Lynda La Plante - The Legacy

Smethurst was sweating, his hair sticking to his head, his face redder than ever. Now he banged hard on the bench, slapping it, punctuating his words, ‘ Where is the murder weapon?’ he demanded, bellowing, ‘The police questioned every man in that gypsy camp, searched every wagon, and they found nothing, nothing! No blood on any of the accused man’s clothes, and at no time after he was arrested did he try to escape. Is this the behaviour of a guilty man? This man is innocent … he stands in the dock for one reason, and one reason alone — he is a gypsy. Can you really believe that Miss Evelyne Jones could have an ulterior motive for coming forward? She is one of you, one of your kind, you in the gallery, and she had been mocked and insulted because she dared, yes, dared to come forward on behalf of the accused. She gains nothing, she wants nothing more than to see justice done … and you, the jury, if you have any reasonable doubt, then you have only one choice — only one — give this man justice, and pronounce him innocent. He is not guilty.”

Smethurst slumped into his seat. He had not referred to his notebook once. He sat back, exhausted.

The judge called for a recess until the following day, when he would give his summing-up. Evelyne wanted to weep — it was still, after all this time, not over.

The following morning, the judge spent two hours summing up the case. He then instructed the jury in their duty. His voice was chesty and hoarse as he patiendy explained to them that they must digest all the evidence they had heard. That they must be unanimous in their verdict, and if there was any reasonable doubt in any of their minds they had no alternative but to find Freedom Stubbs innocent. The jury filed out, and the judge went for a glass of port with Smethurst and Henshaw.

Evelyne, Ed and Miss Freda waited in the corridor, afraid to leave in case the jury came back in. None of them felt like talking — they just sat with their eyes on the ushers standing quiedy in a group by the entrance to the court. Evelyne wanted to scream. She clasped Freda. ‘Oh God, Freda, they’ve been out over an hour, it must be a bad sign, it’s a bad sign — Ed, do you think it’s a bad sign? Oh …’

Ed saw the spectators streaming in through the main doors. The group of ushers broke up and began directing people back into court. ‘Here we go, Evie love, this is it by the look of it. Come on, or we’ll miss our seats.’

Evelyne sat down, trembling, expectant. The clerk stood waiting for the judge, the ushers closed the doors.

‘Please be upstanding …’

The noisy clamour of everyone rising drowned the last words as Smethurst and Henshaw preceded the judge into the court. Smethurst did not so much as glance at Evelyne, or Sir Charles, who was standing at the back of the court.

The jury filed back into their seats, the foreman obviously nervous, twisting his cloth cap round and round in his hands.

The clerk of the court waited for the judge to settle himself, then stepped up to the jury foreman.

‘You have made your decision?’

‘Yes sir, Your Honour sir, we have, sir.’

‘And is it the decision of all of you?’

‘Yes, sir, it is.’

The clerk held out his hand for the slip of paper in the foreman’s shaking hand. He licked his lips. ‘Please tell the court your decision. Do you find the accused, Freedom Stubbs, guilty or not guilty of murder?’

‘Not guilty.’

The court erupted in one enormous cheer. Evelyne covered her face, the relief was unbearable. She repeated, ‘Not guilty, not guilty,’ over and over as if she could hardly believe it.

Freedom, standing in the dock, lowered his head and wept. The noise of the court was like a drum beating in his brain. A whirlwind whooshed around him, he was floating above everything, no voice was clear, no face — just hands grabbing, shaking his. He realized his handcuffs had been removed without knowing how. It was all a blur of confusion which climaxed in Freedom, surrounded by Sir Charles, Smethurst, Freda and Ed, walking from the court. He was free.

The press clamoured around them, camera flashes popped, the babble of voices asking him to look this way and that way, people screamed at him, wanting to know how it felt to be free. Crowds of women threw flower petals like a wedding party as they stood on the courthouse steps.

Sir Charles waved and smiled to the people, his arm around Freedom, then he held up Freedom’s right arm as if he was in the boxing ring. The crowd went wild, chanting ‘Freedom, Freedom, Freedom …’ and still he kept feeling it was a dream, that he would wake up, at any moment he would wake up in his small cell.

Ed pushed the people away as they moved down to a cavalcade of cars drawing up outside the court. Evelyne put her hands over her face as the flashing cameras blinded her, and she was separated from the main group. In the excitement Ed turned to Miss Freda, who was crying one moment and laughing the next, and shouted to her above the din.

‘Marry me, will you marry me?’

Freda flung herself into his arms and they were carried along by the crowd to the waiting cars.

Evelyne was helped into Ed and Freda’s car. Sir Charles had taken Freedom in the first car, which was now drawing out of the driveway. People ran beside the car, cheering, and Sir Charles waved to them as though he were the Prince of Wales himself.

Smethurst bundled himself into the last car and leaned back, satisfied with himself.

At the hotel, reporters hung around the entrance, more hovered inside the tearoom, and the cameras popped and flashed. They clustered around Sir Charles and Freedom, all talking at once, demanding interviews with the boxer. Sir Charles dominated the proceedings, while Freedom stood at his side.

‘Gentlemen, please, please stay back, we will give a press interview in the morning, please, please stay back.’

Freedom looked over the heads to see Evelyne standing to one side. She seemed as overawed by the whole experience as he was. He tried to catch her eye, but she was jostled by a group of women determined to touch Freedom.

Some large porters arrived on the scene and began to move the crowd out of the hotel. Sir Charles steered Freedom towards the lift, where the snooty bellhop, beside himself, bowed and flushed and smiled to the cameras at the same time. They were the first to get clear of the lobby.

The movement of the lift made Freedom’s heart lurch, and he put out his hands to steady himself.

‘Keep your hands off the sides, sir, or you’ll get hurt.’

The bellhop swung the gates open and Sir Charles stood aside for Freedom to go ahead of him. Dewhurst was hovering at the door of the suite, delighted but trying very hard to remain aloof and cool, as was his place.

‘Book a table for dinner, Dewhurst, take over the small private dining room. Tonight we will celebrate.’

The door to Sir Charles’ suite closed as the second lift reached the third floor, and Freda, Ed and Evelyne stepped out. The pair were so brimming with happiness and excitement that Evelyne’s quietness went unnoticed.

‘You comin’ in? We’ll ‘ave some champagne, double celebration, eh? You told ‘er yet, Freda? Come on, let’s get in there.’

Evelyne was at the door of her own suite before Freda gasped out that she and Ed were going to be married, then Ed pulled Freda’s hand and led her towards Sir Charles’ suite.

Evelyne let herself into her room and closed the door, welcoming the silence, the peace. She was exhausted. She threw her hat on to the bed. So much for Freda’s creations, no one seemed to have noticed her, never mind her clothes.

The bath water was running as Evelyne lay on her bed. She realized then that it was all over, she had finally seen something right through from start to finish. Freedom had been proved innocent, he was free, and instead of feeling elated she felt empty. While the trial had been on, she had had somewhere to go, something to do, and now she had nothing. She knew Sir Charles would be returning to London and, if Freda and Ed married, more than likely her only friend would be gone, too. She was alone, once more she was Miss Evelyne Jones, but now there was no ‘schoolteacher’ after her name. She had nothing.,