No Cure for Love (32 page)

‘He hoped that I would...’

‘Would what, Mrs O’Casey?’

‘Would...’ Ellen lifted her head and looked at Danny opposite, ‘would become his mistress.’

A loud shout went up from the court and the Judge brought down his gavel with a crack.

‘Order, order,’ he shouted and the noise subsided.

‘What made you think that?’ Smyth-Hilton asked, now with a sympathetic expression on his face.

It occurred to Ellen as she looked at him that, should Mr Smyth-Hilton ever be disbarred, with his repertoire of expressions he could make a fair living on the stage.

‘Mr Donovan was always touching the girls who worked for hi—’

Smyth-Hilton cut in. ‘Touching? Where?’

‘Their breasts and between their legs,’ Ellen said, remembering Danny’s straying hand. The barrister said nothing, waiting for her to continue. ‘And he was forever making lewd suggestions and forcing the girls’ hands onto his male member.’

A murmur rose from the gallery as many strained forward to hear Ellen’s words.

‘And you allege he did this to you?’

‘He did.’

Again the expression of incomprehension suffused Smyth-Hilton’s face. ‘But if this is the case why did you, being the respectable widow that you say you are, continue to sing in Mr Donovan’s establishments?’

‘As I said, I had to make a living,’ Ellen replied.

‘So do the whores on the dockside,’ Smyth-Hilton slurred. There was a titter around the court, and Ellen felt her face burn again.

Hewitt rose to his feet again. ‘Objection.’

Judge Beecham’s voice cut across from the left. ‘Sustained.’

Again Smyth-Hilton bowed in mock humility to the presiding judge. ‘On the night of the assault I believe you went to find Danny Donovan in the White Swan, did you not?’

‘I did.’

‘Is that your regular drinking house?’

‘I don’t
have
a drinking house,’ she replied, glaring at the banister. He wore a mildly amused expression.

Smyth-Hilton smirked. ‘So you drink in any public house that takes you fancy?’

‘Objection,’ shouted Hewitt.

Smyth-Hilton bowed to his colleague then turned back to Ellen. ‘But you had a drink with Mr Donovan and Michael Tooley that night?’

‘Yes.’

‘How many did you have any before you arrived at the White Swan?’ he asked. ‘Remember you are on oath.’

‘Two.’

‘And why did you go to see Mr Donovan at the White Swan that night? You are on oath, remember.’

Drawing in a deep breath Ellen lifted her chin. ‘I went to see Danny Donovan that night to get the ledger from him.’

The barrister put his hand to his chest and staggered back theatrically against the polished semicircular table in the centre of the court floor. ‘You went to see the man who had given you your first job, who had treated you with affection, to
steal
property from him?’

‘I—’

‘And, despite your telling the jury how much you hated Mr Donovan’s attentions, didn’t you, Mrs O’Casey, a
respectable
widow, sit on Mr Donovan’s lap that night and allow him to put his hand up your skirt and feel your private area?’

Ellen clenched her fists together and breathed out hard through her nostrils. She could feel Robert’s eyes boring into her. She had skirted around telling him how she had managed to slide the ledger from Danny’s pocket, but he knew now, as did the whole court. She dared not look his way. Ellen raised her hand and jabbed her index finger at Danny across the room.

‘Danny Donovan has lied, cheated and terrorised the people of Wapping for near on seven years. He and his gang regularly beat, maim and kill those who stand in his way.’ She drew her breath and continued before the slimy Smyth-Hilton could interrupt her and make her lose her nerve. ‘He ruins women and runs several brothels. The police have tried for years to catch Danny, but every time they found a witness that person was then found floating face down in the Thames.’ She paused and turned to face the jury.

There was a gasp from the gallery and Ellen saw one elderly woman start to fan herself vigorously. She pulled back her shoulders and cast her eyes around the court, catching a blurred vision of Robert in the far corner of the spectators’ gallery.

‘I went to the White Swan that night to get Danny’s ledger to put an end to his reign of terror. The police needed that ledger as evidence and I knew how to get it.’

She knew that other witnesses had given evidence about the entries in the ledger and Inspector Jackson had already shown how the names crossed out linked with dates and bodies found murdered.

She wondered at that moment, with the evidence stacked up against his client, why Mr Smyth-Hilton had questioned her as her evidence only added to the case against Danny.

The barrister came towards her, his long, white fingers stroking his chin thoughtfully.

‘All very commendable, I’m sure. And you cast yourself in the role of a heroine of the common people?’

‘I am no heroine, but someone had to get the evidence,’ Ellen replied emphatically.

Smyth-Hilton’s lower lip jutted out and his brow furrowed. Taking hold of both sides of his black barrister’s gown, he strolled to where the jury sat.

‘If I may, gentlemen of the jury, I would like to give you a different view of the events of that night and of Mrs O’Casey’s role in them.’ He spun around on his heels and pointed sharply at Ellen.

‘Ellen O’Casey, who tells us that she is a respectable widow, is in fact the mistress of Doctor Robert Munroe.’ There was a gasp from all in the courtroom. ‘Do you deny that you are Doctor Robert Munroe’s mistress, Mrs O’Casey?’

There was a gasp in the court and heads turned upwards to where Robert sat.

‘No.’ Ellen said, with as much dignity as she could muster.

‘And rather than going to rob your long-time friend and benefactor, Mr Donovan, because you wanted to put an end to what you call his criminal activity, you did it to keep the affections of your lover.’

‘That is not true,’ Ellen said, raising her voice so all could hear.

In their cramped corner of the courtroom, clerks from newspapers jabbed nibs into inkwells and scribbled furiously. Smyth-Hilton strode towards her.

‘Didn’t you tell Mr Donovan that night that Doctor Munroe had promised you a house, but it had not been forthcoming?’

‘I did, but—’

Smyth-Hilton gave a knowing look at the men in the courtroom. ‘Doctor Munroe sounds like a man who has got what he was after and is now cooling in his affections, ’ he said, and several heads in the jury nodded in agreement. Involuntarily, Ellen’s eyes shot towards the back of the courtroom.

Around Robert, men were nudging each other, looking sideways to where he sat bolt upright. While the angular planes of his face were impassive, he had a tortured look in his eyes.

Snapping her head back to face Smyth-Hilton Ellen let out a strangled cry. ‘No!’

‘You thought that if you stole Mr Donovan’s ledger it might warm Doctor Munroe to you a little longer.’

‘No,’ she said forcefully. But Smyth-Hilton continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

‘I also put it to you that before you met Doctor Munroe you had actually welcomed Mr Donovan’s advances,’ he jabbed his finger at Ellen’s face. ‘And had earned a few extra coppers for your troubles. As you did with a number of other wealthy gentleman and merchants who bought your services, like the other prostitutes in the Angel and Crown and the White Swan—’

‘That is untrue,’ Ellen retorted hotly. ‘I am not a pro—’ Ellen trailed off, not able to say the word.

‘But once you had caught the eye of Doctor Munroe, a man far above your station, Mr Donovan and all he had done for you was of no account.’

Ellen’s mouth fell open.

‘Knowing that your lover was out to ruin Mr Donovan’s business, after drinking heavily, you—’

‘I had two drinks,’ Ellen interjected.

‘After drinking heavily,’ Smyth-Hilton repeated, ‘you threw yourself into Mr Donovan’s arms with the intention of stealing from him. You used your many allures to deceive this upright and honest businessman.’

‘No.’

‘Having offered yourself to Mr Donovan like a common whore, you picked from his pocket his business account book.’

‘I took the ledger because—’

‘Because you hoped to rekindle Doctor Munroe’s cooling affections,’ Smyth-Hilton said, completing Ellen’s sentence. He turned back to the jury, who were on the edge of their seats, and gestured towards Danny.

‘When Mr Donovan found out that his account book was missing, he was dismayed,’ he said, addressing the jury like old friends. He let his gaze wander over the twelve men and true. ‘But dismay turned to heartbreak when he realised that the only person who could have taken it was the very woman whom he had cherished for the past ten years.’

Cherished! Fumbled and snatched at, but never cherished.

‘Being a reasonable man’ - Ellen let out a sharp snort, at which Smyth-Hilton raised an arched brow - ‘and not wanting to involve the police, Mr Donovan sought to get his property back by asking Mrs O’Casey, whom he regarded as a dear friend, to return it.’

‘He beat me with a poker,’ Ellen said, as the imaginative barrister drew breath.

Mr Smyth-Hilton turned his back on her, and focused on the jury. ‘As Mr Donovan testified earlier, Mrs O’Casey had a tendency to violence when drunk and she turned aggressive that night. He also testified that he was reluctant to enter her home because she frequently took her clients there.’

Across the court Danny gave her a smug smile. Smyth-Hilton came and stood before her again, raising his voice so that the jury could hear him, and assuming an expression of poignant regret, ‘Mr Donovan wants the court to know that it was only his anger at finding that he had nurtured a viper such as Mrs O’Casey at his bosom that made him strike out at her once, and then only in self-defence.’

Ellen laughed outright at this. ‘I wonder if anyone in this courtroom is fool enough to believe that Danny Donovan, a six-foot, twenty-stone Irishman, with hands like shovels, would have to beat me senseless to defend himself?’

‘Mr Donovan further stated in this court that any injuries you were found with must have been a result of your falling down drunk in the road as you ran after him,’ the barrister said. Ellen marvelled at his control over his features, because, surely, even he could see the utter foolishness of this statement.

‘That,’ Ellen said in a clear, ringing voice, ‘is a barefaced lie.’

Smyth-Hilton appeared to consider what she said. ‘A lie, you say.’

‘I do.’

The barrister made a show of rolling his eyes in a thoughtful manner then pulled his lips back in a deathly grin. ‘I wonder, Mrs O’Casey, if you can distinguish between truth and lies. You tell us you are a respectable widow, but then brazenly admit that you are the mistress of Doctor Robert Munroe. You tell us that you hated the attentions of Mr Donovan, yet you admit that, in full view of customers in the White Swan, you sat on Mr Donovan’s lap and let him take liberties with your person that no
respectable
woman would allow. Finally, you shamelessly admit that you stole Mr Donovan’s property. An offence which, I might point out, in this court is a hanging offence.’

Ellen blanched and a roar went up.

‘Objection,’ Hewitt shouted over the noise as he jumped to his feet again.

A sharp crack of wood on wood silenced the crowded courtroom.

‘Sustained. Might I remind you, Mr Smyth-Hilton,’ Judge Beecham said, placing his gavel back in its rest and peering at Smyth-Hilton over the rim of his half spectacles, ‘that it is Mr Donovan who is on trial here for attempted murder, not Mrs O’Casey. So I fail to see where this line of questioning is leading.’

Ellen could have jumped up on the bench beside her and kissed the judge’s sombre features.

Mr Smyth-Hilton sent the venerable judge a venomous look which was so swift Ellen thought she must have imagined it. His face styled itself into an expression of the utmost diffidence.

‘Your pardon, my lord,’ he said, inclining his head slightly to the judge’s bench. ‘I am just trying to establish how reliable a witness Mrs O’Casey is.’

He spun back to Ellen, his gown flying like a crow’s wings around him. ‘I submit, Mrs O’Casey, that on the night you allege Mr Donovan tried to kill you, you were too drunk to know what was happening, and that your injuries were caused by your falling drunk in the road and not at Mr Donovan’s hand.’ Ellen opened her mouth to protest, but Mr Smyth-Hilton continued. ‘I am sure Doctor Munroe must have seen what a debauched woman you are, which is why, I suspect, he was trying to finish with you.’

‘Objection,’ shouted Mr Hewitt again.

Smyth-Hilton turned to the jury again. ‘I am afraid that Doctor Munroe is just a man like the rest of us.’ The jurymen muttered their agreement at this statement.

‘Objection,’ Ellen heard the prosecution barrister say again, but before the judge could lift his gavel Smyth-Hilton hurried on.

‘And, given Mrs O’Casey’s practised charms,’ Smyth-Hilton ran his eyes up and down her in a suggestive manner to emphasise his words and then pointed a bony finger at her. ‘It is hardly surprising that he should succumb.’ Again the men of the jury indicated their agreement, a couple leering across the courtroom at her as he continued in a booming voice. ‘Doctor Munroe seems to have come to his senses and was about to cast off Mrs O’Casey.’

Judge Beecham cracked down the gavel smartly. ‘Mr Smyth-Hilton!’

Turning from the judge’s bench, Danny’s barrister raised his voice and looked across to where Robert sat.

‘Doctor Munroe’s judgement is sound, and his reputation beyond reproach. We can forgive his small lapse of judgement in his association with a skilled temptress like Mrs O’Casey.’

‘Objection,’ shouted Mr Hewitt at the top of his voice.