I, Dreyfus

by Bernice Rubens

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘Later that day one of the monitors told me I was wanted in Mr Eccles’s study. Mr Eccles wasn’t my housemaster and I couldn’t imagine what he wanted. He was very friendly and he told me I must take no notice of whatever George had said. He added that George had a vivid imagination. I’d never liked Mr Eccles, and I was angry, because I thought George had told me the truth, so I said that if George didn’t tell Sir, then I would tell him myself. Then Mr Eccles gripped my arm and said, "If you open your mouth, Solomon, you’ll go the same way as George." I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I was frightened. Especially when I heard that George was dead. That’s why I said nothing at the trial.’

  ‘Thank you Mr Solomon,’ Rebecca said.

  As he stepped down, David once more smiled at me. He would leave the chamber, and like James, he would sigh with his freedom.

  The next witness was PC Byrd. And Rebecca’s first question struck the conspiracy chord.

  ‘Police Constable Byrd,’ she said, ‘are you a member of the Iron Circle? Remember that you are under oath.’

  The monosyllabic Byrd hung his head in what he hoped would pass as shame. ‘Yes,’ he whispered.

  ‘Louder,’ Rebecca ordered.

  ‘Yes,’ he said again.

  ‘How long have you been a member?’

  ‘Sixteen years,’ he said.

  ‘And how did you join?’

  ‘Mr Coleman asked me.’

  ‘And why did you join?’

  ‘He said we could get rid of foreigners. England for the English, he said.’

  ‘And you thought that this was a good idea?’

  ‘Yes,’ Byrd said, and with confidence as if he still believed it.

  ‘“England for the English,”’ Rebecca repeated to the judges. ‘Now let us examine your testimony at the trial,’ she went on. ‘You said that you were on duty on the morning of April the fourth and you were investigating the report of a break-in at the tobacconists. We have ascertained from local police records that there was no such report at that time.’

  ‘They told me there was,’ Byrd said lamely.

  ‘You also said that at 2.40 you saw a saloon car driving at speed down the road towards the school and that you recognised the appellant in the driving seat. D’you still say that was the case?’

  ‘I don’t remember,’ Byrd mumbled. Then louder and almost hysterical. ‘I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.’

  ‘Come, come, Police Constable Byrd,’ Rebecca coaxed. ‘You are too young to claim loss of memory. Now, did you or did you not see a car? And if you did, did you or did you not see the appellant in the driving seat?’

  ‘No,’ Byrd mumbled. ‘I don’t suppose I did.’

  ‘Then why did you swear under oath that these things took place?’

  ‘Well that was my part, wasn’t it?’ Byrd shouted. ‘Those were the words they gave me.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Coleman,’ Byrd replied.

  ‘And you learnt them by heart?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And had lots of rehearsals?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So your whole testimony was a tissue of lies.’

  ‘I was only obeying orders,’ Byrd said.

  ‘Of course you were.’ Rebecca turned towards the judges. ‘He was only obeying orders,’ she said. Then back to Byrd. ‘Let’s talk now about Mr Eccles.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that,’ Byrd said quickly, ‘I wasn’t there. I didn’t see it.’

  ‘You weren’t where? You didn’t see what?’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘No, I don’t know,’ Rebecca said patiently. ‘You tell me.’

  ‘The killing,’ Byrd said. ‘That happened before I was summoned.’

  ‘How do you know that Eccles did the killing?’

  ‘We were told. He was just doing his duty. He had to, otherwise it would have all come out.’

  ‘What would have come out?’

  ‘About the Iron Circle. And what we were doing.’

  ‘What were you doing?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was only a minor member. Nobody told me anything.’

  Perhaps he expected us to pity him, this poor underling who, without question, simply obeyed orders. Until we remembered that that same plea came out of the mouths of Dr Mengele, Eichmann, Lt. Calley at Mai Lai. But he evoked no pity in the chamber. Simply an urge to spit on him and all of his kind.

  ‘Thank you, Police Constable Byrd,’ Rebecca said with infinite politeness. ‘You may step down.’

  I watched his stooped back as he walked out of the courtroom. Like James, he would make for the nearest seat. And perhaps he would weep too. Not for his freedom, but for his eventual punishment.

  Rebecca’s next witness was Mr Clerk, the verger from Canterbury Cathedral. She reminded him that he was under oath, and asked him if he was a member of the Iron Circle. He answered proudly that he was, and that he too had been recruited by John Coleman. Then Rebecca asked a question that must have seemed irrelevant to the matter of the appeal.

  ‘I understand Mr Clerk, that you have a special hobby. Could you tell the court what that hobby is?’

  I collect Hitler memorabilia,’ he said with a certain pride. ‘My collection is widely admired in Europe.’ He looked at his sister in the visitors’ gallery and responded to the sigh around the court. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ he said.

  ‘Each to his own,’ Rebecca told him. ‘You are clearly a great admirer of Hitler.’

  ‘Indeed I am. I don’t think he went far enough.’

  There was a single hiss from the chamber, which was taken up by others and the Lord Chief Justice had to rap his gavel for silence. But Mr Clerk would not be silenced. ‘All that nonsense about six million Jews. It’s a fairy tale.’

  The man was hanging himself with his own rope, but I could not help but admire his courage. He was using the chamber as a platform for his beliefs.

  The judge rapped his desk once more. ‘You are in danger of being charged with a disturbance of the peace, Mr Clerk. I will have no more of it. Counsel,’ he said, addressing Rebecca, ‘continue with your examination.’

  Rebecca then itemised the verger’s previous evidence: the hole that he claimed to have seen in the appellant’s Kent village garden, the hole that was suddenly filled in, and his subsequent report to the police. ‘Do you still maintain these statements?’ she asked.

  ‘Those were the words I was told to say. That was my part. That was the script that John gave me.’

  Rebecca turned to the judges and shrugged.

  ‘One last question,’ she addressed Mr Clerk. ‘Did you know about Mr Eccles’s part in all this?’

  Mr Clerk barely waited for her to finish the question. The name Eccles clearly lit a dangerous fuse.

  ‘I knew nothing about that,’ he shouted. ‘Nothing at all. And I say that on oath.’

  Suddenly he found the oath a safety-valve and he practically shone with his honesty.

  ‘Thank you Mr Clerk,’ Rebecca said. ‘You may step down.’

  But first Mr Clerk had to look at his sister, and smile at her. He had promoted their cause, and on her behalf as well.

  He too would eventually go to prison, I thought, and there he would no doubt find many friends, potential members of his glorious Iron Circle.

  The court was then adjourned till after lunch. Again a gentle escort led me to the waiting-room and soon the dull lunch tray was brought to me. I had a sudden craving for a glass of good claret and, as my taste-buds watered, I knew I would soon be free. Rebecca did not visit me that lunch-hour. She was eating with Matthew, Lucy and my children. The thought of such a gathering gave me pleasure, for I already considered Rebecca as part of my family.

  The guard took away my tray. ‘Not much longer now,’ he said. I didn’t know whether he was referring to the appeal or the lunch-hour. But his tone was friendly which mattered so much to me
. I was on the road to forgiveness, and I no longer found it dangerous.

  The first witness after the lunch break was Mr Cassidy from the hardware store on Tottenham Court Road. He owned to being a member of the Iron Circle, and stated that he was recruited by Mr Eccles. He did not hesitate on the name, dynamite as it was. Indeed, he went on to say that Eccles was a close friend of his.

  ‘Was he ever a customer in your shop?’ Rebecca asked. ‘He bought odd things from time to time.’

  ‘Like knives?’ Rebecca asked.

  ‘He might have,’ Mr Cassidy parried.

  Rebecca let it lie for a while. Then, ‘In your testimony at the trial, you stated on oath that the appellant bought a knife in your shop a few days before the disappearance of George Tilbury. Do you still stick to that story?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Cassidy almost laughed. ‘It was in the script. That was my part. Coleman rehearsed me. He rehearsed us all.’

  Again a helpless shrug from Rebecca. They were all making her work so easy, she hardly needed to have been there at all.

  ‘Did Mr Eccles buy a knife in your shop? You are on oath, Mr Cassidy,’ Rebecca reminded him.

  ‘No,’ Cassidy said. ‘On oath.’ And then, as a teasing rider, ‘He didn’t buy it. I didn’t charge my friends. I gave it to him.’ Did you know what it was for?’

  ‘No. A knife could be for anything,’ he said.

  ‘No more questions.’ Rebecca dismissed him.

  Then Mr Cassidy’s assistant took the stand. He was a weedy youth with a pale face pitted with acne. Without looking one knew that his nails were bitten to the quick. In answer to the question whether he was a member of the Iron Circle, he answered that he was on probation but hoped to become a full member soon.

  Did you or did you not see the Appellant in the shop that day?’ Rebecca asked.

  ‘I just said what Mr Cassidy told me to say. He said it was part of my probation.’

  But did you see the appellant or didn’t you?’ Rebecca insisted.

  ‘No,’ the lad replied. ‘I just did as I was told.’

  An Eichmann in the making, I thought, and I despaired.

  ‘You may step down,’ Rebecca said.

  ‘Long live the Iron Circle,’ the boy mumbled, as no doubt he had been ordered to say, with the promise of full membership. I wondered whether the boy had a mother, and whether she was proud or ashamed of her son. Whatever way, she would be entitled to visit him in prison, where someone would explain to him the meaning of the word perjury.

  With the department of ironmongery disposed of, the judges called for an adjournment. I was glad of the respite. I was homesick. Sick for my cell. Again Rebecca offered to ask for bail, and again I refused. My cot would miss me. And my barred window. They were expecting me. I must not let them down.

  On my way back in the van, despite my euphoria, I wondered whether my mind was on the turn.

  Chapter 35

  I was aware that the appeal might reach its conclusion on the following day, and it was possible that that night would be the very last I would spend in my cell. I didn’t want to miss one minute of it. I decided I would not sleep; I would lie on my cot, read a little perhaps and, between paragraphs, absorb my little home. It was not that I wanted to commit it to memory. I was unlikely ever to forget it. Rather I wanted to acknowledge it, every square inch of it, to avow its confinement of months, years, to curse it for its privations and to bless it for its sometime shelter and its prison for my pen. And so I lay awake, my eye wandering from page to corner, to walls, to window, and to the much despair-trodden floor. The dawn light filtered comfortably through the bars, and for its welcome, I sang my grandmother’s song.

  Breakfast arrived with its extra slice of bread. I dressed quickly. I still needed time to view my cell. It would be an hour before they came for me. Shortly the governor came to visit. He was carrying the morning paper, and as he handed it to me he said, ‘I think this means that it is all over.’ He put out his hand. ‘This is probably goodbye,’ he said, and his face was wreathed in smiles.

  ‘You’ve been good to me,’ I said to him, ‘and you have my thanks.’

  It was a formal parting. It had to be. He was an official. And would remain so after I had gone.

  I did not need to open the paper. The news was spread across the front page, half of which was devoted to two separate portraits of Eccles and myself. I resented the juxtaposition. I looked first at myself. Again that guilty picture was air-brushed into innocence. With my allure, I was almost a pin-up. Beside me was Eccles, and as I stared I thought I saw him wink. The Eccles wink that I had never forgotten.

  The headline of the report read: SUICIDE LAST CONFESSION. And underneath: ‘A suicide note was found beside the body of Richard Eccles, found dead on Tuesday in a hotel in Marseilles. In it he confessed to the murder of George Henry Tilbury and stated that Dreyfus was innocent. The Dreyfus Appeal is expected to conclude today.’

  I felt nothing for myself. My thoughts were with Sir Henry and Lady Tilbury, and I wondered whether the news would be of any comfort to them. Young George would have grown into a man by now, and I imagined that that was all they could be thinking. I wished that Eccles had lived, so that I could have murdered him myself.

  Eventually they came for me. Despite my anticipation of freedom, my spirits were low, gnawed by Eccles-loathing. I took a last look at my cell. No nostalgia. No longing. For my sudden indifference was sublime.

  Chapter 36

  The first witness of the last day was Mr Tweedie. He looked well enough. He was deeply tanned, a feature which Rebecca quickly highlighted.

  ‘You’ve been on holiday, Mr Tweedie?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘In Spain, I think. You have a villa there.’

  ‘That is correct,’ Mr Tweedie said. He was mumbling. He knew where she was leading.

  ‘How long have you owned this villa?’ she asked.

  ‘About two years,’ Mr Tweedie admitted.

  ‘Then you must have bought it shortly after the appellant’s trial.’

  ‘Yes.’ Mr Tweedie had to agree.

  Rebecca let it lie. She simply looked at the judges and shrugged.

  ‘You gave two statements at the appellant’s trial,’ she went on. ‘The first was to confirm his alibi, that you gave him dental treatment at your surgery on April the third between 2.30 and three o’clock. Later you withdrew that statement and asserted that the appellant had failed to keep his appointment. I remind you that you are on oath, Mr Tweedie. Now, which statement is true?’

  ‘The first,’ he said. ‘I treated him at my surgery. He had kept his appointment.’

  ‘Why later on did you withdraw that statement?’

  ‘Mr Eccles suggested it.’

  ‘Are you a member of the Iron Circle?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ Mr Tweedie said on his dignity.

  ‘Then why should you be obliged to Mr Eccles?’

  ‘He said he would compensate me.’

  ‘In which way?’

  ‘He didn’t say so at the time.’

  ‘Come on, Mr Tweedie,’ Rebecca grew impatient. ‘How did he compensate you?’

  ‘The villa,’ Mr Tweedie said. He had the shame to mumble. He was almost inaudible, so Rebecca repeated ‘the villa’ for the chamber’s benefit.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Tweedie,’ she said.

  One more witness was to take the stand. The police inspector from the Kent Constabulary.

  ‘You stated at the trial that you examined the appellant’s car.’

  ‘Let us say I had it examined.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Rebecca asked.

  ‘It means that I personally did not examine the car. One of my assistants undertook the examination.’

  ‘If you yourself did not examine the car, how do you know that George Tilbury’s fingerprints were found on the dashboard? And the blazer button on the passenger seat?’

  ‘That’s what I was told,’ the I
nspector said.

  But you yourself did not find them.’

  ‘No,’ he had to admit.

  ‘Then they could have come from anywhere. A set of George Tilbury’s fingerprints could have been taken at any time. Likewise the button,’ Rebecca said. ‘Shortly after the trial,’ she went on, ‘you took your family on a world cruise. A rather expensive item. How was that possible on a police inspector’s salary?’

  ‘The cruise was a present,’ he said. ‘Is there anything wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ Rebecca said. Then, turning to the bench, ‘He says it was a present,’ she repeated, ‘and that, My Lords, concludes the case for the defence.’

  It was only eleven o’clock. I dared to hope that I would not have to eat a waiting-room lunch. The Lord Chief Justice called for order, though he had no need. The chamber was muted in the silence of expectation.

  ‘We will now take a short adjournment,’ he said.

  We stood as they rose and left the chamber. Rebecca crossed over towards me.

  ‘They won’t be long,’ she said. And she smiled. She knew the verdict as well as I.

  And indeed, within ten minutes the judges had returned. We all stood once again until they took their seats. They looked at their leisure, as if they’d been out for a short stroll. I had the impression that they had left the chamber merely to reserve a good table for lunch. The Lord Chief Justice didn’t even bother to stand to deliver their conclusions.

  ‘In this case,’ he said, ‘the appellant appeals against the verdict of murder substantially on the grounds that he was the target of a conspiracy to pervert the course of justice. On the evidence that we have heard, it seems abundantly clear to us that the charge of conspiracy is wholly justified. During the course of this appeal, we have heard evidence that is heart-curdling. There has clearly been a gross miscarriage of justice for which those responsible will pay dearly. Our sympathies go out to the parents of George Tilbury, who have once more had to endure the painful reminders of their tragic loss. And also to the appellant who paid unfairly for others’ crimes. The appeal is granted and the appellant is free to go.’