19

WEDNESDAY 15th MARCH 1865

DAYLESFORD COURT HOUSE

JOSEPH LATHAM STOOD IN the dock, resentment swelling his collar. He had been in the lock-up since Friday, and it was George Stuart who’d put him there, on a charge of stealing. In the witness box stood his wife, Alice. Their eyes met, and quickly she turned away as she heard Magistrate Drummond put his question.

‘Yes, Your Worship,’ she said. ‘The dresses and jewellery do belong to my late daughter, and these items are at my house.’

‘The charge brought by Mr George Stuart against your husband is that some time on New Year’s Day, three days after the murder of your daughter, he unlawfully removed these items — to the value of £10 — from Mr Stuart’s house.’

‘They weren’t stolen. They were my daughter’s, and, yes, they are in my possession. I admit it.’

Drummond considered a moment. ‘The charge is not sustained. Case dismissed. You’re free to leave, Mr Latham.’

TUESDAY 25th APRIL, CASTLEMAINE COURT HOUSE

THE PROSECUTION APPLIES FOR A POSTPONEMENT

AT SEVENTY, PEARSON THOMPSON wasn’t in the best of health, with a gouty foot and an unreliable bladder being particularly bothersome ailments in his general state of decrepitude. Eliza’s tracking him down to his new address in Castlemaine hadn’t made his situation any less onerous; but as long as he had income enough, he could keep her at bay. That Mary Foley was expecting his child was not of immediate concern, and he wasn’t expecting that it would be; she was a woman with some capacity for self-restraint. Besides, he was fond of her; he liked to come home to her. Her willingness to please he took as reward for speaking up all day for those of her ilk: the ill-educated, coarse-mannered of the world.

At ten in the morning, he hobbled into the court and saw his client already in the dock, clad in prison garb, and no less unfavourably presented for it. The barrister signalled that the accused might like to sweep the hair off his face, if only so the court might see that there was a human being before it, albeit an uncommonly hirsute one. Rose complied, to a degree, and Thompson proceeded to his place. He nodded a good morning to Smyth, the crown prosecutor, whose growing reputation Thompson would acknowledge were it not the case that the man was half his age. Smyth smiled back, but Thompson discerned no respect in it. But when was a young Irishman respectful to an ageing Englishman anyway? Judge Williams was presiding, and opened proceedings by taking a submission from Smyth, for a postponement.

‘Your Honour, in support of this application, I have here an affidavit from Detective Constable Thomas Walker of Daylesford, to the effect that since the last postponement, he and Detective Williams have discovered a certain article of clothing, which they believe would be important evidence against the prisoner. But yet their case is not ready for trial, and that, if postponed till the next Circuit Court he — that is, Detective Walker — believes that additional and important evidence would be forthcoming against the prisoner.’

Thompson was having none of this. He rose abruptly, to signal the import of what he was about to say. ‘Your Honour, on behalf of the prisoner, I must strenuously oppose the application. Mr Rose was committed on February 7th to stand trial on February 21st. That date lapsed, and since then there has been yet another postponement, because there was not a tittle of evidence against him, although fourteen detectives had been getting up the case. It would be a denial of justice to keep the prisoner in custody any longer.’ He sat down as emphatically as he had jumped up.

Judge Williams suggested a possible concession. ‘He may, perhaps, be admitted to bail.’

Thompson was shaking his head in the manner of a man confident he had moral right on his side. He stood again, slowly this time, and spoke with commensurate measure.

‘Your Honour, with respect, how can a man like the prisoner get bail? His character and reputation have been so maligned that at Daylesford the police were obliged to bring him by a circuitous route to the court, or he would have been torn to pieces by the crowd. And how certain are the police of the prisoner’s guilt, when two other men were taken into custody for the same offence? And, I might add, one of them, Bonetti, shared a lock-up with the prisoner for a period of weeks! No, the fact is there is not a particle of evidence against the prisoner. The husband of the murdered woman says he is not the man who committed the murder; the police know he is not the man; and there is not the slightest evidence against him.’

Judge Williams watched Thompson’s performance impassively. The repetition was not helpful to the barrister’s argument. When it was done, he looked to Smyth, unhurriedly rising in his place and conveying in his unruffled manner that reason was on his side.

‘I would point out to my learned colleague, Your Honour, that there is, in fact, a great deal of evidence; and it is believed that other evidence will be obtained.’

Smyth eased back into his chair as Thompson stood to counter: ‘If my learned colleague is referring to an item of clothing found in a log near Cheesbrough’s farm, I say that it is not known that this item belongs to the prisoner.’

Smyth let this go by with a grimace, as if to say he really had no idea what Thompson was talking about.

‘Your Honour, defence counsel may be suggesting that the prisoner has been unreasonably detained. Well, I don’t need to remind him that murder is a very serious charge, and I point out that the prisoner was only committed on the 7th of February. So, the prisoner has not been in gaol more than two months and a half.’

Thompson was quick to rebut. ‘But he was in the Daylesford lock-up for four weeks before that!’

Williams waggled both hands for the two gentlemen to be silent while he considered his decision.

With a glance to Rose, he gave it. ‘I will remand the prisoner; but the trial must be proceeded with at the next Circuit Court.’

Smyth gestured that this was a decision he was happy to comply with. Not so Thompson, however. He stood, and with an arm extended towards the dock, said, ‘Does Your Honour think the prisoner ought to be remanded? Two other men were brought up for this murder, and the prosecutor himself doesn’t really believe that the prisoner is the man!’ Smyth rolled his eyes, and shrugged to the bench in bewilderment. Thompson went on. ‘There have been fourteen detectives, fourteen, getting up evidence against the prisoner, and they have done everything they can do.’

Thompson seemed to have stepped across the line that separates argument from complaint, and Williams was having none of that. ‘Fourteen, you say, Mr Thompson? Perhaps they want sixteen.’

The judge suppressed a smile, though Smyth did little to conceal his amusement at the quip.

Thompson would not be discouraged. ‘The police don’t know what they want. The prisoner is made a victim to appease the popular clamour —’

Smyth was indicating that Rose was wanting a word. Thompson took a moment to consult, and returned to say, ‘The prisoner informs me that they won’t allow him to shave his beard.’

Smyth shrugged.

Williams was similarly disposed to the grievance. ‘Prison regulations. I cannot interfere in the matter.’

Thompson began to speak, but was hushed by the judge, who by his weary tone manifestly had had enough.

‘I’ve considered the application, and heard the objections to it. The prisoner will be remanded until the next Circuit Court, in July, it being understood that he would then be discharged if the Crown was not ready to proceed with the trial.’

That, it seemed, was the end of the matter. Not for Pearson Thompson.

‘Then might I ask upon what recognisances Your Honour would admit the prisoner to bail?’

Williams replied without calculation, the bluntness of it surely intended to dissuade Thompson from protest.

‘Two hundred and fifty pounds himself, and two sureties of £250 each.’ So, Thompson calculated, that’s Rose and two others each to stump up twice a constable’s yearly pay. The impossibility of bail was thus made clear, and Thompson could do nothing but slump in his chair. But as if the impossible was not enough, Smyth put in the boot.

‘Your Honour, I ask that a week’s notice be given to the law officers of the Crown of the intended sureties before they are accepted.’

‘Certainly, Mr Smyth, and I might add that my promise to discharge the prisoner at the next sittings, if the Crown was not ready to go on with the trial, would not be binding if the prisoner were admitted to bail.’

Smyth nodded his acceptance of the conditions. Thompson sighed, and capitulated. ‘I have not the slightest reason to believe that the prisoner will be able to find sureties.’

Smyth knew as much, and made no remark. The court rose as Judge Williams made his exit and David Rose was escorted from the dock.