‘Do you wish to sum up your prosecution, Advocate General?’
‘Thank you, your Honor, I will. I know that the jury must be as distressed as I to hear the particulars of this case, but it is our duty to lay out the truth as plainly and simply as possible.’
I barely lift my head. I had remained silent all this time, a hollow doll with nothing left inside me. None of it mattered. All I want is for this to be over. Let them hang me; I deserve nothing less.
‘As you have heard today, the Crown must without any joy take the position that the event which occurred on the 14th of July 1840 was murder. As we know, the penalty in the Swan River Colony for such a crime is execution.’
I vaguely heard some murmurs from around the cramped courtroom. The prosecutor was a pompous black and white blur, and the rest of the room was a dull grey mist. All I could focus on was the memory: his jerking movement, the gasp in the darkness. That terrible warmth seeping across my hands….
‘As appalling as the facts I have presented are, the central point upon which the prosecution rests is the presence of the lateral incision across the side of the neck, which while only one and one half inch thick, quickly resulted in his death.’
At the words a red pain overwhelmed me. No hangman’s noose could compare to the guilt of what I’ve done. I gasped and hung my head, accepting it all. Soon it would pass. Soon I would go back to the dark and hollow place inside me. I can wait for execution until then.
‘The second point upon which the prosecution rests is that the body was hidden, almost immediately,’ droned the blur moving across the courtroom. ‘Covered with a pile of rags and clothes. The Crown understands that a young woman was terrified and in distress, having tried something on her own which would have been better performed with more experienced assistance. Nonetheless this act represents the crime of concealment, even if Ms Green had no premeditated plan of how to dispose of the unfortunate victim.’
Why was I crying again? Surely I had no more tears left in me at this point. I barely remember eating or drinking since that night three months ago. All I want is for this to end, but they keep making me relive what happened, over and over without rest.
I’m a murderer. We all know this. Why do they have to drag it out?
‘The final point upon which the prosecution rests are the words spoken by Ms Green when her employer Charlotte Whitfield discovered the body, and the scissors used to cut the victim’s throat. Ms Green said, and I quote, “there was only a very little life in it,” which I can only take to mean that this death was the result of a deliberate action.’
The blur stopped moving. ‘This is a terrible event,’ he concluded. ‘The evidence of Dr Foley shows that the infant was a healthy male, and had every chance of surviving after birth, even one by an inexperienced new mother.’
More murmuring from the fog around me. They probably didn’t need to. Everyone in the Swan River Colony knows me by now; the mad girl who slaughtered her own newborn child. I was told the rumors on the street is that my baby was Mr Whitfield’s bastard, and that I killed him to disguise the affair.
My boy. My poor little love. I can still feel you in my hands, a tiny, fragile ball of warmth that shivered and shook in the night air. I was so utterly terrified. I was so stupid and selfish trying to hide you away. I should have let everyone know, and damn the consequences if they looked down on me. You shouldn’t have died.
I will make up for this. I will be with you soon, my darling, I promise. You don’t have to lie cold and still and alone.
‘Does the defense have any concluding statements they wish to make?’ came an officious, cold voice.
‘Ahh, yes. Yes your Honor.’
My lawyer. Appointed by some fat judge when I was first dragged into a courtroom. I don’t know when – it feels like a lifetime ago.
‘Your Honor, we wish to state again that the defendant has not been given proper due process. No proper coroner’s report has been filed, and my learned colleague seems to have forgotten that to even suggest an execution penalty requires the case be tried in the highest court, rather than in the Quarter Sessions here today.’
‘Your concerns are duly noted. Do you wish to speak to your defense of Ms Green’s actions? Is there anything you wish to add to your arguments?’
My prosecutors mouth flapped open uselessly. I couldn’t blame him. What could he have said to defend a murderess like me?
I let his voice wash over me. Once again I’m a hollow stone statue. If I don’t move, if I don’t think, I can escape, even for a moment.
But then I heard another whisper. Not from the jurors, but from the crowd behind me. Someone had emerged from the grey mist to where my useless blob of a lawyer was speaking. For the first time in I don’t know when, I can focus on her. She was old, with a blocky, tanned face that bobbed back and forth above an old farm dress. She spoke to another blob, the man next to my lawyer whom I vaguely remembered was a Doctor. I can’t remember who he is, but it’s probably not important. As she turned away her eyes met mine, and I see something I never expected, nor wanted to hope for.
She understands. Somehow, she knows what happened.
The blob sitting next to my lawyer stands whispering furiously in his ear. Everything feels like it’s starting to freeze.
The lawyer stops, then whispers back. Despite my best attempts to stay empty I can feel the emotions wrapping around my stomach. What’s going on?
‘Gentlemen of the jury, I do wish to add one final piece of evidence to our case.’
‘This is very irregular,’ replied the judge somewhere out in the courtroom.
‘Ahh, yes your Honor. But it has just been brought to my attention by Doctor Foley here that there is an explanation for the cuts across the baby’s throat.’
No, I don’t want to do this! I don’t want to go back to that dark room again. Just leave me alone. It won’t bring him back. Just let it all be over with.
But that damn lawyer continued.
‘Your Honor, if a baby is born with the cord wrapped around his neck, then a panicking young mother would try and cut it with whatever she had to closest to hand. In this case, Ms Green gave birth in secret late at night in her room, and the only thing she had to hand were the small sewing scissors on her bedside table. In these dire circumstances, the wound would be consistent with the unfortunate Ms Green cutting her newborn’s throat as it was trying to breathe.’
I feel the whispers in the mist around me multiply, looming around me in the blank grey. Then the judge’s voice breaks through.
‘Ms Green, what say you? So far you have sat in silence this entire trial. Is this how the boy died?’
His words hit me and I’m flung back into the dark room. My boy, my tiny little boy is jerking in my arms. My body feels like it’s been torn apart but all I can focus on is the tiny frame cradled in my arms, the tiny ink mouth opening and closing as he tries to breathe. I’m gasping for air as well as I try and hold a rag to his neck, but the red is staining everywhere…
‘I couldn’t.’
I have to stop and swallow, my mouth is suddenly so dry I can’t find the words.
‘I-I couldn’t stop the bleeding. God help me tried, but he wasn’t breathing, and – and he just…’
I must have started crying again. I’m vaguely aware that there were arms around me, and someone lead me away. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. It doesn’t matter; whenever I close my eyes I’m still trapped in that dark room.
I always will be.
The Jury retired. After some delay in consequence of the illness of a Juryman, the following verdict was returned. “Not guilty of the murder, but guilty of endeavoring to conceal a birth,” – Sentenced to be imprisoned for two years, and to be kept to such labour as might suit her age and sex.
Inquirer, Wednesday 14 October 1840, p. 43
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