THE TRIAL AND VERDICT--EXTRACTED FROM A POPULAR DAILY PAPER.
"The trial of Phoebe Farebrother for the murder of her father,
commonly known as Miser Farebrother, terminated last evening, and will
be long remembered as one of the most remarkable and painful in criminal
records. The extraordinary interest exhibited by the public in the case
is only partially due to the murder itself and to the relations which
existed between the unhappy prisoner and the deceased; chiefly it may be
set down to the youth and beauty of the young woman who was accused of a
crime so horrible and atrocious. As she stood in the dock it was almost
impossible to believe that a being so lovely and gentle could harbour a
thought that was not innocent and pure, and the demeanour of those who
were present at the trial was sufficient to prove that popular sympathy
was enlisted on her side. Fitting it is--and especially fitting in this
case--that justice should be blind.
"Now that the trial is over, the verdict given, and the sentence
pronounced, we propose to devote some brief attention to those features
in it which rendered it remarkable. The case is one of circumstantial
evidence, and turned no less upon the statements of those who testified
uncompromisingly against the prisoner than upon the statements of her
friends, whose sorrowful evidence weighed heavily against her.
"The household of Miser Farebrother, in the lifetime of the unfortunate
man, was eminently cold and cheerless. Love occupied no place therein. A
man of wealth and means, all the avenues of enjoyment were open to him,
but he cared only for the accumulation of money. This may be said to
have been his one object, and he devoted to it all his energies. An
attempt was made to prove that he was of an affectionate and tender
nature, and that his behaviour toward his child was that of a loving
father, but this view of his character may be unhesitatingly dismissed.
It renders the crime no less heinous; that he was ruthlessly murdered
is an established fact.
"He had earned the sobriquet of 'miser,' and he was entitled to it. A
miser he was, whose supreme passion was that of accumulating wealth. His
business--that of a money-lender--was in keeping with his ambition, and
enabled him to compass it. Had he been animated by sentiments of a
nobler kind they would have found vent in action which would have won
for him esteem and gratitude; but he did good neither openly nor by
stealth. That the two persons who served him, Mrs. Pamflett and her son,
Jeremiah Pamflett, should speak well of him is natural and to their
credit. Were it left to them to write his epitaph mankind would be
deceived--as it is in many instances by words graven on tombstones.
"He led in Parksides practically a lonely existence, and it would be
difficult to imagine a more mournful picture than that of a motherless
child brought up amidst such surroundings. Spacious as are the grounds
of Parksides, they were allowed to run to waste; with the exception of
his house-keeper and her son he had not a friend; he received no
visitors, and neither dispensed nor accepted hospitality of any kind;
his child had no child companions, and between her and her father's
servants existed a feeling of strong antipathy; he made no effort to
provide her with any sort of education; in the great house they occupied
the light of home never shone. His daughter, however, was not entirely
without friends. Her aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Lethbridge, and their
two children, lived in London, and for some years past Phoebe
Farebrother has been in the habit of visiting their house, and of
participating, through them, in ordinary and moderate enjoyments. We may
at once admit that the character borne by Mr. and Mrs. Lethbridge is
unimpeachable--and this, despite the evidence given by Mrs. Pamflett and
her son, in which may be discerned a distinct bias against them as
designing persons, whose aim was to extort money from the murdered man.
No direct testimony to the establishment of this view is forthcoming,
and the general repute of the Lethbridges is a contradiction of it. A
feeling of bitterness appears to have existed for years between these
parties; on one side, Miser Farebrother and Mrs. and Jeremiah Pamflett;
on the other, Miser Farebrother's unhappy daughter and her relatives in
London. This was the state of affairs when Phoebe Farebrother, a few
weeks before her father's death, left his house, and found her way to
her aunt's home in London, where she was received with open arms.
"There are side issues to which we do not intend to refer at any length;
these issues relate to Miser Farebrother's desire that his daughter
should marry a man of his choosing, and to her having already set her
affections upon a man of whom her father did not approve. In connection
with these opposing desires is an incident which will presently be
mentioned.
"It has been elicited that on the night of Miser Farebrother's murder,
and for some time previous, the Lethbridges were in pecuniary
difficulties, to extricate them from which a sum of money was
immediately required. A puzzling feature in the whole of this sad case
is the absolute frankness which the Lethbridges have displayed as to
their position and the movements of the prisoner up to the hour when the
warrant for her arrest was issued. So far as can be seen there has been
no concealment whatever of anything within their knowledge, and this is
the more strange because much of their evidence told directly against
the prisoner.
"There seemed to be only one way of obtaining the money required to
extricate the Lethbridges from their difficulties, and that was by a
successful application to Miser Farebrother. There is no evidence that
they asked their niece to appeal to her father in their behalf; they
positively deny having done so, and she herself says that no word fell
from their lips to that effect. When she left their house in London with
the intention of proceeding to Parksides, she did so without their
knowledge. There can be no doubt that she was actuated by a wish to help
them. From the moment she left them until she returned the next morning
in a state of prostration, physically and mentally, they are in darkness
as to what occurred, and can throw no light whatever upon her movements.
During that night Miser Farebrother met his death. At the trial three
articles were brought in evidence against the prisoner. The first is a
brooch presented to her on her last birthday by Mrs. Pamflett. This
brooch was found in the grounds of Parksides, near to the body of the
murdered man. There is conflicting testimony upon the subject of this
brooch. Mr. and Mrs. Lethbridge and their daughter, Miss Fanny
Lethbridge, have no recollection of having seen the brooch from the time
the prisoner left Parksides to take up her residence with them. They
cannot swear that on the fatal night she did not wear it; but Miss
Lethbridge is positive that her cousin did not bring it with her from
Parksides. The two young women slept together, and not a word passed
between them with respect to this ornament. Miss Lethbridge's statement,
therefore, is based upon an assumption. The prisoner avers that when she
quitted her father's house she did not take the brooch with her. On the
other hand, Mrs. Pamflett swears positively that the prisoner did take
it away with her. The house-keeper made repeated examinations of the
room in Parksides in which the prisoner slept, and never saw the brooch
after she left. Here, then, we have a positive oath against a vague
assumption, and this sworn evidence is strengthened by the fact of the
brooch having been found close to the body of her master. If the
prisoner did not wear it on the night of the murder, how could it have
got into the grounds?
"The second article brought in evidence against the prisoner is her
veil. Here there is no conflicting testimony. The prisoner admits having
worn the veil when she went to Parksides, and this veil was also found
in the grounds close to the body.
"The third article is the prisoner's handkerchief, which her aunt took
from her pocket when she returned in the morning. There were stains of
blood upon the handkerchief, which the prosecution declares was the
blood of the murdered man. The prisoner declares that the blood
proceeded from scratches she received by stumbling in the dark against
fences and coming in contact with the branches of trees. That she did
sustain some such slight wounds is undoubtedly true; and although the
weight of conflicting evidence as to the blood-stains on the
handkerchief is about equal, the theory of the prosecution is
strengthened by independent circumstances in connection with the murder.
"What Mrs. Pamflett knows of the strange and sudden visit of the
prisoner to Parksides at midnight need not here be recapitulated. Her
evidence has been printed in our columns on three occasions: first when
the inquest on the body was held; again, when the prisoner was brought
before the magistrate and committed for trial; and again, at greater
length, during the trial just ended. What passed between her and the
prisoner, the incident of the knife with the horn handle with which the
deed was done, the high words in the grounds between the prisoner and
her father, especially those uttered by the prisoner: 'I will do as I
please, and go where I please. You ought to have been dead long ago! You
had better be careful!'--all this has been fully reported. The visit of
a strange man to Miser Farebrother on this night is still a mystery. It
was hoped by the prosecution that the endeavour to trace this man would
have been successful, or that he himself would have voluntarily come
forward to give evidence, but the hope has not been fulfilled. He
remains in hiding, and will probably so continue to remain. The theory
of the prosecution is a feasible one--that this man's visits to Miser
Farebrother being paid in secret, his business was of a questionable
nature, the revealment of which would bring him into trouble. Great care
and caution were always displayed on the occasion of these visits, and
the minute description of his dress and appearance given by Mrs.
Pamflett is of little value, in the absence of any other evidence
respecting him, so long as he chooses to remain hidden.
"The prisoner's statement as to what occurred, so far as she can
remember, from the time she left her aunt's house in London on the night
of the murder to the hour she returned to it on the following morning,
is as follows:
"She admits that when she went away, unknown to her relatives, she did
so with the purpose of going to Parksides and appealing to her father to
give her a sum of money which would extricate the Lethbridges from their
difficulties. 'Had I told them what was in my mind,' she says, 'they
would have prevented me from leaving them, having no hope that my errand
would be successful. But I had thought of a plan by which I could induce
my father to comply with my request. I did not dare to mention this plan
to my aunt, because it would only have strengthened her opposition to my
project.' She thus explains the nature of this plan: Between her and
her father were two causes of disagreement. The first was her intimacy
with the Lethbridges. He disapproved of it, and wished her to
discontinue her visits, and to have nothing more to do with them. To
this she was now ready to agree if he would advance her the money she
asked for. 'I could not promise to forget them,' she says; 'that would
have been impossible--my love for them was so great, and also my
gratitude for the kindness and affection they showed me from the time my
mother died. But I would have borne my suffering in secret, and would
never have spoken of it reproachfully to my father. I should have been
only too thankful if he would have assisted me to repay them, in some
small measure, for all their wonderful kindness to me. They have made
great sacrifices for me. Should I hesitate to make a sacrifice for them
in return? It was only my own happiness that was at stake, and perhaps
death would have soon come to me to put an end to my misery. There was a
time when I used to pray for death.' This, however, was not the only
sacrifice she avers she was ready to make; there was another of an
infinitely graver nature. Her father wished her to marry a man she
abhorred. She had shrunk in horror from the proposal, but she was ready
to submit to it now. She would humble herself to her father's will. Her
father had written these words to her, 'When you are prepared to obey me
in the one wish of my life, you can come to me; not until then.' Upon
these words she was prepared to act. She would go to him and say that
she was ready to obey him if he would assist her in the way she wished.
Animated by this resolve--which, if it were the truth, would have been
most noble and heroic--she took the last train to Beddington, and
arrived at Parksides late in the night. She did not take a return
ticket, not having sufficient money to pay for it. She cannot fix the
hour of her arrival, nor indeed has she anything to say as to time. It
may have been midnight, it may have been earlier or later--her mind is a
blank upon this. The night, she says, was dark, and the house itself was
in darkness; she saw no one moving, inside or out. She was afraid to
knock, because her summons would have brought Mrs. Pamflett down, and
she feared that the house-keeper, who hated her, would have driven her
from the place, and prevented her from seeing her father. So she
concealed herself in the grounds quite near to the house, her intention
being to pass the night in the open, and the first thing in the morning,
when the door was unlocked, to enter it and go straight to her father's
room, unknown to Mrs. Pamflett, and tell him what she came for. We now
take up her own words as to what followed:
"'I do not know how long I waited outside, crouching down in
concealment; it seemed to me very, very long, and I was so agitated that
I cannot depend upon my memory. I did my best to keep my eyes open, but
they would close in spite of me, and at last I must have fallen asleep.
When I opened my eyes it was with an impression that some one was
standing over me, and seeing no one as I looked up, I thought that I
must have been mistaken; and yet I could not shake off the idea that
some person had been near me. I was very frightened and very confused,
and I made up my mind not to close my eyes again, but to wait till
daybreak. I did not have to wait so long. In the distance I saw a light,
the light of a lantern, moving slowly on. I was overcome with gratitude
at the thought that it might be my father, and that I might speak to
him at once. I knew that my father sometimes went out into the grounds
at night, but I was not aware for what purpose. I rose to my feet, and
softly followed the light till I was sure it was held by my father. Then
I went up and spoke to him. I cannot recall what I said, or in what way
he answered me. I know that he was at first surprised that I should come
to him at so strange an hour, and that, when he got over his surprise,
he was in a furious passion. I know, although he continually interrupted
me, that I must have succeeded in making him understand why I had
presented myself to him. I know that he threatened me and spoke most
bitter words, and that he said I had come too late, that he had no
longer a child; that every one in the world was his enemy, and was
conspiring to ruin him, and that he would drive me from his gates. I
have a remembrance of pleading to him, of going on my knees to him, and
that he dragged me to my feet, and threw me violently off. I fell
fainting to the ground, and remember nothing more of him. When I
recovered I was alone, and it was still dark. Heart-broken, bewildered,
and sick, and scarcely knowing what I was doing, I dragged myself away
from Parksides, and there was no light in the sky when I left Parksides
behind me. It is useless for me to attempt to describe what followed. I
must have known the direction to London, and my idea was to get back to
my dear aunt, and at the same time to conceal myself from the sight of
every one on the road. Whether I succeeded or not I cannot say, and it
was only by God's mercy that I reached my aunt's house. There is
something so horrible in the accusation that is brought against me that
I cannot realize it. I can only pray to God to bring the truth to
light!'
"There is in this statement an element of romance and improbability
which renders it impossible of belief, especially when it is placed side
by side with established evidence. The prisoner refers to a letter she
received from her father, in which he says that when she is prepared to
obey him she can return to her proper home. But that letter also
contains the words: 'Your guilty desires can only be accomplished by my
death.'
"We come now to the evidence of another witness, the policeman Tom
Barley, which told fatally against the prisoner; which perhaps turned
the scale against her, and dispelled any doubts which the jury might
have entertained. This man, who receives from his superiors a character
in every way satisfactory and honourable, was a servant in Miser
Farebrother's house during the childhood of the prisoner. His devotion
to the prisoner cannot be doubted; his belief in her innocence is not to
be shaken, and yet he gave fatal evidence against her. We append here a
resume of the evidence to which we allude, leading up to it by a few
questions put to other witnesses, all of them friends of the prisoner.
"Mrs. Lethbridge is examined:
"'On the day the prisoner left your house secretly for Parksides, what
was the colour of her dress?'--'Blue.'
"'Did she wear it the whole of the day?'--'Yes.'
"'In the evening, when you and your family were sitting at home, the
prisoner being with you, had she this blue dress on?'--'Yes.'
"'Did she change it at all during the day or night?'-'No.'
"'You are positive she left your house wearing this blue dress?'--'I am
positive.'
"Miss Fanny Lethbridge, the prisoner's cousin, is examined:
"'Do you remember the dress the prisoner wore on the night she left your
parents' house for Parksides?'--'Yes.'
"'What was its colour?'--'Blue. It is her favourite colour.'
"'You have no doubt in your mind that her dress was blue?'--'No.'
"'Could she have changed it unknown to you?'--'No; she had only one
other dress, a grey one, and that was hanging up in our room.'
"'Melia Jane, maid of all work in Mrs. Lethbridge's house, is examined:
"'You met the prisoner shortly after she left your mistress's house on
the night her father was murdered?'-'Yes.'
"'She gave you a message to deliver to your mistress?'--'Yes; she said
she was going to Parksides to see her father.'
"'Did you notice the dress she was wearing?'--'I saw it.'
"'What dress was it?'--'Her favourite frock, a blue one.'
"'Is there any doubt in your mind upon the point?'--'None at all. She
had her blue frock on.'"
Tom Barley is examined:
"'You were in the service of the murdered man?'--'For many a long year.
My grandfather and grandmother were care-takers there before Miser
Farebrother took possession.'
"'Answer only the questions that are put to you. What age was the
prisoner when you entered her father's service?'--'Miss Phoebe
couldn't have been more than two. I was there when she first came.'
"'You were previously engaged, then?'--'Yes; at two-pence a week, and I
never got more.'
"'What inducement was there for you to remain?'--'Well, I grew up there,
so to speak; and I couldn't bear the thought of leaving Miss Phoebe.'
"'The prisoner?'--'Yes.'
"'To serve her was a pleasing duty?'--'I would die for her.'
"'If it were in your power you would testify in her favour?'--'I should
be sorry to say a word against her.'
"'But you would tell the truth?'--'I must.'
"'Were you as much attached to your master?'--'No. If he was alive I
would tell you what I thought of him.'
"'But being dead you say nothing?'--'It's more decent.'
"'Apart from their relationship as father and child, what kind of
feeling existed between them?'--'He had no feeling for her; he hardly
took notice of her. She would have loved him if he'd have let her; but
he had other notions.'
"'You left his service less than a year ago?'--'Yes. I'll tell you the
reason of it.'
"'We do not want to know the reason. Do you remember the night of the
murder of Miser Farebrother?'--'Yes.'
"'On that night did you go to Mrs. Lethbridge's house?'--'Yes.'
"'After or before the prisoner left it?'--'After Miss Phoebe left.'
"'Were you spoken to about her having gone away?'--'Yes.'
"'By whom?'--'By Mrs. Lethbridge.'
"'What did she say to you?'--'That Miss Phoebe, without asking her
advice, had gone to Parksides, and would I go after her and see that she
would come to no harm.'
"'Was there any fear of her coming to harm in her father's house?'--'A
good deal. She wasn't safe there.'
"'That is your opinion?'--'Yes, it's my opinion, and the truth.'
"'You went?'--'Yes. I had time, without interfering with my duty.'
"'You were glad to go?'--'I was glad to do anything to serve Miss
Phoebe.'
"'Did you go by the train?'--'I was too late for trains; I walked.'
"'A tiring walk?'--'Not for me. I shouldn't think anything of forty
mile.'
"'What did you do when you arrived at Parksides?'--'I looked about for
Miss Phoebe.'
"'Did you see her?'--'No.'
"'Did you remain there for any length of time?'--'Up to the last safe
minute. I had to get back to London to my duty by a certain time.'
"'I understand, then, that you remained until the last safe
minute?'--'Yes.'
"'When you left Parksides, was it night or morning?'--'Morning. The sun
was rising.'
"'You could distinguish objects perfectly?'--'Yes.'
"'Did you walk about Parksides freely? Was there any restraint upon your
movements?'--'I don't know about restraints. It is the truth that I did
not wish to be seen.'
"'Why?'--'There was no love lost between me and Miser Farebrother. He
wouldn't have been pleased to see me.'
"'You knew you had no right to be there?'--'I was doing no harm, and had
no intention of doing any. I wanted to be of service to Miss Phoebe.'
"'You were, however, careful in your movements?'--'Yes.'
"'Now, you say it was sunrise when you left?'--'It was.'
"'And that you could see clearly?'--'Yes.'
"'Is your eyesight good?'--'Very good. I can almost see in the dark.'
"'But you could not distinguish colours in the dark?'--'I don't say I
could. At all events, I wouldn't swear to them.'
"'You have stated that you did not see the prisoner. But did you see any
one you knew?'--'It's hard to answer.'
"'Not at all. You must be able to state whether you saw anything, before
you left Parksides, that attracted your attention.'--'I am able to state
that, but I answer your questions as you put them to me.'
"'And I do not complain of your answers. I am pleased to say that you
are giving your evidence in a perfectly straightforward manner.'--'Thank
you, sir.'
"'Well, then, you say you did not see any one whom you knew; but did you
see any one at all?'--'Yes, I did. A woman.'
"'How do you know it was a woman?'--'By her dress.'
"'You saw that?'--'Clearly.'
"'I wish to lead up intelligibly and distinctly to this, and I am sure
you will assist me--your desire being that justice shall be done?'--'It
is my desire, sir; then everything will be right.'
"'You saw a woman, you say. Did you see her only once?'--'I saw her
three times.'
"'At what distance was she from you?'--'Say thirty or forty yards.'
"'Always at about that distance?'--'Always at about that.'
"'Among the trees?'--'Yes.'
"'Did you walk toward her?'--'Yes.'
"'Well?'--'Then she disappeared.'
"'On every occasion?'--'On every occasion.'
"'As if she were hiding from you?'--'It looked like it.'
"'As if discovering that you were walking toward her, she did not wish
you to see her?'--'It's fair to say that.'
"'Was her face turned toward you?'--'Never once.'
"'Then you could not recognize it?'--'It wasn't possible.'
"'That is why you say you did not see any one whom you knew?'--'Yes,
that is the reason.'
"'However, you knew it was a woman by her dress?'--'Yes.'
"'By the form or the colour of her dress?'--'More by the colour than the
form, though I am certain both ways.'
"'But the colour enables you to be quite positive?'--'Yes.'
"'Now, what was the colour of the dress worn by this woman?'--'It was
blue.'
"'Is there any possibility that you could have been mistaken?'--'No.'
"'You swear it was blue?'--'I swear it.'
"'And the woman who wore this blue dress, discovering that you were
following her, seemed anxious that you should not see her face?'--'It
seemed so.'
"These were the salient features of the examination of Tom Barley,
corroborated, as they were, by the evidence of witnesses favourable to
the prisoner. Lurking about the grounds of Parksides was a woman in a
blue dress, who was unmistakably anxious that he should not recognize
her. The conclusion is that she was known to him, and that she had
reasons for avoiding him.
"The prisoner, when she left her aunt's house on the night of the
murder, wore a blue dress--her favourite colour. Even without this
evidence there was sufficient to warrant the conclusion that the
prisoner was guilty of the crime of which she stood charged; but it was
natural, perhaps, that her youth and beauty would have won the day with
impressionable men, had it not been for this important evidence of
colour. In association with Miser Farebrother were two women only, Mrs.
Pamflett and the prisoner. Setting a due value upon Tom Barley's
evidence, the prosecution had carefully sifted it, and the conclusion
arrived at was indisputable. Mrs. Pamflett was not a favourite in
Beddington and round about; she had no friends or acquaintances there or
anywhere; but she had been compelled to make her purchases in the
village, and her appearance was familiar by force of circumstance. She
had never been known to wear a blue dress; it was, she said, a
detestable colour, and she would not purchase even a piece of ribbon of
that hue. As the prisoner's favourite colour was blue, so Mrs.
Pamflett's was pink, and in all the housekeeper's wardrobe--which, it
may be mentioned, was thrown open to the investigation of the
prosecution--there was not a fabric of blue.
"Another thing told heavily against the prisoner. In her statement she
said that 'it was still dark when she went away' from Parksides. She
said, 'There was no light in the sky when I left Parksides behind me.'
Tom Barley proved that he saw her in a blue dress when the sun was
rising. A sad duty indeed devolved upon the jury, but it was a duty
which had to be fulfilled. The verdict of 'Guilty' which was returned
was one which could not be avoided by conscientious men, however painful
it must have been. Phoebe Farebrother is not the only beautiful and
apparently gentle woman upon whom sentence of death has been passed."