The Guardian of Secrets: And Her Deathly Pact (25 page)

Chapter 26

J
oseph Dobbs’s trial had been going on for over a week and had received numerous notices in newspapers and journals all over the country. The name and reputation of Peter Merrill was well known in Kent, but his vast farmlands and new farming techniques had earned him a reputation of some standing throughout the farming world, and his murder, a particularly gruesome one, had drawn attention from all over England.

Joseph had spent an exceptionally long period in prison for specific reasons. His fall and subsequent injury had left him with raging fevers. The leg had been set, but it was done only after Joseph’s removal to a London hospital. No splints had been put in place on the journey to hold the naked flesh and bone together, and by the time the operation had taken place, the bone had shifted even more, ripping part of the muscle and nicking a small artery, causing a haemorrhage. Joseph had drifted in and out of consciousness for weeks, close to death, but Marie Osborne refused to allow him the luxury of a death surrounded by attentive doctors and nurses in a place where decent human beings lay. He would die on the scaffold, no matter what, she told the surgeon. He would be well enough to know exactly what was happening to him. He would feel the pain and humiliation, and she would not be robbed of her justice.

Joseph was now the centre of attention with journalists and artists drawing his every changed expression. He sat with his bad leg stretched out just to the left of the dock. It was immobile and bound tightly with bandages underneath wide blue trousers that looked like a sailor’s bell-bottoms. He was enjoying his newfound infamy, smiling at the audience and jury, as every day more and more people filed into the Old Bailey to see the case that the newspapers called ‘the trial of the year’.

George Bats, Mr Ayres’s old friend and colleague, was the man Marie pinned all her hopes on. He showed no mercy to those he questioned in court. He was vigorous in his investigations and enjoyed springing the unexpected. More often than not, it was the unexpected that won him his cases. He wasn’t popular amongst his peers, and judges did not particularly enjoy seeing him in their court. He was difficult to control, and he relentlessly searched for the truth, sinking his teeth into his victim until the truth was told. But he had one of the best legal minds around, and Marie knew that they would need such a mind if they were to secure Joseph’s conviction.

Marie sat in the crowded courtroom and watched Joseph, making his seventh appearance, being led into the dock. She had never hated him as much as she did now, and as she stared at him, she recalled his testimony of the previous afternoon.

The courtroom had been silent when he had sat in the witness box and put his hand on the Bible. He was calm and convincing, slowly sucking the jury into believing that he was the innocent party being framed for the murder of his father-in-law by an evil, jealous wife. The jury had listened, at first sceptical but later sympathising with him as he recounted the way in which he had lost his wonderful parents in a fire and how, grief-stricken, he had travelled south, an orphan in search of a new life and a new home. He sniffed continuously, wiping his tears with the back of his hand, and told the court about the way in which his wife, whom he loved with all his heart, had treated him. She had walked out of his life without allowing him to see his infant son. She had shattered his dreams of happiness and had left him a broken man.

Tears shone brightly in his eyes as he portrayed Celia as a spoilt young girl who had mentally abused him. He had no option, he told the jury, but to gamble his money to try to make more in order to feed her insatiable materialistic greed. They had slept in separate bedrooms almost from the day they wed. Celia had told him that she couldn’t bear to be touched by him, and he, being a gentleman, had complied with her wishes, even though it broke his heart day after day, night after night.

She constantly nagged him and could never accept the fact that her father had made it clear that he, not she, would be entrusted with the farm after his death. She had even threatened to kill the old man on more than one occasion, he told the shocked court. She told him that if she didn’t get the farm, she would see her father dead.

“And where is she now?” he asked the jury. “Why is she not here? Is it because she is afraid it would be established that she was the guilty party and not me? Is it because her true character would be revealed?”

His lip trembled when he was asked about the night of the murder. He had gone for a walk after Celia told him that he was useless, that she hated him. She threw his dinner at him for no reason and a piece of crockery had hit him in the face. Her uncontrollable violent outbursts were what hurt him the most. He showed the jury the scar just above his eye.

“She did that!” he cried. “Wouldn’t anyone be hurt? Wouldn’t you?” he asked the jury, with tears now rolling down his face.

Late on the night of the murder, he returned to the house and noticed Celia’s strange behaviour. He’d commented to her about the spots of blood on the floor. He thought at first that it was the blood from his lip where the crockery had hit him earlier, but there was too much of it to be his. Later he heard her tell the police that they had been together all that evening when he knew it wasn’t true. He said that his wife is a very clever liar. She even told people that he had hit her, which of course wasn’t true either. He could never lay a finger on his wife, he’d added, shaking his head. He could never hit any woman, no matter how much she provoked him.

When Mr Bats asked him how the jewellery had gotten inside his own bag, he merely shrugged his shoulders and pointed to where Marie was sitting. “Marie Osborne came to the house to collect Celia’s things. She was in the house alone for a long time. Celia must have given her the watch and ring. I just know she planted them in my bag. That’s the only explanation I’ve got. She’s always hated me, jealous just like her niece. Ask Tom Butcher sitting back there.”

Joseph pointed again, this time to Tom. “He brought her to the house with him that day, and I heard her insisting that she go inside alone. He heard her say that just as I did. Don’t you all see what’s happening here?” he exclaimed, spreading his hands as though it was all so clear. “Marie Osborne is covering up her niece’s crime. That’s what she’s doing!”

When the jury shifted their eyes in her direction, Marie had been forced to bite her lip to stop herself from calling out. She hadn’t been sleeping well, and now as she watched him stand in the dock with cocky arrogance, hands locked behind his back in iron handcuffs and that same pleading, innocent look on his face, she knew that it was going to be even more difficult to prove his guilt than she had previously thought. Joseph was a master of disguise and an expert in the art of deception, she had decided a long time ago. The previous day, she had seen the disbelieving faces of Peter’s neighbours and friends as they sat passively in the courtroom, but like her, they were powerless to stop his lies.

The judge, a stranger, had replaced Mr Ayres’s old friend Justice Thompson on the defence lawyer’s insistence. This judge was an unknown entity, but he had made it clear to all present that Joseph Dobbs was on trial for the crime of murder, and that he, for one, was not interested in any character assassinations.

“A man who could face the death penalty if found guilty would not go to the gallows on hearsay,” he had stated repeatedly.

Mrs Baxter, Tom Butcher, Sergeant Butler, Mr Ayres, and Marie had all testified in the last week, and even Dr Sutton, eloquently describing Celia’s cuts, bruises, and terror, had failed to move the jury, who seemed to have fallen into Joseph’s web of charm and deceit. She wondered how it could be possible to deceive twelve people and a judge of high standing, but Joseph seemed to be doing just that! It was all so unfair, but she was beginning to accept the fact that he could walk away from this a free man, simply because the prosecution could not prove his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.

A woman sat outside the courtroom without moving a muscle or making a sound. She was dressed in black from her head to her feet and wore a thick black silk veil that completely concealed her face and neck. Black woollen gloves covered her hands, which lay still on her lap, and black boots peeking out from under her long skirt shifted nervously on the stone floor. She had waited patiently since early morning to be called by the clerk of the court, terrified, angry, but most of all, filled with a sadness that threatened to send her flying back to the hellish life she had just come from.

When she was eventually called, two policemen helped her into the crowded courtroom. She walked with painful tiny shuffling footsteps and leant heavily on two wooden canes that thudded softly on the courtroom floor.

All heads turned to look at her. But the faceless woman ignored her surroundings and concentrated instead on reaching the witness stand The tall and fragile creature continued until she was seated. When she was made comfortable in the witness box, she was given a glass of water, and then the clerk placed the Bible in her hand. Her voice was barely audible as she promised to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, and it finally trailed off into silent exhaustion.

“Would you state your name, please?” Mr Bats asked her in a loud, clear voice.

The woman looked nervously around the room before settling her hidden eyes on Joseph. “My name is Doreen Pickens.”

Joseph’s sharp intake of breath was clearly audible, and the court’s attention turned towards him as he gasped again and lowered his head.

“Do you recognise the man sitting in the dock?”

An eerie silence fell on the courtroom. All were caught up in the tense atmosphere and holding their breath. “Yes,” the woman said slowly. “I should recognise him. I knew who he was as soon as I saw his likeness in the newspaper. He’s my son, Michael Pickens.”

No one could have imagined the impact the woman would have in the proceedings. Chaos ensued as journalists and artists started scribbling frantically in notebooks. The soft voices of the spectators in the public gallery rose to a deafening crescendo. Marie’s body froze, and she clutched her throat with her hand, as though the motion would help her breathe. Mr Bats coughed loudly to gain maximum attention from his audience, but it was deafened by the hundred different conversations taking place.

“Silence! I will have silence in my court, by God I will… Silence, I say!” the judge shouted, banging his gavel down hard.

The chorus of voices grew softer as one by one the people in the crowded courtroom turned their attention back to the witness.

Mr Bats tried again. “Mrs Pickens, could you tell the court when you last saw your son?”

“I last saw him on the day he murdered my husband and destroyed my life.”

Marie gasped. The crowd, jury, and judge sat open-mouthed, and then the sea of voices rose in waves that drowned the courtroom and beyond. The gavel fell repeatedly in an attempt to silence the mobbed gallery.

“I will have silence! I will have order or you will all be removed from my court!” the judge shouted in a desperate attempt to gain control.

Eventually, there was silence.

“Could you tell the court what happened on that day? Take your time,” Mr Bats continued.

“My husband told Michael that he had to leave, that he was no longer welcome in our home. He said that he never wanted to see him again, and that if he came back, he would call the police. You see, Michael had hit me and I had just got out of the hospital. My husband was a very patient man, he was a saint, but he just couldn’t cope with the strain of having Michael around any longer. I believe my son has the devil in him. He lies and cheats. He can’t help it. He became increasingly violent, and his gambling debts were draining the farm of all profits. Oh, we knew he stole from us, but he was our son, and we thought that he’d somehow grow out of his evil ways and find the good Lord. That was our dearest wish.”

Mr Bats stared at the jury, shifting his gaze from one juror to the next until he had connected with all of them.

“How did your husband die, Mrs Pickens?”

“He was burned to death. Michael burned him alive, God forgive his dark soul.”

“And how do you suppose he did that?”

“Michael… the house… He set it ablaze. We never stood a chance that night. The only warning we had was the sound of breaking glass. I managed to shake myself out of a deep sleep, but I couldn’t wake my husband, and I was unable to move him on my own. I went to the bedroom door; it was barred from the outside. Smoke was coming into the room, so I crawled to the window and opened it. I was so high up… I didn’t know what to do. The flames were coming up the stairs… The smoke was choking me!”

Mr Bats stepped forward to put his hand on the witness stand. “Take your time, Mrs Pickens. Would you like some water?”

She shook her head and waved Mr Bats away. “I tried to wake my husband again, but he didn’t move. The smoke was all around us, and I couldn’t see very well. I wanted to drag him from the bed, but I felt so dizzy. The room was so dark and dense with smoke.”

Mr Bats gave Doreen Pickens some water now without being asked. She was sobbing, and her body twitched in painful spasms.

The judge asked her, “Are you all right to continue?”

“Yes, My Lord. Yes, please. I want to.”

“You were saying?” Mr Bats asked her. “The smoke was everywhere. I was suffocating. I tried the door again, and it crumbled before my eyes. The flames rushed into the room like the wind. They touched my hair first and set it alight, then my nightgown. I felt my way to the window like a blind person and jumped; I can’t remember anything after that. They thought I was dead too when they eventually found me in the morning. At the time, the doctor said that I was lucky to be alive, but I don’t feel lucky. I broke most of my bones in the fall, and my burnt skin is still so painful sometimes that I wish I had died that night. My life is a living hell. God has forsaken me, and he took my wonderful husband because of Michael—all because of him!”