In London, Where The Vampires Sing

The Trial

London, Journal, May 7th 1770 from my scribbled notes

‘I am father to the child,’ I saw Mr Hay grasp his hands to control their shaking while he spoke, ‘she had gone a little way to play in Leicester Fields. This she did regularly and so we were unconcerned.’

‘And how long does she usually go out to play?’asked the prisoner’s counsel, a young sturdy fellow no taller than a Saffron Hill pickpocket.

‘From half an hour to two hours, we would send the nurse if we thought she had strayed too far, but she is a good child and has never suffered from disobedience.’

‘Mr Hay, the child’s usual behaviour is of no relevance to the current proceedings,’a gentleman of the jury stood up and addressed my master, ‘please only answer the question you are asked.’

Mr Hay nodded.

‘When did you notice that anything untoward had occurred?’

‘About an hour and a half after she had left our house in St Martin's Court, the prisoner and the child were brought home,’ Mr Hay paused to clear his throat and then continued gravely, ‘I took the prisoner before Justice Mackenzie, and there she confessed she had taken the child from Leicester Fields, and signed her own confession.’

‘And did you lay a hand upon the prisoner?’

‘No Sir I did not, I only removed a cloth which covered her face so I could speak to her directly.’

‘She wore a cloth about her person?’

‘Yes Sir.’

‘For what reason?’

‘I do not know Sir, but it covered her face almost entirely.’

‘I see. Thank you Mr Hay, I have no further questions.’

Upon leaving the stand Mr Hay looked towards his daughter in the gallery. I did wonder what would happen to the poor little child seated beside me once her ordeal was over; not on the surface, not each day when her mother and servants dress her, feed her, send her out to play, but deep within her soul where God's manifold plans take shape. Surely He does not wish her to suffer so? But I saw Frances watch from beneath those dark eyelashes, reliving every moment of her frightening encounter with a mean, impoverished, unremorseful woman and suffering from the retelling of her ordeal. She clasped my hand so tightly and let out a breath of such woeful unease, my body shuddered in panic and I felt my own soul wrench with the memory of Mrs Yates. In her other hand, she held the slender fingers of her mother who’s own gaze met her husband’s with responsive eyes and discomfort. I knew Mrs Hay wished it over, it weighed upon her chest and I sensed she could barely breath without panic, knowing some had questioned her responsibility in the matter.

A woman with a pretty countenance, blond curls and a cap was asked to take her position on the witness stand. She walked into the light and glowed with perspiration even though it was not yet summer. I observed a stiffening of her body, a tension making her limbs appear taut with anxiety, yet she did not tremble or hesitate when she spoke.

When asked her name by the Counsel for the King she responded, ‘I am Susanna Parker.’

‘And can you tell me what occurred on the day in question?’

‘My neighbour told me a child had been stripped of her clothes by an old woman so I ran from my house and confronted the prisoner, with the child in her left hand and a bundle under her arm,’ she stopped for a moment to dab her forehead with a handkerchief. ‘The child cried, I asked her what she cried for, she said, she wanted to go to her mother, and said the woman threatened to fling her into the pond if she cried.’

‘This was the pond at Marylebone?’

‘Yes Sir.’

‘And in what state was the child when you came upon it?’

‘The child was naked all to her gown, shift, and petticoat.’

‘And what of the bundle? Did you see the contents?’

‘Yes. In the bundle was a child's stay, a quilted petticoat, bib, and apron.’

I could not believe Margaret Conway was a common thief, not when I saw her expression at the mention of drowning Frances. Her eyes were dead to her entire audience and without the sun she sat like a spectre, unmoved.

‘After you had confronted the accused, what happened?’

‘I took the child and the prisoner to my dwelling house near the Marylebone turnpike,’ continued Susanna Parker, her chin pointing in a lofty attitude towards the counsel, ‘and she confessed to me.’ 

‘And what was the nature of this confession?’

‘That she had taken Frances Hay near Leicester House and gave up the child's stockings and a pair of buckles, before removing the rest of the child’s clothes and placing them in the bundle. But she swore Mrs Hay had left her in charge of the child and bundle.’

‘And did she say why Mrs Hay had asked her to take the child and the bundle of clothes?’

‘Yes, she said Mrs Hay had asked the prisoner to accompany her and the child to a house in St Giles and to wait for her while she went in, but she never came out. The prisoner said she thought Mrs Hay wanted her caught stealing clothes so she could claim the reward.’

The whole gathering looked towards my mistress and she hung her head wishing to cast off their eyes, but many displayed sympathy towards her plight, not contempt.

‘Gentleman of the jury the prisoner would have you believe that a respectable woman of means would go to such trouble as to trepan a charwoman for a reward?’ Turning to Susanna Parker, the Counsel for the King asked, ‘And did the prisoner have anything else to say?’

‘She said that she was very sorry for what she had done.'

The same gentleman who had warned Mr Hay earlier stood up and told the court, ‘The jury notes the prisoner's contrition.’

Upon these words, Margaret Conway brought a hand to her face and I saw her look towards us; taking her hand away I observed an expression of calmness with no qualms for the terrors to come. I perceived her contrition, but noted something horribly specious and inexplicably darker about her demeanour; perhaps she did not fear hell or was foolish enough to believe she would not hang.

An old laundry woman Elizabeth Corbett took the stand, I could not see her face her mob cap seemed overly large, but her voice was shrill and she appeared to be deaf. Her words could be heard outside the court and many excluded from the courtroom appeared to hear her disturbing account, for their voices reverberated along the passageways beyond the great room.

‘Can you tell us what you saw of the offence?’

‘I cannot hear you Sir.’

‘Can you tell us what you saw of the offence?’ The Counsel for the King spoke louder than Macklin had ever done in all his years upon the stage.

‘Yes. Yes I can. I saw the prisoner sit down with it between two banks-’

‘It? You mean the child?’

‘I cannot hear you Sir.’

‘You mean the child!’

‘Yes Sir, shall I go on?’

 The Counsel nodded impatiently.

‘I saw the prisoner sit down with the child between two banks by the pond at Marylebone. I watched them from across the pond and saw the prisoner remove the child’s clothes and place them in a bundle. Then, leaning towards the child, the prisoner appeared to press over her as if to smother the poor babe, but pulled back when she heard the alarms of myself and Mrs Parker calling for assistance.’

    What perturbation and horror! The courtroom rumbled with voices from the gallery. Was Conway planning to take the child's life? Could the miscreant be capable of such a cruel act?