Freedom explained in detail exactly how he had met Evelyne, what had happened afterwards. How, months later, he had been to the valleys for the boxing match. The spectators listened attentively. Freedom continued uninterrupted right up until the night of his arrest. Smethurst nodded, keeping a watchful eye on him, encouraging him to speak freely. Freedom finished by saying how he had been brought to Cardiff. Smethurst raised his hand to pull at his wig, a signal he had told Freedom to watch for — he was to remain silent.
Smethurst left a long pause before he raised his voice. ‘Thank you, Mr Stubbs. Now, I ask you, in front of this court, knowing you have sworn on the Bible to tell the truth — did you, Freedom Stubbs, take the life of William Thomas?’
‘No sir, I did not.’
Smethurst looked at the judge. ‘No further questions, Your Honour.’
A low buzz went around the court as Henshaw, taking his time, stood up to begin his cross-examination. He looked with chilling eyes at Freedom. His voice was softer, quieter than Smethurst’s, and the spectators all leaned slightly forward, afraid to miss a word.
‘Mr Stubbs, would you please look at exhibit number four, a photograph, and tell me what the mark across the deceased’s forehead means?’
Smethurst chewed his lips. Freedom was handed the blown-up photograph of William Thomas. ‘Yes, sir, it’s a dukkerin’s sign.’
‘I’m sorry Mr Stubbs — dukkerin?’ ‘Romany sign, sir, a dukkerin is what you call a fortune-teller. It is a curse sign.’
The court murmured and hushed immediately. Smethurst sucked in his breath. His foot tapped, and he gave Freedom a hard glare. He had already said too much. Henshaw bided his time, the spectators giving him their rapt attention.
‘Mr Stubbs, you say you did not kill William Thomas, a nineteen-year-old boy, a boy found with his hands tied behind his pitiful body, his throat slit, and a blood mark, a strange symbol daubed on his forehead, a Romany curse …’
The spectators murmured. Henshaw held up his hand for silence. Freedom appeared about to speak … but Henshaw continued. ‘You say you did not kill William Thomas, you swear this on the Holy Bible — tell me, as a Romany, are you a Christian?’
Smethurst swore under his breath. The buzzing grew loud again, and the judge hammered with his gavel to quieten the court room. He warned that, unless the spectators controlled themselves and behaved according to court rules, they would be removed. But the noise persisted, and shouts began from the gallery … ‘Liar — hang him — give him the rope … The rope, the rope …’
Two ushers approached the judge’s bench. He leaned down to listen for a moment, then gave a tight nod of his head as he agreed to the troublemakers being removed. Several men and three rowdy women were ejected. Their voices could still be heard arguing in the corridor. Henshaw raised an eyebrow to Smethurst as silence fell once more in the court.
‘I did not hear an answer to my question, Mr Stubbs. Are you a Christian?’
Freedom looked at Smethurst then back to Henshaw. ‘I believe in God, and the Devil, may he take my soul if I am lying.’
Henshaw stepped up the pressure. ‘Tell me, Mr Stubbs, are you or are you not the lover of Miss Evelyne Jones? Miss Jones, the only witness to give you an alibi for the night of the murder of William Thomas? Please reply to my question, Mr Stubbs. Is Miss Evelyne Jones your mistress?’
Freedom’s hands gripped the dock bar tightly. ‘No sir, she is not my woman.’
Henshaw turned round, shrugged his shoulders, tapped his pencil on the rail before him. This tapping was to become familiar, first the sharp end of the pencil, then the blunt end, tap-tap-tap …
‘So Miss Jones, a schoolteacher, is nothing more than a true friend to the gypsy people. Could you tell me why, if she was simply a friend, a woman you had met on only one occasion before, why, during a boxing match at Devil’s Pit three days after the brutal murder of William Thomas — I am referring, Mr Stubbs, to the night you were trying to avoid arrest — why did you … one moment…’ Henshaw perched a pair of half-moon glasses on the end of his nose. He picked up his notes. ‘If I may quote you, Mr Stubbs, “I drove my wagon through the crowd of people and helped Miss Jones up beside me” … end of quote. Do you recall saying that? So would you now please tell the court why you would take hold of a woman, by her waist I presume, and lift her into a moving wagon …?’
Freedom was nonplussed, unable to follow Henshaw’s train of thought, his complex questioning.
‘Perhaps I should refresh your memory again, Mr Stubbs. We are talking, are we not, of the night the police arrested you. If she was not your “woman”, not your mistress, why did you take hold of her in what I can only describe as a very familiar, if not barbaric, way?’ A woman waved from the gallery and screeched, ‘He could get hold of my waist any time he likes, ducks!’
Henshaw stared at the blonde woman leaning over the gallery. The court broke into laughter and the judge again rapped his gavel sharply and called for silence. Henshaw pursed his lips, removed his glasses, and sighed. ‘Again, Mr Stubbs, I have to ask you please to reply to my question. We are not here — although I must say, some appear to think so — we are not here for our own amusement. This is a court of law. I am waiting, Mr Stubbs.’
Smethurst carefully unwrapped a toffee. Henshaw had learned some of Smethurst’s personal tricks, he was playing to the gallery, condoning their behaviour. It was obvious that Freedom was at a loss. He gazed helplessly at Smethurst.
Tapping his pencil with an air of martyred patience, Henshaw repeated ‘Well, Mr Stubbs, we are waiting.’
‘She stood by me again, sir, she said they were out to kill me because they — the villagers — believed I had done the killing. There were many men trying to push the wagon over, I took her aboard the wagon because I was afeared for her life.’
‘Are you saying Miss Jones’ own people were turning against her?’
‘Yes, sir, they knew she’d been with me, and that lad was dead, and in the Romany way …’
Smethurst closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. The court was in an uproar.
The judge called for a lunch break, and everyone filed out of the room. Freedom was led down to the cells. When he was brought back after lunch, Henshaw cross-examined him for the rest of the afternoon.
That evening Evelyne waited for Freda’s usual visit. She came into the hotel room and promptly burst into tears. ‘Oh, I feel so sorry’for him, Evie, he looks so alone, so alone … And that Mr Henshaw twisted him so, made everything he said sound so bad … he asks one question and leads it into another, and gets Freedom confused.’
Evelyne grew more and more nervous as Miss Freda described how cold and arrogant Mr Henshaw was. They both jumped with fright as someone pounded on the door, and they heard Sir Charles’ voice demanding admission.
‘Now look here, this isn’t on. You know you mustn’t talk to the witness, Miss Freda. Now please leave instantly … go along, out, out — and make sure no one sees you as you leave.’
With a fearful look at Evelyne, Freda hurried out. Sir Charles closed the door after her. ‘I shouldn’t be here either.’
‘How do you think it’s going, sir?’ ‘Not good, not good at all — they’re making him look like an oaf. Er … look here, gel, you and this fellow … er, you have been telling us the truth, haven’t you?’ ‘About what, sir?’
‘Well, this chap Henshaw’s pretty sharp, and he’s picked up that perhaps there’s more to your so-called “friendship” with this fella than meets the eye.’
Evelyne’s hands tightened in her lap. She swallowed hard. ‘If I had lied to you, I would not get on to that witness stand and swear on the Holy Bible to a lie. Everything I said to you, and Mr Smethurst, was God’s truth.’
‘Ah, yes, quite … well, I think you’ll be called soon. I suppose Smethurst will talk to you before then. I’d best be off… Goodnight.’ ‘Goodnight, Sir Charles.’
Evelyne lay down, hardly able to believe that after all
she had been through Sir Charles had to ask her again. Her heart pounded and she began to worry. Mr Henshaw sounded even more threatening than Miss Freda had made out. He had obviously sown a seed of doubt in Sir Charles’ mind.
In the morning Freedom was led, handcuffed, from the jail to the waiting police wagon. A small crowd outside hurled rotting vegetables and abuse, and spat in Freedom’s face as he stared at them between the wagon’s bars. They raised their fists and gave chase as it moved off. Most of them then went to join the dole queues, satisfied that they were at least better off than the gyppo. Poor they may be, but they were free.
Freedom touched a slight swelling on his right cheek.
He had been taunted so much at breakfast — not by the prisoners but by the warders — that he had lost his temper and hurled his porridge at a particularly unpleasant warder who took delight in needling him constantly. He had made lewd gestures and implied that Freedom and his kind were up to no good. Freedom was beaten as he was dragged back to his cell. The warder, still dripping cold porridge, shouted, ‘They’ll hang you sure as I’m standing here, and, by Christ, I’ll pull the rope meself, you bastard!’
The wagon bounced and rocked over the cobbled side streets on the way to court. Freedom closed his eyes, breathed the fresh air into his lungs. As they drove through the back gates of the court yet another small group of people pelted the wagon. But a few girls stood by the gates waving flowers, calling his name. One blew him a kiss, and got a severe wallop from a man for behaving like a ‘gyppo bitch’.
Smethurst was very angry. Freedom was looking rough, his suit crumpled, and there was a bruise forming on his cheek. He handed Freedom his own greasy comb and told him to do something with his hair. Clean it might be, but long strands hung loose from the leather thong. Smethurst felt sorry for losing his temper. ‘The women in the gallery are on your side, lad. I wish we had a few on the jury. They’ll be tossing flowers at you before the trial’s over. Apparently you resemble that film actor chappie, Valentino.’
‘I never been to no picture house, sir.’
An usher gave Smethurst the nod that court was about to sit, and he rushed to his chambers to throw on his wig and gown. Henshaw was already waiting, spick and span, checking his appearance in the mirror. ‘So it’s the big day — your girl’s on the stand? Should be interesting,’
‘You get copies of those two statements? From Lord Carlton and Captain Collins?’
‘I did, old chap, I did. Personally I doubt if they’ll help, you’d need the prince himself to step on the stand to get your chap off this one.’
‘We’ll see, we’ll see — don’t count your eggs yet. Want a toffee?’
Henshaw smiled a refusal as the judge entered, muttering about the rift-raff outside the court. Smethurst joked with the judge. ‘They say my client’s the spitting image of this movie star, fella called Rudolph Valentino.’ The judge snorted, ‘Well, for the Lord’s sake I hope the press don’t pick that up, the wife’U be here next. She’s seen Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse twice.’ Smethurst nearly swallowed his toffee the wrong way as the judge swept out. ”Four Horsemen of the what?’
Henshaw laughed, checked he had his glasses and then winked at Smethurst. ‘Old boy’s wife’s a bit of a lady, so I’ve heard. Well, come on, let’s get on with the show.’
Evelyne was driven to court in Sir Charles’ Rolls-Royce. She was shaking with nerves and kept licking her lips because her mouth felt so dry.
At the court they were surrounded by newspaper reporters pushing forward to speak to Sir Charles. The flashes and bangs of the photographers’ lights made Evelyne jump.
‘May I ask you, Sir Charles, what your interest in this case might be? Please, Sir Charles, just a few words?’
‘I simply want justice done, that is all. Freedom Stubbs is an innocent man who has already spent too long in jail.’
Two police officers pushed the reporters back, allowing Evelyne and Sir Charles to enter. The massive marbled reception area of the Law Courts was daunting, and Evelyne would have found it awe-inspiring if she had not been so nervous. Voices echoed and people rushed hither and thither. She was thankful to see the familiar figure of Smethurst striding towards them.
‘Ah, you’re here, good, good — curtain up in about five minutes.’
‘Good God, man, can’t you afford a better wig, the tail’s over your left ear, looks dreadful.’
Smethurst turned his wig round, only to leave the tail sticking out over his right ear. An usher was waiting to lead Evelyne round to the waiting area. Sir Charles went ahead into the courtroom as Smethurst, his gown floating around him, walked with Evelyne to a long bench.
‘Now just keep calm, and remember, don’t let Henshaw ruffle you. He’ll try his damnedest. Shouldn’t be too long a wait, and may I say you look charming.’
He strode off before she could reply or thank him for his compliment. She could see what looked like food stains down the back of his gown.
She became aware of a man scrutinizing her from the doorway. His cold eyes made her shiver, his drawn face was set and hard.
Henshaw detected how nervous she was, and knew instantly she would be putty in his hands. He followed Smethurst into the court.
One hour ticked by, then another. Evelyne paced up and down the marbled corridor. She walked to the far end and peered round the corner. There was another bench, with a number of men sitting on it, some with cigarettes in their cupped hands. Above them hung a ‘No Smoking’ sign in bold red letters. Evelyne returned to her bench and sat down again.
In the courtroom Smethurst was in fine form, his face flushed a deep red, his big hands waving in the air. He called for the defendant, Freedom Stubbs, to be brought into the dock.
The raised voices from the court made Evelyne’s nerves even worse. Suddenly the double doors were thrown open and an usher called her name. She dropped her handbag in her haste to follow him into the court.
Evelyne’s hand trembled visibly as she held up the Bible, standing ramrod straight in the witness box. ‘I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.’
Smethurst smiled at her. ‘Would you state your name and occupation?’
Evelyne’s voice wavered, and she got another encouraging smile from Smethurst as she answered, ‘I am a schoolteacher’.
‘So at the time of the murder of William Thomas you were a schoolteacher. Now then, would you, in your own time, please tell the court how you first came to meet the accused, Freedom Stubbs?’
Evelyne told the court how some friends had taken her to Highbury Hill for an evening’s entertainment. At this point Smethurst interrupted her. ‘I’d say that was a rather unusual evening’s entertainment for a respectable schoolteacher, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Jones? And just exactly who were these friends who suggested you go to this boxing match?’ He directed a half-smile at Henshaw.
Evelyne replied, ‘Lord Frederick Carlton and Captain David Collins.’
A murmur ran round the court at the mention of the high-society names. Sir Charles gasped and dropped his monocle. Smethurst had assured him that neither man’s name would even be mentioned in court. He slapped his kid gloves against his hand in anger — this was really outrageous.
Evelyne was in the witness box for almost an hour before they broke for lunch. She had hardly looked at the dock, at Freedom — she couldn’t. He had never taken his eyes from her face. As they led him back to his cell he tried to catch her eye, but she was being escorted from the stand by an usher.
The afternoon session began with Evelyne once more in the box. The court heard how she had helped Rawnie, but her name was not spoken. She had everyone’s full attention as she explained how she had collected the newspaper cuttings, how she had seen Freedom in her village and recognized him from the boxing match. She told the court why she had gone to his camp to warn him the police were looking for him. As she stated that on the night
William Thomas was killed in the picture house, Freedom had been with her, the spectators stirred and whispered. Her voice was strong, confident, as she said that Freedom could not have committed the murder. She was calm and concise throughout the ordeal, and above all spoke clearly, accurately recalling dates and times. Smethurst turned to the judge. ‘At this point, Your Honour, may I say that both Lord Frederick Carlton and Captain David Collins have given statements to verify what Miss Jones has said, and they will both, if required, repeat their statements in court.’
Sir Charles gave Smethurst a furious look as he sat down.
Before Henshaw cross-examined Evelyne, he requested permission to approach the bench with Smethurst for a moment.
They spoke in whispers. Henshaw had picked up on the newspaper cuttings and he was going to find it impossible to avoid mentioning the previous murders. Smethurst gave Henshaw the go-ahead. He had been prepared for this, and it did not involve any change in tactics. He knew he could turn it to his own advantage.
Henshaw walked back to his seat and shuffled through his papers, waiting for the court to be brought to order once again. He took his time, lips pursed, carefully placing his glasses on his nose. He coughed lightly and appeared to be concentrating on his notes. In a blatantly sarcastic manner, he asked ‘Miss Jones, could you please tell the court where you gained your diplomas to teach?’
Evelyne flushed and replied that she had not taken examinations, but had taught at the junior school in her village.
‘So you are not, as you stated, a schoolteacher, is that correct? And at the time you visited Highbury Fair, what was your profession then?’
Smethurst jumped up and objected that the line of questioning was irrelevant and had no bearing whatsoever on the case. The judge dismissed his interruption.
‘So, Miss Jones, we take it that you were not in fact a schoolteacher but a pupil, am I correct?’
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