“Secondly, we have testimony that Dr. Grove, when these accusations were made known, discharged the girl from her employ, so that he might take himself away from temptation and return to a virtuous life. And that she most bitterly resented this.
“Thirdly, we have the testimony of Mr. Crosse, an apothecary, that on the same day as she was discharged Sarah Blundy bought arsenic from his shop. She has said Dr. Grove asked her to do so, but no one has found any record of such an expenditure in Dr. Grove’s papers.
“Fourthly, we have the testimony of Signor Marco da Cola, an Italian gentleman of impeccable integrity, who will tell you that he warned of the dangers of this powder, and heard Dr. Grove say that he would never use it again—a few hours before he died of it.”
All eyes, including Sarah’s, were on me at this point, and I looked down to avoid the sadness in her eyes. It was true, every word of it; but I wished fervently at that moment that it was not.
“Next, we have the testimony of Mr. Thomas Ken, a divine, that the girl was seen in New College that very evening, and it will be shown that, although she denies this, she refuses absolutely to say where she was, nor has anyone else come forward to say where she was.”
“Finally, we have proof of an unimpeachable nature, for we have a witness, Mr. John Prestcott, a young gentleman at the university, who will testify that she confessed to him that very evening of her deed, and showed him a ring which she had ripped from the corpse. A ring which has been identified as Dr. Grove’s own signet ring.”
The whole room, it seemed, sucked in its breath at this point, as all knew that the testimony of a gentleman on such a matter was unlikely to be gainsaid. Sarah knew it too; for her head sank lower on her chest at the words, and her shoulders slumped in what seemed like the abandonment of all hope.
“Sir,” the lawyer resumed, “the considerations against the accused of motive, character and station are as strong as the particular evidence. This is why I have no doubt that, whatever the girl pleads—indeed, whether she pleads or not—the outcome will be the same.”
The prosecutor beamed around him to acknowledge the applause from the room, waved his hand in a stately fashion, then sat down. The judge waited until some silence had returned and then turned his attention to Sarah.
“Well, child? What have you to say? You know, I believe, the consequences of what you may utter.”
Sarah looked very much as though she might collapse and, though I had little sympathy for her any more, I did feel that it would have been a kindness to have given her a seat.
“Come on, girl,” someone cried from the audience. “Speak up. Struck dumb, are you?”
“Silence,” thundered the judge. “Well?”
Sarah lifted her head, and I could see properly for the first time what a sad state she was in. Her eyes were red from crying, her face pale, her hair lank and dirty from the jail. A large bruise on her cheek had turned blue from the beating the jailer had given her when she assaulted me. Her mouth trembled as she tried to speak.
“What? What?’’ the judge said, leaning forward and cupping his hand to his ear. “You’ll have to speak louder than that, you know.”
“Guilty,” she whispered, then slid to the floor in a faint as the audience erupted into catcalls and whistles of disappointment at being denied their fun. I tried to walk over to her, but was prevented from moving by the press of bodies.
“Silence,” the judge shouted out. “All of you. Be quiet.”
Eventually, they once more calmed down, and the judge looked around him. “The girl has pleaded guilty,” he announced. “Which is a great blessing, as we can now proceed quickly. Members of the jury, any disagreement from you?”
The jury members all shook their heads somberly.
“Does anyone else have anything to say here?”
There was a rustle from the crowd as all turned to see if anyone would speak. Then I saw that Wood had stood up, red-faced with embarrassment at his temerity, and at the catcalls which greeted him.
“Quiet, now,” said the judge. “Let us not rush. Please sir, say your piece.”
Poor Wood; he was no advocate, and had none of the assurance of even a man like Lower, let alone someone like Locke. And yet he was the only person who stood up for the girl, and tried to say something in her favor. It was doomed to fail, even Demosthenes himself could scarcely have succeeded in the task, and I am sure Wood proceeded from generosity of spirit, rather than true faith in his cause. And he did the girl no good at all, for he was so overcome by the sudden light of public attention that he froze into incoherence, and did little more than stand there, babbling in a half-voice that hardly anyone could hear. The crowd put a stop to it; the booing began at the back, then whistling, until even the greatest orator could not have been heard. It was Locke, I think, who ended the misery, and with surprising gentleness, pulled him down. I could see the look of abject failure and dejection on the poor man’s face, and grieved for his shame as much as I rejoiced that the moment was over.
“Thank you for your eloquence,” said the judge, playing shamelessly to the crowd and unable to resist piling on further humiliation. “And I will take your words into account.”
Then he pulled out the black felt cap and put it on his head; as he did so, there was an expectant rustling from the crowd, whose mood had changed from sympathy to the greatest malice. “Hang her,” cried one voice from the back.
“Quiet,” said the judge, but it was too late. Thus encouraged, more of the crowd joined in, then more, and within seconds, the whole room was full of the sound of that lust for blood which comes over soldiers in battle, or huntsmen as they near their quarry. “Hang her, kill her”; again and again in a rhythmic chanting, with much stamping of feet and whistling. It took the judge several minutes before he successfully restored order.
“I will have no more of this,” he said sternly. “Now, is she recovered? Can she hear me?’’ he asked the court clerk, who had given up his seat that she might be placed on it.
“I believe so, my lord,” the clerk said, even though he was bodily holding her upright and had slapped her several times to bring her round.
“Good. Sarah Blundy, listen to me carefully now. You have committed a most horrendous crime, and the sentence the law insists upon for a woman who murders so treasonably is unavoidable. You will be taken to a pyre and burned.”
He paused to look around at the courtroom to see how this went down. It was not well received; necessary though it seemed to be, the English did not derive much satisfaction from the pyre, and a subdued mood settled over the room.
“However,” the judge continued, “as you have pleaded guilty, and spared the court a great deal of trouble, we intend to be merciful. You will be given the grace of being hanged before your body is consumed, to lessen the suffering you will have to endure. That is your sentence, and may God have mercy on your soul.”
He stood up and dismissed the court, grateful for having had such a short and satisfactory afternoon. The audience sighed as though it was waking from an exciting dream, shook itself and began to leave while two bailiffs carried the now insensible Sarah out of the room and back to the castle. The whole trial had lasted less than an hour.
18
My mood of despondency increased markedly when I saw Mrs. Blundy a few hours later, for the battle was being waged and lost as I watched.
“I’m so sorry, doctor.” Her voice was fainter even than before, almost a whimper, so sharply did the pain cut into her. But she was brave, and did her best not to let it show, lest it be taken as a criticism of my efforts.
“It is I who should apologize,” I said, once I had examined her and realized how bad it all was. “You should never have been left alone for so long.”