A Matter for the Jury (42 page)

61

6 August

At precisely three
minutes to eight, Arthur Ludlow had stopped outside the door of the condemned cell. He was formally dressed in a dark grey suit and a blue tie, and he had the white hood which would shortly be fitted over Billy Cottage's head tucked away neatly like a fluted handkerchief in the top pocket of his jacket – the refinement introduced to the trade by the legendary Tom Pierrepoint. He held the strap with which he would pinion Billy's arms in one hand behind his back. His number two stood at his side, wearing a suit of a lighter shade and holding his leg strap behind him. Ken was a good lad, Arthur reflected. It was a pity, with all this talk of abolition, that Ken might never get the chance to act as number one. He was well trained and had good nerves; number one material, no doubt in Arthur's mind. But he was running out of time. That was the way of things now. Change; always change; the end of a way of life. Executions would be consigned to history if that man Silverman and the like had their way. Behind the executioners was the assistant governor holding the small cup of brandy that would be offered to the condemned in case of need – a modern concession, perhaps, to the historic practice in the days of public executions of allowing the condemned's friends and relatives to supply him with enough drink to induce a state of intoxication during the long last journey by cart from Newgate Prison to Tyburn. Time to focus. Arthur knew exactly what he would find when he entered the condemned cell.

As he heard the church clock sound the first stroke of the hour, signalling 8 o'clock, Arthur entered the cell briskly. As he expected, two prison officers stood poised by the large wardrobe. The chaplain, book in hand and fully robed, stood at Billy Cottage's side. Arthur's only concern about chaplains was that they had a habit of getting in the way. It was not deliberate – not these days, although the Pierrepoints had told some stories about chaplains in Ireland who clung to the condemned as he walked to the drop, in the days when they conducted executions there. Now, in England, it was just because they did not always react quickly enough when the executioner entered the cell. You couldn't blame them. It was Arthur's job to deal with the problem if it arose. But this man evidently had every intention of keeping well out of the way. As Arthur entered he moved sharply away to the side of the cell. Arthur approached Billy, bringing the hand which held the strap round in front of him. At the same time, the prison officers were moving the wardrobe aside, and opening the door.

Billy stared at Arthur, wondering who he was. Then it came to him. Of course.

When I was bound apprentice in famous Lincolnshire

‘Mr Brooke?' Billy Cottage asked. ‘I was wondering when you would come.'

Arthur thought he detected something of a smile on Billy's face. He wondered briefly why this man thought his name was Brooke. But he dismissed the thought, as he had trained himself to dismiss all extraneous thoughts when he was working. You had to. You had to stay focused. You had to tune out whatever the condemned had to say. You never knew what it would be. Some said nothing at all. Some confessed to their crimes at the last moment. Some said things that did not make sense. Usually it wasn't hard to let it pass by. Only when the condemned protested his innocence did Arthur need a moment to readjust. That would not be the case today.

Full well I served my master for nigh on seven years

‘Turn around please,' Arthur said, although he was already turning Billy, holding him by his right shoulder. He brought Billy's hands around behind his back and pinioned them in a flash. He looked up. The wardrobe was gone and the path to the drop was clear.

Arthur turned Billy again and positioned himself in front, as Ken fell in behind Billy with the assistant governor bringing up the rear. The two officers who had moved the wardrobe were now stationed on either side of the drop, just in case of trouble. Their presence was reassuring, but Arthur sensed that there would be no trouble today. Not with this one.

‘Follow me, please.'

Till I took up to poaching as you shall quickly hear

The walk to the drop was a matter of a few feet. As Ken moved swiftly to his position behind the huge metal trap doors, Arthur walked Billy on to the drop, where Billy saw the rope, ending in a noose, at his side, at head height. What was that for? They wouldn't need that unless they were going to… Something had gone wrong. Perhaps this man was not Mr Brooke. Perhaps none of these people was Mr Brooke. He had to tell these people that something had gone wrong. But the words would not come. Where was Mr Davis? Where was his main barrister? Where was his other barrister?

Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year

He felt pressure against his legs as Ken pinioned them.

Success to every gentleman that lives in Lincolnshire,

Then it went dark. Arthur had taken the white hood from his pocket and placed it over Billy's head. What had happened? Had someone turned the lights out? Was he still alive, or had it happened already?

Success to every poacher that wants to sell a hare

More pressure, this time up by his neck. Arthur was adjusting the noose, tight under the left jaw for the quarter-circle rotation.

Bad luck to every gamekeeper that will not sell his deer

Arthur checked that Ken was well clear of the drop. He reached for the lever. The clock sounded the final stroke for the hour.

Oh, 'tis my delight

62

The alarm woke
all three with a shocking clarity. Barratt switched on the small radio he had placed on his desk the previous evening.

This is the BBC Home Service. It is 9 o'clock on Thursday the 6 of August 1964. Here is the news.

The crisis in the Congo took a decisive turn yesterday as Simba rebel forces led by Christopher Gbenye and Pierre Mulela entered the outskirts of the capital, Stanleyville, amid fierce fighting. Sources in the country say that the city will fall today, giving the rebels a decisive advantage in the civil war.
Many thousands of people have fled their homes, and the United Nations has called on both sides to give safe passage to all refugees. It seems unlikely that there will be any lull in the fighting for some time.

And in the Far East, the United States has launched a bombing campaign against military targets in North Vietnam. The move follows a confrontation yesterday in the Gulf of Tonkin, in which North Vietnamese gunboats attacked the United States destroyers USS Maddox and USS Turner Joy. A spokesman for the Department of State told reporters that the attack had been repulsed with the aid of air support, with the loss of one
Vietnamese gunboat. North Vietnam has made no comment on the incident.

In Rome, Pope Paul VI has issued the encyclical ‘Ecclesiam Suam', in which he likens the Church to the body of Christ. The encyclical, which has taken several years to compile, is expected to be controversial among non-Catholics because of the privileged position it suggests for the Roman Catholic Church to the exclusion of other denominations.

At the Great Basin National Park near Baker, Nevada, Prometheus, which had been claimed to be
the world's oldest tree, has been felled. The tree, a Great Basin Bristlecone Pine, was believed by many scientists to be at least 4862, and possibly more than 5000, years old. The cutting down of Prometheus has sparked outrage among scientists and conservationists, but the team which felled the tree claims that there is no compelling evidence of such an advanced age, that they were unaware of the true age of the tree, and that the tree will yield important information for future research into diseases affecting trees.

William Cottage, a 28-year-old lock keeper from Fenstanton, Huntingdonshire, was hanged this morning at Bedford Gaol for the murder of Frank Gilliam. Cottage was convicted of capital murder at the Huntingdonshire Assize in June. The prosecution alleged that Cottage launched a frenzied attack on Frank Gilliam and his girl friend, Jennifer Doyce, on a houseboat on the Great Ouse river n
ear St Ives in January. Jennifer Doyce, although critically injured, survived the attack, but Frank Gilliam died instantly.

And finally, they say New York is full of surprises, but no one could have been more surprised than a man who found himself walking past City Hall in Manhattan yesterday, when he was asked to step inside and act as a witness for the wedding ceremony of a couple who wanted to get married straight away. The surprise? The couple turned out to be comedian and script writer Mel Brooks and actress Anne Bancroft. As they say over there, ‘that's show business!
'.

And that's the news at 9 o'clock. The weather report and shipping forecast will follow in one minute.

Barratt reached out a hand and switched the radio off. He stood by his desk and stretched out his arms towards Ben and Jess as if giving a final benediction.

‘
Ite, missa est
,' he said. ‘It's over. It's time to carry on with our lives. It's time for the next case.'

Jess took Ben's hand and led him to the door of Barratt's office without a word, pausing only to kiss Barratt on the cheek. He in turn placed a hand on both their shoulders as they left.

* * *

In the kitchen of the lock keeper's house at Fenstanton, Eve Cottage also switched her radio off as the news ended. She sat in her chair for some time in the silence of the house. Then she put on her hat and got ready to walk into town to do her shopping for the day.

63

Ben and Jess emerged
from Barratt's office into the already bright sunlight, which promised another hot day. Standing in Essex Street, watching Londoners hurrying to work, listening to the noise of the traffic on the Strand, Ben had a strange sense of detachment, even of alienation, as though he were observing the scene as a visitor from some other universe. The hubbub around him was one he saw every day as part of his working life, but today he was not a part of it. He felt utterly disorientated. A few yards from the Temple, around which his life revolved, he felt lost; he was not sure he could find the way back to Chambers. After some time, he became aware of Jess standing close by his side.

‘Come on,' she said. ‘Barratt says we can take the car.'

He followed without a word. He settled into the front seat of the Rover, wound down his window, and stretched out his legs. As Jess expertly weaved her way into the morning rush-hour traffic, he allowed the cooling breeze to play on his face and through his hair. In a matter of minutes, he sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When he awoke, they were pulling into a long driveway. The noise of traffic had vanished, and the air felt different; it was fresh and relaxing, despite the increasing heat of the day. Around him he saw nothing but trees and grass, and some bright flower beds around the perimeter of the house resplendent with reds, yellows and mauves. She switched off the engine, and turned towards him. As their eyes met, she saw his lost-boy look and touched his hand.

‘You're in a magic place, in Sussex,' she explained. ‘This is my Uncle Jim and Aunt Ellen's house. They spend their summers at their place in France. I've had a key for the last couple of years. They like someone staying once in a while and keeping an eye on the house for them. We will stay for a few days, till you're ready to go back. Uncle Jim's shirts should fit you pretty well. Mrs Digby, their housekeeper, will have laid in some basic supplies – bread, milk, that kind of thing. We will walk down to the village shop tomorrow, or later this afternoon, if you feel like it.'

It took him some time to digest the information. He turned to her.

‘Jess, what am I doing here? What about Chambers?'

She turned and held him by both arms.

‘Ben, you remember what Barratt said. He will have talked to Merlin by now. Barratt has the number here, if anything should come up, but it won't. Come on.'

She climbed out of the car, walked around, and opened his door for him. He took her hand and she led him through the elegantly furnished house and into the back garden, which looked out over acre upon acre of green rolling countryside. Two benches and a table, made of dark, heavy rust-red wood, stood under a portico on the stone patio.

‘Sit there and relax for a while,' she said. ‘I will go and make some coffee before we do anything else.'

She brought the coffee and set it before him, then sat on the edge of the bench and pulled off her shoes and stockings. Next she knelt and took his off also. She threw them all into the far corner of the patio.

‘We won't need those for a while,' she said, as she sat down beside him.

He was taken aback for a moment, but the country air had begun to ease him into relaxation. He smiled his thanks. They savoured the coffee and the view together for a long time as the sun traced its afternoon arc towards the West. They listened to the breeze and the birdsong and the distant humming of bees on the flower beds.

‘Thank you for bringing me here, Jess,' he said. ‘But why did you? What made you think of it?'

She eased herself off the bench and came to kneel in front of him. She took his hands in hers.

‘They had a saying in the Middle Ages,' she said. ‘
In media vita in morte sumus
. In the midst of life we are in death. It seems appropriate to your profession, Ben, especially today. So I was thinking that perhaps we could stand it on its head. In the midst of death, perhaps we can find life.'

She kissed him full on the lips.

‘You told me that the world ended for you a few years ago,' she said. ‘I thought it was high time we made a new world, and set it spinning around its axis.'