Tension mounted as the date of the trial grew closer. Sir Charles had spent the time staying with friends or out shooting. Ed Meadows was courting Miss Freda and they held hands like two teenagers, gazing into each other’s eyes and sighing. Ed was thinking about popping the question. Miss Freda was reeling in her fish, and had already made up her mind to accept if he proposed.
Evelyne spent her days wandering around the museums and art galleries. The trial was ever-present in her mind.
Smethurst worked on in preparation for the trial. This big, scruffy man was totally dedicated to his work. His scrupulous attention to every single detail was impressive. He knew he held a man’s life in his hands and, although he appeared almost buffoonish, he was an exceptionally intelligent and honourable man. He was also a kind man, and very patient.
The trial was to begin the following morning. Smethurst found a brief moment to explain everything to Evelyne.
‘We begin tomorrow morning. You must not be seen talking to anyone associated with the trial. You’ll be called to the stand when I am ready … but we’ll talk again before then, just remember all I’ve told you and don’t let him ruffle you. Answer clearly and concisely …’
‘How’s he holding up, sir? Is he all right?’
‘Well he’s getting a lot of stick from the other inmates, naturally, and he’ll more than likely have to take a lot more. Don’t you worry yourself about him … I take it you’ve not seen him, made no contact?’
‘No sir, His Lordship forbade it.’
‘Quite right … well dearie, I’ll take my weary body to bed, be refreshed for the battle.’
‘Will it be a battle, sir?’
Smethurst gave her a small pat on her shoulder, and one of his lopsided smiles. ‘Trust me … Goodnight.’
Evelyne tossed and turned all night long. Early the following morning, the first day of the trial, Miss Freda and Ed peeked round her door on their way to court.
‘I’ll come to see you later, tell you all about it,’ whispered Freda.
‘Now, now, Freda, yer know that’s not legal. She’s a witness, you gotta stay away — maybe I’ll just pop in though, eh! Ta-ta, gel.’
Left alone, Evelyne tried to read, but she couldn’t concentrate for wondering how the trial was going. She prayed it would be over soon. She ordered lunch but couldn’t eat anything, and eventually she sat by the window, waiting for them all to return.
The gallery was packed with spectators. They were rowdy and jocular. As the court began to fill, Smethurst swept in, his wig already at a precarious angle. Henshaw, immaculate as ever, took his position at the bar, waiting for the judge to be seated. The courtroom became hushed. There was a silent moment while both defence and prosecuting counsels took out their papers. The tension could be felt by all as they heard the sounds of keys turning in locks, and Freedom Stubbs was led up from the cells.
He dwarfed the prison officers on each side of him. He wore a neat, single-breasted suit, white shirt and tie, courtesy of Sir Charles. His long hair, as Smethurst had instructed, was tied back off his face in a thong. He was handcuffed, and he kept his head bowed, looking neither right nor left. The clerk of the court stepped forward.
Henshaw began his opening speech for the prosecution. The court listened attentively. No reference was made to any of the previous murder counts. Henshaw made a blistering verbal attack on the accused man. He then proceeded to call his witnesses; miners who had seen Freedom’s fight with Dai ‘Hammer’ Thomas, men who had heard him threaten to take revenge. Evan Evans gave a stuttering, nervous statement regarding the arrest of the accused man. Smethurst didn’t let a single thing slip by him. He was in and out of his seat like a bobbing buoy, consistently attacking Henshaw for leading his witnesses, particularly in Evan Evans’ case. The man was so nervous he even had a problem remembering his own address. When it was time for Smethurst to cross-question Evan Evans he bellowed, and the poor man actually jumped.
‘When you arrested Freedom Stubbs did you find anything?’
‘Pardon?’
‘When the prisoner was arrested, did you find anything on his person?’
‘No sir, we did not, but we had a damned good look. We also searched the gypsy camp, found nothing.’
‘And could you tell us how the prisoner behaved? When arrested?’
‘He came along quiet like, after we’d got him.’
Smethurst smiled his thanks and resumed his seat.
The next witness was yet another miner who had witnessed Freedom Stubbs’ threatening behaviour after the fight at Highbury Fair. Morgan Jones revelled in the fact he had been called to the witness stand. He gave lurid details of Freedom’s prowess in the ring, drawing murmurs from the gallery as he lifted his voice theatrically. When Smethurst began his cross-questioning, he kept his voice low, hardly audible, to make the witness more attentive.
‘So you saw the prisoner threatening to take revenge, could you elaborate?’
‘Oh yes, sir, he pointed like this, and his face was terrible fierce. He said he would get each man there, I took it to mean he would kill ‘em.’
‘Thank you Mr Jones, but the fight was over, was it not?’
‘Yes, Dai Thomas was lying out cold, had to be hospitalized, he did, they thought he had killed him he was so bad.’
Smethurst then asked Morgan if he knew anything of Dai Thomas’ present state of health. Morgan elaborated, his fist raised in a boxer’s stance, telling the court that ‘Hammer’ was alive and well and fighting in Brighton. Morgan beamed around the court, waved to his mother in the gallery.
‘Tell me, Mr Jones, why, in your opinion, was the defendant still fighting after the bout with Thomas was over?’
‘Ah well, there had been some hanky-panky with one of the gyppo girls, and a few of the lads …’
‘Hanky-panky …? What exactly do you mean by hanky-panky?’
‘Well there had been a lot of beer flowing.’
‘Are you saying there was a certain amount of drunkenness?’
‘Oh yes, I’d say so … a few of the lads had got a bit excited …’
‘Excited? … I am sorry Mr Jones, I am still not exactly clear … What were these lads doing?’
‘Well, there was one of the gypsy girls, you know what they’re like, she must have encouraged them. They were … having their way with her …’
The court buzzed. Smethurst sighed … ‘Ahhhhhh, having their way with her! What, all of them? How many lads did you see with this gypsy girl?’
Morgan Jones huffed and puffed, rubbed his head, and coughed with embarrassment. ‘Maybe it had got a bit out of hand, but those lads paid for it.’
Smethurst ignored the reference to the boys’ killings. He bellowed, making Jones gulp, ‘You call raping an innocent girl “getting a bit out of hand.’”?”
The court erupted in loud boos and hisses. The judge called an adjournment for lunch.
Evelyne sat on her bed while Miss Freda tried to relate all the day’s happenings. Suddenly Freda burst into tears.
‘What is it, Freda? … Oh, for goodness’ sake, tell me! Have you any idea what it’s like for me, sitting here day after day, not knowing … why are you crying?’
Miss Freda gulped and sniffed. ‘Because … because I feel so sorry for him — Oh Evie, they say he’ll hang.’
Evelyne wanted to shake Freda, but she fought for control, told her that she mustn’t even think like that.
‘I’ve not been on the stand yet, Freda, just wait until I get my ten penn’orth in …’
Freda calmed down and blew her nose, while Evelyne wished she felt as positive as she sounded. Freedom was to be called to the stand the following morning.
In the early hours she woke from a nightmare, a terrible nightmare of a man swinging on the end of a rope. The man was Freedom.
Smethurst kept his eyes on Freedom and his fingers crossed as he was sworn in. He knew he was going to
