| Seven
Stones
by Elizabeth Day
There was absolutely no proof. There wasn’t then and there
isn’t now, and yet they locked me up for twelve years. Most of that
in isolation. Other women don’t want to be with someone accused
of murdering seven babies.
‘May it please your Lordships?’
I watch my Counsel from my cage in the corner of the courtroom. He’s
quite good looking in an untidy sort of way, slim with aquiline features
and small inquisitive dark eyes. A few strands of obviously died black
hair are escaping from under his short curled grey wig.
‘This original case,’ he continued, “relied on three
facts and three facts only. One, your Lordships, that the defendant was
seen lifting a crying baby from a pram.’
I watch while the three judges riffle through the files. Silence falls
as they read while I reflect on the day, twelve years ago that I had thoughtlessly
picked up that screaming baby to comfort him, to hold him close and pat
his quivering little body close to mine. But not for long.
His mother emerged from the shop and snatched the baby from me, screaming
hysterically at me to leave her baby alone. A crowd gathered, a crowd
of mainly shouting women, who punched me and tore at my hair and clothes.
Eventually a police car arrived and took me away, convinced that they
had finally caught the abductor of the seven babies who had been taken
during the past year and never found.
Counsel droned on pointing out to the judges that although in the circumstances
it had been foolish to pick up someone else’s baby, it was quite
a natural thing for a woman to do, an instinct almost, and in no way should
it have automatically proved my guilt.
The judges listened intently and then wrote in their books.
‘Now if it please your Lordships, we come to the matter of the confession.
‘Now this confession,’ continued Mr. Hunter, ‘was signed
without the presence of a solicitor and after she had been questioned
without a break for five hours. It was retracted immediately on the arrival
of her solicitor.’
I stifled a yawn and looked round the courtroom. The public gallery was
filled mainly with the press and law students, all feverishly scribbling
away. My younger brother Michael sat at one end, he caught my eye and
smiled nervously. Almost imperceptibly I smiled back. I’ve been
told not to make contact with anyone in court. Poor chap, this experience
will play havoc with his insides and he will have to put up with days
of nagging from his wife, but he’s always supported me, never believed
for one moment that I was guilty.
‘Your Lordships, may I ask you to look at the photograph file, page
five.’
Once again the judges took the appropriate file and riffled through the
pages.
‘May it please your Lordships to observe the piles of baby clothes
in this picture? These clothes, all freshly laundered were found at the
house of the defendant two days after her arrest. I would like to point
out that every one of these garments could have been bought over the counter,
at three main local baby wear shops. These clothes your Lordships –
‘ here Mr Hunter’s voice rose dramatically, ‘were bought
and kept by the defendant for her own child who had been born three years
previously.’
‘Three facts only, my Lordships that convicted this young woman
of a crime which she most certainly did not commit.’
There was also the press, I thought as he droned on. They convicted me,
had me locked away almost immediately, dragging up that I’d had
a baby at fifteen which had been taken from me and adopted, my precious
little Annie. They’d printed the most unflattering picture of me
in one of their papers, highlighting the drooping eyelid I’d been
born with and which had never been corrected.
‘That went well today,’ remarked Joan, my guard, as we travelled
back to prison later that afternoon. ‘I reckon with the other revelations
you’ll be out within the month.’
Oh yes, the other revelations. The revelation that a local middle aged
woman had just smothered her baby grandson and then committed suicide,
leaving behind a confused note saying she couldn’t live with the
guilt of the other dead babies. She hadn’t gone into details but
the media had pounced on the story and before I knew it a retrial was
launched on my behalf.
‘Of course, you’ll be due for big compensation,’ Joan
continued.
I stared at her. ‘Will I?’
‘You bet! That Atkins bloke got over £1 million.’
One million. I mulled the figure over in my head. I could do lots of things
with a million pounds.
The last day of the appeal was a bit of an anticlimax. The judges had
been considering the case for two days and then I was called back to court.
The judges spoke to me kindly and called me Miss Appleby. Through my mists
of confusion I heard them tell me I was free. That in light of new evidence
my original conviction had been quashed. Then it was back to my counsel’s
rooms at the back of the Court where a glass of champagne was thrust in
my hand and my solicitor, ‘please call me David’, went over
the statement he would make on my behalf to the press.
I wasn’t prepared for the battery of flashlights and the crowds
as I stepped through the doors of the court and out into the Strand. With
David and Michael either side of me and with the help of the police, we
pushed our way towards a waiting car, ignoring the questions hurled our
way.
‘What are your plans now Sue?’
‘What does it feel like to be free?’
‘Will you be suing the police?’
Once in the car we sped through London to the quiet little hotel that
a Sunday tabloid had taken over for us. My life began once more.
Six months later I sat drinking tea with my brother and his wife.
‘You’re looking great Sue,’ remarked my brother. He
turned to Alison, his wife. ‘Doesn’t she look great Ally?’
My sister-in-law nodded. ‘They’ve done a great job with –
you know…’
Her hand gestured towards her left cheek. Your eye.’
I smiled. Poor Alison. She’d been so sure of my guilt, her and her
fat mother. And now here I was, sitting in her tidy little sitting room,
as free as a bird and rich. Boy! Was I rich?
I ran a hand over my recently repaired eyelid. After the trial I’d
gone to France for a few months. Gone to ground as you might say. I’d
stayed in Paris for a while and found a plastic surgeon who corrected
my eyelid. After the operation I had just travelled around, savouring
the freedom and the feeling of being richer than I had ever dreamed.
‘So what are your plans Sue?’ asked my brother, ‘You’re
quite welcome to stay here with us ‘til you get sorted, isn’t
she love?’
I caught the agonised glance Alison shot her husband before she turned
and gave me a stiff little smile. ‘Of course.’
Suppressing my desire to burst out laughing I shook my head. ‘Thanks,
but I’ve got a few plans.’ I put down my cup. ‘But first
I want you to have this.’
I pulled a cheque from my handbag; a cheque I knew was big enough to pay
off their mortgage.
‘I know you’ve always supported me and this is just my way
of saying thank-you.’
I watched with pleasure as greed overcame suspicion on Alison’s
face.
‘Oh Sue!’ exclaimed my brother. He came over and gave me a
kiss. ‘Thank you so much.’
Alison followed suit. ‘You know you can stay here,’ she gushed
taking the cheque from my brother and putting it in her purse. ‘Any
time.’
Although part of me was tempted to take her up on her offer just to see
her face, I shook my head.
‘Thank you Alison, but actually I’ve bought a house –
well, an old farm really.’
They both stared at me. ‘A farm!’
‘Do you know where Three Brook Farm is?’
‘What the one on the way to Felworth, on the hill?’ asked
my brother.
I nodded, ‘That’s right, just past the Drover’s Pub.
Well I’ve bought that.’
‘But it’s derelict, been empty for at least – well it
must be fifteen years, and you know nothing about farming,’ burst
out Michael.
‘I’m not going to run it as a farm, I’m going to have
it done up and run it as a bed and breakfast place. And it’s not
as derelict as you think. The builders have already started work. In the
meantime I’ve got a room at The Drovers.’
I stared at their shocked faces and laughed. ‘Don’t worry,
I’m going to make use of my prison education, Catering and Business
Studies.’
I got up to leave. ‘Anyway, I always loved that place. I used to
walk up there every week before – well you know – before this
all happened. It’s beautiful, so peaceful.’
My brother helped me on with my coat. ‘Well, as long as you know
what you are doing.
‘Oh yes, I’ve never been more sure of myself.’
Later that day I walked up the hill towards Three Brook Farm. Workmen
had already started on the roof and a loose end of tarpaulin flapped lazily
in a light breeze. I took a deep breath and wandered round to the back
of the house to a small overgrown walled garden. How I loved this place.
From childhood it had always been a refuge, away from the taunts, away
from Dad, a place I could bring my troubles to and in my short life I
seemed to have had so many.
I smiled as I found a large stone I had used as a seat twelve years ago.
I sat down and looked down fondly at the seven stones arranged neatly
along the wall.
‘Hello darlings,’ I whispered softly. ‘Everything is
going to be alright now – Mummy’s home.’
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