A Place Called Freedom (1995)

“I’m quite sure it’s none of my business or yours, Lizzie,” she said firmly.

Wanting to hide her distress from her mother, Lizzie ate a spoonful of dessert—apples mashed with sugar—but it made her feel sick and she put down her spoon. “Caspar Gordonson said I could save Mack’s life if I would speak for him in court.”

“Heaven forbid!” Mother was shocked. “That you should go against your own husband in a public courtroom—don’t even speak of it!”

“But it’s a man’s life! Think of his poor sister—how she will grieve when she finds out he has been hanged.”

“My dear, they are miners, they aren’t like us. Life is cheap, they don’t grieve as we do. His sister will just get drunk on gin and go back down the pit.”

“You don’t really believe that, Mother, I know.”

“Perhaps I’m exaggerating. But I’m quite sure it does no good to worry about such things.”

“I just can’t help it. He’s a brave young man who only wanted to be free, and I can’t bear the thought of him hanging from that rope.”

“You could pray for him.”

“I do,” Lizzie said. “I do.”

* * *

The prosecutor was a lawyer, Augustus Pym.

“He does a lot of work for the government,” Gordonson whispered to Mack. “They must be paying him to prosecute this case.”

So the government wanted Mack hanged. That made him feel low.

Gordonson approached the bench and addressed the judge. “My lord, as the prosecution is to be done by a professional lawyer, will you allow me to speak for Mr. McAsh?”

“Certainly not,” said the judge. “If McAsh cannot convince the jury unless he has outside help, he can’t have much of a case.”

Mack’s throat was dry and he could hear his heartbeat. He was going to have to fight for his life alone. Well, he would fight every inch of the way.

Pym began. “On the day in question a delivery of coal was being made to the yard of Mr. John Cooper, known as Black Jack, in Wapping High Street.”

Mack said: “It wasn’t day—it was night.”

The judge said: “Don’t make foolish remarks.”

“It’s not foolish,” Mack said. “Whoever heard of coal being delivered at eleven o’clock at night?”

“Be quiet. Carry on, Mr. Pym.”

“The delivery men were attacked by a group of striking coal heavers, and the Wapping magistrates were alerted.”

“Who by?” said Mack.

Pym answered: “By the landlord of the Frying Pan tavern, Mr. Harold Nipper.”

“An undertaker,” said Mack.

The judge said: “And a respectable tradesman, I believe.”

Pym went on: “Mr. Roland MacPherson, justice of the peace, arrived and declared a riot. The coal heavers refused to disperse.”

“We were attacked!” Mack said.

They ignored him. “Mr. MacPherson then summoned the troops, as was his right and duty. A detachment of the Third Foot Guards arrived under the command of Captain Jamisson. The prisoner was among those arrested. The Crown’s first witness is John Cooper.”

Black Jack testified that he went downriver to Rochester to buy coal that had been unloaded there. He had it driven to London in carts.

Mack asked: “Who did the ship belong to?”

“I don’t know—I dealt with the captain.”

“Where was the ship from?”

“Edinburgh.”

“Could it have belonged to Sir George Jamisson?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who suggested to you that you might be able to buy coal in Rochester?”

“Sidney Lennox.”

“A friend of the Jamissons’.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Pym’s next witness was Roland MacPherson, who swore that he had read the Riot Act at a quarter past eleven in the evening, and the crowd had refused to disperse.

Mack said: “You were on the scene very quickly.”

“Yes.”

“Who summoned you?”

“Harold Nipper.”

“The landlord of the Frying Pan.”

“Yes.”

“Did he have far to go?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Where were you when he summoned you?”

“In the back parlor of his tavern.”

“That was handy! Was it planned?”

“I knew there was going to be a coal delivery and I feared there might be trouble.”

“Who forewarned you?”

“Sidney Lennox.”

One of the jurors said: “Ho!”

Mack looked at him. He was a youngish man with a skeptical expression, and Mack marked him down as a potential ally in the jury.

Finally Pym called Jay Jamisson. Jay talked easily, and the judge looked faintly bored, as if they were friends discussing a matter of no importance. Mack wanted to shout “Don’t be so casual—my life is at stake!”

Jay said he had been in command of a detachment of Guards at the Tower of London.

The skeptical juror interrupted: “What were you doing there?”

Jay looked as if the question had taken him by surprise. He said nothing.

“Answer the question,” said the juror.

Jay looked at the judge, who seemed annoyed with the juror and said with obvious reluctance: “You must answer the jury’s questions, Captain.”

“We were there in readiness,” Jay said.

“For what?” said the juror.

“In case our assistance was needed in keeping the peace in the eastern part of the city.”

“Is that your usual barracks?” said the juror.

“No.”

“Where, then?”

“Hyde Park, at the moment.”

“On the other side of London.”

“Yes.”

“How many nights have you made this special trip to the Tower?”

“Just one.”

“How did you come to be there that particular night?”