‘Cannot have you looking like that in the court now, can we?’ Mister Grignon said. ‘Judge Alexander would not stand for it.’

Go stand on the little box to look out the window. Might be the last time is what me thinking. Watch as one of the carriage them trundle by.

I keep looking till the carriage disappear turn off the main road and into the drive that lead to the back of the courthouse. Is then it come to me where I seen that gentleman before. A few days ago, him come to the gaol to speak to a prisoner bout another case him working on.

‘His name is Mister Jackson,’ Mister Grignon told me. ‘He’s working for the Crown. And in court, he’s going to try to prove that you and Stella killed your master.’

I still looking out the window when me hear the sound of keys jangling. The guard unlocking the cell door. Him move quick to bolt the irons round me ankles, then shuffle me out the gaol to a waiting horse-drawn wagon. Shove me up inside where Stella already waiting. I sit close, hold her hand, but when I try talk to her, she shake her head. Tell me to be quiet, must use the time to pray.

The drive to the back of the courthouse is a short one. Before I know it, the wagon stop and the wagon door open. The guard unshackle us, tell us to make haste as they herd us through a noisy, waiting crowd. The crowd move in close, shout and boo us. Cheer when a stone hit Stella in the middle of her back, make her stagger. The crowd keep pushing in closer and closer, lift up them fist like them want to kill us right there and then. The guards have to work hard to hold them back. We reach the front of the courthouse and the guards shove us inside, slamming the door shut. Make us move quick up the stairs. March us down the hall to different rooms, bolt the door, post guards outside.

Finally Stella and me get herded into the courtroom. The room is plenty big with high white walls, polished wooden floors and windows all round. In the middle is the prisoner dock. A wooden cell where we sit, shackled side by side. A man with a white wig sit up front looking down on us from behind a big bench. Must be the judge. And sitting to one side, a row of wealthy-looking gentlemen, all dressed up. Must be the jury, them that going decide our fate.