Asta's Book (28 page)

Mr Justice Edmondson: I cannot say there is no case to go to the jury.

Here Mr de Filippis was seen to move his lips soundlessly and bow his head a fraction. He took another clean handkerchief and put it to his mouth. After a few seconds he spoke.

I will now call the accused and other witnesses. Roper shall speak for himself in the witness box and it will be for you, gentlemen of the jury, to judge his story. We will put that man into the witness box and you will see an injured man, a man who has suffered two of the worst blows fortune can inflict upon a breadwinner and father of a family in our degenerate days: the loss of his lucrative and satisfactory employment and the inconstancy of her who should be his loyal wife and helpmeet. You will see a man bowed down by care and well-nigh broken by the persecution and reverses of fate he has suffered—but you will see too an innocent man, prepared to tell you with absolute honesty the history of his recent life.

I will now come to that life. For all of it Alfred Eighteen Roper has been an honest and industrious man. There is not a stain upon his character, not even the faintest adumbration of a stain, gentlemen. All that has reference to Alfred Roper is as limpid and decipherable as an open book. There are no encoded passages in it and no uncut pages. It is a work which any of you without fear or hesitation might put into the hands of your womenfolk. It is pure and unsullied. Let us therefore read some of its early chapters.

From the premature death of his father when he was sixteen years old, Roper had been the support and mainstay of his family. It was with a woman’s care that he attended upon his aged invalid mother and with a brother’s manly duty that he saw to the welfare of his younger siblings. Only when his mother died did he leave the family house in Bury St Edmunds and seek his fortune further afield. With the promise of an excellent situation before him as manager of a pharmaceutical advertising company, he left his native Suffolk and came to London. Who will be surprised to learn that there, after such early years as he had passed, he found himself an innocent abroad?

In London he sought and found lodgings which he believed, innocent and trusting young man that he was, would supply him with a comfortable home and resting place when his day’s labours were done. There, too, he sought and found, as man must sooner or later do, a wife. Is there one among you who would attach blame to him if the wife he found proved to be other than the spotless epitome of virtue an honest man has a right to mate with?

Be that as it may, he married her and lived with her in her mother’s house at Devon Villa in Navarino Road, Hackney. In the fullness of time a son was born to Mrs Roper and later a daughter. By now Roper, his innocence gravely bruised, had found his happiness to be alloyed. It was well-known and a cause of scandal in the neighbourhood that Mrs Roper had so far forgotten her matrimonial duty as to have commerce with men other than her husband, so much so that Roper became convinced the second child was not his.

However, rather than seek the remedy of divorce, which would unquestionably have been his, and realizing so far as he knew the cause of his wife’s dereliction, he set about treating the condition he was magnanimous enough to describe as an illness. His remedy seems to some extent to have been successful, so much so that, rather than separating himself from his wife, he set in motion plans for a new life for all of them. He would move them from the outskirts of London to the healthier air and rural environs of Cambridge, where he had secured for himself a situation as that for which he was qualified, the manager of a pharmacy.

I will now come to the events of Thursday, July 27th.

Roper had made arrangements to travel to Cambridge by train with his son and there stay with his sister in the nearby village of Fen Ditton until such time as he could secure more permanent accommodation for himself and his family in the city. Mrs Roper was to follow him within a week or so when such an abode would surely be theirs. During the late afternoon of the day in question, he bade goodbye to his wife and her mother and with his son and some amount of luggage took a cab to Liverpool Street Station. However, on his arrival, he realized to his annoyance that he had left behind a much valued possession, a silver sovereign case which had been the property of his father, and which moreover contained money he would be in need of. Leaving his son and the luggage in the care of a porter, he returned in the same cab to Navarino Road.

Although he naturally possessed a key to the house, he did not let himself in with that key, gentlemen of the jury, as he must surely have done had he arrived there with guilty intent. No, he rang the doorbell. This man that you see before you on the most serious charge for which a man in our society may be arraigned, the wilful murder of a fellow mortal, far from attempting to conceal his presence, far from moving, as the bard tells us, towards his design like a ghost, boldly and publicly rings the doorbell. And the doorbell was answered.

Miss Florence Fisher, the maid, answered the door and admitted Roper to his own home. He told her why he had come back, to retrieve his sovereign case, and he went upstairs. Did she thereupon hear cries, pleas for mercy, a commotion? She heard nothing. Peace reigned. Silence reigned, until, some twenty minutes afterwards, Miss Fisher heard the front door quietly close.

Roper walked to the cab rank in Kingsland High Street. On his way there he stumbled over a kerbstone and fell, breaking his fall by putting out his hand to save himself. In such circumstances it is his right hand which a right-handed man puts out and it was Roper’s right hand that was cut.

He wrapped his wounded hand in his handkerchief and continued to the rank to summon a cab. He returned to Liverpool Street Station. This man, who is here charged with brutally killing a woman by the heinous and hideous act of cutting her throat, returned to his son and the porter in whose charge he had placed him, in no greater state of agitation than might be expected of a man who had sustained an unpleasant fall and through his own absent-mindedness had missed his train.

But he finally arrived in Cambridge at twenty minutes to ten that night and made his way to his sister’s house in Fen Ditton. His first intimation that anything untoward had taken place at Devon Villa, Navarino Road, was when two police officers arrived at his sister’s house to speak to him on the afternoon of Tuesday, August 8th.

I cannot, for my part, understand the methods the police have adopted in this case. They have not looked elsewhere, they have gone no further afield in their search for the perpetrator of this terrible crime. No, members of the jury, they have merely concluded in a manner that sheds upon our society a shocking cast that the most probable murderer of a woman is that man who of all men should be her protector, her support and a steadfast rock to her—her husband.

They have concluded it but they have not proved it. The Prosecution has come nowhere near proving it. By editing certain evidence and excluding other, the Prosecution has not even approached revealing Roper as the author of one of the most atrocious murders of modern times.

Evidence for the Defence

The housemaid and cook general at Devon Villa was beyond a doubt the most important witness for the Defence. Conversely, she might with equal appropriateness have appeared for the Prosecution. Her evidence was unbiased. If she disliked Roper she did not show it, nor show the faintest sympathy for him. If she disapproved of Lizzie Roper and her mother she showed none of that either. She had an earnest straightforward manner and an obvious intention to tell the whole truth.

At the time of the trial Florence Fisher was twenty-three years old and had been in service with Maria Hyde since she was thirteen, her residence in the house just predating Roper’s own. She was a tall, well-built young woman with curly red hair and blue eyes. These details are known to us from the account of her knowledge of the Hyde—Roper household given to the
Star
newspaper by a neighbour in Navarino Road, Cora Green. She was healthy and strong, according to Mrs Green, and a hard, willing worker. Mrs Green also said—attempting perhaps to please the newspaper which liked romantic tales, though it was doubtless true—that Florence Fisher was engaged to be married.

Mr de Filippis asked her how long she had been employed at Devon Villa and what her duties were. He then asked her to tell his Lordship and the jury what happened on the morning of Monday, July 10th.

My master, Mr Roper, told me that he was giving me notice from the end of the month. He said the family would be moving to the north except for Mrs Hyde. Mr Roper said Mrs Hyde would be on her own so would not need a servant.

What did you do then?—I did not want to leave. I went to Mrs Hyde and asked her to let me stay and she said—

You must not tell us what Mrs Hyde said, only what you did. What did you do as a result of what Mrs Hyde said to you?—I stayed at Devon Villa. I made no efforts to find a new place as I then hoped to be married in the New Year.

Is it a fact that your marriage will not take place because your engagement was broken and you are now in service with Mr and Mrs Sumner at Stamford Hill to the north of London?—Yes, sir.

You must address his Lordship, Miss Fisher. So you remained at Devon Villa and were there on July 27th?—Yes, my Lord.

Please tell the court what happened on Thursday, July 27th.—Mr Roper came to me in the afternoon and gave me half a crown. He said we should not meet again as I would be leaving and he was going to Cambridge to take up a new position. He was taking Edward with him and going by train. Mrs Roper and the baby would be coming to join him soon. He did not say when, he said soon.

Did you see him leave the house?—No, I did not. I was in the kitchen with Mrs Hyde. She said to me that Mrs Roper was feeling unwell and she would take the baby as she usually did at this time so that Mrs Roper …

Mr de Filippis waited rather a long time before reproving Miss Fisher. The jury may not have known why but Mr Tate-Memling certainly did and was on his feet just as Defending Counsel said: You must not tell us what Mrs Hyde said to you unless the accused was present. Was he present?—No.

What did you do as a result of what Mrs Hyde said to you?—I cut some bread and butter. I opened a tin of salmon and put this and some other food on to a tray with milk for the baby and a pot of tea and the sugar basin.

Did you carry this tray upstairs to Mrs Roper?—No, Mrs Hyde carried it up.

What time was this, Miss Fisher?—It was some time after five.

You cut the bread for the bread and butter with the bread knife?—Yes, my Lord.

Here the bread knife with which Mrs Roper’s throat was cut was shown to Miss Fisher who looked at it and turned visibly pale. Mr de Filippis filled his second glass from the water carafe. He asked the witness if she would like a drink of water and if she would like to sit down.

No, thank you, I am quite all right.

Then, Miss Fisher, will you tell his Lordship if the knife you have just been shown and to which, if I may say so, your reaction has been one of considerable fortitude, is the knife with which you cut the bread for Mrs Hyde some time after five o’clock that evening?—Yes, it is the one.

What did you do with the knife after you had used it?—I put it under the tap, my Lord, and wiped it and put it in the drawer.

The drawer where it was always kept?—Yes, along with the bread board.

What happened then?—The doorbell rang. I went to the door and Mr Roper was there. He said he had forgotten his silver sovereign case.

Did you know what he meant?—Yes, my Lord. He was very fond of that case. It had been his father’s. He would not have wanted go away without it.

Did he go into the kitchen?—I did not think he did. There would not have been time for that. I went into the dining room to take away some linen for the wash. I heard Mr Roper go upstairs while I was in the dining room. I took the linen to the kitchen.

When did Mr Roper leave the house?—After about fifteen or twenty minutes. I did not see him go but I heard the front door close.

Florence Fisher then described how that evening had passed and the following morning. She had neither heard nor seen anything of Lizzie Roper and Maria Hyde. During the evening it had been very warm and she had taken a chair outside and sat in the back yard. In the morning at about eight Edith had come downstairs on her own, a usual occurrence. Florence gave her her breakfast in the basement kitchen. Edith could not speak more than a few words so did not say where her mother and grandmother were.

The judge: You must not say what the child said to you.

Florence Fisher: She did not say anything.

Mr de Filippis: Thank you, my Lord. Miss Fisher, were you surprised not to see Mrs Roper and Mrs Hyde?

Miss Fisher: No, my Lord, I was not surprised. They often did not get up until late in the morning or at lunchtime.

Did you in fact see them at all that day?—I did not see any of them that day. I sent the child back upstairs to her mother because I had to go out shopping. I did not see any of them ever again after that.

Mr Tate-Memling began his cross-examination. It was only then perhaps that the jury and the public must have understood Mr Justice Edmondson’s decision that there was certainly a case here to go to a jury, for all Defending Counsel had submitted.

Miss Fisher, you have told his Lordship and the jury that you prepared a tray of food with a teapot, milk jug and sugar basin on it, and doubtless with teacups too, at Mrs Hyde’s request.—Yes, I did.

Who carried that tray upstairs?—Mrs Hyde did.

Did you not know Mrs Hyde suffered from a bad heart?—Yes, my Lord.

You knew too, or you could see, that she was an elderly lady. How old are you, Miss Fisher?—I am twenty-three.

Yes, you are twenty-three and Mrs Hyde was sixty-seven, was she not? Miss Fisher, when you admitted the prisoner to the house at about 5.30 on July 27th, was there any discussion between you on the subject of the missing sovereign case?—I said I would help him look for it.