Maddy felt that the scene would be engraved on her mind for ever. Yellow lamplight illumined the faces of the six people present in the cob-walled room that served as a police station. The squire and the constable regarded Davie sternly from across the desk; she and her father were seated against the wall on a bench. Cal Whitcomb sat on the other side of the room, apart and aloof.
It was the squire, as the local JP, who asked most of the questions, while the constable wrote down the proceedings with much scratching of his pen.
‘This is a serious affair, Davie,’ the squire said gravely. ‘Ned Knapman is dead. You must tell the absolute truth, do you understand?’
Davie’s ‘Yes, sir’ was barely audible.
‘But why should my brother be involved?’ broke in Maddy, determined to protect him. ‘Who says he had anything to do with the matter?’
Constable Vallance stopped his writing and looked at her reprovingly. ‘He was seen running away. One of Farmer Churchward’s men was behind the far hedge clearing a ditch. He was close enough to hear the thud as Ned hit the ground and Mr Whitcomb’s horse come to a stop. When he looked across he saw young Davie here running for dear life.’
‘But that doesn’t prove…’ Maddy’s voice faded into silence. She was not helping Davie by interrupting.
The squire cleared his throat and continued, ‘Ned Knapman was struck by a stone. Do you deny that you threw the stone?’
‘I didn’t throw it, sir. I shot-flung it with my catapult.’
‘Your catapult, eh? And do you deny that you lay in wait for Ned Knapman on the road from Port Bridge in order to strike him a blow with a stone from this catapult?’
‘No… that be to say, yes… it were only a joke,’ declared Davie.
‘Joke or not, did you lie in wait for Ned?’
‘I lay in wait right enough, only it weren’t for Ned.’ He looked uncomfortably towards Cal Whitcomb. ‘It weren’t for Ned as I waited, it were Farmer Whitcomb.’
‘And what made you so certain Mr Whitcomb would come that way?’
‘I’d seen him go towards the blacksmith’s at Port Bridge. His horse had a loose shoe, I could hear un clear enough.’
‘And you presumed he would come back the same way, is that it? Mr Whitcomb, does Davie’s testimony match up with your view of the events?’
‘It does, sir,’ replied Cal. ‘And Captain, my horse, certainly did return along that road, but I wasn’t riding him. When I got to the smith’s I found he was very busy. As I was on my way to an appointment I decided not to wait, but to go on foot. I left my horse at Port Bridge and sent one of the smith’s children back to Oakwood for someone to fetch Captain. I did not ask for Ned specifically, but he always enjoyed riding Captain when he got the chance, poor fellow.’
‘So, Davie, you decided to attack Mr Whitcomb, but you got Ned instead.’ The squire’s normally kindly eyes glittered angrily in the lamplight.
‘I didn’t mean to attack him, sir,’ protested Davie. ‘I only wanted to knock his hat off.’
‘With this?’ The squire held up a stone
At the sight of it Maddy felt sick. It was far from the pebble she had envisaged. It was a hefty stone with cruelly jagged edges.
‘This is somewhat extreme for simply knocking off a hat, wouldn’t you say?’ demanded the squire. ‘You’re a well-built lad. I would guess that with your power behind it, and if it had hit the right spot, this could have felled the horse, never mind poor Ned.’
Davie said nothing, he hung his head.
‘There’s one thing I can’t comprehend,’ stated the squire. ‘If you were after Mr Whitcomb, as you say you were – and I don’t need to ask why he was your target – how is it that you mistook Ned for him? There’s no resemblance. Ned was shorter, dark-haired, much older…’
‘I don’t know, sir. I just did.’ Davie’s head remained bowed.
‘Your pardon, squire.’ Constable Vallance laid aside his pen. ‘Mr Whitcomb, what were you wearing when you took your horse to the smithy?’ .
‘Wearing?’ Cal looked surprised at the question. ‘Why, what I am wearing now. A brown kerseymere coat and a black hat.’
‘Ned was wearing a brown coat,’ said the constable, ‘though his was of fustian. He had a black hat too. And he was riding Mr Whitcomb’s gelding, a horse well known in the village.’
‘What point are you making, Constable?’ asked the squire.
‘That young Davie here saw exactly what he was expecting to see. When Captain came back along the lane, ridden by a man in a brown coat and a black hat, the lad assumed it was Mr Whitcomb, and didn’t look any further.’
‘But surely he could see?’ objected the squire. ‘The hedges are getting pretty bare at this time of year. In fact, I’m surprised the boy managed to remain concealed.’
‘Tis beech hedge along the lane to the Port Bridge smithy,’ said Constable Vallance. ‘And a beech hedge holds its leaves.’
The nausea that Maddy was feeling deepened. She had never appreciated how sharp the constable was, nor how thorough. Nothing of this affair was going to escape him, and she feared every detail would be to the detriment of Davie’s chances.
The squire, too, was nodding approvingly at the policeman’s comments. ‘Excellent thinking, Constable,’ he said. ‘Now, Davie, I must know. Were you alone in this enterprise?’
‘Yes!’ The reply was uttered so sharply it echoed round the room.
‘Had you been drinking before you lay in wait?’
‘No, sir. Not a drop all day.’
‘And for my final question, I want you to think hard, Davie, and answer with utmost honesty. Did you or did you not mean serious harm to either Ned Knapman or Mr Whitcomb? Think before you reply.’
‘I don’t need to think, sir,’ replied Davie promptly, raising his head. ‘I didn’t mean no harm to Ned nor Farmer Whitcomb. I swear it. I’ll swear it on the Bible or on my mother’s grave if you want.’
At his words Maddy was conscious of a sense of relief. Her greatest fear had been that he had gone after Cal Whitcomb with a serious intent to injure him. Although it was not the sort of thing he would normally have undertaken on his own initiative, she had feared it nonetheless. To hear him swear otherwise was a burden lifted from her.
‘There is no need for a Bible or anything else.’ The squire pushed back his chair. ‘You’re a silly young fool and a great nuisance to all and sundry, but I’ll accept your word. Constable, have you any further questions? Mr Whitcomb? Mr Shillabeer, is there anything you want to say on behalf of your son?’
Jack mutely shook his head. It was left to Maddy to burst out with, ‘Please, sir, he’s only a boy, he’s not sixteen yet. And he’s a great one for playing pranks, anyone will tell you that. This was a joke that went terribly wrong. Please make that clear.’
‘I know Davie’s fondness for skylarking only too well,’ said the squire wryly. ‘It shall be included in the report, eh, Constable? Along with his age. Has anyone anything else they want to say? No? Then I think we can close these proceedings. Davie, you must remain in custody here. Tomorrow you will go to Totnes, and thence before the magistrates who will commit you to Exeter assizes in due course.’
Maddy gave a gasp of dismay – but what else had she expected? A man was dead. Davie would have to go before judge and jury.
She could not get warm. When they returned home she built up a fire and cooked a meal nobody wanted, and still it seemed as if the chill had seeped permanently into her bones. After she had cleared away, she could not settle, too much was going round in her mind. She had to talk to someone so she went over to Annie’s. As she expected, her friend already knew most of the details.
‘How be you, my lover?’ was Annie’s first concerned enquiry. ‘And how be Davie bearing up?’
‘The pair of us are fair enough, I suppose. Oh, Annie, he’s likely to go to prison for killing Ned and it’s all my fault!’ she burst out. ‘I had the raising of him and I should have taught him right from wrong, but I didn’t. I failed and now he’ll be sent to prison.’
She felt herself seized by the arms and shaken quite violently. Unobserved by her, William had entered the kitchen and overheard what she had been saying. He stopped his shaking and glared at her angrily.
‘Listen yer, Maddy Shillabeer! I don’t never want to hear you say naught like that again,’ he said. ‘Ever since your ma died they lads of yourn, Davie included, habn’t never come home to a cold hearth nor an empty table, they habn’t never been in need of dry stockings nor a clean shirt of a Sunday. To do that would have daunted many a growd woman, and you’m done it since you were no more than a bit of a maid yourself. And you found time to come over here and help my Annie, too. Davie be in proper trouble, there idn’t no denying, but the blame don’t lie at your door.’
Maddy was too astounded to reply. If Annie had made such a speech she would have accepted it as typical of her friend’s warm-hearted concern, but to hear gentle, quiet William speak out made a deep impression. He let go of her, looking sheepish.
‘There, I shouldn’t have gone on like that,’ he said shamefacedly. ‘It be naught of our business I suppose, but us be rare fond of you. To speak the truth, they brothers of youm be good boys spoiled by lack of a firm hand, but it should’ve been their father’s, not youm. That were Jack’s responsibility.’
‘That be true,’ agreed Annie. ‘You’m anxious enough for your Davie as ’tis, maid, don’t go feeling guilty on top. There idn’t no need. Mind, in all fairness, it’ve got to be said that Jack habn’t never been the same since your ma died. I habn’t never seen a man so sunk in grief. Tis my way of thinking as he habn’t never throwed un off. And there be no denying as Lizzie were a managing sort of woman, bless her. Twas her as ruled the household, including Jack. When her died, you seemed to step right into her shoes; I don’t suppose your father ever, felt the need to stir himself and take charge.’
‘He missed Mother certainly,’ agreed Maddy, seeing her parents’ relationship in a new light. ‘He still does.’
‘And now more than ever, I dare say,’ said Annie. ‘Where be Davie to?’
‘He’s at the police station, Constable Vallance wouldn’t let him come home. Tomorrow he’ll be taken to Totnes until he comes before the magistrates, then he’ll go to Exeter.’
‘If he’m biding to the police house you’d best take him up something to eat. Amy Vallance be one of the worst cooks God ever made.’
Maddy managed a flickering smile. ‘Davie won’t be pleased at that, he likes his food. I think I’ll go up now and take him a few things. He’ll need a change of shirt, and maybe a blanket. Tonight’s likely to be chilly.’
She was glad to be active, she could not bear the thought of staying at home that evening, knitting socks and having dread thoughts of Davie whirling ceaselessly in her head. Far better to stride out through the bitter cold darkness towards the village and her brother.
‘Certainly you can see Davie.’ Constable Vallance looked less authoritarian in his shirtsleeves than he had in his blue serge tunic. ‘First I’d best have a look at what’s in that basket of yours.’
‘Don’t you trust me?’ demanded Maddy indignantly.
‘No, Maddy my girl, I don’t. I know perfectly well that you’d trample me underfoot and tear down this place stone by stone if you considered there was a chance of getting your brother free. I think none the less of you for it. If there’s one thing I respect it’s true loyalty. But just the same, I’ll do my duty and check through the basket, if you don’t mind.’
He was thorough in his search, though he made no objections to any of the contents, not even the candles that Maddy had included. She had feared that the constabulary issue might not be very generous and she dreaded the thought of poor Davie sitting alone and afraid in the darkness.
‘What’s to become of him?’ she asked, as the constable returned the contents to the basket.
He sighed thoughtfully. ‘He’ll be accused of murder, I’m afraid.’ At Maddy’s horrified gasp, he added, ‘I doubt if it’ll come to that. My guess is that he’ll be convicted of manslaughter. You’d best be prepared for him going to prison, but if you get a reasonable judge and jury they should take his age and the nature of the offence into consideration.’ He gave another sigh, more regretful this time. ‘How often have I warned your lot? But they wouldn’t listen. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. Such a pity it’s the youngster… Right then, if you’re ready I’ll take you in.’
He handed her back the basket and led her into the room where Davie had been interviewed that afternoon. At the far side was a heavy door with a small grille at the top through which glimmered a meagre light. ‘Davie, lad, you’ve a visitor,’ he said, putting a huge key in the lock and turning it. ‘Your sister’s here.’
‘Maddy! Oh Maddy, am I glad to see you!’ Davie burst out of his prison and would have flung himself at Maddy if Constable Vallance had not caught firm hold of him.
‘Take it easy, lad,’ he said quite kindly. ‘You’ve to stay inside. Your sister must come in with you. I’ll have to lock you in too.’ He looked apologetically at Maddy. ‘Just give a yell when you’re ready to leave.’
The cell was little more than a large cupboard, lit by one candle stump so small it was already flickering. Maddy was glad she had thought to bring more, just as she was glad she had brought a thick blanket, for there was no heating and a fearsome draught came through the small barred opening in the wall, which served as a window.
‘Oh Maddy, you came!’ Davie clutched thankfully at her hand. ‘I didn’t think you would, not in the dark.’
‘Since when have I let the darkness bother me, you silly boy,’ said Maddy fondly, stroking the hair back from his forehead.
‘I’m – I’m in a bit of a pickle, aren’t I?’ he said, his lips trembling. ‘What’s – what’s to become of me?’
His words, an echo of her own, tugged at her heart. ‘I’ve just been talking to Constable Vallance about it,’ she said. ‘He was honest with me. The accusation will probably be murder…’ She put her arms about him and held him as, even in the dim light, she saw his face go grey with shock. ‘Don’t despair. It won’t be as bad as that. Constable Vallance seems to think that you’re more likely to be convicted of manslaughter, which will mean a prison sentence, I’m afraid. However, we must hope the judge and jury will be lenient because you’re young, and because it was the result of a silly prank. You must help yourself by not being a difficult prisoner and by answering up honestly. And I’m sure the constable will do his best for you – he’s a good man.’
‘I know he be. Maddy, I can’t stop thinking about poor Ned and wishing he were alive again. Tis a terrible thing to have killed a man, specially a decent fellow like Ned, and I be powerful sorry, truly I be.’
‘I know. I know,’ Maddy comforted him.
‘You’ll be there when I go to Exeter, won’t you?’ Davie clung to her tightly. ‘It be such a way from here.’
‘Certainly I will! I’m surprised that you should ask.’ Maddy tried to sound indignant but failed miserably. ‘Of course I’ll be there, you daft pudden,’ she whispered softly, holding him close. ‘Did you think I’d leave you on your own? As for Exeter being a long way, it can’t be more than thirty miles. I can walk that in a day easily, and I’ll be thinking up ways to help you every step of the way.’
It was getting late, and Maddy knew it was time to be going home.
‘You’ll go before the magistrates at Totnes first,’ she said. ‘And when you do, I want to see you all spruce and tidy. Make a good impression. I’ve brought you your comb and some soap, so there’s no excuse.’
‘You’ll be at Totnes too?’ Davie let go his grip on her with great reluctance.
‘Was there ever such a lad?’ she said in mock exasperation. ‘I’ll be in that magistrates’ court, never fear. Constable Vallance,’ she called, ‘I’ll be off now.’
He opened the door and she stepped out.
‘Will you make sure he washes behind his ears?’ she asked him.
‘I’ll see he’s turned out as trim as a new shilling piece,’ the constable assured her heartily, locking the cell door behind her.
Davie’s face appeared in the grille – white, young, and frightened.
‘Maddy!’ he said. ‘Maddy!’
She hurried back, and stretching up on tiptoe just managed to kiss him.
‘You won’t be on your own,’ she said. ‘While you’re at Totnes there’ll be someone up to see you every single day.’
‘You promise?’
‘I promise!’
The others are going to visit him every day, whether they want to or not, she vowed silently. Even if I have to beat them senseless with the copper-stick. And that goes for Father too!
Outside the police house a figure detached itself from the surrounding darkness. It was Patrick. At once she rushed into his arms.
‘I saw you go in,’ he said. ‘I wondered your father or some of your brothers didn’t come with you.’
Maddy was surprised. She suddenly realised how much responsibility she had assumed for the whole family. It never occurred to her, or to the others, that they might visit Davie and give him comfort too.
‘No, I came alone,’ she said.
‘Good, then I can walk you home.’ He slid his arm protectively about her waist, and they began to climb the hill. ‘How is your brother?’ he asked.
His simple enquiry released a dam of words from within her. All the way home she poured forth her worries and concerns for Davie, pausing only when they stopped at the top of the last descent into Duncannon. I’m sorry,’ she whispered, wiping her tear-streaked face with her hand. ‘I didn’t seem able to stop talking.’
‘Did it help?’ he asked gently.
‘Yes.’ Her reply was unhesitating.
‘Then that’s the important thing. The time ahead is bound to be difficult for you. Please remember that I am here for you to lean on. If I can help in no other way, let me at least be your support.’
His goodnight kiss was soft and tender, and she returned home feeling far more calm than she had dared to hope. In the midst of her recent troubles and worries there was still Patrick. He was there for her to lean on. She was not alone.
One thing she should have anticipated, yet did not, was the antagonism in the village against the Shillabeer family. In the days that followed Davie’s arrest, she was conscious of hostile eyes following her when she went to the shop; people she had known all her life, who would normally have given her a cheerful greeting, deliberately turned away as she passed by or, even worse, spat insults at her.
‘As if we haven’t enough to distress us,’ she cried one evening when she got home. ‘Can’t they see we’re sick to our hearts because Ned Knapman’s dead? We know Davie’s responsible, they don’t have to rub it in.’
‘Don’t you pay no heed, our Maddy,’ Lew comforted her. ‘They’m ignorant, that’s what they be. Can’t see no further than their nose end, most of them.’
‘You know who’ll be gloating over this, don’t you?’ said Bart. It had been his turn to go up to see Davie at Totnes, and he had been very quiet since coming back. ‘Mr High and Mighty Whitcomb, that’s who. You can bet ’tis his influence that’s getting Davie sent to Exeter.’
‘Oh, surely not.’ Upset as she was, Maddy could not see how Cal Whitcomb could be to blame.
‘Surely yes,’ countered Bart. ‘I reckon he and the squire got their heads together even afore they questioned Davie, determined to send him afore the judge. Think on it. It were an accident, everyone knows that. Why, then, idn’t Davie just going to be sent to the magistrates’ court up to Totnes?’
Under ordinary circumstances Maddy might have seen the unreasonableness of her brother’s thinking, but she was sick with worry and only too happy to find a scapegoat for Davie’s troubles. That was why when she encountered Cal Whitcomb soon afterwards and he enquired politely enough, ‘What news of your brother?’ she had no inclination to give a civil reply.
‘He’s been committed to the Exeter assizes. He goes next week, thanks to your evidence,’ she retorted.
‘I gave the facts about my own movements, nothing more.’
‘Couldn’t you have put in a good word for him or something?’
‘Why should I?’ Cal reined in his horse closer and frowned down at her. ‘Your brothers have been nuisances ever since I can recall. The miracle is that no one has been killed sooner by their stupidity. Now a man has been killed. A good man with a wife and young children dependent upon him. I was the one who had to go to Mrs Knapman and tell her Ned was dead. I’m the one who, in decency’s name, will have to provide for her – it will be no use appealing to you Shillabeers, you never have two ha’pennies to rub together. And I’m the one who had to walk behind Ned’s coffin and see him decently buried. I’m having to do all these distressing things because your brother hasn’t the sense he was born with. Maybe he is only fifteen, but that’s old enough to know how dangerous a catapult shot can be when aimed at a man’s head. Don’t expect me to pity him.’ With that he urged his horse away.
He had spoken the truth, Maddy could see that, but she refused to admit it. She seized on the one scrap of ammunition she had been able to glean from his speech.
‘And whose fault is it we never have two ha’pennies to rub together?’ she called after him. ‘You tell me that, Cal Whitcomb!’ Nevertheless, he had touched a sore spot in her conscience. They did owe Ned Knapman’s wife some reparation. Someone from the family ought to call upon the widow, and by someone she knew it would be her. Ever since Davie’s arrest she had been trying to pluck up her courage, and she could put it off no longer.
‘Yer, what be doing with that?’ Bart’s voice made her start.
She looked down at the money on the table. ‘I’m taking it to Ned Knapman’s widow.’
‘Be you mazed or summat?’ He grasped her hand and pushed it away from the scattered coins on the scrubbed deal. ‘Us’ll need every penny of that from now on because of this caper. There’ll be trips to Exeter to pay for, and lodgings and lost wages. Us can’t go giving naught to charity.’
‘It’s not charity. We owe it to Mrs Knapman,’ protested Maddy. ‘Goodness knows it’s little enough to compensate for the loss of a husband. That poor woman’s got five children to rear.’
‘She won’t starve. Whitcomb’ll see to her.’
‘Where’s your pride, Bart Shillabeer?’ she demanded. ‘You may not care that Cal Whitcomb is paying our debts for us, but I do. That money’s going to Mrs Knapman and no argument. Yes, we’re going to need money for Exeter, so you men can stay home at nights from now on, and the money saved can go in the jug instead of Harry Ford’s pocket.’ She slipped the coins into a canvas bag and stalked out.
The Knapmans lived in a cottage just beyond the farmhouse at Oakwood. Racked with nerves, Maddy walked past three times trying to think up what she would say before she dared knock on the door. An elderly woman opened it.
‘Yes?’ she demanded.
‘Is – is Mrs Knapman in, please?’ Maddy asked.
‘Who wants to know? Her’ve enough on her plate without being bothered by callers.’
‘The name is… Shillabeer. Maddy Shillabeer.’
‘Shillabeer?’ The woman pondered for a moment, then realisation struck. ‘With a name like that you’m daring to come yer, you brazen hussy?’ she yelled. ‘I wonder you dare disturb decent folks as be in mourning. Get off with you, before I lets the dog loose.’
‘Please, I just want a word with her,’ begged Maddy.
‘Well, her don’t want no word with you. Her wouldn’t soil her ears, wouldn’t my daughter.’
‘Who is it, Ma?’ called a female voice from inside. Footsteps sounded and a younger version of the woman who had harangued Maddy came to the door. ‘Why, ’tis Miss Shillabeer, idn’t it? Come in, do. There be a cruel draught beating through the door.’
‘You’m having her in, after what her kin have done?’ demanded her mother.
‘Her idn’t responsible for her kinsfolk, Ma. None of us be. Come in, Miss Shillabeer.’
‘Thank you,’ said Maddy, following her into the small kitchen-cum-parlour. ‘It’s very kind of you to see me, but if you want the truth I do feel responsible. I had the raising of Davie, you see. I should’ve managed to teach him not to play stupid tricks by now.’
‘There, don’t take on about it. You was left very young to rear your brothers, so I’ve been told. Bringing up childer idn’t no frolic. I knows, having five. I be sure you did your best, no one can do more.’
Maddy gave a weak smile. ‘How things have turned about,’ she said. ‘Here you are giving me comfort when the boot should be on the other foot. You’re very kind.’
Mrs Knapman shook her head. She looked tired and washed out. ‘I just tries to see things the way they be,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose the boy did it deliberate.’ Her mother gave a disbelieving snort. ‘Tis true, Ma. From what folks say, he were just fooling around, as boys do.’
‘He meant your husband no harm, I can assure you of that, Mrs Knapman. He’s terribly sorry for what happened – we all are. If it had been possible he would have come with me today. Since it isn’t, then it falls to me to say how much he regrets behaving so stupidly.’
Again the old woman snorted. ‘Just as well he bain’t yer,’ she said. ‘Prison’s best place for un.’
‘Ma!’ Mrs Knapman was gently reproving. ‘It were an accident. The lad’s being punished enough. Prison must be a terrible place, specially for such a youngster. And as Miss Shillabeer says, he didn’t mean no harm to my Ned.’
She pulled the youngest child onto her lap. As she lulled the drowsy infant to sleep she seemed eager to talk, but about anything rather than the tragedy that had befallen her.
‘It were Mr Whitcomb as were the target of the joke, they say. I can’t never understand why folks be so against Mr Calland. I knows your family have your reasons, but there’s lots of other people who habn’t a good word for him, yet my Ned fair worshipped the ground he walked on. Everyone held that it were the elder brother, Christopher, as were the pick of the Whitcombs, but not according to my Ned. Mr Calland were twice the man his brother were, and ten times the farmer. ’Tis a terrible thing to say and ’tidn’t widely known, but if the cholera hadn’t taken Mr Christopher when it did, the Whitcombs would’ve lost Oakwood because of his debts.’
‘He was reckoned to be kind-hearted, though,’ said Maddy, surprised at these revelations.
‘Oh, he were kind-hearted right enough. The pity was he didn’t have pockets to match. Us’ve had many a hard struggle because Ned didn’t get his wages on time from Mr Christopher. Poor Mr Calland got a terrible name for turning off workers when he took over. Truth was there wadn’t no money to pay them. He had to sell the gold watch his pa left him in order to find wages for everyone. No one as left was owed a penny. How many’d have done that?’
‘Not many,’ Maddy was forced to admit. It put a new perspective upon Cal’s reputation for meanness. The talk of money prompted other uncomfortable thoughts.
‘Mrs Knapman,’ she said. ‘Forgive me for asking, but how will you manage now?’
‘Manage?’ Mrs Knapman looked bemused, as if the idea had never occurred to her. ‘Oh, us’ll do fine. Mr Calland’s promised I shall have ten shillings every week till the end of my days. Ten shilling! “You’m not going on the parish, Mrs Ned,” he says – always calls me Mrs Ned, he do – “Tis the least I can do since that stone were meant… meant…”’Mrs Knapman’s calm demeanour suddenly crumbled into tears. The sleeping child awoke and began crying too as its mother rocked back and forth sobbing.
Maddy knew this was no place for her. While the old woman was occupied with comforting her daughter, she let herself out of the cottage, leaving the bag of money on the table. She almost wished Mrs Knapman had been as aggressive towards her as her mother. It might have been easier to tolerate than her gentle forbearance. As it was, Maddy knew she would never get the sight of the unfortunate widow from her mind, nursing her child in her grief, and all because of the Shillabeer family.
Davie was taken to Exeter Gaol on the following Monday. Maddy went to Totnes to say goodbye. She had made light of the distance to Exeter, but no one in their family had ever been as far as the city before and it seemed as remote as China. In the hope of giving him final encouragement she waited to see him leave. She was not prepared for seeing him in iron fetters, shuffling painfully from the tiny gaol on the ramparts of the old town to the waiting cart. He went with head bowed, and she was glad he did not see her, for she knew that anguish was written all over her face.
December was the date set for Davie’s trial, during the winter assizes. The great debate among the Shillabeers was whether to take one day on the road or two.
‘Lodgings for us lot on the way be going to cost a pretty penny,’ protested Bart.
‘All the same, us’ll have to pay up and look handsome,’ said Lew. ‘Daylight be short this time of year, and if us idn’t careful us’ll find ourselves stumbling about Exeter in the dark looking for somewhere to stay. It idn’t too bad for us menfolk, if the worst comes to the worst us could always find a stable or summat, but us idn’t having Maddy on any caper like that. Us’ll get to Exeter in good time to find respectable lodgings.’
Jack was clearly impressed by Lew’s uncharacteristic determination, for he overrode Bart’s objections, saying, ‘Right, us’ll do as the boy says. Us’ll overnight on the road.’
It proved to be a wet, cold trudge to Exeter. How easily it might have been a great adventure. But there was no excited anticipation; they were going to Exeter because they must and there was only unhappiness in the prospect.
Maddy had never believed there were so many people in the world as crowded the streets of Exeter. In truth, the city was normally a very modest county capital, still rural in its aspect with views of the surrounding green hills from its very centre. But the winter assizes were regarded as something of a social event, and the usual population had increased considerably, making it a tumultuous throng to Maddy’s astonished eyes.
It was as well they had arrived in good time, for lodgings, respectable or otherwise, were hard to find. Eventually they found a couple of rooms at a small inn near the Iron Bridge which straddled the narrow valley between the city centre and St David’s Hill. The inn was reasonable enough, although carts carrying lime passed along the road outside in a steady stream from dawn to dusk, creating a racket with their iron-rimmed wheels and leaving a film of acrid white dust over everything.
The first cart to rattle over the cobbles before dawn did not disturb Maddy. She had already been awake for hours. She was not troubled by the noise or the dirt, all she wanted was to get to the court and for Davie’s trial to be over as soon as possible.
‘If you’m wanting to go to the assizes you best get there early,’ their landlady informed them. ‘Folks like to see the procession with the judge and barristers and everyone, then there be one gurt crush to get in and hear the triads.’
‘Thank you for telling us. We might go that way to see the procession,’ said Maddy civilly, not wanting to betray their true reason for being in Exeter.
The landlady was not fooled. Why else would poor folk come to the city at this time, especially those who looked worried sick? It could only be because they had someone standing trial. Not that she minded. As long as they paid their bills, other folks’ misfortunes were none of her concern.
Maddy and her family found the law court easily enough, a fine stone building in the old Castle Yard, girded by high walls. The steep narrow street was already jammed with people when they arrived. Maddy feared they would never manage to get into court at all, such was the crush.
‘Don’t you fret, my lover,’ a stout neighbour consoled her, seeing her anxious face. ‘As soon as the judge’s coach and the others have gone through you follow on behind. Be quick, mind, and don’t worry about who you treads underfoot.’
Maddy managed a bleak smile of thanks, and waited for the procession. No doubt it was quite a spectacle, with the fine coach bearing the judge in his full robes. The other bystanders seemed to think so as they cheered and shouted, but to her it was merely irritating and irrelevant. What place had pageantry in the trying of her Davie? But she did not let her irritation slow her reactions. The moment she guessed the last carriage was approaching, she pushed her way in behind it, not caring that she risked falling beneath the wheels. All five Shillabeers were carried along by the crush to the assize court. Once inside, it was strange and bewildering but somehow they found where to go.
Although there were already many people there, Maddy took no notice of them, her attention was entirely taken up by the room. How impressive it was, and intimidating, especially the high-canopied judge’s chair, surmounted by the royal coat of arms. The two rows of benches close by were presumably for the jury. And then there was the dock for the accused. There was no mistaking it. She shuddered. This was where Davie would stand, cut off from her and the rest of the court by its wooden walls cruelly topped by sharp metal spikes.
The waiting felt interminable. Maddy and her family seemed to have nothing to say to one another except, ‘Won’t be long now, eh?’ or ‘They’m going to have to start soon.’ Then Lew said, ‘Hullo, something be up. Look who’s just come in.’
Escorted by an usher, four men came in and occupied a bench at the front.
‘They’m witnesses,’ their neighbour informed them, the same stout woman who had stood by them in the road.
Maddy did not need to be told. Constable Vallance was instantly recognisable, and Cal Whitcomb, looking neatly formed in a dark suit. The squire was there too, along with the man who worked for Farmer Churchward and had seen Davie run away. The fourth gentleman was vaguely familiar, although she could not put a name to him.
‘Dr Barratt.’ Jack leaned across and hissed the name. ‘From Paignton. I suppose he were the one called in to look at Ned’s body.’
Soon afterwards the jury filed into their seats. Maddy watched as they were sworn in, and her stomach tightened into a knot. Twelve men who held Davie’s future in their power. Twelve men – and the judge.
Oh, let him be a kindly soul, she prayed. So much depends on him. Let him be lenient.
Her first proper view of Mr Justice Stroud came as a surprise. Her fleeting glimpse of him as he passed in the carriage had given no hint of his small stature. He was tiny and so swamped by his wig and heavy robes that she felt an hysterical urge to giggle. Her neighbour did not greet the judge’s appearance with amusement, however.
‘Oh gawd,’ she murmured. ‘Not old Stroud. Some poor soul be in for a rough time.’
‘Why do you say that?’ demanded Maddy.
‘Cause he be the meanest judge on the circuit. A proper old devil, he be. Bain’t you heard of “String em up Stroud”?’
Bleakly Maddy shook her head. Her prayers had not been answered.
There was a stirring round the courtroom as Davie was brought in. Maddy’s fond eye immediately took in the fact that he was wearing a clean shirt, that he had been at pains to comb his unruly hair into some sort of order – and that he looked terribly young, far less than his fifteen years.
‘Why, he’m naught but a babe,’ said her neighbour sympathetically. ‘And a fine-looking boy too, poor lamb.’
Maddy bit her lips hard. This was no time for tears. She had to stay clear-headed, willing Davie to have courage, and the sharp-faced judge to be compassionate.
The proceedings began.
‘David Shillabeer, you are charged with that on the 15th of November in the year of our Lord 1869 you did unlawfully murder one Edward Knapman, stockman, in the parish of Stoke Gabriel, in the county of Devonshire. How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?’
‘Not guilty, sir… my lord.’
Maddy did not like the way the judge’s head snapped round at Davie’s slip of the tongue.
Dr Barratt was the first to give evidence. He spoke clearly, with assurance, having obviously performed this sort of duty before.
‘…I was called to examine one Edward Knapman, stockman… I pronounced him dead… cause of death a blow to the temple… the stone found near the body and covered with blood could certainly have been the instrument of death… would have needed some impulsion… being shot from a slingshot or catapult could certainly have given the required force, in my opinion.’
The doctor answered the questions put to him by Mr Linton, the prosecuting counsel. Then it was the turn of Mr Attwill, Davie’s defending counsel.
‘Could there not have been some other cause which would account for Mr Knapman’s sudden fall from his horse? Did you look for other possibilities in your autopsy, or did you merely see the wound and assume it to be the cause of death?’
‘I did a thorough autopsy, sir,’ retorted the doctor testily. ‘In my written report, if you care to read it, you will see that I pronounced Mr Knapman’s heart, liver, lungs and other organs to be in excellent condition.’
Mr Attwill tried another tack. ‘In your opinion this stone exhibited here was the cause of death?’
‘Yes, it matches the wound exactly. In addition it is heavily stained with blood.’
‘Must this stone have been flung in a catapult or something similar? Could the deceased not have fallen onto it, causing the injury?’
‘It is possible,’ said the doctor, adding sardonically, ‘but that leaves the problem of why a fit, sober man should suddenly fall from a quiet horse to hit his head on a convenient stone.’
Mr Attwill was not doing well. He seemed a pleasant man but young and inexperienced, unlike Mr Linton who was sharp and missed nothing. The prosecuting counsel made sure that Constable Vallance gave firm evidence that there were no cuts on the horse’s knees to indicate that the animal might have slipped. From Cal Whitcomb he determined that the horse was well-schooled, that Ned was a competent rider who had ridden the creature many times. Any hope of Ned’s death being accidental withered before his enquiries.
Maddy listened to the cut and thrust of the questioning with dismay, particularly the verbal skills of Mr Linton. She had never realised that words could be twisted in such a way. She did not like the line of the prosecuting counsel’s interrogation, especially when Cal Whitcomb was in the witness box. Much seemed to be made of the longstanding feud, the former incidents between the two families, and the fact that Cal had already brought a prosecution against Davie and his brothers. The way Mr Linton spoke of these incidents, and contrived to make Cal describe them, they grew in seriousness out of all proportion to the truth. When he finally stepped down, Cal’s face was grave. He looked towards Davie and shook his head regretfully, as if sorry for the things he had been obliged to say.
The squire and the man who worked for Farmer Churchward fared no better. From the way Mr Linton manipulated their evidence it seemed as though Davie was well known in the village as a vicious thug with a malicious temper. Constable Vallance was a far more experienced witness. Maddy sensed that he was doing everything he could do to help Davie, as far as his duty would allow, but even he was not proof against Mr Linton’s skilled questioning.
‘A boyish prank with a catapult? But wasn’t the stone used extremely large for a mere prank?’ persisted the prosecuting counsel. ‘Constable, in your experience, both as upholder of the law and one-time small boy, would you have used such a vicious stone if all you wanted was to knock off a hat? Would not a rounded pebble have been more suitable? More easily directed?’
Constable Vallance was forced to agree with the point.
‘Tell me, Constable, how long was it between Mr Whitcomb taking his horse to the smithy and Mr Knapman collecting it?’ Constable Vallance consulted his notebook. ‘About an hour, according to both the blacksmith and his apprentice, sir.’
‘About an hour!’ Mr Linton’s nasal voice rang out. ‘As I recall, the weather on the fifteenth of November was exceptionally inclement. To wait for more than an hour behind a hedge in the freezing cold simply to knock off a man’s hat, that is dedication to a joke indeed – or would it seem, perhaps the action of someone with a more serious object in view?’ There was an excited murmur throughout the courtroom as Mr Linton smiled with self-satisfaction at having driven his point home. Maddy shivered. It was growing late, but the prosecuting counsel had not finished.
‘Constable Vallance, when you went to apprehend the accused, how did he behave?’
‘He made no attempt to evade me, although he was nervous.’
‘Did he admit that he had flung the stone with his catapult?’
‘I did not question him as to that immediately, sir. Later, when he was questioned by the Justice of the Peace, he freely admitted shooting the catapult.’
‘Did he not say anything at all when you apprehended him?’
Constable Vallance hesitated. ‘You understand, sir, that the accused was under the impression that he had hit Mr Calland Whitcomb.’
‘So I understand from your earlier evidence,’ persisted Mr Linton, ‘but did he say nothing when you first apprehended him?’
Maddy could not understand why the constable looked uneasy. Whatever Davie had said was unimportant, surely?
‘He said, sir…’ The constable made a great show of looking in his notebook. ‘He said, “Ned Knapman? Not Farmer Whitcomb? It were the wrong man…”’
A sigh went through the onlookers and Maddy realised why Constable Vallance had been ill at ease. He had seen how damning those few words would seem to hostile ears.
When the court proceedings ended for the day, Maddy and her family returned to their lodgings. She found she could neither eat nor sleep. She had come to Exeter dreading the length of sentence her brother might get for manslaughter. Now a much greater fear had hold of her.
In the dock next day, Davie’s gaze ranged nervously round the public gallery. Maddy knew he was looking for her, but although she risked the displeasure of the court officials and waved, he was looking away by then and did not see her.
How alone he must feel, poor boy, she thought. I hope he realises we’re here and doesn’t think we’ve left him to face this ordeal alone.
Maddy wished fervently that prisoners could be allowed to give evidence on their own behalf. If only Davie could speak up for himself and explain… Then she reconsidered: after having seen the way the prosecuting counsel had twisted the other witnesses in knots she knew her young brother would not have stood a chance. Mr Linton would have had Davie condemning himself out of his own mouth.
The judge’s summing up was a masterpiece of harshness and bias. Maddy listened in horror as he stressed the damning details – the long years of animosity, the size of the stone, the determination needed to wait so long for the victim to pass, Davie’s reputation along with his brothers as troublemakers. Worst of all, he stressed Davie’s own fatal words, suggesting they were an admission of guilt. Nothing was said of the boy’s youthfulness, of his immaturity, nor of his fondness for pranks. The jury were gone a very short time. After such a summing-up, there was only one verdict they could give.
‘Guilty, my lud.’
With deliberation the black cap was placed upon Mr Justice Stroud’s wig. ‘David Shillabeer,’ he boomed, an oddly large voice out of such a small frame, ‘you have heard the jury’s verdict. You have been found guilty of the wilful murder of Edward Knapman. Therefore you will be taken from here to a place of execution and hanged by the neck until you are dead.’ There was a hush in the court and then it was broken by a woman’s voice crying out, ‘No! Oh no! Dear God, no!’
With shocked surprise Maddy realised that it was she who was screaming.