Lady Ann's Holiday: Chapter Thirty One - Part Three

5

The magistrate hammered his gavel down three times; hard controlled strokes. The crowd quieted slowly. He brought it down a fourth time and the last whispered titters ceased.

Burt gaped at him unhappily, knowing that the worst was yet to come, wishing again that he had just been happy with his servant’s life and willing to do anything to get it back and cling onto it forever.

“Burt Harper!” cried the magistrate. “You stand here accused of heinous and insidious crimes perpetrated against your betters; of violating their rules and betraying their care and generosity many times over. You are accused of brutal and willful violence against an innocent man for no reason but to satisfy your own wicked urges.” He paused. “And you stand for the most depraved and iniquitous crimes imaginable against two ladies of the gentry.”

There were hushed whispers. The magistrate went on.

“To all these crimes you have pleaded guilty, no doubt presuming a half-hearted show of remorse well after the fact will alleviate the severity of your punishment.”

Burt raised his head in surprise, shaking his head dully.

“I see no reason to pamper to this obvious attempt to play the system. I have tried and sentenced many a criminal in my time and I have rarely seen a clearer example of abject villainy.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“As such, I see no reason not to follow the recommendation of the good Earl and make an example of you to show in the plainest possible terms what a life of such moral repugnance can and will lead to. You will be sentenced to the maximum penalty allowed by law.”

Burt shook his head again, his mouth dry.

“I hereby sentence you to be taken from this courthouse and transported to Wakefield maximum security prison, there to be imprisoned for no less than sixteen years.”

Burt felt dizzy. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to fall. But he didn’t. He went on standing there, staring at this man as the full implication of this sentence settled over his mind.

He was going to prison.

He was never going back to his life as a servant.

He would be branded a criminal forever.

There would never be a chance to trade lives with Lady Ann ever again.

His life was over.

There was no way out.

The crowd erupted into intense chatter, almost everyone present jabbering in excitement or shock.

Burt caught Mavis’s eye but instead of condemnation there for what he had done there was only regret and sorrow for his predicament.

“Order!” cried the magistrate. “Order!” He hammered down his gavel over and over again. The noise of the crowd dimmed but went on and the magistrate ended up raising his voice above it. “Bailiff, remove the prisoner for transport!”

The hunched man who’d stood on guard throughout the proceedings stepped up and took hold of Burt’s arm, jerking him to his right and leading him.

It was happening so fast. There was no time to think or even fully comprehend that his life was disintegrating around him.

Surely Lady Ann could still come! She could still save him!

But the door remained closed. She wasn’t coming. She would be far too late for that.

Burt was jerked again toward the door. The crowd was standing, the chatter swelling even louder. The jailer stood back, his arms folded, laughing loudly.

Burt’s vision was blurry. He couldn’t quite understand what was happening to him. His dim brain couldn’t comprehend the enormity of the impact this was going to have on his life.

Sixteen years!

He’d be an old man!

An ex-convict with no prospects and no skills!

And that was after years and years and years of life in a tiny cell with no freedom and no companionship.

He had been a lady! He had been one of the gentry! How could it come to this? How could he have been so stupid to make the choices he had made, falling further and further into the life he was now trapped in?

He had been a beautiful elegant lady living in the hall, a life of opulence and wealth ahead of her! Why had he given it all so willingly away in return for this life of abject misery?

All just to escape a dull holiday! And instead he was trapped in the body of a brainless peasant – a petty criminal – a convict!

Oh he would pay for his careless foolishness. He would pay a thousand times over!

“Stop!”

Burt abruptly came to a halt.

The crowd went quiet.

The bailiff turned round and Burt turned with him.

Every face in the hall looked toward where the exclamation had come from, looking directly into the face of the Earl.

The old man stood strong and proud, head tilted up, eyes blazing at Burt.

“What is the meaning of this delay?” asked the magistrate.

The Earl paused then turned to the fleshless man. “I wish to withdraw the charges against this man.”

“What? After sentencing? That is preposterous! For what possible reason?”

“Because…” The Earl stepped forward. “This man, on the whole, has committed crimes against my daughter, Ann, not present here today.” He looked slowly round at the crowd. “I spoke to her about these matters on the telephone yesterday and she told me she bore no enmity against this man. She bid me to let him go free.” He shook his head. “But instead, enraged by his insolence I chose to pursue his punishment as vehemently as I could manage.” He paused for a long time. “I choose now to withdraw that. After some introspection, I believe that the course of mercy my daughter encouraged should be followed. I want him to go free.”

The crowd broke out once more in excited gossip, the sound reaching the highest volume it had yet achieved.

“Order!” cried the magistrate. “Order! Please! Order!”

The cried and whispers died slowly away.

With eyes like steel ball bearings, the magistrate scrutinised the Earl. Utterly bewildered, Burt looked from one man to the other, barely able to follow what was happening with his slow-witted grey matter.

“You summon me here with all expediency to conduct this trial at a rate of knots,” said the magistrate, “and now, with the verdict you pressurized me into pronouncing, you seek to overturn my decision… and make a mockery of these proceedings?”

The Earl stood his ground. “Not a mockery sir. I wish to act out of mercy in respect for the wishes of the wronged party.”

The magistrate looked at Burt then back at the Earl. He checked the papers on the desk before him and then fixed his eyes once more on the older gentleman. “I am afraid the verdict has been given. It is far too late for thoughts of mercy. You may be powerful here in Griply Valley my lord but there is an authority that I represent that is higher than yours. That is the law of the land! You invoked that power when you called me here and now you must live with the consequences.” He smiled his skull-like smile. “More specifically, this base immoral criminal must live with the consequences.”

“Now just wait a minute—” began the Earl.

“Take him away!” declared the magistrate. “Immediately! These proceedings are complete!”

 

6

Burt put one step in front of the other, the bailiff pulling at his arm, the crowd filling the hall watching him as he hung his head in shame and sorrow.

There was a hush now. The severity of the sentence had shocked every one of them to the core. Each member of the crowd reflected on how close they all were to such a penance for so little crime. And more, their own Earl, the absolute authority in the valley, had been denied completely. Such an action was hithertofore entirely unheard of and not one among the assemblage could have predicted it.

The Earl himself looked stunned by the powerlessness of his word in the face of the magistrate’s faith in justice.

There was no turning back of the clock now. It was too late for any kind of appeal for clemency.

Burt approached the main exit doors and it was there that his and Mavis’s eyes met for one last time. She looked panicked and afraid, like an animal awaiting the axe. Her cheeks were wet with tears but there was nothing she could do for him and a moment later he was yanked out of her view and into the cold glaring daylight outside.

There was no sun. The sky was blank featureless grey. It wasn’t raining but the ground was wet and there was a heavy chilling moisture in the air. Burt shivered, his hair and clothes becoming immediately damp.

The prison coach was waiting, the back door open and ready, the interior black. There was one guard and a driver, both sternly watching for him. The guard stepped forward as he approached and in a sudden burst of fear, Burt struggled backward, trying to get free. The bailiff clamped on him, wrenching hard and the guard ran to grab his other arm.

“Let me go! Please!” cried Burt. “I can’t go to prison! It ain’t fair!”

They dragged him forward, ignoring his flailing elbows, wrists caught by the shackles. The ground was mud and his feet slithered, failing to gain purchase as he pushed ineffectually backwards. The coach drew closer and closer, the darkened rectangle of the back door growing perceptually in size.

“No!” cried Burt. You can’t! It ain’t right!”

The crowds inside were seething out after them and twisting, Burt saw them. I saw the bland eyes of the watchers, the condemnation, the sympathy, the shock. He saw Harry, his face curled into a frown of disappointment and pity.

Then Burt was shoved forward and he fell against the steps at the back of the coach, banging his knees and forearms and rippling pain up his scarred back where the lash had bitten. He tried to draw breath but couldn’t.  His chest felt like two gigantic hands were gripping it from behind tighter than was safe, preventing the expansion of his lungs.

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be real. All his life he’d been a lady – one of the gentry. How could events have constricted into this terrible path to hurl him into this abhorrent situation? How could life have come to this that he was going to prison for sixteen years – that he would be punished so harshly for so little?

Rough hands grabbed the back of his shirt and ripped him up, throwing him up the steps and through the door of the prison coach. He hammered down on the floor inside, the blackness closing around him, his face cracking against one of the flanking benches with a brief exhalation of pain.

He tried to roll over, to get up, but he was stunned. He couldn’t quite gather his wits. He put all his strength into it and dropped onto his side. He had to get up – get out of there before they closed the door. Once that was closed he was finished. The key would be turned in the lock and he would never know true freedom again.

Burt flopped over onto his side and creased at the waist, reaching toward the open doorway. “No!” he cried. Then the door slammed shut. The rattle of the key came in to lock; the click as the bold slid inexorably into place.

There were muffled cried outside and then shouting to quell them. The coach lurched, creaking, as the driver clambered on board. Burt still could quite get up but he forced himself to. He used his arms to pull himself onto the bench.

He still couldn’t believe this was really happening.

There were more cries from the street and more shouted demands for silence. The coach shuddered. Burt held his breath.

The coach jerked. Burt swayed. It stopped. “Oh God, no,” he whispered. “Don’t let this ‘appen to me. Please. I’m begging ye.”

The coach lurched again and this time it started moving.

It was really happening. There really was no escape.

Cries went up from all around but Burt could already tell they were falling behind.

He was going to prison. He was going to be a convict. His life was over. He would never ever be Lady Ann again.

The coach shook gently from side to side. It was really going. It really was too late.

Then it lurched again, the other way this time, and Burt cracked his head against the inner front wall.

The coach stopped moving.

There was silence outside. No sign of movement. A minute went by; then a second. A shudder ran through the coach as the driver moved and then descended.

Burt still hadn’t caught a breath. With no way of seeing outside, his eyes darted left and right, up and down. He could hear nothing, then quietly, almost inaudibly, he heard words being spoken some way off. Calls came from further off, blocking the sound of it. He missed any sense of meaning.

He angled his head: nothing. He pressed his ear to the back door: nothing.

Then there! Footsteps! He heard them distinctly, coming closer. He strained, trying to listen. No sound of dialogue reached him. Then the key rattled again in the lock and he jerked back. The back door of the prison coach swung open, the light outside dazzling him.

He squinted, trying to see what was going on and made out two figures in silhouette who almost instantly became clearly visible: the driver of the coach and Old Harry!

Old Harry!

“Get out o’there Burt,” he said, slightly breathlessly. “Quick now or they’ll drag you off yet.”

“What’s goin on?” he stammered.

“Don’t ask questions; just get out.”

Burt staggered down the steps, still in his shackles and Harry took his arm. “Harry?”

“Shhh.”

Back down the way they’d come, a hundred yards away, stood the village hall and the crowd of onlookers. Outside of it the Earl was standing with the magistrate. Burt looked back at Harry as the guard unlocked the shackles round his wrists and let him free.

“What’s goin on?” asked Burt, stepping away, looking back in wonder at the prison coach, uncomprehending of how he’d managed to seemingly break free from that onrushing fate. The guard and driver withdrew, not even looking at him. One of them closed the door in the back of the coach. The old man still wasn’t talking but Burt had never seen the likes of the expression on his whiskery features.

“Harry,” he said. “Tell me what’s what. Ow is it that I’m free?”

Harry looked at him with hard eyes and just for a moment his cheeks brightened with mirth. “You’ve got a guardian angel my boy,” he said, “and I never would’ve believed it.” 

“What?”

Harry took his arm and started leading him back into the centre of the village. “The Earl,” he said. “I don’t know what made him change his mind about pressing charges but when the magistrate said you was goin to prison anyway and ‘ad you dragged outta there he just about blew his top.”

Burt looked at Harry in surprise. “Over me?”

Harry chuckled. “Not over you. Not as such. I doubt he cares one whit about what happens to you… but he don’t like bein told no, not here in Griply in front of the whole town. He just about ripped that magistrate’s head clean off after you was loaded into that coach. You shoulda seen it.”

There was fifty yards left now between the pair of them and the villagers; the waiting Earl.

“But what what does this mean for me?” asked Burt. “What’s going to happen to me now?”

The old man didn’t answer.

“Harry?”

He slowed for a minute and looked into Burt’s eyes. “Damned if I know boy. But you’re about to find out.”