They had barely got to the Old Bailey the next morning when the prosecuting barrister, Mr Barrington-Sloane, came to tell Molly she was to be called first.
‘I want the jury to see straight away that there is no doubt Miss Gribble is a ruthless and cunning murderess who had total control of Christabel Coleman. So I will first ask you to tell the jury about Sylvia Coleman and Pamela, then lead on to you finding Sylvia Coleman dead in Stone Cottage. I aim to go on from there to how you came to be imprisoned by Miss Gribble, but there is a possibility the judge will not allow that evidence today. We’ll see how it goes.’
Molly’s stomach began to churn with fright. Yesterday, as she and George were waiting, he had told her tales about defence lawyers throwing doubt on things witnesses had said. He’d assured her that she’d be all right as she was simply reporting what she’d seen at Stone Cottage and no one could twist it, as it was fact.
‘Don’t look so scared,’ Barrington-Sloane said. He was scary, too, tall and very thin with a nose like a beak. With his robe, wig, and half-moon spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose, he reminded her of a crow. ‘You’ll be fine,’ he went on. ‘Just look at the judge and speak up.’
Molly didn’t think she’d be able to speak up, or to call Cassie and Petal by their real names. She couldn’t even think of them as Sylvia and Pamela, let alone remember to use those names.
It began very well. Barrington-Sloane encouraged her to set the scene by explaining how Sylvia and Pamela hadn’t turned up for the Coronation Day party, and how Molly had gone up to Stone Cottage on her bicycle to find them and found Sylvia dead on the floor and Pamela missing.
The defence lawyer, a short, stubby man, said he had no questions, so Barrington-Sloane moved straight on to getting Molly to relate what happened when she went to Mulberry House with the intention of meeting Christabel Coleman. Molly went on to say how she was attacked by Miss Gribble and knocked unconscious, only to come to later to find herself locked in a room in the cellar.
‘Will you tell the court what it was like in that cellar?’ Barrington-Sloane asked her.
‘It was very cold,’ she said. ‘The only thing to sit or lie on was a wooden bench. I couldn’t sleep because of the cold, and I was hungry and thirsty.’
‘You were in there for two days,’ Barrington-Sloane said. ‘Were you confident you’d be either let out by Miss Gribble or rescued by someone else?’
‘No I wasn’t confident about being rescued,’ Molly said. ‘I thought I would die in there, as no one knew where I was.’
‘But after your second night in there you did manage to pick the lock and escape,’ Barrington-Sloane said. ‘Did you run out of the house to get help for the child you believed to be held there?’
‘No, I stayed in the house and went to find her,’ Molly said. ‘I guessed they must be holding her in one of the rooms upstairs, and I went to look for her.’
‘And when you found her locked in, you broke down the door to set her free, isn’t that so?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But your troubles weren’t over just yet: you had to get out of that house, with the child. She was undernourished, neglected and frightened, but you carried her downstairs. And what then?’
‘Miss Gribble was there, a poker in her hand,’ Molly said. ‘I whispered to Petal that she was to run when I put her down. Luckily, that was enough of a distraction for Miss Gribble, and I managed to grab a heavy ornament and throw it at her. It stopped her in her tracks.’
Barrington-Sloane told the remainder of the story, asking Molly to confirm that Christabel Coleman had knocked her unconscious with an axe. Later, she and the child had been taken to Hastings Hospital by ambulance. The defence lawyer, Mr Myers, began his turn by spending a few moments strutting around the court, his hands behind his back, before starting his cross-examination. Molly quaked, fearing he was going to bring up her having got the sack from Bourne & Hollingsworth, or some other incident from the past which would suggest that her word couldn’t be trusted.
‘Miss Heywood,’ he said, with the kind of sneer smile that confirmed her worst fears about what he intended to bring up, ‘we have heard that you diligently took part in the search for Pamela after her abduction, but I would like to know why you weren’t so diligent when you found a letter in Stone Cottage that was a link to Sylvia Coleman’s past. Why didn’t you take this letter to the police?’
‘Because I knew they wouldn’t follow it up,’ she replied. ‘They’d already lost interest in the case by then.’
‘I’m sorry. I hadn’t been informed that you were an expert on police procedure,’ he said sarcastically. ‘So, instead of informing those who have access to a huge network to track people down, and the benefit of forensic science to assist them, you chose to play detective?’
‘I suppose so. I thought Sister Constance, the lady the letter came from, would be more likely to open up to me.’
‘Can you tell me the date on which you found the letter?’
‘No, sir, but it must have been July or so.’
‘July or so. In 1953?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she responded, her heart sinking even further.
‘Didn’t it occur to you that by withholding this piece of evidence you might be responsible for prolonging the length of time that vulnerable little girl was held captive? Or, even worse that during that time she might have died?’
‘Sister Constance didn’t know anything,’ Molly retorted. ‘Even if I had given the letter to the police they wouldn’t have found Pamela through Sister Constance.’
‘Is that so?’ Mr Myers asked, fixing her with dead, shark-like eyes. ‘Isn’t it true you were given a notebook belonging to Miss Coleman?’
Molly felt nauseous now. ‘Well, yes, but it didn’t have addresses or anything, just odd references to things she did, places she’d been to. It was very hard to understand.’
‘And you didn’t believe that an experienced detective would have been able to decipher a young woman’s jottings faster than you?’
‘Like I said, the way the police had left the case led me to think they would just ignore me.’
‘Yet you went to school with Constable George Walsh, who was involved in the investigation. You were such close friends that he rode his motorbike to Rye from Somerset when he suspected you were in trouble. Are you telling me he wouldn’t have taken your concerns seriously?’
Molly squirmed. She couldn’t even be indignant at the barrister’s questions, because he was right. She should have given that letter to the police and she should have at least informed George what she was up to.
‘With hindsight, I should have shared all information I received or had worked out for myself with the police,’ she admitted. ‘But I didn’t imagine I was going to find Petal – or Pamela, to give her her correct name – in a village out on the Kentish marshes. I was just trying to find my friend’s relatives.’
The defence lawyer said he had no further questions, and Molly was able to leave the witness stand.
At four o’clock the judge adjourned for the day. George had given his evidence that afternoon, and tomorrow morning both sides would make their closing speeches. Molly had hardly said a word since giving her evidence that morning and, although George hadn’t been in court to hear what the defence lawyer had asked her, he’d been at enough trials to guess why she was so withdrawn.
It was dark when they came out of the Old Bailey, and very cold. George led her across the road to a café nearby for a cup of tea.
‘You mustn’t take it personally,’ he said once they’d sat down, taking her hand across the table and squeezing it. He had wanted to cuddle her as soon as they got out of the court, but he couldn’t, not while he was in uniform. ‘Lawyers are like that with everyone. They have to pick at things witnesses have said and done, it’s the only way to draw out the full picture so the jury can make a fair assessment of the guilt or innocence of the person in the dock.’