Sapphic Voices General Fiction

Trials And Tribulations

The first time I ever saw Neil Mosely was at a dinner party more than two years ago. My wife, Mary had complained of a slight headache just before we were due to leave but she insisted I go without her.

“After all,” she’d said “It’s not as if they need even numbers at dinner parties in these days.” I heard the twinge of regret for years gone by and the changing of ways. “No. You go, Gerald. You can tell me all about it when you come home.”

When I returned at quite an early hour, I found Mary at her needlework. I didn’t bore her with all the details but I did tell her about the obnoxious fellow who had lorded it over everyone, expounding his views and opinions of everybody and everything, talking down anyone who tried to argue.

“You wouldn’t have enjoyed the evening at all, my love. First, he gave us all his opinion of the natives being given the vote.”

I remembered that Mosely’s actual words were ‘What the hell do these black bastards know about running our country!’

“Then we got his ideas on the penal system, which weren’t pretty.” I could picture his curled lip and could recall the words almost word for word ‘Throw ’em all in an empty cell.’ He’d said ‘If they’ve broken the bloody law, they have to be punished. None of this high-fallutin’ rehabilitation crap. No TV, no radio, no nothing. Why should we pay for their luxuries?’ I didn’t think Mary needed to know all the details.

He’d sneered at James Woodall when that man had praised the wines that Jim Patterson had chosen for the various dinner courses. ‘Load of all codswallop.’ He’d scoffed. ‘I’ll bet you lot couldn’t tell them apart if the labels were taken off. You and your sniffing and sipping and talk of ‘body’ and ‘wooded’ What a lot of crap!’ The embarrassed silence around the table had only been broken by the sounds of the man gulping his beer with relish.

“He saved the worst until last though, my dear. By the end of the night when he was pretty pie-eyed, he told us his views on women and I assure you they were very nasty. He thought every unmarried mother brought it on themselves and ….. no, I won’t say what else he said. By this time everyone was just trying to ignore him but both Pamela Grigson and Geraldine Moyer walked out of the room in disgust. Poor old Patterson was doing his best to change the subject but the old chap was fighting a losing battle. Apologised to us all of course when the chappie left. Apparently he was a work colleague of that nephew of his, you know – the one in dry-cleaning.

All in all, dear, it was a miserable dinner party.”

Mary patted my hand.

“Poor Gerald, you did have a rough night of it. I’m so glad I didn’t go. You know I do so dislike that sort of person. I’m feeling much better now, so you just sit down, pet, I’ll make you a nice cup of cocoa.”

The next two years passed quietly for Mary and myself. Not a lot of excitement at our time of life. I was preparing myself for retirement and, to tell the truth, I think Mary was also preparing herself for having me underfoot every day. Not a second thought had I given to Neil Mosely in all that time.

A letter arrived one day. Mary opened it.

“Oh my word!” she exclaimed, as her hand fluttered to her face. “It’s a call-up for jury duty.”

“My goodness. Aren’t you getting on a bit for that, old thing?” I teased, “I’m sure you can get out of it” My hand reached for the letter.

“Well, I would imagine so but – it sounds exciting, doesn’t it. I shall write back immediately and say that I’ll do it. That’s all right, isn’t it dear?” I assured her it was fine by me and left her trying to decide which clothes she should wear. I heard her murmur as I left the room.

“It’s only next month. Goodness, I’ll have to buy a new handbag, I think.”

As the time came nearer, I decided to take a week off work. Partly to get a few odd jobs done in the house and partly to spend a day or so at the Supreme Courts while Mary was there, just as a bit of moral support, you know.

Mary arrived home soon after luncheon on the first two days, not having had her name called out for any of the early trials. She’d heard from the other members of the jury panel how humiliating it was to have your name called out and be walking down to the swearing-in box, only to be challenged and have to turn round and go back. Apparently both the prosecution and the defence lawyers could challenge, without the need for explanation but there was a limit on their challenges. When Mary told me of this procedure, she sounded worried as she dreaded the idea of rejection. I decided to delay the current job at home and go to the Courts the following day to support Mary.

I wasn’t allowed in on the jury selection process but Mary told me later that it was the most intense she had seen it. The defence lawyer used up all of his challenges and when Mary’s name was called as the 12th juror, he could do nothing. She saw the prosecution council lean forward but he hesitated, then settled back in his seat and she was allowed to be sworn in.

When I saw the 12 members of the jury, I was surprised by the imbalance of it. There were only three females, Mary and two young, rather hard-looking women – street-wise is the modern word, I think. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her as they trooped out of the court into another smaller room but I did notice that Mary’s cheeks were flushed as she smiled tremulously at me.

I made enquiries and found that that particular jury would be in court 5, commencing at 10am, so I made sure I was seated by 9.45am along with thirty or so other onlookers.

I hadn’t read the trial notice so I looked up sharply when the court usher read out ‘The Crown versus Neil Arthur Mosely.’ I sat upright and watched as Mosely was escorted to the defendant’s box. He was just as I remembered him. I glanced across at Mary, on the second row of the jury box, to see if she recognised him, before remembering that she had not accompanied me to the dinner party that night.

The buzz in the room was stilled as the clerk of the court spoke.

“All rise” we were instructed. I watched as the impressive figure of the judge swept into the court, long black and red robes struggling to keep up with the wearer. He sat down and nodded to the clerk of the court who allowed us all to sit. With his entrance, the courtroom crackled with anticipation. His very presence changing the room to a courtroom.

I was curious to learn what Mosely’s crime - or I should say alleged crime - was. I soon learnt.

‘Neil Arthur Mosely. You are charged that on the 7th day of March 1975, you did have carnal knowledge with a child under the age of 16. That you did knowingly by deceit gain advantage over said child’ My body stiffened in horror. Even though I hadn’t liked the man, my mind couldn’t believe the charges.

The jury, the spectators and myself soon learnt the sordid tale of a confidence trickster who had accosted a 15 year old schoolgirl and, with offers of a splendid job and with an excellent sales pitch, had sexually molested her in the process of ‘testing’ her for the position. We saw a very scared, convent-educated schoolgirl take the stand and in a shaking voice and without once looking at the defendant, bravely tell her story. I watched Mosely’s face as the jurers and the watchers had eyes only for the slip of a girl in the witness box. There was a faint sneer there and I remembered his comments that all females gave men the come-on, no matter what age. I shivered as a draught from the air-conditioners passed over my body.

The prosecution finished their case and the defending lawyer brought in a series of character witnesses, some sounding sincere - helping Mosely’s case and some sounding as sleazy as Mosely had done at the dinner party. The defence then called Neil Mosely to the stand. He stood there with head bent and in a quiet voice spoke of his regret of having carnal knowledge of the young woman, which he had pleaded guilty to. When asked by a gentle defence lawyer whether he had at any time attempted to trick the young lady, he shook his head vehemently. No, he hadn’t tricked her. She’d known all along what was happening and had gone along willingly.

We heard all the evidence and then had a break for lunch. I was given no opportunity to speak to Mary but I gave her a reassuring smile to let her know that I sympathised with her having to hear all the intimate details of the sexual assault. When we reconvened, I looked at Mary’s face as first the defence council, then the prosecution council, then the judge did their summing up. She was concentrating hard, which was shown by the little furrow of a frown and the nibbling of her bottom lip. I was a bit confused by the judge’s summing up myself, as one minute he appeared to be advising the jury to find Mosely not guilty and in the next sentence seeming to say he should be found guilty. My own mind was torn but my heart, based on what I knew of the man, thought he was guilty. I thought that the jury would probably acquit him. After all – they hadn’t heard him expound his views on women. I wondered whether his views on the penal system would remain the same if he was convicted. I felt my lip curl in a sardonic smile.

While the jury was out, deliberating and going through all the written evidence, I went to have a cup of tea. We’d been advised that it was unlikely that the jury would return for at least an hour, possibly two. I waited in the foyer for the call to all spectators to return to court five but the time moved slowly and I fidgeted while wondering what was taking them so long. Obviously there were differences of opinion and I didn’t know if the delay was good for Mosely’s case or not. I wondered what Mary would do. I thought she’d probably go along with the majority, whichever way they leaned. Mary never liked arguments.

******

Mary was subdued on the drive home. She looked tired so I didn’t try to talk about the trial. We arrived home in the early evening and, after we consumed the meal that Mary had prepared the previous day, the brightness in Mary’s eyes showed her need to recount what had happened behind those closed doors for more than four hours.

“It was a bit scarey going into that room with its massive oval table……

Mary was seated next to the big, burly man who had been voted as the foreman of the jury. His loud voice shushed the murmuring and fidgeting as everyone was seated.

“The way I look at it.” he began “Is we should talk through what has been put forward as evidence and discuss the judge’s summing up. After some discussion, we’ll have a vote and see where we’re at. I for one am not sure at this stage of the game and I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

Mary was quite impressed by this man’s honesty and ability to control the meeting. A young man on the opposite side of the table started proceedings and, for the next hour or so, different jurors put forward their memories of what was said. There were times when Mary thought she must’ve been in a different room from the speakers, their understanding of events being very different from hers. Mary didn’t speak at all, she just listened and thought and remembered the words that had been used and felt again the feelings she’d had.

The foreman wound up the proceedings with a call for an initial vote. He started – with a vote of unsure. The voting went around the table and by the time it got to Mary there was 5 votes for ‘not guilty’, 5 votes for unsure and 1 wavering vote for guilty. Mary spoke for the first time and said in a firm voice ‘guilty’. The others looked at her in surprise and asked ‘why?’.

Mary started to speak, quietly at first, her face rosy red with embarrassment. The voice got stronger as she was aware they were listening attentively to her recounting, often word for word, what had been said. She recapped the judge’s summing up, putting a different interpretation on it than had been said previously. She saw a few nods of heads and gained in confidence. What she didn’t tell them, however, was the feeling she had in her heart – the intuition that this man with the suave smile, with his seeming remorse, was evil. That he lied.

The foreman asked for another vote and this time there were 4 for ‘not-guilty’, 4 unsure and 4 for ‘guilty’. The arguments continued. The 2 other women, one young man and one older man were adamant that, in this day and age, no-one was naïve enough to think that a man had the right to look at and touch her genitals for a ‘test’ for a job. Mary’s argument was that the girl was led deeper and deeper into a situation of which she had no control and was totally confused. She’d been brought up to believe that adults were always right and had to be obeyed. Her convent education had left much to be desired in the field of both sex and relationships. She had found herself in this situation with no obvious means of escape and her brain HAD to believe what the man was telling her – it couldn’t accept anything else.

For the next 2 hours the argument had raged – mainly between Mary and the young man, who had no experience of this type of girl. The foreman by this time had swung his weight behind Mary, being convinced by her arguments. Yet another poll had the ‘not-guilty’ voters down to just the young man with both the young women wavering. All the others had voted for ‘guilty’. At this stage the foreman asked the clerk of the court if an 11-1 verdict would be acceptable, if the women could be persuaded. The clerk asked them to continue as a unanimous vote was preferred.

Mary spoke again to the young man.

“Put aside your own experiences of young women. Don’t you think it is possible that someone – some young woman somewhere – could be so inexperienced in life, so naïve if you want, to just not know whether this sort of thing may go on in the big adult world. Here’s a plausible confidence trickster, full of charm and confidence telling her that all the women in his company have had the same test. This young girl has never known an adult to lie. Tell me – do you think it is an impossibility to find such a girl?” Remember; the judge clearly said that if we think that the victim believed ‘at the time’ that the man was being truthful, then we have to find him guilty.

The young man shrugged, then looked at his watch.

“Man – I don’t care, really. Yeah – go for it. I just want outta here.” The foreman looked at the women and they both nodded in agreement. He insisted on one more count of the votes to make sure and, this time, 12 hands went up for the ‘guilty’ verdict.

“……and so, dear, that’s what happened. What do you think, Gerald? Did I do the right thing? There was just something about him. He made my skin sort of crawl when he looked at that poor, young girl.”

It was time for me to speak.

“Mary, remember when I went to dinner at the Patterson’s a couple of years ago?……”

If you have enjoyed F.J. Davey's "Trials And Tribulations", then please be certain to e-mail her at  francis7[at]bigpond.net.au  and thank her for posting this Story.

Click here for a list of all of F.J. Davey's Stories and Poetry at  Sapphic Voices Authoresses.

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