The Painted Cage (42 page)
Authors: Meira Chand
30
January
1897
TWENTIETH DAY OF TRIAL
Robert Russell spent the day upon arsenic in one way or another. His long legs protruded from his gown, as he stalked about the court, like a skinny beetle. He
circumnavigated
evidence in a disturbing, elastic way. He found cracks to prise up and overturn reality. With each day he appeared more invigorated, brighter-eyed and more tenacious. His reasoning was sinuous. He had that gift to falsify reserved for brilliant actors; he held the jury mesmerized. He danced upon his words.
‘I turn to the evidence affecting the prisoner herself on the charge of poisoning her husband. The first matter which calls attention is the writing of the letters to Mr Huckle which called forth those written by him in evidence before you. I have already told you that, if other evidence satisfies you that poison was administered by the prisoner, it is not necessary to explain the motive. The law does not require that any motive should be proved in a case where the evidence of the commission of the criminal act is circumstantial any more than where it is direct. It is going far to suggest that because a woman wrongs her husband she is prepared to murder him; but such liaisons have before now supplied the root of motive for crime. The accused has been shown to have
systematically
traduced her husband, falsely representing him as a brute and a villain and appealing for and calling forth the sympathy of another man in the distressing situation in which his violence had placed her. Whatever may be said,
gentlemen, of the female nature, of its lightness and its frailty, that is not the form it takes and the circumstances in this case require an explanation. That explanation has not been forthcoming. But the position which the undoubted facts bring us to is this: that behind the action of the prisoner lay strong motives not revealed to us, and that she was capable of traducing and blackening the character of the husband to whom she professed
affection
.’ He was tireless and inspired, sweat glazed his face, mobile as never before.
‘I have now, gentlemen, laid before you the arguments that it was my duty to put before you on behalf of the Crown. Pay no regard to anything but the internal voice of your own conscience and to that sense of duty you owe to God and man on this occasion, seeking no reward except the comforting assurance that when you look back upon this day you will feel that you have discharged to the utmost of your ability the duty it was yours to perform.
‘If all the facts and evidence lead your minds to the conclusion of the prisoner’s guilt, then, but only then, I ask for a verdict of “Guilty” at your hands. For the
protection
of the good, for the repression of the wicked, I ask for that verdict by which alone the safety of society can be secured and the demands of public justice satisfied.’
1
February
1897
The
Japan
Gazette
report on the final day of the trial:
A driving rain with a biting northerly wind greeted the people of Yokohama who from business or an easily
explicable
curiosity directed their ways on Monday, 1 February to Her Britannic Majesty’s Court in Japan. For this was the last day in the most remarkable trial ever held in a foreign court and a trial which, in all probability, is without precedent in the annals of a British court. The strain on counsel, judge and jury has been immense. Counsel,
especially for the defence, have had to act as their own solicitors and clerks and the amount of work thus executed by them has been almost incredible. This has to a certain extent hampered the progress of the case but we feel sure the jury, much as the strain must have told upon them, will in so grave an issue in a matter upon which the life and death of the prisoner depends, regard lightly their own protracted incarceration if thereby an honest and
exhaustive
trial has been secured. The public have no right to complain, for the delay has been calculated not to thwart justice but to ensure it.
By the time the judge took his seat the court room was full, but the solemnity of his address was somewhat marred by the thoughtlessness of people leaving and entering the court room and by the severe cold from which his lordship was suffering, which frequently compelled him to drop his voice to a whisper and render him inaudible even to reporters. Thus many portions of a really powerful and admirably reasoned address were lost to our readers, though we trust that the jury were fortunate in being able to catch sentences the reporters lost. It was a most impressive address, but almost from the very first sentence it was adverse to the prisoner. Based as it was upon evidence, and avoiding as much as possible the statement of opinions and only citing facts, it seemed to those who listened to it attentively to be a most damning indictment against the prisoner.
‘Gentlemen of the jury,’ it began. ‘The prisoner is charged with murder of her husband by the administration of arsenic and it is incumbent upon the prosecution to establish the charge beyond reasonable doubt.’ Without actually saying so in words, it was clear that in the judge’s opinion the prosecution had not only established their charge beyond reasonable doubt but beyond all doubt. Early in his speech he pointed out what the counsel for the prosecution had already laid stress upon, that it was not necessary to prove that arsenic alone had caused the death but that the symptoms during illness and post-mortem analysis were consistent with arsenical poisoning; secondly, that the prisoner had wilfully administered the arsenic to the deceased in the form of Fowler’s Solution with a felonious intention; thirdly, that the poison conduced to his death. For the first and third of these they
must look to the medical evidence, for the second to the general evidence. The medical attendants had proved conclusively the first and third questions. As to the second, the administration of arsenic in the form of arsenious poisoning had been abandoned by the prosecution as no white arsenic could be traced to the prisoner. The
prosecution
had alleged the purchase of four ounces of Fowler’s Solution between 17 and 22 October and this was not denied by the defence. The purchase from Schedel’s and Maruya’s had been proved. On Tuesday Dr Charles, puzzled by the case, inquired about the cooking utensils. On that same evening an ounce of Fowler’s Solution was procured from Maruya’s and the deceased was worse after that. The prisoner had suggested calling Dr Baeltz, but he telegraphed back that he could not come until the following evening. On receipt of this message the improvement of the patient’s condition disappeared. He had been better in the afternoon, but in the evening he was worse. On the forenoon of that very day one and a half ounces of Fowler’s Solution had been purchased at different chemists and the patient was more or less prostrated until he died the next day before Dr Baeltz could come. That evening, when the prisoner heard a post-mortem would be held, she told Dr Charles she had procured arsenic for the deceased. Here the judge discussed the explanation for the concealment of this fact. It was because he was taking arsenic for stricture and the concealment was described as a wifely act on his insistence. The jury would have to consider whether such a slight explanation was sufficient, said the judge. Then why was sugar of lead not mentioned, seeing as it was for external application? The prisoner had been buying both these poisons and neither was mentioned. Then why was the medicine, if the prisoner’s purpose was innocent, not procured wholly from Schedel’s on the last day of purchase? The suggestion was that she might not be able to procure more than a half ounce from a foreign chemist, and thus got the smaller quantity from the foreign chemist and the larger one from the native. This point, so clearly expressed, appeared to make a great impression on the minds of the jury, and that impression was strengthened when the judge added that he would fail in his duty if he did not mention these points to the jury and they would fail in theirs if they did not face these questions.
Having thus placed the purchase of the poison in so strong a light his lordship proceeded to consider the reasons assigned for the purchases of arsenic at all. The only reasons given were those supplied by the prisoner, and much would turn upon the credence the jury gave to her various statements, all of which were inconsistent with one another, especially those concerning her husband’s arsenic-taking which modified as she appeared before the coroner at the inquest. The judge dealt with the witnesses as to the deceased taking arsenic, and pointed out that none of them demonstrated that he had been taking arsenic latterly, only that he had taken arsenic formerly.
At this point the judge adjourned the case until
one-thirty
.
The interest in the afternoon had grown keener. There was an air of expectation about all present and a feeling of tension seemed to pervade the atmosphere like electricity. The prisoner was a little paler but composed as ever. The judge, having asked Mr Easely if there were any points which he had overlooked, asked the jury to disregard the Huckle letters; little weight should be attached to them. The Annie Luke letters, however, could not be left out of consideration. He attached considerable weight to Mr Mason, the handwriting expert’s evidence and also asked the jury to note the style of the letters as well as the
handwriting.
Passing onto the subject of motive, the judge made it clear that in crimes it was not necessary to find a motive, but the prisoner must be judged by her acts and intentions.
‘I shall ask you to consider your verdict,’ the judge said in winding up. ‘It must be based not on suspicion, however strong, not upon conjecture, however probable, but upon conviction, founded on the evidence. If you have no real doubt of the prisoner’s guilt, if your minds are agreed, you must do your duty, honestly and fearlessly, and rightly return a verdict of guilty But if the verdict is left in doubt, then your verdict must be not guilty.’
The jury retired to consider the verdict at 2.35 p.m., a great silence falling over the court. For the first time during the case the prisoner leaned over the edge of the dock, burying her face in her hands. It was some minutes before she again lifted her head, when she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. After an absence of twenty-three minutes, barely more than a mere minute of consideration for each
of the long days this trial has lasted, the jury returned at two minutes to three o’clock.
The clerk of the court inquired, ‘Gentlemen, have you agreed upon your verdict?’
Mr Cooper-Hewitt replied, ‘We have.’
‘How say you? Do you find Amy Jane Redmore guilty or not guilty?’
‘Guilty.’
‘Is that the verdict of you all?’
‘It is.’
There was a silence that could be felt, an awful hush as the next question followed and the prisoner, with blanched cheeks and quivering mouth, stood once again at the bar.
‘Amy Jane Redmore, have you anything to say why sentence should not be passed upon you?’
A faint ‘No’ escaped the prisoner’s trembling lips.
His lordship then placed the black cap upon his head. A fit of coughing took him before in a hoarse voice he said, ‘The sentence is that you, Amy Jane Redmore, be forthwith taken from the place where you now stand and taken to the British Consular Goal, Yokohama, and therein interned and that on the day to be hereinafter appointed by the proper authority, you be taken to the place of execution and there be hanged by the neck until you are dead and that your body be afterwards taken down and interned in the precincts of the said prison, and may God have mercy upon your soul.’
The prisoner listened to this terrible sentence without sign of emotion save the twitching of the muscles of her face, but all the colour had left her cheeks and a bluish hue was noticeable on her lips and a ghastly pallor on her features.
After sentence had been pronounced the jury were discharged and the proceedings in this eventful trial terminated.
And
may
God
have
mercy
upon
your
soul.
They were the only words that stayed. She closed her eyes and they filled her. She repeated them silently hour after hour, on her knees before the crucifix, high upon the wall. She was buried in the words, unconscious. God have mercy. God. And at night sometimes she saw in dreams those women again rocking backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards before the glass-eyed imp at the temple fair. She remembered the push of the crowd behind her on the steps.
Namu
myoho
renge
kyo.
The words of the chant came back, useless to her here before an iron-hearted God. The bulging eyes of the red-skinned imp grew and grew in the flickering light, and the women rose, writhing and shrieking in agony.
Namu
myoho
renge
kyo.
The screams echoed through her dreams. She awoke and opened her eyes. Sweat poured from her in the icy room, her body was rigid with stress.
She could not think, she could not feel. There was only the image of the children, her loss, their loss that, beyond the stigma, would warp and stunt their lives. She folded her hands and escaped again. Her sins were of a different and irrelevant order from those determined by her friends. God have mercy. God. She remembered again, then, Benten’s temple on the crest of Enoshima, where within a dusty mirror she had for a moment glimpsed her own face, the reflection of that self it was said must be lost before eternity could be entered; a self now certainly lost. If she could she would have laughed.
Jack Easely stood before her. She had not heard him enter. ‘Read this,’ he said. He put the paper in her hand. He was gentle, his voice kind. It was an effort now to move her head, to look at him. Her eyes would not focus, could make no sense of words. Jack Easely retrieved the paper.
‘Her Britannic Majesty’s Consul,’ he read, ‘has received a dispatch from Her Britannic Majesty’s Minister in Tokyo to the effect that he has had under consideration the subject of the sentence of death passed in Her Majesty’s Court here on 1 February 1897 on Amy Jane Redmore for the murder of her husband and that in view of the Imperial Proclamation of His Majesty the Emperor dated 31 January granting, in memory of the late Empress Dowager, to all Japanese subjects under sentence on that day a remission of punishment, it appears proper that a similar measure of grace should be extended to the criminal in this case, whose trial in a court sitting in Her Majesty’s dominions had been proceeding for some days before and was about to be brought to a conclusion at the time of His Majesty’s Proclamation. Her Britannic Majesty’s Minister has accordingly decided not to direct that the sentence of death be carried into execution and, in virtue of the powers conferred upon him by the Order of the Council 1865 and otherwise, has directed in lieu of suffering capital punishment Mrs Redmore shall be imprisoned, with hard labour, for life.’
‘Do you understand?’ he asked gently. ‘You will be returned to England to serve sentence. There is every hope of a successful appeal. Already there is agitation for you in influential circles. This case has been closely followed in England.’
She nodded. Soon he went, his duty done.
There were sounds outside in the corridor, footsteps passing, fading. A voice. The slam of a door. The noises had resonance. The voice came again, vital; it laughed. In the depths of the building there was a crash of crockery. Amy listened, as if for the first time, to the life beyond the door. Her mind was full only of the children, images suddenly flooding her, moving the warmth of tears through her stiff body again. There was Tom, so long
ago, that Christmas after Matthew died, running into a snowy garden to hold his mouth open to the sky, licking the falling snow from his lips as if it were manna. And Cathy, dressing herself proudly for the first time, refusing Rachel’s help, her dress back to front, her bloomers twisted, joining Amy’s delighted laughter. There was no need to shut out the love now, no need to deny the images released to her again. Cathy, Tom. She whispered their names.
When at last she left the chair, it was nearly dark. She stood before the mirror, bleak and tiny on a shelf along the wall. She stared at her own face for a long while. It was not the face she had looked at last. Within her own destruction seemed a strange rebirth. She was free of all she had prayed to be free of, returned to her life, upon a far and unknown shore. She knew now she was a woman Matthew Armitage would look at and respect. Within her face were those lines she had once traced upon his, of the difficult disease of living. And suddenly, it no longer seemed of importance that she should have the respect of Matthew Armitage or that of any man, ever. She turned from the window and looked out anew upon a darkening world. In the road the lamps were lighting.
