The Wench is Dead (10 page)

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘I was just—’

‘Lights go out at ten o’clock. You’re disturbing everyone on the ward.’

‘They’re all asleep.’

‘Not for much longer, with you around!’

‘I’m sorry—’

‘What’s this you’re reading?’

Before he could do anything about it, Nessie had removed the book from his hands, and he had no option but to watch her helplessly. She made no comment, passed no moral judgement, and for a
brief second Morse wondered if he had not seen a glint of some semi-amusement in those sharp eyes as they had skimmed a couple of paragraphs.

‘Time you were asleep!’ she said, in a not unkindly fashion, handing him back the book. Her voice was as crisp as her uniform, and Morse replaced the ill-starred volume in his
locker. ‘And be careful of your fruit juice!’ She moved the half-filled glass one millimetre to the left, turned off the light, and was gone. And Morse gently eased himself down into
the warmth and comfort of his bed, like Tennyson’s lily sliding slowly into the bosom of the lake …

That night he dreamed a dream in Technicolor (he swore it!), although he knew such a claim would be contradicted by the oneirologists. He saw the ochre-skinned, scantily clad siren in her black,
arrowed stockings, and he could even recall her lavender-hued underclothing. Almost it was the perfect dream! Almost. For there was a curiously insistent need in Morse’s brain which
paradoxically demanded a
factual
name and place and time before, in
fantasy
, that sexually unabashed freebooter could be his. And in Morse’s muddled computer of a mind, that
siren took the name of one Joanna Franks, provocatively walking along towards Duke’s Cut, in the month of June in 1859.

When he awoke (was woken, rather) the following morning, he felt wonderfully refreshed, and he resolved that he would take no risks of any third humiliation over
The Blue
Ticket
. With breakfast, temperature, wash, shave, blood-pressure, newspaper, tablets, Bovril, all these now behind him – and with not a visitor in sight – he settled down to
discover exactly what had happened to that young woman who had taken control of his nocturnal fantasies.

PART THREE
A Protracted Trial

J
OANNA
F
RANK’S BODY
was found at Duke’s Cut at about 5.30 a.m. on Wednesday, 22nd June 1859. Philip Tomes, a
boatman, said he was passing down-canal towards Oxford when he saw something in the water – something which was soon identified as, in part, a woman’s gown; what else, though, he could
not for the moment make out in the darkened waters. The object was on the side of the canal opposite the tow-path, and in due course he discovered it to be the body of a female, without either
bonnet or shoes. She was floating alongside the bank, head north, feet south, and there was no observable movement about her. She was lying on her face, which seemed quite black. Tomes stopped his
boat, and with a boat-hook gently pulled the body to the tow-path side, where he lifted it out of the water, in which latter task he was assisted by John Ward, a Kidlington fisherman, who happened
to be passing alongside the canal at that early hour. In fact, it was Ward who had the presence of mind to arrange for the body, which was still warm, to be taken down to the Plough Inn at
Wolvercote.

It appears from various strands of inter-weaving evidence, albeit some of it from the guilty parties themselves, that Oldfield and Musson (and, by one account, Towns also) left the
Barbara
Bray
at roughly the point where Joanna met her death, and that they were seen standing together on the tow-path side of the canal just below Duke’s Cut. A certain man passed by the area
at the crucial time, 4 a.m. or just after, and both Oldfield and Musson, with great presence of mind, asked him if he had seen a woman walking beside the canal. The man had replied, as they clearly
recalled, with a very definite “No!”, and had made to get further on his way with all speed. Yet the two (or perhaps three) men had asked him the same question again and again, in
rather an agitated manner.

(It is clear that this man’s testimony could have been vital in substantiating the boatmen’s claims. But he was never traced, in spite of wide-scale enquiries in the area. A man
roughly answering his description, one Donald Favant, had signed the register at the Nag’s Head in Oxford for either the 20th or the 21st June – there was some doubt – but this
man never came forward. The strong implication must therefore remain, as it did at the time, that the whole story was the clever concoction of desperate men.)

Jonas Bamsey, wharfinger in the employ of the Oxford Canal Authority at Oxford’s Hayfield Wharf, gave evidence at the trial that the
Barbara Bray
had duly effected its partial
unloading, but that Oldfield had not reported the loss of any passenger – which quite certainly should have been the duty of the boat’s captain under the Authority’s Regulations.
Instead, according to the scant and inconsistent evidence at this point, the boatmen do appear to have confided in some of their acquaintances in Upper Fisher Row, claiming that their passenger had
been out of her mind; that she had committed suicide; and that on at least one occasion they had been called upon to save her from an attempted drowning on the journey down from Preston Brook.

Later that dreadful day, when the crew of the
Barbara Bray
came to negotiate the lock on the Thames at Iffley, two miles downstream from Folly Bridge, Oldfield spoke to the keeper, Albert
Lee, and reported to him and his wife (coincidentally also named Joanna) that a passenger on his boat had been drowned; but that she was most sadly deranged, and had been a sore trial to him and
his fellow crew-members ever since she had first embarked at Preston Brook. Oldfield was still obviously very drunk. Pressed to explain what he was seeking to say, Oldfield – asserted only
that “It was a very bad job that had happened”. The passenger was “off her head” and had been last seen by the crew off Gibraltar Lock. Yet Oldfield was vehemently unwilling
to listen to Lee’s suggestion of returning to Oxford to sort out the whole tragedy; and this made Lee more than somewhat suspicious. On the departure of the
Barbara Bray
, therefore, he
himself immediately set off for Oxford, where he contacted the Pickford Office; and where the Pickford Office, in turn, contacted the Police Authority.

When the infamous boat finally arrived at Reading (for some reason, over two hours behind schedule) Constable Harrison was on hand, with appropriate support, to take the entire crew into
custody, and to testify that all of them, including the youth, were still observably drunk and excessively abusive as he put them in darbies and escorted them to temporary cell-accommodation in the
gaol at Reading. One of them, as Harrison vividly recalled, was vile enough to repeat some of his earlier invective against Joanna Franks, and was heard to mutter “Damn and blast that wicked
woman!”

Hannah MacNeill, a serving woman at the Plough Inn, Wolvercote, testified that when the sodden body had been brought from the canal, she had been employed, under direction, to take off
Joanna’s clothes. The left sleeve was torn out of its gathers and the cuff on the same hand was also torn. Tomes and Ward, for their part, were quite firm in their evidence that they
themselves had made no rips or tears in Joanna’s clothing as they lifted her carefully from the water at Duke’s Cut.

Katharine Maddison testified that she was a co-helper with Hannah MacNeill in taking off Joanna’s drenched garments. Particularly had she noticed the state of Joanna’s calico
knickers which had been ripped right across the front. This garment was produced in Court; and many were later to agree that the production of such an intimate item served further to heighten the
universal feeling of revulsion against those callous men who were now arraigned with her murder.

Mr Samuels, the Oxford surgeon who examined the body at the inquest, reported signs of bruising below the elbow of the left arm, and further indications of subcutaneous bruising below left and
right cheekbones; the same man described the dead woman’s face as presenting a state of “discoloration and disfigurement”. Mr Samuels agreed that it was perhaps possible for the
facial injuries, such as they were, to have been caused by unspecified and accidental incidents in the water, or in the process of taking-up from the water. Yet such a possibility was now seeming,
both to Judge and Jury, more and more remote.

The youth Wootton then gave his version of the tragic events, and on one point he expressed himself forcefully: that Towns had got himself “good and half-seas-over” the night before
Joanna was found, and that he was sound asleep at the time the murder must have occurred, for he (Wootton) had heard him “snoring loudly”. We shall never be in a position to know
whether Towns had forced Wootton to give this evidence to the Court – under some threat or other, perhaps. From subsequent developments, however, it seems clear that we may give a substantial
degree of credence to Wootton’s testimony.

Joseph Jarnell, the co-prisoner pending whose evidence the re-trial had been agreed, related to the Court the damning confessions Oldfield had betrayed whilst the two men shared a prison-cell.
In essence such ‘confessions’ amounted to a rather crude attempt on Oldfield’s part to settle the majority of blame for almost everything which had happened on Musson and Towns.
But in spite of the man’s earnest manner and the consistency of his account, Jarnell’s story made little or no impression. Yet his testimony carried interest, if not conviction. Amongst
the strongest of the fabrications which Oldfield had sought to put about was that Joanna Franks had in excess of fifty golden sovereigns in one of her two boxes; that Towns had discovered this
fact, and that Joanna had found him rummaging through her trunks. She had threatened (so the allegation ran) to report him to the next Pickford Office if he did not mend his ways and make immediate
apology and restoration. (Such nonsense was wholly discredited at the time, and may be safely discounted now.)

Together with many other items, the knife which Joanna had been observed sharpening was later found in one of her trunks, the cord of which had been cut, and which still remained untied. The
assumption was that at some point the men had opened Joanna’s belongings after the murder, and had replaced the knife in one of the trunks. It must certainly be considered a strong
possibility that the men intended to steal some of her possessions, for as we have seen a charge of theft was included, in the most strongly worded terms, in the original indictment of the crew at
the first trial in August 1859. It seems, however, that Prosecuting Counsel at the second trial were sufficiently confident to forgo such a charge and to concentrate their accusations on murder,
since the lesser charge (difficult, in any case, as it would have been to substantiate) was subsequently excluded. We have seen a similar procedure operating, in the first trial, concerning the
charges of rape; and perhaps it is of some strange and macabre interest to note that in the original trial the charges of both rape and theft (as well as murder) were made against each individual
member of the crew – including the youth Wootton.

Out of all the evidence given at that memorable second trial at Oxford in April 1860, fairly certainly that of Charles Franks himself evoked the greatest feeling and the widest sympathy. The
poor man was weeping aloud as he entered the witness-box, and it seemed as if it were almost beyond his physical powers to raise his eyes in order to bear the sight of the prisoners and to look
upon their faces. He had obviously been deeply in love with Joanna, and turning his back on the vile men arraigned before the Court he explained how in consequence of some information he had come
into Oxfordshire and seen his wife’s dead body at the time of the inquest. For although it was dreadfully disfigured (here the poor fellow could not at all restrain his feelings) yet he knew
it by a small mark behind his wife’s left ear, a mark of which only a parent or an intimate lover could have known. Corroboration of identification (if, in fact, corroboration was needed) was
afforded by the shoes, later found in the fore-cabin of the
Barbara Bray
, which matched in the minutest degrees the contours of the dead woman’s feet.

At the conclusion of the hearing, and after a lengthy summing-up by Mr Augustus Benham, the Jury, under their duly appointed chairman, begged permission of his Lordship to retire to consider
their verdict.

P
ERHAPS IT WAS
the dream.

Whatever it was, Morse knew that something had at last prodded him into a slightly more intelligent appraisal of the Colonel’s story, because he was now beginning to take account of two or
three major considerations which had been staring at him all the while.

The first of these was the character of Joanna Franks herself. How had it come about – whatever the fortuitous, involuntary, or deliberate circumstances in which Joanna had met her death
– that the crew of the
Barbara Bray
had insisted time and time again that the wretched woman had been nothing but one long, sorry trial to them all ever since she’d first jumped
on board at Preston Brook? How
was
it that they were still damning and blasting the poor woman’s soul to eternity way, way
after
they had pushed her into the Canal and, for all
Morse or anyone else knew, held her head under the black waters until she writhed in agony against their murderous hands no longer? Had a satisfactory explanation been forthcoming for such events?
All right, there was still Part Four of the story to come. But so far, the answer was ‘no’.