Shadows of the Workhouse

I am not a seer. Only God knows the whole truth. Questions, foolish questions all the time. You wear me out with your questions, young man. Can I not expect a little repose in my old age?”
    Sister Monica Joan raised her hand to her face and tottered slightly in the dock. A gasp of anxiety was heard in the courtroom. She murmured: “May I sit down, My Lord?” and the usher ran forward with a chair. She smiled weakly. “So kind, so very kind; my poor heart.” She raised her eyes appealingly to the judge and said softly, “Thank you, My Lord. Are there any more questions?”
    “No further questions,” said Counsel for the Prosecution.
    Sister Monica Joan had created a good impression in the witness box. Even though most of the jury did not know what she was talking about, her sincerity and conviction were compelling. Her age and frailty were appealing and their sympathy was with her. A verdict of not guilty seemed likely.
    The Judge adjourned the court until 2 p.m.

    Counsel for the Defence opened the afternoon’s proceedings. “Are you sitting comfortably, Sister?”
    “Most comfortably, thank you.”
    “I will try not to fatigue you with my questions.”
    “You are most kind.”
    “The jury has heard you say that you do not know how the jewels came into your possession.”
    “I do not.”
    “But were they really in your possession?”
    “I possess nothing.”
    “Nothing?”
    “No, nothing. I renounced all worldly possessions with my profession. Poverty is one of the vows of the monastic life.”
    “So you do not and cannot possess anything?”
    “No.”
    “And you have never possessed the jewels in question?”
    “Never.”
    Counsel for the Prosecution stood up. “Then what were they doing in your knitting bag?”
    Counsel for the Defence was furious. “My Lord, I really must protest at this interruption, which is designed to intimidate the witness. I was coming to that point myself later, but without the bullying tactics adopted by my learned friend.”
    The judge allowed the protest, but nonetheless he leaned forward and said kindly, “Sister, if as a professed nun you cannot own or possess anything, can you account for the fact that a quantity of jewels were found in your knitting bag?”
    “No, I cannot.”
    “Did you put them there?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Well, if you did not put them there, who did?”
    Sister Monica Joan looked vague and tired. “I don’t know, My Lord. I suppose I must have.”
    “And where did they come from?”
    Sister Monica Joan was crumbling fast. The day had been too long. Her sparkle and confidence were fading leaving a tired old lady who did not really know what she was saying. “I suppose they came from Hatton Garden, like everyone says they did.” She leaned her forehead on her hand and sighed deeply. “I don’t know why respectable elderly women do this sort of thing, but they do. Oh, they do, they do. Is it a sickness? Is it a madness? I do not know. I do not know myself.”
    A ripple of shocked sympathy spread through the courtroom. To incriminate oneself is sad, but for Sister Monica Joan to have done so was tragic. If a pin had dropped it would have been heard in the silent courtroom. The judge leaned back in his chair and sighed.
    “I adjourn the court for today. I will make my summing-up tomorrow. The court will reassemble at ten o’clock.”

    The atmosphere in the courtroom was tense the following morning. A verdict of guilty was a foregone conclusion in the minds of the jury. Could it be prison for a lady of such advanced years? Perhaps the judge would order confinement to a mental asylum. A recommendation for clemency was everyone’s hope.
    Sister Julienne was seated in court, her face white with shock and sorrow. On the other hand, Sister Monica Joan once more looked completely relaxed and unconcerned, knitting contentedly and smiling at people she recognised. She stood when the usher gave the order.
    The judge opened the morning’s proceedings. “Last evening, at seven o’clock, I was informed of new evidence which throws a different light on this case. The witness arrived in London this morning and is at present waiting outside. Call the Reverend Mother Jesu Emanuel, please, usher.”
    A murmur of surprise spread through the court. Sister Julienne gave a gasp and stood up when her Superior entered. The latter was a good-looking lady of about fifty with calm grey eyes. She walked purposefully to the witness box to be sworn