The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [67]
This time, the recorder looked baffled. Next to him on the bench, the duke and Edmonton conferred with one another in a manner that indicated their unease.
‘Of course, I understand if the duke feels that participating in such an experiment is beneath him . . .’
This time Cumberland himself rose to speak. ‘This is preposterous . . .’ The way in which the light reflected on his facial scars made him seem demonic.
The recorder stepped in. ‘I will not permit common prisoners to address esteemed members of this bench.’
‘If he feels uneasy about availing himself . . .’
Cumberland, who had a reputation for impetuosity, interrupted. ‘I have nothing to hide.’ Then to Hardwick, he said, ‘Go ahead, sir, do your tests on me.’
A ripple of approval spread through the courtroom and the duke seemed to warm to his new-found popularity. The recorder looked on, helpless, perhaps feeling unable or unwilling to overrule royalty. Dressed in military regalia, Cumberland stood up while Hardwick wrapped a measuring tape around his skull and peered closely at the point where the ends of the tape met. Hardwick was sweating profusely. Back in the witness box, he did not know where to look: at the recorder, Cumberland or Pyke.
Pyke decided to push things along. ‘If I remember, the circumference of my own skull measured twenty-three and a half inches at its widest point. Is that correct?’ Hardwick nodded blankly. ‘Would you tell the court what the duke of Cumberland’s skull measured?’
Hardwick stared at him, ashen-faced, then, with a pleading expression, turned to the bench. The recorder looked similarly perturbed but knew that, in the circumstances, Hardwick had to answer the question. Cumberland seemed oblivious to their concerns.
‘Go ahead, sir,’ Pyke said, calmly.
‘One cannot judge character on the circumference of the skull alone. It is also a question of cranial shape . . .’
‘The measurement, if you please, sir.’
‘Your Honour?’ Hardwick looked pleadingly at the recorder.
Marshall did not seem to know what to say.
‘The measurement.’
Hardwick’s voice fell to a whisper. ‘Twenty-seven inches.’
‘Could you repeat that figure, sir, and this time so that the whole court may benefit from your wisdom?’
Hardwick was crestfallen. ‘Twenty-seven inches.’
Gasps of astonishment were accompanied by a ripple of nervous laughter emanating from the public gallery. Cumberland, who had finally grasped the implications of Hardwick’s findings, turned crimson. The recorder did not appear to know what to do or say.
Pyke waited for a moment of quiet and said, very quickly, before he could be stopped, ‘Given that the duke murdered his manservant in cold blood and raped his own sister, I am on reflection happy to concede the truthfulness of this witness’s testimony.’
For a second, there was utter silence in the courtroom as people absorbed the shock of his remarks, and then pandemonium broke out. Gutsy cheers from the public gallery temporarily drowned out the groundswell of indignation from the bench. As the recorder attempted to reimpose order on the courtroom by repeatedly banging his gavel down on the bench, his wig slipped forward off the top of his head and fell six feet on to the table below, where clerks were administering the proceedings.
Two hours later, Lord Chief Justice Marshall began his summing up. He reminded the jury that they were to base their decision only on the evidence they had heard in court. He added that, scandalous and offensive as the accused’s remarks had been during the cross-examination of one of the prosecution’s witnesses, they were to disregard these comments in their deliberations. Bound and gagged, Pyke listened without interest from the dock. Looking across the room at the public gallery, he noticed that Emily had vacated her seat and wondered what this meant.
Marshall told the jury that, to return a guilty verdict, they had to be satisfied, beyond reasonable doubt, that on