A Matter for the Jury (36 page)

51

Paul, the usher,
suggested that they return to the George to await the verdict. He would summon them to court by phone when the time came. There was no way of telling when that might be. The members of the jury were not permitted to separate now until they reached a unanimous verdict, and if they found it difficult to agree, it might mean a very late night. The press and the public appeared to have no intention of leaving the Town Hall either, and there was nowhere quiet or comfortable to wait there. They gratefully took Paul's advice.

They spent about an hour together in the lounge, drinking coffee and toying with sandwiches. The conversation was spasmodic and strained. Eventually they abandoned the effort altogether and went to their respective rooms to pass the time as comfortably as they could. There was never an easy way to wait for a jury. Even in a less serious case it could be a nerve-wracking time. In this case, it was almost unbearable. Dinner time came, but the thought of food was not appealing. It was 9.30 when Paul phoned through and asked them to return to court.

* * *

The judge entered court with his chaplain and his clerk, who both sat to his right. There was total silence as the judge took his seat. Philip Eaves picked up the indictment from his bench, turned to the judge, bowed, then turned to the jury.

‘Members of the jury,' he called out ‘who shall speak as your foreman?'

The foreman of the jury was a tall, distinguished-looking man who had taught mathematics locally before his recent retirement.

‘I am the foreman, sir,' he replied.

‘Members of the jury,' Eaves continued, ‘has the jury reached a verdict on which all twelve of you are agreed?'

‘We have, sir.'

‘Members of the jury, on this indictment, charging the accused William Cottage with capital murder, how say you? Do you find William Cottage guilty or not guilty?'

The foreman turned briefly towards the dock and then back to Philip Eaves.

‘We find the accused, William Cottage, guilty of capital murder,' he replied.

‘You find the accused guilty of capital murder, and that is the verdict of you all?'

‘It is, sir.'

Eaves turned and bowed to Mr Justice Lancaster, handing him the indictment, on which a verdict had now been returned, to symbolise the end of the trial.

As a matter of courtesy, the judge looked briefly down at Martin Hardcastle, who shook his head. There was nothing to say, no question of mitigation. The penalty was fixed by law. The judge's clerk approached with the black cap, which he placed on top of the judge's wig.

‘William Cottage,' the judge said, ‘the jury has convicted you of capital murder. Have you anything to say before sentence is passed upon you?'

Billy stared straight ahead. His main barrister had said… what was it? Didn't he say he would be found not guilty? He could not understand what had happened. Something had gone wrong. But his main barrister was not saying anything to the judge, so Billy did not say anything either.

‘William Cottage, the judgment of the Court is that you suffer death in the manner authorised by law. The sentence will be carried out at Her Majesty's Prison at Bedford, and you are committed to the custody of the Sheriff of Bedfordshire, who is to be responsible for executing the judgment of the Court.'

Moments later, the prison officers led Billy Cottage out of court to his cell.

* * *

Most of those present in the courtroom had left before Ben slowly picked up his papers and notebook and rose to his feet. Ben could not conceive what impact the sentence had had on Billy Cottage, but he knew the effect it had had on him. He felt as if someone had punched him hard in the stomach. His breath had been taken away. Briefly, he thought he might faint, but he managed to recover by gripping the side of the bench in front of him until his fingers hurt.

When he eventually made his way out of the courtroom, he looked around him, thinking he was the last person to leave. He was wrong. Eve Cottage was curled up, unnoticed, on a corner seat in the upstairs public gallery. She remained in court for almost an hour, until she was found by the building's janitor who was preparing to lock up for the night. He shepherded her gently out of court and out of the Town Hall into Market Square, where she stood alone, wondering what to do next.

By the time Ben got as far as the cells, Martin and Barratt were about to leave. They had commiserated with Cottage and promised to pursue an appeal against conviction. Ben approached, fully intending to add his own sorrow at the verdict. But Billy Cottage was sitting on his seat at the rear of the cell, rocking backwards and forwards, his hands folded in front of him. As he stood in front of the cell, Ben could hear him singing, faintly, to himself. The tune was recognisable, in fact unmistakable. Ben turned abruptly and walked away.

* * *

They said little when they returned to the George.

Martin found John, slipped him some money, then retired to his room to await the relief that John would soon bring him.

Ben placed a call home on the hotel's phone to learn that Joshua continued to improve and that the doctor's opinion remained the same. The family had found Joshua in good spirits and still pleased that the Viceroy had found time to visit him.

Barratt took over the hotel phone after Ben and called Suzie at home, reversing the charges. ‘Talk to me,' he said.

‘About what?'

‘About what you did at the boutique today, about what you saw from the bus, on the streets. Talk to me about life, about people being alive.'

Suzie had been through this before. She talked to him gently about her day for more than an hour.

Jess sat in her room, staring out of the window into the courtyard, for some time. Well after midnight she made her way to Ben's room. He was lying on his bed, wide awake, but got up when she knocked. Without a word, she entered, took his hand, and led him back to the bed. They both lay down. She switched off the light, turned him on to his side facing her, and held his head against her breast. Within a few minutes they were both fast asleep.

52

Flashback

‘Well, come on
then, how does it work?' Terry demanded
, after a silence.

How did it work? Not in any way Arthur could have imagined before he made his way to Pentonville Prison. The letter had instructed him to report to the prison engineer by 10 o'clock, which meant travelling to London the previous afternoon and spending the night with a cousin of his mother who lived in Mill Hill. He told the cousin only that he was exploring opportunities in the capital.
His mother, who was mortified by what she saw as this morbid interest on the part of her son, had strictly forbidden him to reveal his true purpose, and in any case he would have preferred to keep it from his hostess. He was not yet ready to answer too many questions, and those his mother had asked had been enough.

To the extent that he had imagined an execution before, Arthur had never focused on the place where it would happen. He dimly pictured
it as a grubby shed of some kind somewhere in the prison grounds. When Bill, the prison engineer, unlocked the door to a room on the ground floor of the wing, Arthur gasped with astonishment. Looking up, he saw an almost empty space, three storeys high and two cells wide, cut from the middle of the wing, as if a roaring river had simply swept the cells on three floors away, creating a concrete and steel canyon. The whole space was spotlessly clean.

‘On the top floor,' Bill said, ‘you have some beams in the ceiling, and you can see some chains hanging down from the beams. That's where you fasten your rope. You've got to calculate the drop first, of course. Once you've done that, you know what length to mark off on the rope, and you can work out where to attach it to the chain.
On the floor immediately above us is the condemned cell and the drop. That's our next port of call. This level is where you lower the body down into the coffin after the execution and, once the doctor has pronounced him dead, they take it away for burial.'

‘How do you calculate the drop?' Arthur asked nervously
.

‘Very carefully,' Bill replied, without smiling. ‘Come on, let's go upstairs and I'll show you.'

‘This is the condemned cell,' Bill said, unlocking a door on the floor above. ‘Currently unoccupied, fortunately, for our purposes. There is another one next door. There is a double drop too, so we are set up for a double execution, but executioners don't like doubles. They require two assistants and they are a bit more complicated.'
He ushered Arthur inside. ‘Perfectly possible, of course, but you don't see them often. I think the last time was before the War, so they may have gone out of fashion.'

He turned and touched the door of a wardrobe to their right.

‘What the condemned doesn't know – at least until 8 o'clock in the morning – is that the exit to the drop is just behind this wardrobe. He thinks he has to go through the cell door and take a long walk somewhere. H
e probably doesn't have a clear picture of where and how long, but he tries to imagine it. So he is completely taken by surprise when the officers move the wardrobe aside and he finds he has only a few feet to walk. Before he has a chance to recover from the shock of that, the executioner has him on the drop, the hood is over his head, the noose is in position, and Bob's your uncle. The whole thing shouldn't take more than
ten seconds.'

‘Ten seconds?' Arthur gasped.

Bill smiled. ‘Actually,' he said, ‘the current standard, originally set by Tom Pierrepoint, is eight seconds. Uncle Tom, as we called him, could enter the condemned cell on the first stroke of 8 o'clock by the church clock and have the condemned dangling on the end of the rope before the last stroke. He usually left his little cigar burning in an ashtray just outside, and he was taking a puff, with the job well d
one, before it had a chance to go out. So we aim for eight seconds, but don't fret about that. If you are doing it in fifteen before you leave tomorrow, I will be happy. After that, it's just practice and repetition. The more you do it, the faster you get. Of course, it ran in the family with Uncle Tom. His brother Henry was also an executioner, as was Henry's son Albert until he retired a couple of years ago.
First rate, all three of them.'

He waved Arthur into a small chair with a small table in front of it.

‘This is where the condemned writes his last letter home,' he said, nodding towards the table. ‘Now, you asked about calculating the drop, so let's talk about that before we start on the practical work. This is the bible – the official Home Office approved table of drops, 1913 edition.'

He handed Arthur a slim dog-eared gr
ey booklet, the pages stapled together untidily.

‘And if you think that's going to solve all your problems, you can forget about it. It consists of approximations based on assumptions. It's useful as a starting point, but these days, all executioners agree that there are certain corrections that have to be made. The only way to guarantee the result is by observation and experience.'

He opened the book for Arthur, standing behind him
and looking over his right shoulder.

‘Now, what do I mean by “guarantee the result”? What is the result? The result is instantaneous death, and it is your job to provide it. Instantaneous death is caused by a drop which severs the spinal cord near the second or third cervical vertebra. The first thing to remember is that this only happens if you adjust the noose correctly. It has to be firm and tight under the left jawbone.
Never under the right. Never. Why? Because the drop causes the noose to turn a quarter-circle clockwise, so the tug of the rope finishes under the chin and throws the head back. Result: fracture of the spinal cord. If you adjust to the right, the rope ends up on the back of the neck, pushing the head forward and resulting in slow strangulation. That may be acceptable in other countries, but not here. That happens once, you're off the list, and once you're off, you don't get back on. There is no room for mistakes, and there are no excuses.'

Bill pointed to the table of drops.

‘Assuming you have adjusted the noose correctly, the next thing is the length of the drop.
The Home Office table is based on the weight of the condemned. The table tells you that drops of less than five feet or more than eight feet six are not allowed. Why? It can't be too short because you don't want the head visible above the drop – upsets the official witnesses. But on the other hand, it can't be too long – you don't want him bouncing up off the floor below. But the table is only a
guide. You have to observe. You get the chance to watch him taking exercise. You are here the day before, to make sure the equipment is in order and set everything up. You have to stretch the ropes overnight with sandbags. So while you are here, you watch him. The prison will give you his weight. But you need more than that.
You need to see his build, how solid, or otherwise, he is, the condition of his muscles.'

Arthur looked up over his shoulder.

‘It sounds as though you would need a lot of experience to judge all that,' he commented.

‘Good,' Bill replied. ‘I'm glad you said that. I am nervous when I get someone who thinks it's easy. That's why you will assist at so many executions before you work as number one. You get experience by watching your number one work, by watching the condemned together. You can talk to your number one, ask him why he is using a particular drop. Talk to him, ask as many questions
as you like, as long as it's not at 8 o'clock on the day.'

Bill walked around the table to face Arthur.

‘You see, Arthur, you've got to get it right. If the drop is too short, you won't sever the spinal cord and, if he dies at all, it will be through strangulation. No good. Like I said, that happens once, you're off the list. There is no room for mistakes, and there are no excuses. If the drop is too long, you'll pull his head off. No good.
That happens once, you're off the list. There is no room for mistakes, and there are no excuses. No use saying, “that's what it said in the Home Office table”. There are no excuses.'

Bill pulled a pipe from his top pocket and tamped down the tobacco with a finger.

‘Look inside the back cover. There's a sheet with some weights in pounds. They are exercises, just to get you used to applying the formula in the table. I hope your arithmetic is all right. Got a pen? Good.
Let's see if you get the drop about right. But, Arthur, listen. Once you get to a prison as number one, you'll get advice from everyone, whether you ask for it or not – the governor, the prison doctor, your assistant, even the prison officers. My advice? Listen to everyone, look at the table, but make your own decision.
Because the governor, the prison doctor, they have never hanged a human being. Never have, never will. Same with me. You can ask me whatever you want. I know the table inside out, and I can show you exactly how to conduct an execution. But I've never done it, and I never will, thank you very much. It's your responsibility, Arthur. You've got to get it right.'

* * *

Bill looked at Arthur's results with approval. He had been smoking his pipe as Arthur worked and the aroma of Players Navy Flake hung in the air.
He put the pipe in a tin ashtray, walked to the far corner of the cell, and picked up a wooden box, which he placed on the table. Returning to the corner, he retrieved a floppy life-sized dummy.

‘This is Bert,' he said, smiling. ‘You and I are going to hang him a lot today. Don't worry about him. He is used to it. It won't do him any harm.
So if you're going to make a mistake, this is the time to do it. It won't count against you now. Stand up, please.'

Arthur stood. Bill sat Bert in the chair, leaning slightly forward.

‘Right, this box has all the tools of the trade. Straps for pinioning the arms and legs, ropes, white cap. Now, what drop did you decide on for Prisoner 1?'

‘Six feet four', Arthur replied.

‘Good', Bill nodded. ‘That's correct in terms of the table, plus the necessary correction. And, by a happy coincidence, that's the length of the rope I set up for you to practice with. I'll show you how to do that when we go upstairs later. So, let's make a start. Give me a hand with the wardrobe, there's a good lad.'

Arthur gasped yet again. The wardrobe was very light, and moving it almost effortless. Once it was pushed aside, a door behind it led directly to the drop, a walk of only three or four feet. Arthur was astonished. No wonder the condemned was taken by surprise. No wonder Uncle Tom could do it in eight seconds.

‘Right. Now, come over to the door of the cell. It's 8 o'clock on the day.
You are standing outside, you and your assistant. The governor is with you. The chaplain may be inside the condemned cell, ministering to the condemned. You enter as the clock begins to strike eight. Prison officers move the wardrobe away, opening the door for you to get through to the drop. You pinion the condemned's arms, and walk him briskly to the drop. Once he is on the drop, your assistant pinions the legs.
In the meanwhile, you put the white cap – it's a hood really, but we always call it the cap – over the head and position the noose. As soon as the assistant is off the drop you pull the lever. The drop is just two trap doors secured with a bolt. When you push the lever, you release the bolt. The condemned falls through the drop and Bob's your uncle. The first time, I'll be number one, and you will be my assistant. Your only job is to pinion the legs and get off that drop as if you are starting the hundred yards. Ready?'

Arthur nodded.

‘Right,' Bill said.
‘Grab your strap. It's eight o'clock. Go.'

At a brisk pace, Bill helped Bert up from the chair and, in a flash, turned him, pinioned his arms behind him and walked through the door towards the drop. In a matter of one or two seconds Bert was on the drop with the white cap on his head, and Bill was adjusting the noose. Arthur had almost frozen, bewildered by the sheer speed of it all.

‘Move! Get on with it!' Bill shouted.
‘He's going to die of old age before I can hang him, for God's sake.'

Arthur forced himself into action. He jumped on to the drop, fell to his knees, and at the second attempt, pinioned Bert's legs near the ankles. He jumped backwards off the drop. A split second later, there was a deafening bang and Bert disappeared from sight, only a length of rope visible, swaying almost imperceptibly from side to side. Arthur put his fingers in his ears, which were ringing.

Bill was grinning. ‘It is a bit loud, isn't it?' he said.
‘Don't worry. You'll get used to it. Now, the pinion wasn't great, a bit too low, wants to be a bit higher. But the main thing was, you were too bloody slow. I was ready to push the lever a good two seconds before you started to move off the trap. You've got to have him pinioned as I am adjusting the noose. You can't leave number one standing there biding his time. You've got to be off that drop as though your
life depends on it.'

Bill began to haul Bert back up. ‘There was a famous accident once,' he said. ‘This was at the old Newgate prison in 1896. The assistant was a bit slow getting off the drop and number one pushed the lever before he was clear. It ended up with the assistant grabbing the condemned's legs to save himself as he dropped. He ended up swinging there. Fortunately, the condemned was dead and the assistant suffered nothing worse than a nasty shock.
And in fairness to the number one, that was a triple execution, and he probably couldn't see everyone. We don't do triples today, and that's one reason why. Too complicated. Too much can go wrong. But it can still go wrong with just one condemned. That's why you have to be careful.'