The Minister and The Maiden

Fanny Herbert and her parents, John and Rhoda, set off on foot from their home in Mill Street, just after lunchtime on Monday, March 12th, 1883.

They were heading to the Magistrates Court hearing at West Bromwich Police Courthouse. At first, they chatted to each other as they strode along, dressed in their Sunday best, clean clothes that had long ago seen better days.

The three of them were extremely nervous about the afternoon, none of them ever having been in a court of law before.

“What will they ask me?” Fanny enquired of her parents.

“I’ve no idea, Fanny,” said her mother. “Tell them the facts. The solicitors and the magistrate are all educated men. Surely they’ll know you’re telling the truth.”

Fanny and her parents entered the courthouse apprehensively. They nodded to friends and neighbours who had gathered outside to wish them well. A group of bystanders and members of the press crowded inside, trying to squeeze themselves onto the narrow public benches in the stuffy courtroom. All eager to hear the outcome of a girl from a poor family having the audacity to take a man of the cloth to court. A case such as this was unheard of in West Bromwich.

Fanny’s heart was beating anxiously as she sat to one side of the solicitors’ table.

Mr Jackson, her tall, slightly stooped solicitor, smiled reassuringly at her over his wire-framed glasses. His table was set with an inkwell and legal papers. Her parents sat on her other side. Rhoda clutched at Fanny’s hand. John covered his mouth with a clean white handkerchief trying to disguise his nervous cough.

The atmosphere in the courtroom was hushed. The Herbert family and the local spectators were overawed by the dark wood-panelled room. The only light was the weak sunlight filtering in through the stained-glass windows. Fanny’s eyes focused on the dust motes shimmering in the shafts of sunlight. Her skin prickled with the sensation that every eye in the room was staring at her.

The desk on the far side of Mr Jackson was occupied by Mr Clegg, the short, stocky, self-important Yorkshireman who was representing Reverend Andrews. Mr Clegg glowered at Fanny as she took her seat. His expression taunted her. From time to time, he whispered behind his hand to Reverend Andrews, who was sitting on his other side. Reverend Andrews sat perfectly still, not showing a flicker of emotion. Only his eyes moved as he studied the faces of the onlookers.

The courtroom fell silent as Mr W F Boughey, the Stipendiary Magistrate, made his entrance. Everyone stood until Mr Boughey was seated at the magistrates' bench. The bench was elevated on a raised platform facing the court. From here he would preside over the proceedings. Below the bench, a long wooden desk was reserved for the court clerk. His role was to assist in the administration of justice.

The clerk began, “The hearing of the claim today is summoned by Miss Fanny Herbert. Her assertion is that Reverend Frederick Richard Andrews is the father of her illegitimate child. The Reverend gentleman is obliged to show cause why he should not contribute towards its support.”

Fanny crossed her fingers in her lap. Her future and Fred’s depended on this case.

Mr Jackson stood, regarded the Stipendiary and stated, “Miss Herbert is the daughter of respectable parents, living in Mill Street, West Bromwich. Miss Herbert is eighteen years of age, and she charges Reverend Andrews with being the father of her illegitimate child. The child was born on the 17th of September last year.”

“Yes, yes, we’ve all known of young women who find themselves in trouble, irrespective of their upbringing!” sneered Mr Clegg.

“I’ll thank you not to interrupt. Please treat my client with respect, Mr Clegg.”

Mr Jackson briefly summarised the details of Fanny’s claim.

He continued, “I will show from evidence that it was not long after Miss Herbert entered Reverend Andrews’s service when he began to take improper liberties with her. She was barely sixteen years old!”

Fanny glanced at the people craning their necks to see her. She swallowed hard and crossed her arms defensively. Her cheeks were burning. She tried not to look down in embarrassment but instead forced herself to focus on Mr Jackson and what he was saying.

“It began in this way. She was laying the cloth for dinner. Reverend Andrews was sitting down and, as she passed around the table, he got hold of her and commenced such familiarities as would occur to a man who had designs upon her.”

An audible intake of breath spread through the spectators gathered on the benches. The women amongst them glared accusingly at Reverend Andrews and began to mutter to one another.

“Silence,” demanded the Stipendiary. “Please continue, Mr Jackson.”

“Following the first encounter, he had improper intimacy with her, which he repeated often. In the early part of January 1882, Miss Herbert became aware of her condition. She at once communicated the circumstance to Reverend Andrews.”

Fanny closed her eyes, remembering how she’d waited eagerly for him to come into his study. I knew he was in love with me and he’d stick by me. He’d told me so. Many times. It would be all right once I’d told him about the baby.

A wave of nausea swept over her as she recalled her disbelief when he gave her thirty shillings and said, “This should take care of it.” What did he mean?

Heat was radiating from her skin. She was beginning to get a thumping headache. She didn’t want the press or members of the public, and especially her parents, to hear these intimate details. In her heart, she knew she had to go through it to get Fred what he deserved. Be brave, girl, she told herself sternly.

How had her innocent romance come to be aired in public and coldly discussed in this fusty old courtroom?

“The defendant suggested she name another local lad as the father. Thus, her friends and family wouldn’t know of the impropriety which had taken place between them.”

Fanny relived the awful moment of shock and dismay when the Reverend reacted to her news in this way.

How can he expect me to blame another boy? He knows I was a virgin when we first lay together. Where are all his promises now?

Mr Jackson continued, “To show her innocence, Miss Herbert informed the Reverend that she would give up keeping company with a respectable young man named William Newton. The Reverend begged her to do nothing of the kind. He took it upon himself to speak to William Newton. He entreated Mr Newton to continue his attentions to Fanny.”

The crowd began muttering to one another, shaking their heads and gesticulating towards the Reverend.

“Order!” insisted the Stipendiary.

Mr Jackson called Fanny to testify.

She stood on wobbly legs. Her voice trembled as she spoke. She’d never been in front of a large crowd of people before. Nerves threatened to overwhelm her. C’mon speak up. You must do it for Freddy.

“Miss Herbert, when did Mrs Andrews become aware of your condition?”
Fanny gulped in a deep breath, “She found out in June last year.”

“And how did she react?”

“She sent me away at once.”

Fanny’s mind wandered back to that dreadful morning. She had been serving breakfast to the children when Lucy, the housemaid, entered the dining room. “I’ll help the children with their breakfast. Mrs Andrews wants to see you in the Reverend’s study right now!” said Lucy. She had squeezed Fanny’s hand and raised her eyebrows knowingly. Mrs Andrews didn’t usually invite the servants into the study. This could only mean one thing.

Fanny tapped on the door. Mrs Andrews barked, “Enter!”

The pungent aroma of woody smoke from the Reverend’s favourite brand of cigars hung in the air. Fanny breathed it in deeply, trying to steady her nerves as she faced his wife across the mahogany desk. She kept her head down, her eyes on the floor. Her heart pounded in her chest. Too scared to meet her employer’s searching stare.

Mrs Andrews stood tall and erect behind the large desk, twisting her husband’s expensive pen between her fingers. She was little more than a silhouette in the semi-dark room. The morning sunlight hadn’t yet crept in through the heavy lace curtains. Even so, Fanny could sense the wrath emanating from the irate woman.

Mrs Andrews scrutinised Fanny silently for a minute or two. In a voice heavy with disapproval, she said, “Well, are you with child?”

Fanny’s hand shifted protectively to her belly. She stroked the small bulge under her uniform. Lucy had helped her let out the seams of her grey working dress. Fanny wore a white apron, a size too large, over the top. She’d been worried Mrs Andrews would notice her expanding waistline but had hoped it wouldn’t be for a while yet.

“Who is the father? Is he going to marry you?” Mrs Andrews’s voice rose a couple of octaves. Her thin, pinched face turned red. “What am I going to tell your parents? They entrusted you to my care!”

Fanny struggled to control the angry retort bubbling on her lips. What care? They both knew she was nothing more than a lowly servant to Mrs Andrews, who had never shown her any care or affection. The frown lines on the pious woman’s brow deepened. Her rigid faith in her unforgiving god even fostered cruelty to her children when they failed to live up to her exacting standards. She only needed the slightest excuse to order her husband to cane the boys or to do it herself.

Only the day before Mrs Andrews had insisted on disciplining her small daughter, Alice, for breaking a china teacup. “Please don’t punish her, Mrs Andrews,” Fanny had pleaded. “She’s only four years old. It was an accident.”

“You’re too soft, girl. She needs to learn not to be so clumsy. Lock her in the cupboard for the day. She can stay in there and think about how she handles my things.”

Fanny’s hands shook as she locked Alice in the dark closet. Tears had poured down her face. She tiptoed away from the child screaming behind the door. Fanny didn’t dare disobey Mrs Andrews’s orders. “I’ll be back later, little one,” she whispered.

Fanny had sensed from the beginning that Mrs Andrews didn’t like her. Her next words served to prove Fanny right.

“One thing’s for certain,” she fumed, “you can’t stay here. We are a god-fearing family. My husband is an eminent preacher. You are an embarrassment and a disgrace to your own family and to mine.” Glaring at Fanny, she demanded, “Go and gather your belongings and leave immediately!”

Panic rose in Fanny’s chest, making it hard for her to breathe. “But where am I going to go?” she gasped.

“You ought to have thought about that before you behaved in an immoral manner.”

I must find a way to speak to the baby’s father. He promised to help me. Surely, she can’t throw me out on the street. I need to protect our baby. Gathering her courage, Fanny clenched her fists, lifted her head, and looked her employer straight in the eye. She kept her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. “Please can I say goodbye to the children before I leave?”

“Certainly not, I don’t want a brazen girl like you, anywhere near my children.”

Tears welled in Fanny’s eyes as she left the study. The children will think I’ve abandoned them. She pondered how they’d fare when their stern, uncompromising mother took on the role of caring for them. She’s had so little to do with them, aside from punishing their childish mistakes, I wonder if she even remembers their names, Fanny thought wretchedly as she climbed the stairs to the room she shared with Lucy.

Her silent tears soaked into her canvas bag as she packed her few possessions. Fanny recalled her excitement when she found out that she had got the position. “I can’t believe it, Mom! Out of all the girls at chapel, the Reverend’s chosen me to work for his family.”

Rhoda had been apprehensive, “I’m so proud of you, Fanny, going off to work in Sheffield but it’s such a long way from West Bromwich. I wonder when we’ll see you again?”

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll be all right. It’s not as if I’m going to work for strangers in the North, is it?” Fanny had replied.

“That’s right, love,” John, her father, had reassured his wife. “We know the Andrews are a good family. They’ll treat Fanny as if she’s one of their own.”

***

Mr Jackson’s next question interrupted Fanny’s reminiscences, “Did you return straightaway to West Bromwich?”

“No, it all happened so suddenly, I… I needed time to think. I…I caught a train to Chesterfield.”

“Why Chesterfield?”

“I…I was too scared and ashamed to go back to my parents. I’d been to Chesterfield once on a day trip. It was the only place I knew near Sheffield.”

“Did Reverend Andrews know Mrs Andrews had dismissed you?”
“Yes, and he promised to take care of me under all circumstances. He gave me papers to tell me where I could meet him. He also gave me thirty shillings.”

A wit amongst the spectators commented, “Sounds like he gave her a bit more than thirty shillings!”

Fanny felt her confidence waver. Her face turned red, she cast her eyes down, trying to brush off the insult.

After the muffled laughter died down, Mr Jackson asked, “Are the papers you were given still in your possession?”

“No, they were details of the venues for the church services that week.”

“When Mrs Andrews sent you away, you caught a train to Chesterfield. What did you do there?”

“I lodged with a lady called Mrs Evans for a week. She advised me to go home to my parents.”

“And did you return to West Bromwich?”

“No. I wanted to go back to Sheffield to see Reverend Andrews.”

“Did you return to Sheffield?”

“Yes, at the beginning of the following week.”

“And what did you do there?”

“I met Reverend Andrews after one of his weekday services. I asked him what he was going to do. Later I had supper at the house of my chapel leader, Mr Gladwin.”

Mr Jackson nodded.

“Did Mr or Mrs Gladwin ask you about your condition?”

“Yes. Mrs Gladwin suggested another young man, someone I’d once walked with from the station, might be the father of my child. I said, ‘What a ridiculous idea, how can you say such a thing?’ She told me Reverend Andrews himself had suggested it to her.”

Mr Jackson repeated slowly, “Reverend Andrews suggested it to her!” He inclined his head towards the people on the benches and paused for the comment to sink in.

“Did your parents know of your circumstances?”

“They knew nothing of my pregnancy. But in the month of May, Reverend Andrews had visited my parents and sister at West Bromwich and told them I was courting a young man. He had asked them if he should permit it.”

“I wonder why he did that?” mused Mr Jackson.

Mr Jackson contemplated the reaction of the Stipendiary. He paused briefly before asking his next question.

“A day or two after being confined, you wrote a letter to the defendant telling him you’d been delivered of a child?”

“I did.”

“And how did Reverend Andrews react?”

“He gave the letter to his solicitors. They wrote to me denying he was the father of Fred.”

The light was fading outside the courtroom. The gas lamps inside the large room only gave minimal light. After a muffled conversation with the Stipendiary, the clerk announced, “The examination of the complainant has not been completed today.”

Mr Clegg stood and asked, “May I speak to the public?”

The Stipendiary gave a nod of assent.

“As the evidence will go forth, I hope you, the public, will suspend your judgment until both sides have been heard. We must be allowed to make a complete and accurate response to the claim.”

The clerk announced, “The further hearing of the case will be adjourned for one month. Court rise.”

Fanny’s heart sank. Now I must wait and worry for another month before the magistrate will hear my case again.

She trudged home from the courtroom. Her shoulders sagged. Her pale complexion and the dark circles under her eyes revealed her dejection. My private life has been laid out like dirty linen in front of dozens of people, yet nothing has been resolved.

She imagined the Reverend continuing with his life as if nothing had happened, evenings spent chatting with his wife and friends or in his study smoking his after-dinner cigar.