The Jury (21 page)

Her bedside table?—That's right.

You didn't ask her to drink it at once?—No. I knew Mr Strood would be home soon and perhaps there'd be an upset and stop her going to sleep.

And did the prisoner arrive shortly afterwards?—Yes, about
six twenty-five. I told him madam wasn't well and was to have a sleeping mixture. He told me to prepare a cup of malted milk for her. Then he went upstairs.

Into which room upstairs did he go?—Madam's bedroom.

He went into Mrs Strood's bedroom?—Yes.

Did he stay long?—He went in at half-past six, because I heard the clock strike in the hall, and he didn't come out again till a quarter-past seven.

Where were you during that time?—Most of the time I was in my kitchen, but after a bit I went into the hall and hung about, waiting for him to come down.

Why did you do that?—I was anxious about madam and wanted her to get some rest.

You didn't think that the prisoner was equally anxious?—Not him.

Before he came downstairs did you hear something?—I heard the bedroom door slam. Then he came down. He was in one of his moods.

One of his moods?—He gave me a black look. I was in the hall, and I had the malted milk with me, ready to take up. He said: “I think Mrs Strood had better have a biscuit or two as well.” He then took the tray from me and put it down on a little table that stands in the hall while I went back to get the biscuits.

You went back to the kitchen?—Yes.

Leaving the cup of malted milk within reach of the prisoner?—Yes.

How long were you away?—Two or three minutes, as I had to open a parcel of grocery to find the right kind of biscuits.

Mrs Strood favoured a particular kind of biscuits, and there were none in your cupboard. Is that it?—That's right. Digestives were what she fancied, so I had to open the grocery parcel.

After first looking in the cupboard?—Yes.

Did you then return to the hall?—Yes.

Was the prisoner still there?—No.

The tray containing the cup of malted milk remained where he had placed it?—Yes.

And you then, I suppose, took it up to your mistress?—Yes.

Did she eat any of the biscuits?—No. She wouldn't touch them.

Did she drink the malted milk?—Yes.

In your presence?—Yes. I waited till she'd taken every drop.

Did she ask for anything else?—She asked for some more water. Then I saw that the glass was empty.

You are speaking now of the glass of water into which you had poured the sleeping-draught, according to Dr Cart-wright's instructions?—Yes.

She asked for some more water?—Yes. She wanted it by her bedside, because when a person's feverish they're always thirsty.

Quite so. Did you make any remark?—She said: “There was something in it to make me sleep.”

What did you answer?—I said: “Ah, you're too sharp for me, madam. I wasn't going to say anything about it.” She seemed very drowsy, so I went out of the room.

Was that the last time you saw Mrs Strood alive?—Yes.

While you were with Mrs Strood, did Mr Strood leave the house?—He must have done, as he was gone by the time I came downstairs.

Did he return that night?—No.

He did not return next day?—No.

You heard nothing from him next day? No inquiry about his wife's health? No communication of any sort or kind?—No.

Cross-examined for the Defence by MR HARCOMBE: I believe, Mrs Tucker, you were deeply devoted to your mistress?—Yes.

In these disputes between husband and wife which you have told us about, you had no doubt at all that she was entirely in the right?—Yes.

You formed the opinion that Mr Strood was being unfaithful to his wife, did you not?—Yes.

And naturally, as a woman, your sympathies were entirely with her?—Yes.

You never liked Mr Strood very much, did you?—I never gave it a thought until he started treating her wrong.

Perhaps you felt
he
didn't like
you?
—He was always rather stuck-up, if that's what you mean.

Whereas Mrs Strood was more friendly in her manner?—Yes. Always the pleasant word.

Did Mr Strood ever lose his temper with you?—He always had his nose up in the air.

That hardly answers my question, does it? I'm asking whether he ever spoke angrily to you?—Not specially. He never spoke to me at all, if he could help it.

Now cast your mind back for a moment to the morning in October when your husband had to stay in bed with a cold, and you were in attendance at the breakfast table. You've just told my learned friend about that, haven't you?—Yes.

You answered your mistress's ring and were instructed by her to bring in some fresh coffee?—Yes.

She said, I believe, that the other coffee was cold?—She may have done.

I think you said so, didn't you?—Yes.

What answer did you make to her?—I don't remember.

Did you say something to this effect: “It was hot enough when I brought it in”?—I may have done.

And did Mr Strood then become very angry?—I don't remember.

I put it to you that Mr Strood became very angry, and that he called you back and said to you: “Are you having the insolence to complain?” or something like that. Do you remember that?—I don't know.

Come now: either you remember or you don't. He shouted at you, didn't he?—Yes.

Then you
do
remember?—I do now.

And naturally you resented that, didn't you?—Yes.

It was very disagreeable being so angrily rebuked?—Yes.

And in your mistress's presence too. That made it worse, didn't it?—Yes.

You had never liked Mr Strood much, and after that you liked him still less, I suppose?—Yes.

In fact you hated him from that moment, didn't you?—I wouldn't say that.

Have you a good memory, Mrs Tucker?—I remember what I hear.

You make rather a study of listening at keyholes, don't you?—No.

But you have told my learned friend of more than one occasion when you listened to conversations that weren't meant for your ears?—That was different.

How different?—Because they were shouting at each other.

You don't listen at keyholes but you listen behind closed doors. Is that it?—The door was on the jar.

On all these occasions when you overheard private conversations, you stood listening behind a door, and the door was ajar?—Not always it wasn't. It was shut sometimes.

That made it more difficult for you, didn't it: when the door was shut, I mean?—Yes.

Nevertheless you managed to hear a good deal even then?—Yes.

Did you write down what you heard?—No.

You relied on your memory?—Yes.

Yet you are able to swear to the exact words?—Well, I know what I heard.

Did you tell anyone else about what you'd heard?—I told my husband.

And you talked it over with him?—Yes.

Several times?—Yes.

Was there any disagreement between you and your husband on this matter?—Well, we had a few words, if that's what you mean.

Did he question the accuracy of what you told him?—He may have done. Just like a man.

‘Just like a man'? What do you mean?—Men are all alike.

Now we will come to the day of Mrs Strood's death. When you were carrying that cup of malted milk through the hall, on your way to the bedroom, Mr Strood, coming down stairs, asked you to fetch some biscuits?—Yes.

The cup of malted milk was on a tray?—Yes.

And in order not to have to carry it back to the kitchen when you went to fetch the biscuits, you placed the tray on a small table that stands in the hall?—Yes.

You placed it on the table in the presence of Mr Strood?—Yes.

In answer to my learned friend you said that Mr. Strood took the tray from you and that it was he who placed it on the table?—I don't remember.

You don't remember saying that in evidence, or you don't remember Mr Strood's placing the tray on the table?—Yes, he did. That's right.

But just now you told us that you yourself placed it on the table. Now I don't want to trap you in any way, but this is a point of some importance. You understand the nature of the oath you have taken, to speak the truth and nothing but the truth?—Yes.

That means that if your memory is not clear on any particular point, you must say so, doesn't it?—Yes.

Now are you able to tell my lord and the jury whether it was you or Mr Strood who placed the tray on the hall table?—No.

You can't remember?—No.

But you can remember the exact words of a conversation you overheard some ten days earlier?—Yes.

Let me see if I have got it right. On October the 30th, the last day of your mistress's life, Mr Strood reached home at about half-past six. As soon as he entered the house you went and spoke to him. Is that right?—Yes.

Where was he when you spoke to him?—He was in the hall, hanging up his overcoat.

I see. Did you enter the hall from the kitchen or from the stairs?—The kitchen.

You spoke to Mr Strood?—Yes.

Will you tell the court just what you said, the exact words if you remember them?—Well, I think I said——

You
think.
Aren't you sure?—I know what I told him. But it's difficult to remember the very words.

Yes, it is, isn't it? Well, do your best.—I said: “Madam has gone to bed, she's not feeling so well.” Or something like that.

‘Not feeling so well' or 'Not feeling very well'? Which was it?—I can't exactly say. It's the same thing.

You don't remember the exact words you used?—No.

But you remember the exact words the prisoner used ten days earlier?—Yes.

Very well. Now about this malted milk. You said: 'Madam has gone to bed, she's not feeling so well' or 'she's not feeling very well.' Did you then say that you were going to prepare a cup of malted milk for her?—Yes.

You had already planned to do so, and you mentioned it to the prisoner?—Yes.

He had said nothing about malted milk, but you mentioned that you were going to prepare some. Is that right?—No.

It isn't right?—He said “Yes.”

Quite so. You mentioned that you were going to prepare some malted milk, and he said “Yes.” Is that what you are saying?—Yes.

Now tell me, did your mistress ever suffer from depression?—Yes.

During the last few days of her life, did she seem very unhappy?—Yes.

Did she sometimes not answer when you spoke to her?—Yes.

As though she were thinking of something else?—Yes.

Did she sometimes seem dazed?—Yes.

She did not confide any of her troubles to you?—No.

You became anxious about her?—Yes.

Did she seem tired of life?—In a way.

On the afternoon of October the 30th, when she decided to go to bed, you sent for the doctor?—Yes.

Was that at Mrs Strood's request?—No.

Was it without her knowledge?—Yes.

Why did you send for the doctor without her authority and without telling her that you were doing so?—I thought she would tell me not to.

You had reason to think that she was anxious not to be visited by the doctor?—I thought she didn't want to have him.

You gathered that from her manner?—Yes.

When she told you she was going to bed, did she look ill?—Yes.

Very ill?—She didn't look at all well.

In answer to my lord, you said she was very ill, I think?—I didn't like the looks of her.

And so, being anxious, you rang up the doctor without telling her?—Yes.

Did you tell her afterwards?—No. Not till the doctor came, and it was too late for her to say No.

And afterwards, perhaps for the same reason, you kept it a secret from her that she was to have a sleeping-draught?—Yes.

Because you fancied she might refuse to take it?—Yes. I thought I'd better humour her, seeing she was so strange.

She was strange in manner?—Yes.

OLIVER CARTWRIGHT, examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL: I am a qualified medical practitioner in general practice. I have attended the deceased woman for minor ailments on several occasions. My relationship with the Stroods was social as well as professional. I was on terms of friendship with them. As her medical man, I was familiar with Mrs Strood's general physical condition, and I had some idea of her medical history. I was called to her by telephone on the afternoon of October the 30th. She was in bed and looking a little flushed, but she said she was perfectly well.

You examined her nevertheless?—I asked her a few questions.

And you found no reason to disagree with her?—I could not agree that she was 'perfectly well'. That was an exuberance of speech. Both pulse and temperature were slightly above normal. But I did not regard her as ill.

Nor as likely to become so?—That is more than anyone can say. I can only say that her condition gave me no sort of anxiety.

How long was it since you had last seen her, I mean in your professional capacity?—She had consulted me on October the 18th. Between then and October the 30th I had not seen her in any capacity.

When she consulted you on October the 18th, did you examine her?—No. It wasn't necessary.

You mean there was nothing seriously the matter with her?—Precisely.

Upon what point did she consult you?—She had reason to think she had conceived.

Did you ask her various questions?—Yes.

And as a result of her answers did you form a definite opinion as to her condition?—On the question of pregnancy, no.

Now, coming back to the later date, October the 30th, did Mrs Strood appear to resent your having been sent for?—She seemed a little nettled.

Will you tell us what she said on the point?—When I entered the room she seemed surprised and said: “Is this a social call?” I laughed and told her that Mrs Tucker had sent for me. She said: “You've been brought on a fool's errand. Milly is too officious.” Or words to that effect.