Keziah awoke in her cell convinced she had dreamt Jake’s visit. His dream image had looked very different, gaunt with a shaven head. In her long ago vision she had seen Jake behind that same metal grid in the cell door. Last night was no dream. She realised reality had one difference. They were both prisoners.
Could I have murdered Iago? Keziah struggled to identify the cause of the fear that blocked her memory. Each time she mentally tried to re-open the door of Iago’s cottage she walked into that terrifying black hole. This time random pieces of memory began to leap into her brain. She was overwhelmed by shame and horror, not by the realisation she had killed Iago, he deserved to die. Her shame was because her act of violence had destroyed the lives of her beloved Jake and their children.
She clung to a single thought. The letter. She must keep her wits about her. Tell the truth that would set Jake free. Fight those gaujos in court with their own law.
When the warder brought her a basin of water she washed her face hoping the shock of cold water would make her more alert. She had more than a month to go before she was due to give birth but her prison dress was already stretched tightly across her belly.
Moments later Leslie Ross arrived with a package.
‘Joseph Bloom asks you to dress your hair like the modest young wife and mother we all know you are, and Janet Macgregor says this will be most becoming on you in court. She sends you a message: “Keep a brave heart. Live to fight another day.”’
The parcel contained a rose silk gown trimmed with fine lace, the collar pinned with Saranna’s cameo brooch. Janet Macgregor’s gesture
was the kindness shown by one prisoner to another. Keziah forced herself to meet Leslie’s eyes.
‘I am truly blessed in my friends. Forgive me, Doctor, but I don’t want to take more laudanum. It gives me terrible dreams. I want to remember. I think I saw Iago die.’
‘Aye, I thought it might come to this,’ he said carefully. He removed a metal flask from his medical bag and poured a beaker for her.
‘You are due in court within the hour. This is a new brand of tea from India. You English believe tea solves all problems and it will.’
Keziah gave him a wry smile. ‘I’m a Welsh Romani, but I’ll try it anyway.’
He watched her drink it. ‘It takes a wee bit of time to work but it will calm you, lass.’
After his departure Keziah dressed herself in the gown. She carefully positioned a lock of hair to disguise the patch singed by the fire, then braided it in a plait to give the jury the conservative impression Joseph needed to counteract the label of ‘The Killer Schoolteacher’.
Keziah felt strangely calm seated beside her guard, waiting to be escorted to the courthouse. She would have preferred to be alone with her thoughts, but this garrulous guard was intent on entertaining her with gaolhouse gossip about the Dunkley-Beech executions.
‘Old Lucretia was Welsh like you, but different as night is from day.’
‘I’m from Cheshire,’ Keziah corrected, but the guard continued his tale.
‘Had a face as tough as a man’s, pitted from the pox. Thought she was clever enticing her ticket-of-leave lover to murder poor old man Dunkley for his farm but all she copped was a date with The Finisher. They packed her skull off to them phrenologist blokes in Sydney to read the bumps on her head.’
Keziah was appalled. ‘They cut off her head?’
He puffed up with pride. ‘Aye. Helped bury her headless corpse, I
did. Made a prisoner dig a grave under the flagstones here. Standing upright she is. There’s no chance in hell that bitch’ll ever rest in peace!’
Suddenly aware of her horror he added quickly, ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Browne. Any fool can see you’re a lady. They’ll treat you different.’
Dead or alive? She found herself slipping back into that state of unnatural calm which had isolated her from reality since the night of the fire. She felt a rush of suspicion recalling Leslie’s words. ‘It takes a wee bit of time to work but it will calm you, lass.’
Too late she understood the significance of his words. Tea? He’s laced it with a drug!
• • •
Outside the prison walls the guard escorted Keziah across the laneway to the courthouse. The world around her seemed to be filtered through a mist – the gaping faces of early spectators drawn to the excitement of a woman’s trial, their hands pointed at her in recognition. To escape their gaze she looked up at the massive dome, which she remembered from Jake’s trial was the court’s only source of natural light. The sandstone walls were indented with ‘blind’ windows.
Her guard followed her gaze to an oriental wagon parked in the lane, where a pigtailed Chinaman sat with an Aboriginal girl. Nerida and Sunny Ah Wei gave her a tentative wave to which Keziah smiled acknowledgement.
The guard was disdainful. ‘Funny company you keep!’
All emotion was sealed inside her but Keziah forced herself to defend them. ‘My friends have courage.’
‘They won’t let no blacks in nohow!’ the guard said, as if to settle the matter.
Inside the courthouse Keziah felt Daniel’s eyes follow her progress as the guard escorted her from the female holding cell to the prisoner’s box. No chair had been provided for her.
Daniel’s voice rose in protest. ‘My wife can’t be expected to stand in her condition!’
Keziah glanced at the women spectators seated in a tiered box like a miniature grandstand at a cricket match. In the back row, she was vaguely aware of a woman whose face was obscured by the wings of her handsome bonnet, the woman Daniel had identified at Jake’s trial as the wife of Magistrate Hamberton.
Keziah scanned the faces of the ‘twelve good men and true’. Although she could see no quality of mercy in their features, she could not sustain any feeling of anxiety. What business was that of hers? The world was pleasantly but unnaturally hazy.
In front of the tipstaff’s bench a large mahogany table was scattered with scrolled documents tied with pink ribbons.
I need ribbons like that for Pearl’s hair. Where is she? Where’s Gabriel? The answers needed a degree of concentration that was beyond her, so she allowed her thoughts to drift.
A clerk of the court scratched away with a quill as white-wigged, black-robed figures milled around the central table like figures in a puppet show. Only Joseph Bloom looked human. His eyes smiled at her over the top of his spectacles.
She noticed Daniel’s knuckles were white as he gripped the railing that divided them, as nervous as if he were the prisoner on trial. His eyes tried to convey some message but the scarlet-robed judge diverted her attention. He looked out between the side flaps of an elaborately coiled wig that was too big for his head. Keziah smiled. He looks as stern as the gaujos’ god would if a Romani wandered into his heaven by mistake.
Keziah was grateful when a chair was provided ‘due to her delicate condition’.
She tried to concentrate when Daniel took the stand. Was this the same suit he’d borrowed from Mac Mackie for their wedding? She was surprised that Daniel had shaved off his moustache. She remembered Joseph’s words. ‘A clean-shaven witness has the advantage over a bearded man as his every emotional nuance will register with the jury.’
As she listened to Daniel’s evidence she felt a vague stirring of pride that he was her friend. His manner was respectful but no longer servile.
‘I am now a free man but on arrival in the colony I was assigned to Mr Jonstone at Gideon Park. He was always a good and decent master. In practice I was directly answerable to his overseer, the deceased Iago, at best a man most difficult to please. For years I worked desperately hard to avoid the floggings he ordered to punish our slightest misdemeanours. Death was my sole hope of escape. Until my dear Saranna married me.’
Daniel described Saranna’s devotion to him, their children and their coming babe. How she abhorred violence so much she became hysterical whenever she saw a kangaroo shot. Keziah saw from the looks on the faces of the jurymen how impressed they were by Daniel’s fervent declaration.
‘My gentle Saranna is incapable of murder!’
Keziah felt a wave of guilt that her violent crime had dishonoured the dead girl’s name.
The next witness was a young woman identified as Lizzie Fleet also known as Lizzie Jones. She avoided looking in Keziah’s direction when asked to describe the woman she had directed to Iago’s cottage the night of his murder.
‘Dark-haired, big with child and spoke posh like she was better than the rest of us. She was dead eager to visit the Devil Himself and we all know what he got up to!’
Asked to identify this woman in court Lizzie hesitated before pointing. ‘That’s her in the prisoner’s dock.’
‘Did you hear a gunshot? Or see Mrs Browne leave the cottage carrying a weapon?’
‘I don’t know nothing about that. That’s all I’m saying.’
Keziah saw that the woman again avoided her eyes as she left the stand.
The next witness was Sean Kirby, a nervous lad who pulled his forelock, clearly intimidated by the bullying prosecutor’s tactics. Keziah had no memory of ever seeing him.
The prosecutor confidently hooked his thumbs in the folds of his robe as he reminded the youth how heavily the law came down on those who committed perjury.
‘You say you saw the accused lying near Iago’s burning cottage. Is it possible she concealed a murder weapon?’
Young Kirby was sweating. ‘I saw naught but she was holding a letter, Sir.’
‘This letter?’ The prosecutor waved the signed evidence as if it were a toerag.
‘Can’t say, Sir. Ain’t got no reading. Can only make my mark, Sir.’
‘I repeat, is it not possible this woman concealed a murder weapon?’
‘I don’t know. We was all running to stop the fire spreading. Holding a letter in both hands, she was, and keening.’
The prosecutor appeared to be caught off guard. ‘Keening?’
‘Like our Irish women mourn for the dead, Sir.’
The prosecutor looked irritated as he dismissed him. In contrast Joseph’s manner to Sean Kirby was as respectful as if he were questioning a free man.
‘Had you ever seen Mrs Browne prior to the night of the fire, Mr Kirby?’
‘Once, Sir. After she married Daniel Browne she came to Gideon Park one day I was working in the garden. This lady she handed Mrs Jonstone a package. Mistress said, “Women understand these things. Feel free to call whenever you’re passing, Mrs Browne.”’
‘Feel free to call whenever you’re passing, Mrs Browne,’ Joseph slowly repeated the words for the jury’s benefit. ‘So an open invitation might well be the reason for Saranna Browne’s presence at Gideon Park on the night in question. Thank you, no further questions.’
By this point Keziah had a stronger grasp of the proceedings, but she felt emotionally distanced as if she was seated in the back row of a theatre watching a play.
She noted Julian Jonstone’s annoyance when he was called to the stand. He was fulsome in his praise of his deceased overseer’s character.
Joseph Bloom was polite. ‘It would appear Iago was a paragon of virtue when you were in residence at Gideon Park but as you just stated, you were absent many months of the year. You are known to be a pillar of the Church of England, Sir, so we can presume you would abhor any cruelty practised by your overseer towards a woman, would you not?’
Although Jonstone’s manner was haughty, Keziah sensed he was no liar.
‘All my female assigned servants are quartered under my roof. On my direct orders no woman has ever been treated harshly at Gideon Park.’
Joseph waited as if to give the witness enough rope to provide the answer he wanted.
Jonstone faltered. ‘However if a man chastises his own wife for a misdemeanour the law and the church have no right to intervene, as well you know.’
Joseph’s voice suggested the barest trace of sarcasm. ‘Indeed, physical cruelty to a spouse is a grey area under British law.’ He spun around. ‘One last question, Sir. Under oath it is claimed Mrs Browne delivered a parcel to your wife. Please describe the circumstances.’
Jonstone grew flustered. ‘Don’t see the relevance but very well. My wife suffered the loss of three stillborn sons. This Browne woman paid an unsolicited visit with herbs that she claimed would help my wife carry full-term. Arrant nonsense. Little better than witchcraft.’
‘My sympathies for your loss, Sir, but perchance your wife used the herbs?’
‘Against my better judgement.’
‘Quite so. I believe we must congratulate you on the safe delivery of Julian Jonstone Junior some twelve months ago. This little chap makes good progress, I trust?’
‘He’s thriving. Thanks be to God, not pagan herbs!’
‘Be that as it may,’ Joseph Bloom said gently, ‘Mrs Browne drove some distance in an attempt to give healing aid to your wife, did she not?’
At Jonstone’s nod, he continued. ‘In some eyes Mrs Browne’s action might be regarded as that of a ministering angel. I take it there was no monetary transaction? A simple act of kindness would you say?’
‘No, there was no payment,’ Jonstone conceded. ‘Intended kindness, albeit misguided.’
‘Thank you, that will be all.’
Keziah felt an unexpected flicker of emotion. Herbs had done their job. Charlotte’s son was thriving. She noticed Joseph looked distinctly pleased with Jonstone’s testimony. Her feeling of pride switched to unease when the name of the next witness was called.
Caleb Morgan! Is he going to take advantage of me being in gaol to steal Gabriel?
Caleb appeared to be in total control of the situation as he took the oath in ringing tones. Keziah was convinced he would retain his inborn air of superiority until his dying day.
‘Mrs Browne is well known to my family in England. In the period before her marriage she was Miss Saranna Plews, a house guest at my father’s country estate, Morgan Park, Lancashire. My father, John Morgan, is well known to Governor Gipps.’ He paused to allow judge and jury time to be impressed by this proof of status.
Keziah felt torn by conflicting emotions. Me a house guest of the Morgans! That’s a lie for a start but he actually sounds as if he’s on my side. What’s he up to?
Caleb continued to answer Joseph’s questions, needing little prompting.
‘Saranna’s kindness and pharmaceutical skills were of enormous benefit in restoring the health of my stepmother. I came to the colony with the expressed intention of repaying Mrs Browne for her great service to my family. We Morgans owe her a debt of honour. Mrs Browne is a lady of innate gentility and honesty, quite above fiscal considerations. And she is totally incapable of committing the violent crime of which she is accused!’
To Keziah’s surprise when the prosecutor waived the right to question him, Caleb paused in the act of crossing the courtroom to make a respectful bow in her direction.
Although her lawyer seemed well satisfied with Caleb’s testimony, Keziah was growing restless. What a load of rot! And gaujos have the hide to call us Romanies liars!
Dr Leslie Ross’s sworn statement was read out in his absence. It consisted of a careful selection of facts supporting his opinion that trauma made her incapable of giving accurate evidence.
Keziah was livid with rage when she saw the doctor was present at the rear of the court. What is going on? I will not be silenced by drugs. The law treated my father as a lying Gypsy vagabond. I’ll show them a Romani woman is as honest as the best of them.
When Joseph formally asked for her to be excused from giving evidence, the judge appeared to be on the point of agreement until Keziah interrupted with a shout of denial.
‘There’s been some mistake. I am quite capable of telling the truth, Your Honour!’
For once, Joseph Bloom seemed lost for words.
When the clerk offered Keziah the gaujo bible, her response was polite but firm.
‘I respect your bible, Your Honour, but it would be a lie for me to swear on it.’
The judge leaned forward. ‘But surely you are a Christian, Mrs Browne?’
Daniel yelled out, ‘Indeed she is! We married in church!’
‘Mr Browne, you will kindly refrain from interjecting or you will be removed from the court! Kindly explain yourself, Mrs Browne.’
Keziah’s voice rang out with pride. ‘I am a Romani!’
The judge was flummoxed. ‘Am I to understand you to be a native of Rome?’
‘No. My father was a Rom descended from “the true black blood” generations ago in India. I swear by my people’s highest oath. By My Father’s Hand, I will tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Which means I must tell you right now – I am not Saranna Browne.’
‘What absurdity is this?’ the judge demanded, stabbing his finger at his documents.
‘I took that name from a girl who died. I was born Keziah Stanley.’ Keziah saw that her revelation caused several reactions.
Daniel Browne cried out, ‘My wife is ill. She’s not responsible for her words!’
The judge’s wig slipped to cover his spectacles.
The irate prosecutor demanded, ‘What the hell are you up to now, Bloom?’
Joseph Bloom seemed to be muttering in German under his breath.
Dr Ross and Caleb Morgan exchanged looks of utter dismay.
Consternation broke out in the spectators’ box. Keziah saw that the elegant woman in blue had slumped in her seat and the woman beside her was trying to revive her with smelling salts.
It seemed to Keziah she was the only person in court who was calm. Now that she had publicly reclaimed her true identity, she felt relief that she had cleared Saranna’s good name. Her fight to free Jake could now begin.
Once order was restored the judge conferred with his tipstaff about legal precedents as to whether the trial should continue. After Joseph Bloom advised the name was known to him as an alias used by the accused, a common enough practice, he firmly ruled that it could.
During Keziah’s delivery of her testimony with a cool recounting of the facts, she noticed Joseph Bloom scanned the faces of the jurymen to weigh the impact of her words.
The judge appeared bemused. ‘Let me understand if we have your extraordinary story correctly tabled. You delivered this letter to Iago, which retracts the accusations he made about Jakob Andersen at his trial. You claim Iago signed this letter, after which you fired your muff pistol at him!’
He glanced severely at the prosecutor. ‘A weapon that has vanished without trace.’
Joseph Bloom jumped to his feet. ‘May it please, M’lud. No trace of any weapon has been found. May I suggest it is no more than the hallucination of a young woman who is advanced with child and has been suffering acute shock since the events of that night.’
The judge straightened his wig over a face that was pink with irritation. ‘The court does not take kindly to impertinent interruptions.’
He turned to Keziah. ‘You claim you visited Iago that night for the sole purpose of gaining Jakob Andersen’s freedom?’
‘No. To prove his innocence. Iago was a false witness!’
‘And you would have us believe, Madam, that you are not? It is common knowledge your Gypsy tribe has earned a justified reputation as liars down through the centuries.’
Keziah felt a rush of freedom, no longer bound by Saranna Plews’s conservative manners. ‘I have sworn By My Father’s Hand. I do not lie!’
‘We have before us Iago’s signed retraction of his evidence. Yet you admit you shot him. Describe to the court the events that led to your acknowledged act of violence. Why you did it.’
At that moment Keziah still did not know the reason herself. She was certain of only one thing. Jake’s whole future hung in the balance. She summoned up the gift to take her back to the vivid scene in Iago’s cottage; the smell of rum, the oil lamp, her muff pistol trained on his face, his hand grabbing the weapon and tossing it from hand to hand like a child’s toy.
It was then she knew the truth. The dark hole in her memory disappeared. She heard herself quoting Iago’s soft words as if the dead man was speaking through her.
‘It was me that broke Will Martens. Skin like a girl he had till he tasted my lash. Cried like a girl too. You wouldn’t believe what a man will do – if you make him hungry enough and break his spirit.’
Every face was riveted on Keziah, none more intently than Joseph Bloom.
She faltered, her voice soft with horror. ‘Iago laughed when he said it. “Weak bastards aren’t much fun. I like a man with real balls. Real spirit. Like Gypsy Gem Smith. It needed four of my men to hold him down. Gem Smith took it from them just like a woman!”’
Keziah began to sway and Joseph Bloom sprang to his feet.
‘M’lud, my client is in no condition to proceed, I beg you to excuse her.’
Before the judge had time to rule, Keziah’s voice cut across him.
‘That devil kept laughing. I shot him but the bullet only grazed his neck. He kept coming towards me so I pressed the spring to release the blade. He deserved to die. I must have killed him. No one else was there.’
The courtroom seemed to freeze in time and space. Finally the judge looked stonily at Joseph Bloom who was bent over the desk conferring with his clerk.
‘May I remind the defence counsel he is not in court in one of the German lands. In British courts it is customary to respect Her Majesty’s judges!’
Keziah was stung by this insult to her friend who, like her, was forever an alien in the eyes of this judge.
Before Joseph could respond to the rebuke the judge’s words cut across him as he addressed the jury.
‘Vile accusations have been made about Iago which have not been verified by other witnesses. His employer, Julian Jonstone, held him in high esteem. All we have is the hearsay evidence of a Gypsy charged with his murder, who has besmirched Iago’s good name.’
A commotion broke out at the rear of the court. A woman dressed in black called out, ‘Good name? You want the whole truth? Ask me!’
The prosecutor turned to Joseph Bloom with a sigh of resignation. ‘What other tricks have you concealed up your Mosaic sleeve, Bloom?’
‘My learned friend, may I suggest our Creator alone has that answer?’
‘My chambers!’ the judge snapped at them. ‘The court is adjourned for one hour.’
As the woman in black left the court she looked back at Keziah and nodded her head in acknowledgement. Keziah realised this was the wife who had cried tears of joy when the Tarot cards revealed her husband’s death. Mary Iago.
Keziah was shocked that she had not foreseen the fatal flaw at the heart of her Tarot prediction. Baxt chose me to be the Devil Himself’s executioner.