The Day She Cradled Me Page 13

  ‘Close the door as you leave.’

  In front of the Customhouse, people push at one another to get a good view of our ship. Her front ropes are manned; there are crowds already on the decks, waving and calling to families below. I lift my skirts to dash on board, and the crash of the plank sounds behind me. I show my ticket and begin to search about for Freddie. He has already boarded, determined to fix our lodgings, and I can hardly wait to see him, to throw my arms around him. For he was right. We can do it. Why, we have done it.

  The huge ropes that tie us to Scotland and all we have ever known are flung on deck. The ship glides from the wharf to a loud cheer from the crowd. Scotland drifts from us forever. I see my street, winding its way up towards the plumes of smoke from the mill, and I wonder what my sisters are doing, if they can see me leave.

  There lies the field where Mother and I would collect flowers, where Bella and I chased one another on warm summer days. I see the tree where Freddie and I …

  My heart lurches.

  Oh, dear Lord, no. No. No.

  I reach down to stroke my belly. The flutter of new life answers as the tears slip down my cheeks. ‘We will be all right,’ I say. ‘We will be all right.’ Beneath the tree Freddie raises his hand. I raise my own in return, and then without a backward glance I turn my back on Scotland forever.

  On my home and family, and on my heart.

  Months later, in the dead of night and with no fanfare, we reach Australia. Sailors row us ashore, and I huddle behind some large boxes till daybreak, then slip unnoticed past the Customs and out onto the road. Without Freddie I have no promise to repay the fare — Lord knows what they would do with me. There is a coach waiting, and I give the man nearly all I have to take me to Launceston. I do not know how long the journey takes, nor do I care. I have my baby, my life and my wits. And as we near Launceston, I realise I have one more thing.

  An instinct for survival.

  Reverend Lindsay

  3 June 1895

  God’s voice can be heard when you listen with your soul.

  The caress of the wind, the spirit of a smile — if your heart seeks Him, He shall answer. I clasp my hands in prayer and search the heavens. It is precisely such counsel I beseech, for I have made a promise I cannot keep.

  ‘Reassessed your priorities, Reverend?’ Doctor Macleod puts his black bag on the floor beside my chair. I did not hear him enter, and his presence shakes my wits. He bends to look at his patient upon the bed and addresses me over his shoulder. ‘I understand you’ve been keeping unsavoury company of late.’

  ‘I have been attending parish matters.’

  ‘Ah, so that’s what you call it.’ He holds a candle above Sarah Dickson and opens one of her eyelids. ‘Tell me it wasn’t the woman Dean in your thoughts.’ He moves to her other eye and looks inside. ‘No change.’ The eyelid snaps closed and he places the candle back upon the table.

  I remain silent, for I cannot deny his charge. How such a courageous young woman as Williamina McCulloch could have sunk to such depths of wretchedness as now befalls her is beyond my understanding.

  Doctor Macleod turns to look at me. ‘You will attend tomorrow’s inquest, Reverend?’

  ‘No, I think not,’ I say, though my promise was to the contrary.

  ‘Not the most appropriate of pastoral duties I would have thought.’ He pauses. ‘You are well respected, Reverend. It would be a shame if your actions were to be … misread in any way.’

  ‘Indeed it would, Doctor.’

  ‘Good.’ He holds an earpiece to Sarah’s chest. ‘We understand each other.’ He lowers his ear to listen, and his head rises and falls with her slight breath. ‘I am pleased you won’t be in attendance. They are not proceedings to be inflicted upon those of weak temperament. Of course I mean no offence by that.’

  ‘None taken.’

  He lifts his head. ‘I have been acquainted with Mrs Dean a good many years and I know the duplicity of the woman. Dishonest to the bone. Her own mother would have her convicted.’

  ‘That seems a little harsh.’

  ‘You think I speak unfairly?’ He finishes his examination and puts the instrument back inside his bag. ‘You do realise she suffocated the littlest one? Claimed outright to the police it fell, but there were no markings I could find in support of that. No, she killed it, Reverend. Took a cloth, and smothered it. Barely a month old. Now, there’s some round here who might call that a little harsh.’

  I remember my promise, and my spirit weakens. Dear Lord, what is it You desire of me? I made a solemn promise to the woman Dean I would attend court; the words tumbled from my mouth before I could catch them.

  I look at Sarah, her innocence in such contrast to the subject of our speech. ‘Perhaps this conversation is best kept for another time.’

  ‘She cannot hear a word, I assure you.’ He walks to the window and checks the shutter is closed firm.

  The eldest Dickson daughter, Nellie, taps lightly on the door and brings a tray of food and a mug of milk to break my fast. Her face is pale. ‘How is she, Reverend?’

  ‘There is no change,’ Doctor Macleod says as he gathers his coat and bag. ‘Reverend, if I might have a word please? In private?’ He places his hat upon his head and leaves the room.

  I nod to Nellie. ‘Thank you for your kindness. Your Ma is resting peacefully. Why not sit here a while? Tell her of the walk you took yesterday along the river with Mrs Lindsay. That should warm her spirit.’

  ‘Reverend? Do you think she will come back to us?’

  ‘I believe she will, if it is of His choosing. In the meantime, I am certain she will benefit from your presence and the sound of your voice.’

  In the kitchen, Doctor Macleod puts down his bag and looks at me squarely. ‘I am pleased you have seen sense, Reverend, and returned to those more deserved of your attentions.’ He pauses. ‘There has been talk to the effect that you have spent much of the last two days in the company of Mrs Dean, to the detriment of other parishioners —’ he waves a hand towards the bedroom — ‘not least our poor Sarah Dickson. I am not the only one concerned by your actions.’

  ‘Doctor Macleod, my actions are of consequence to no one but myself.’

  ‘Are they not, Reverend? For that is how I see it, as do a good many of those — shall we say — gentlemen who have supported the church in the past, not least in the financial sense. It would be quite a shame if those friendships should cease, especially if it were due to a mere misunderstanding. A substantial loss for the entire community, wouldn’t you agree, Reverend Lindsay?’

  I pick up his bag and hold it out to him. ‘I answer to no one but God, Doctor Macleod.’

  ‘Just be careful where you place your allegiance, Reverend, or should I say with whom. No one wants a baby killer in their midst. Likewise, no one wants the parish reverend sympathising with one. I’m sure in your vocation it is important to at least be seen to be doing the correct thing.’

  ‘Reverend! Come quickly!’

  ‘Lord, it is Nellie.’ I leave the doctor and run to the room where Nellie is on the bed, clutching her mother’s body. ‘Nellie? What is it? What is it, child?’ Her face is covered in tears, her voice broken in sobs. ‘Nellie?’

  I should never have left them alone. I reach for the girl to wrench her away. It is my fault.

  ‘It’s Ma, Reverend, it’s Ma.’

  I look at Sarah and then stop, dropping my arms in astonishment. I turn my gaze Heavenward. Blessed be, it is a miracle indeed, a miracle of the greatest kind. For in Nellie’s embrace, in the dear girl’s arms, her mother has regained consciousness. God has spoken, and His word is clear. Sarah Dickson has opened her eyes.

  Now I must open mine.

  ‘I am Roderick Alexander Macleod, legally qualified medical practitioner residing and practising in Invercargill, and Medical Officer for Southland Hospital.’

  Mr MacDonald examines his notes and looks up. ‘Thank you, Doctor Macleod. Please tell the Court about Sun
day twelfth of May.’

  ‘Certainly. That day I saw the bodies of two infants in the morgue, under the charge of Sergeant Macdonnell. I made an external examination of them both.’

  ‘Was anyone with you?’

  ‘Yes, Doctor Young was taking the notes, I made the post mortems and Doctor Hunter was observing.’

  ‘Tell us what you found on the body of the smaller child, if you would.’

  The doctor clears his throat. ‘There were no external marks, except those you would expect to find on a body that has been dead a few days. There were abrasions on the head — but all were of a normal after-death appearance. There were no marks of violence on the body though the limbs had been compressed.’

  I breathe deeply.

  ‘In your opinion, Doctor, how did the child die?’

  ‘I would say the child died in a state of asphyxia, which means that the breathing had been by some means arrested.’

  ‘Could she have choked?’

  Doctor Macleod shakes his head. ‘I doubt it. There was no foreign body in the windpipe, it was quite clear. And there was nothing in the position of the tongue to indicate that that had stopped the breathing.’

  ‘Did you find anything further?’

  He nods. ‘When I took back the scalp on the left-hand side, there was a certain amount of blood about the ear and a half inch behind it. There was also the same but much smaller on the right side of the head. About half by a quarter inch.’

  I look away.

  ‘What could have caused these marks?’

  ‘Well, they must have been done by some external violence, but not with a sharp instrument. It must have been blunt.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘The pressure of a thumb on one side and a finger on the other might have caused them.’

  I shiver.

  ‘You tried out this theory?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Doctor Young put his hand over and it fitted.’ He demonstrates with his hand.

  ‘Thank you, Doctor Macleod. Can we call Doctor Young?’

  ‘… Doctor Young,’ he continues after several moments, ‘please tell us about Monday the thirteenth of May.’

  ‘On Monday the thirteenth of May I assisted Doctor Macleod in making a post mortem on two children in the hospital morgue.’

  ‘What ages were they?’

  ‘The younger child was a few weeks old and the older about a year.’

  ‘Can you describe what you found on the body of the younger child?’

  ‘There were a good many marks on it. The skin did not have its natural appearance in many places, probably caused by after-death changes.’

  Mr MacDonald pauses. ‘Can you tell us what, in your opinion, was the cause of death?’

  ‘One naturally suggests rapid asphyxia from the appearances.’

  ‘Can you define asphyxia for us, please?’

  ‘Asphyxia is applied to any form of death in which the blood is deprived of fresh air.’

  ‘I see.’ He nods. ‘What do you think may have caused the asphyxia in this instance?’

  ‘There was nothing to show with absolute certainty the cause of the asphyxia. But there was sufficient to show the asphyxia was rapid.’

  ‘Your opinion then, Doctor Young?’

  ‘There were marks of violence on the head,’ the doctor says. ‘Behind and slightly above the level of the left ear, there was a patch of effusion of blood on the surface of the skull — rather more than an inch in length and three-quarters in width.’

  ‘What shape were these markings?’

  ‘They were oval in shape — long axis horizontal.’

  ‘Any other marks?’

  ‘A small faint one on the surface on the other side of the head, with diffused blood.’

  ‘In your opinion, Doctor Young, what was the cause of these markings?’

  ‘They were probably caused by pressure or force applied to the child’s head.’

  ‘Such as?’

  The doctor pauses. ‘I think the pressure of the thumb and finger would do it.’

  ‘Would the pressure require an especially strong person?’

  ‘They would be produced by less pressure than an ordinary person could use,’ he says. ‘A child is very easily asphyxiated, and it could easily be done by holding it by the back of the head and putting cloth in front of its mouth.’

  I swallow back nausea.

  ‘Could she have choked?’

  ‘There was no obstruction in the windpipe, nothing to indicate the asphyxia had been caused by the tongue.’

  ‘Was the child in an otherwise healthy condition?’

  ‘All the organs of the body were healthy except the indications of asphyxia.’

  ‘Did you measure the body, Doctor Young?’

  ‘I saw the bodies measured. The body of Eva Hornsby was twenty-two inches long and seven and a half pounds in weight.’

  Mr McDonald holds up the tin hatbox. ‘What measurement is the tin box?’

  The clerk stands. ‘It is seventeen by fourteen, by ten and a half deep,’ he says.

  ‘Do you, Doctor, believe it is generous enough in size to contain both of the bodies you examined?’

  I hold my breath.

  ‘Yes, I should say so. The box is quite capable of holding them both.’

  Dear Lord.

  ‘Thank you. Now, were there any other markings on the smaller body that were of interest?’

  ‘On the lower fold of the navel there was a small livid patch about the area of a split pea.’

  ‘And the cause, do you think?’

  ‘It may have been caused by a sore, or by post mortem.’

  ‘Anything else you found, Doctor?’

  The doctor holds up one hand. ‘On the first joint of the left ring finger there was a small abrasion.’

  ‘The cause?’

  ‘I would say possibly the result of a burn.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor.’ Mr MacDonald turns to the jury. ‘The stomach, intestines, liver and kidneys of the child were sent to Professor Black, who is the Government Analyst in Dunedin. The result of that analysis was that no traces of poison were found, and I therefore do not propose to call the professor.’ He glances towards the Deans. ‘I make this statement in fairness to the persons accused, and for the information of the jury. I have no further evidence to offer.’

  There are murmurs around the courtroom. I can feel my heart as it pounds in my chest.

  ‘Will the coroner please address the jury?’

  Mr Rawson stands. He strokes his beard slowly, deliberately, and turns to the jury. ‘The matter you must now consider,’ he says, looking at each jury member in turn, ‘is a very grave one indeed. It is not necessary for me to weary you with any lengthy observations, as in your foreman you have a gentleman of great experience, eminently capable of assisting you, if indeed you require assistance.

  ‘You will be aware that the first object of the enquiry is to discover how, and by what means, the child Eva Hornsby came to her death. The evidence seems to me to be very clear, and although the enquiry has taken some time, the Crown has not gone into any details that were unnecessary. The evidence has been most skilfully collected by the police and very ably placed before the jury by counsel.

  ‘As I have said, it is a very grave matter you must consider. It is true that whatever your verdict might be, a preliminary judicial enquiry before the magistrate will follow. But still, if the evidence reasonably leads you to the conclusion that any person —’ he looks to the Deans — ‘or persons feloniously murdered the child, it is your duty to say so in your finding. By your oath as jurymen, you are bound to do so.

  ‘At the same time, I might remind you that you ought not be careless in coming to a conclusion, because a verdict to the effect that any person, or persons, caused the death of the child might be prejudicial to such person or persons at the Supreme Court trial.’

  ‘Have you reached a verdict?’

  Mr Bain stands. ‘We have. Th
e finding of the jury is as follows. The jury is of the opinion that the child Eva Hornsby was wilfully murdered on or about the third of May, eighteen ninety-five.’

  Mr Rawson waits several moments. ‘Is that all of your verdict? There is nothing more you wish to add?’

  ‘The jury is aware that a Magisterial Inquiry will take place at any rate and regard their verdict as a sufficient discharge of the duty placed upon them.’

  Mr Rawson frowns. ‘May I suggest that the jury might like to at least add to their verdict their opinion as to where the murder took place?’

  Mr Bain shifts uncomfortably.

  ‘At any rate —’ Mr Rawson shakes his head — ‘it must have taken place within the colony of New Zealand.’ He raises his eyebrows and exhales deeply. ‘Do you agree to that?’

  The outdoor air is harsh against my cheek, but it is a harshness I relish, for I am weary of the cold dampness of the courthouse. My soul is in turmoil. Never before has my path been so hidden from sight. And now I must be subjected to yet more horror such as I could never again wish to hear … I do not know how much more I can bear.

  ‘Reverend Lindsay? Might I have a word?’

  ‘Sergeant Macdonnell.’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt your thoughts again, I won’t trouble you long. They are already returning to the court for the second inquest — I’m sure you won’t want to be late.’

  I shake my head and blow warm air into my hands. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Rest assured it won’t be a long session, for there are only one or two witnesses remaining, and Professor Black, of course.’

  ‘So I understand.’

  ‘Extremely professional man. Highly proficient in his area of expertise. You would do well to take heed of his findings. Fairly conclusive, I’m sure you — and the jury — will agree.’

  I nod, though the prospect of the impending testimony makes me deeply uneasy.

  ‘Of course I was of the belief that the inquest this morning was also fairly conclusive.’ The Sergeant apparently wishes to press home his point. ‘A pity the jury thought otherwise.’