Jack Antell told the court he was a jobbing builder who worked in the Lancing area.
‘You work outside?’
‘I do . . . most of the time.’
‘How did you feel about a wolf being on the loose?’ Mr Bennet asked.
‘I weren’t too boffered. I had a gun—’
‘A gun, Mr Antell?’ the judge interrupted. ‘And where did you keep this gun?’
‘Under me bed, Yer ’Onour,’ Antell said. ‘But all me lady customers, they was all terrified.’ He looked around the courtroom. ‘They was all crying. So I took it wiv me.’ He looked around the courtroom and licked his lips. ‘I ’ad quite a job on that day.’
‘I don’t quite understand you, Mr Antell,’ said the judge.
‘You know, Yer ’Onour,’ he said, giving the judge a wink and a knowing smile. ‘I ’ad to . . . you know . . . give ’em a bit of comfort like.’
A murmur of amusement ran through the court.
‘You seem to have a rather flippant attitude to all this, Mr Antell,’ the judge remarked as counsel sat down out of respect. ‘Did you not understand the seriousness of a wild animal roaming the countryside and reportedly killing sheep?’
‘Oh I did, Yer Worship, my lord, sir,’ said Antell. ‘When I was outside me van, I was pretty nervous meself.’
The judge nodded and counsel rose again.
‘And had you encountered the wolf, Mr Antell, what steps would you have taken?’
‘Very long ones, I reckon.’
The courtroom erupted into laughter and the judge banged his gavel until it subsided.
Mr Carstairs, who was representing Lena and Seebold, had no questions to ask the witness, neither did Mr Phillips, who was representing Archibald Crump, nor did Mr Heuvel, representing Farmer Doyle.
Next to take the stand was Euphemia Gordy. Euphemia informed the court that she was a widow who lived in an isolated spot near the Steyning Road. She had one daughter who was in the habit of cycling to school. ‘When I heard about the wolf, I didn’t want her to go to school that day,’ said Mrs Gordy. ‘I was nervous and upset.’
‘And why were you nervous and upset?’ Mr Bennet asked.
Mrs Gordy’s eyes grew wide and she drew a lace handkerchief from her sleeve. ‘Because she could have been attacked, sir.’ She dabbed her eyes with the lace handkerchief and, turning towards the dock, she shouted at the defendants, ‘She’s my only daughter, the apple of my eye, and she could have been ripped to pieces by that ferocious mad animal; a creature which never ought to be let loose on the public.’
‘Calm yourself, madam,’ said the judge. But Mrs Gordy was already hysterical.
‘I made her catch the bus that day,’ she continued. ‘One and thruppence it cost me, and me being a widow woman who can least afford bus fares, but what would I do if my daughter, the darling of my heart, had been attacked by that beast . . .’ With that Mrs Gordy burst into loud tears.
Court proceedings were interrupted for a few minutes until both judge and counsel decided she’d said enough and needed medical attention. As Mrs Gordy was being escorted from the court, the judge looked up at the clock.
‘Do you have many more witnesses, Mr Bennet?’
Mr Bennet rose to his feet. ‘Two, m’lord.’
‘Then I suggest we break for lunch. Court will resume at two-fifteen.’ The judge got to his feet and the usher called, ‘All rise.’
Seebold and the other defendants were taken to the cells below the courtroom and everyone dispersed. The usher hurried to tell the waiting witnesses that the court was adjourned.
Milly was glad of the opportunity to get some fresh air. So far she had spent every day cooped up in that stuffy room waiting to be called. Every time the usher opened the door, she had expected her name to be called, but it wasn’t. She had brought a good book with her but she couldn’t concentrate on the words. Why on earth was it taking so long? Surely it must be obvious to everyone by now that Lena and Seebold hadn’t a malicious bone between them. She crossed the road towards the Swan Inn.
There appeared to be some sort of gathering in the main bar, then she heard the voice of an auctioneer. ‘What am I bid? Two pound, two pound ten shillings. Any advance on two pound ten shillings, going . . . going . . . gone!’ There was a sharp crack as his gavel went down.
As she was listening to this, the landlord came up behind her. ‘I’ve put you in the ladies’ snug, miss.’
Milly thanked him. The room was indeed ‘snug’. It was small and nicely decorated with an open fireplace filled with summer flowers. The pictures on the walls depicted a bygone era when this had been a coaching inn. She could just imagine how nice it would be coming into the room in winter when there was a roaring fire.
The landlord served a hearty meal. Cottage pie, cabbage and carrots, with the promise of steamed treacle pudding to follow. Milly picked up her fork but she couldn’t face it. She was far too churned up inside. Apologising profusely, she asked for a pot of tea.
When he came back with it, he left the door slightly ajar. A few seconds later, Milly was startled when a man’s voice said, ‘Milly? Milly Shepherd?’ She turned her head and he said, ‘It’s Eustace. Eustace Henderson. We met at Lady Verity’s party; do you remember?’
He was standing in the darkened corridor, so it took her a moment to remember that he was the man who had given her his jacket that night as they sat outside on the terrace.
‘Why yes,’ said Milly. ‘I remember.’
He made to come in but the landlord put up his hand. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said with emphasis. ‘This is the ladies’ snug.’
Eustace hovered in the doorway. ‘I bumped into your sister, and she told me about the court case. I am so sorry that the showman has involved you in his deliberate attempt to deceive the public.’
‘I’m not allowed to talk about it,’ Milly cautioned.
‘It’s an absolute disgrace that a woman of your calibre and social standing should be abused in this way,’ he went on.
Milly’s nostrils flared. How dare he make assumptions. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘I’m not allowed—’
