at the bench, then over it and on to the head of the clerk standing below before he raised his eyes to the witness box again--"occult power. You understand what I mean by that?"
"No ... o, no ... o, sir."
"Well, in ordinary terms it means that you dabble in witchcraft."
Everyone in the courtroom had their gaze fixed on Tilly waiting for her answer, but she didn't reply, not even to make a motion of her head, and Simon gazing at her cried voicelessly, "She knows as much about witchcraft as an unborn child. Oh, Tilly! Tilly!"
"Well, do you dabble in witchcraft?"
"No, sir. No! No!" Her words were slow but emphatic now. "I...I never ... never have, never. I... I don't know nothing about witchcraft."
"It has been stated that you enticed the parson's wife to dance in a place that is usually considered part of holy ground, namely the vestry. Did you do this?"
For the first time Tilly took her eyes from the judge and looked towards Ellen Ross and when Ellen shook her head at her she looked at the judge again, then mumbled, "We did a step or two, sir."
"She didn't! I taught her to dance." Ellen Ross's voice ringing through the courtroom caused the whole place to buzz; and now there were two men standing in front of her and talking to her.
The judge struck the bench with a mallet and after the hubbub had slowly died away he, looking at Tilly again, said, "You danced in the vestry?" and after a moment Tilly said, "Yes, sir."
"What else did you do in the vestry?"
"Nothing, sir, only a few steps up and down."
Looking at the bench once again, the judge was heard to mutter to himself, "Only a few steps up and down"; then raising his head his next question was, "Do you hold yourself accountable for being here today? Do you in any way think that you are responsible for the death of Burk Laudimer?"
"No, sir. No, sir."
"But you have heard the prosecuting counsel say that you are responsible inasmuch as the accused, Mrs Ellen Ross, would never have gone to your assistance had you not been put in the stocks, and you would not have been put in the stocks had you not been seen to be dancing on holy ground. So can you still say that you don't feel at least partly responsible for what is happening in this court today?"
As Tilly drooped her head Simon groaned inwardly. These men with their words and their cleverness, they could make out black was white. He allowed his own head to hang for a moment, or was it two or three, but he brought it up sharply as the judge said, "Mark my words well, young woman. Now you may stand down."
He watched her stumbling down the two steps, then being led to the end seat of the front row, and when she sat down he could no longer
see anything of her. But the courtroom became astir again. "Call Hal McGrath... Hal McGrath."
McGrath dressed in his Sunday best, his hair brushed back from his low forehead, a clean white neckerchief knotted below his Adam's apple, his grey worsted coat tightly buttoned across his chest, stood with his cap in both hands, his mien that of a quiet country man.
"You are Hal McGrath? You are said to be the man responsible for putting the girl, Tilly Trotter, into the stocks?"
There was a pause before McGrath spoke, and then he said, "Yes, sir, 'twas me."
"Why did you do this?"
"Just... just for a joke, sir."
"Nothing more?"
"Well"--McGrath's head swung from side to side--"I'd been a-courtin' her and she'd egged me on like; then she threw me off so I suppose, sir, 'twas, 'twas a bit spite in it."
"You're honest, I'll say that for you."
Again Simon hung his head and missed something that was being said by the judge, but McGrath's answer to it was, "Yes, sir, I'd heard tell of things she'd done like an' 'twas a bit odd, but I thought, well, when we were wed I'd knock that all out of her."
This answer evoked loud guffaws and brought the eyes of the judge on all those present.
"Do y
ou in any way hold yourself responsible for the death of Burk Laudimer?"
"Well"--McGrath looked from one side then the other--"no, sir. No, sir, t'ain't me what hit him."
"No, it wasn't you that hit him"--the judge's voice was stern now"...b had you not put that girl in the stocks then Mrs Ross would have had no need to go to her rescue, nor to call in the aid of three miners, nor in defence of one of them to strike a blow that inadvertently brought about the death of a man." There was a pause now before the judge asked, "Do you still want to marry this girl?"
There was another pause before Hal McGrath muttered, "Aye, sir."
"Then I hope it may come about, and it could be the making of her. Stand down."
Simon leant against the door and closed his eyes.
He was raging inside. Marry Hal McGrath and be the makings of her. He would do for him first before he saw that happen to her.
"Call Mrs Ellen Ross."
The parson's wife was on the stand. After the preliminary questioning by the counsel the judge addressed her and it was evident to everyone in court that he was speaking to her in a manner that he hadn't used to any previous witness that day.
"You are very interested in education, is that not so, Mrs Ross?"
"Yes, my lord." Ellen's voice came as a thin whisper.
"It is your desire to educate the labouring classes?"
There was a pause, and again she said, "Yes, my lord."
"Have you now come to the conclusion that your decision to do so was ill-advised?"
"No, my lord." Her voice was stronger, her manner slightly more alert, and undoubtedly she had nonplussed the judge for again he looked down at the bench, then on to the head of the clerk before continuing, "You don't think it ill-advised that because you desired to teach three pitmen their letters they are now out of employment?"
When she made no reply to this the judge waited a few minutes before going on, "Well now, tell me, do you not think it would have been wiser if you had refrained from teaching the girl, Tilly Trotter, her letters and attempting to coach her into refinements that are far above her station, such as dancing gavottes and such like?"
The whole court stared at Ellen as, her chin coming up now, she said, "Country people dance, your honour, farm labourers and such, as do the people in the lower end of this city."
It was evident now by the judge's tone that his sympathy for the parson's wife was waning a little, for his voice was crisp as he said briefly, "There's dancing and dancing as you well know; as the classes differ so do their types of recreation, and this, I think, has been proved by the very fact that this case is being tried in this court today."
The assembled people watched the judge purse his lips, then look towards an object lying on the bench; and, pointing to it, he seemed to address it as he said, "This is the implement that caused the death of a man. Had you any idea that it had a nail in its end when you picked it up?"
He was now looking at her, and her voice trembled a little as she answered, "No, my lord, of course not, no."
"Why did you aim the blow at the deceased man?
Was it because he was one of the men that put the girl in the stocks or was it because he was attacking one of the workmen you had come to look upon as a sort ofprotegeThat'
Some seconds passed before Ellen gave her answer, and then she
said, "I don't know, my lord. My intention was to thrust the man aside because I could see that Mr Drew was in a bad way and ... and the further blow would have felled him to the ground."
"Yes, yes." The judge was now looking down at the bench again. The court waited; then lifting his head he said abruptly, "You may stand down."
As the defence counsel stepped forward to present his side of the case there was a stir in the middle of the court as a woman fainted, and when they brought her limp body towards the doors Simon was pressed outside into the hall once again, and when he attempted to return into the courtroom it was only to find that the door was closed with someone else having obviously taken his place and pressed against the door. The policeman, remembering the tip, spoke apologetically, saying, "Sorry, sir, that's how things go. You couldn't get another pin in there."
Seeing it was no use trying any further persuasion, Simon turned about and pushed through the throng and out into the open air. All he could do now was wait until the case was over... .
It was almost an hour later when the courtroom doors opened and the people surged through the hall and into the street. It was now that Simon forced his way back through them and into the courtroom. The bench was empty, but before it he saw the parson standing, his wife enfolded in his arms, and about them a number of men. But standing alone at the far end of the long front seat was Tilly, and he made his way straight towards her and without preamble took her hand and said, "I was outside, I didn't hear how it went."
Tilly looked up into his face and muttered slowly, as if coming out of a dream, "She's free.
Thank God!"
"Come." As he turned her about and went to walk up the aisle, he glimpsed from the side of his eye the parson's wife turning from her husband's arms and looking towards them.
But Tilly didn't notice for her head was down, and she kept it down until they were well away from the court walking up a comparatively quiet street and then she stopped and, looking up at Simon, she said, "'Twas awful, Simon, awful, to say I was a witch. Simon, what has come upon me?"
"Nothing, nothing, me dear. Don't let it trouble you."
She shook her head hard now as if throwing off his soft words as she said bitterly, "But it does trouble me, Simon, it does. I've ... I've never done any harm to anyone, not even to wish them harm, that is not until the last business, then I wished, I even prayed, that God would
strike Hal McGrath, I did. But that is the one and only time I've ever wished bad on anybody. They're even saying I spirited Pete Gladwish's dog away. Can you understand it, Simon?" Her voice had risen. "What'll they say I've done next? I'm afeared, Simon."
"Now! now!" He gripped her hands tightly.
"No one's going to do anything more to you; I'll keep a look out."
"No, no, don't." She now pulled her hands away from his and began walking up the street again, and she had her head turned from him as she went on,
""Tis best if you keep away from me, they're sayin" things."
"Who's sayin' things?" His voice was grim.
"Oh, all of them." She moved her head wearily now.
"Well, what are they saying?"
Her voice harsh again, she cried, "They're sayin' I'm the cause of your marriage going wrong."
He pulled her to a sharp stop, demanding now,
"Who said my marriage is going wrong?"
"Oh, it's no matter, I just heard."
"You must have heard it from somebody. Who said it?"
She lifted her head and looked him in the eyes now as she replied, "Randy Simmons has put it about that you're always fightin' and it's "cos of what happened on your marriage night. Oh, Simon, Simon, I'm sorry."
"Damned lot of rot! Never heard such idiot talk in me life. Don't you believe a word of it." He bent towards her now. "Do you hear!
don't you believe a word of it. You know, it's funny"--he straightened up"...I've read things like this, about every now and again a village going mad.
They've nothing to do except their grind, nothing to interest them after, so they hatch up something like a--"
he had almost brought out "a witch hunt" but substituted quickly, "a scandal and run a gossip shop."
Slowly she turned from him and began to walk again, and presently she said quietly, "If it wasn't for me granny I would leave the place an" go miles away. I could get work, perhaps in a big house, somewhere where I wasn't known."
"Well, you can't leave, you know you can't, you've got your granny, and she needs you, more so now than ever before "cos she's lost William."
They walked on in silence until she broke it by saying, "I miss me granda, Simon. H
e was always kind to me. He never gave me a harsh word in his life. I... I suppose"--she dropped her head slightly to the side as if thinking back--"between them they spoilt me. I was lucky to have been brought up by them. Aye, I was."
He cast his glance towards her. Lucky, she said, and here she was walking through the streets of Newcastle dressed as the poorest of the poor would be in this city. Her short blue coat was green in parts; her serge skirt had been darned in various places near the hem; her hat was a flat straw one and unadorned; her boots had seen better days, one toe showing it had recently been very roughly cobbled. He would like to take her into a restaurant and give her a meal but her appearance might suggest he had picked her up from the street. He wished also he were able to take her into one of the fashionable new dress shops with their huge glass windows and say, "Rig her out"; but were he to do so he wouldn't now be able to pay out of his own pocket. What the old couple didn't know was that the money had run out some time back, for his father had not only spent his own share, he had dipped into William's side too; and so he himself had sworn that as long as they needed it the sovereign a month would be forthcoming. Up to the time of his marriage the carrying out of this resolution had been easy, but since, what he had discovered, among other things, was that his wife had a nose for keeping accounts, and he knew that in the future he was going to be hard pushed to explain where the regular payment went.
And so he said, "There's a shop not far from here, would you like some pies and peas? They're good; I generally have a plate when I come into the city."
She hesitated, then said, "I'm not hungry, Simon."
"Aw, come on; you'll be hungry when you smell these." He took her arm and hurried her forward now and within a few minutes they were standing among others scooping up the hot pies and peas, and he smiled at her, saying, "Good?" and she answered, but without a smile, "Yes, very tasty, Simon, very tasty."
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