The Judge's Cat

By Jane Allen

Thomas Bradshaw, a fine, upstanding, recently widowed lawyer, progressive, sensitive and music loving, with five small children living in a Grace and Favour apartment in Hampton Court Palace, meets Emily Halkett, eighteen, pretty, romantic, innocent, and without a dowry. She is fifteen years younger than he, but they fall in love and marry, producing five more children. This is the saga of a prosperous, middle-class Victorian family with a dependable cast of characters; the needy, manipulative, widowed mother, the distinguished soldier grandfather, the mad cousin, the rich best friend with her royal connections and dark undercurrents of jealousy, a falling out and the consequences. More
These are the chronicles of the Victorian age; from the great tragedy of the sinking of the Titanic, to the theft of the Mona Lisa from the Louvre, there are royal weddings and a coronation, assassinations and the start of World War 1, the book spans a hundred years of British history seen from the perspective of a few ordinary, but observant people.
This is also an account of a real family of that time, based on the author’s personal history. It catalogues the rise to prominence of the Judge, his enduring love for his wife Emily, and his fall from the Grace he most desires. Much of it is seen through Emily’s eyes; there are the sons who died young, the daughters who never married and the houses where they lived, their travels abroad, births, deaths and weddings, the court presentations, the cousin’s confinement to a lunatic asylum, all told in the elegant style of the period through letters, diaries and journal entries.
Through it all a mysterious white cat appears from time to time, a harbinger of both good and evil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jane Allen
• Release date: May 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311140647

Book preview

The Judge’s cat

Novel by

Jane Allen

Copyright

The Judge’s Cat

Jane Allen

Copyright Jane Allen 2016

ISBN 9781311140647

Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

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‘All cats can see futures, and see echoes of the past. We can watch the passage of creatures from the infinity of now, from all the worlds like ours, only fractionally different. And we follow them with our eyes, ghost things, and the humans see nothing.’

Neil Gaiman, depicting a visionary cat in Sandman #18: ‘A Dream of a Thousand Cats’, part of the Dream Country collection.

Prologue

The infamous execution of King Charles 1 was preceded by a trial presided over by the Lord President of the High Court, Judge John Bradshawe. Upon his death in 1659 Bradshawe was buried with honours in the chapel of Henry VII in Westminster Abbey. Following the Restoration of Charles II, on the twelfth anniversary of the regicide the bodies of Oliver Cromwell, Henry Ireton and John Bradshawe were exhumed from the Abbey, taken to the gallows at Tyburn where they were hung in chains. At sunset the three were beheaded; the heads were displayed on spikes on Westminster Hall and the bodies were throw into a common pit beneath the gallows. The grisly event was witnessed by Samuel Pepys and Jeremiah Mayberry; the latter returned later that night and recorded the following:

…….. I know not what drew me back to the ghastly place or what I was hoping to see. The crowd has gone to their homes or the Tavern and all was Quiet. There was a moon and I could clearly perceive the rough mound beneath the gibbet where the three scoundrels lay. On the farthest side of the grave reposed a white cat….

January 30, 1661.

Author’s note

In my childhood home there was a picture of a young woman in a white dress with a blue sash, a small dog resting on her lap. It was pastel drawing on paper, and in 1954 it arrived in a steamer trunk from England, unframed and neatly folded, together with other family memorabilia left to my father by his godmother. The paper survived the folding, but not well, and for years the drawing with its noticeable creases, was hung in a little gilt frame behind my father’s armchair. Then in 1985 there was a flood in our house and the picture was badly damaged by water. It was dried out and re-framed, and then both the creases and the watermarks were quite visible. I could see the girl was pretty, and I knew that she was my great-grandmother Emily Isabella Bradshaw but that was all I knew. After my parents died and I was clearing out the house I found two other pictures of Emily, another pastel and a charcoal portrait done later in her life and in far better condition, but the early portrait still enchanted me. I took it to the Art Gallery of New South Wales to have it dated, then to a very talented restorer who erased the creases and the watermarks. By this time I was almost burning with curiosity to know more about Emily, but I realised with a shock that everyone who had known her was dead.

My father was nine years old when Emily died. She would have been responsible for him for the first year he was sent from South Africa to boarding school in England in 1916. He spoke of her with reverence, and for many years was in close contact with her daughters Evelyn, his godmother, and Winifred his devoted aunt.

The intriguing thing to me was that she seemed by far the most important member of my father’s family family as there were no other portraits, apart from an engraving at the bottom of the stairs of Judge John Bradshaw, President of the High Court that condemned Charles 1 to death. My father was slightly embarrassed about the regicide Judge, but being essentially an honest man who believed in history he thought it best to own up to his ancestor. Besides, it is a fine engraving.

I planned initially to write a biography of Emily Bradshaw but there was simply not enough documented evidence so, taking the pictures as a starting point, I have written a novel about her life as it might have been lived in the Victorian age, told through letters and journals. The book is based on real people; their correspondence, journals, wills, census and medical records have been thoroughly researched in Canada, Jersey, England, Scotland and Germany. The portraits and photographs of the family, and the houses where they lived, are also factual. As a result I hope that some essential family character has come though this material, however with a few notable exceptions, the letters are my invention.

The book took some years to develop. As with most family research there were blind alleys; Emily, Caroline and Margaret were popular names in the 19th century and I followed the trail of one of two of them for a couple of years, only to find they were not my relatives. I was similarly frustrated by the lack of Canadian records which were not kept before 1860, the strictures placed on material in the National Library of Scotland, and the apparent absence of any accessible records in Celle, Hanover. However that town’s archive turned out to be a treasure trove when I finally went there.

Country churchyards are an excellent source of dates and relationships and I managed to track down and photograph graves of three generations of the family, apart from Emily. I know she is buried in the Brompton Cemetery in London. Her grave is in an area that is neglected and unmown, so when I visited in the summer of 2013 to try and find it I was confronted with an ocean of tangled brambles, stinging nettles and shoulder-high heather that was all but impenetrable. After ten minutes of thrashing hopelessly around I ripped my leg open on a bramble and had to retreat, bleeding profusely, and admit defeat. But I photographed the area which, though wild and rough, is very beautiful, and I am sure she rests there in peace.

Jane Allen 2013

Acknowledgments

Much of the research for both Halkett and Bradshaw families was compiled using the Ancestry.uk web site. The births, marriages, deaths and probate records, also passenger lists and most importantly the census records showing the house address and ages of family members, provided the starting point and correlated with what family information I already had.

I would also like to sincerely thank the following people: My cousin Richard Bradshaw for invaluable family archival material; Bill Greenwell also for family information; Andy Adams of H.M. courts and Tribunals Service, Newcastle-on-Tyne, who located and photographed the only known image of Thomas Bradshaw for me; Tracey Cuthbert and William Dalton, Bereavement Services, Newcastle-on-Tyne, Bill Dalton found Thomas Bradshaw’s grave in the Old Jesmond Cemetery; Pauline and Simon Richmond of Joseph Richmond and Son Memorial, North Shields, Newcastle-on-Tyne, who restored Thomas Bradshaw’s grave and went out of their way to be helpful during my visit to Durham; Joyce Elliott and Ann Peart of St Cuthbert’s Society, Durham, who kindly allowed me access to 12 South Bailey, gave me permission to take photographs, and presented me with a book about the history of St Cuthbert’s Society; I must also thank Jon Purcell, Librarian, Palace Green Library, University of Durham, for photographs of the house; Diana Gardner and Bridget Lewis, members of the Steeple Aston Village Archive for valuable information on The Grange, Richard Bradshaw’s family, and for correcting Emily’s wrongly attributed death notice.

I am very grateful to Karen Dodson who, during a visit to Toronto, made contact on my behalf with Mary-Anne Nicholls, Toronto Anglican Diocesan archivist, who supplied Emily’s birth certificate, and William E. Britnell, Genealogist at St James’s Cemetery, Toronto who found the marriage record of Frederick Halkett and Elizabeth Moodie, and the information about his grave stone. Sabine Maehnert, Michaela Engel and Jana Otto of the Stadtarchiv, Celle, Hanover, keepers of Halkett family papers, were kind and helpful in overcoming language difficulties. I must sincerely thank Laura Brouard, Archivist at the Lothian Health Services Archives, Edinburgh, who photocopied all of Caroline Halkett’s medical records for me and sent them to me without charge; Toby Chaing, of the Jersey Archives, St Helier, supplied family information; The National Library of Scotland allowed access to James Halkett’s papers, but refused me permission to photocopy anything.

As always I have relied on friends for advice and encouragement and I particularly thank those who read the original story, Olga Katchan and Maggie Black, and my dear friend Kay Fairfax who constantly urged me on with the project.

A particular debt is owed to the artist and restorer Tony Ameneiro who, over many weeks, patiently and sensitively restored to perfection the damaged pastel drawing of Emily that features as the frontispiece.

Above all I must thank Diana Giese for mentoring me as I worked on rewriting and revising this book. It started out as a biography of my great grandmother, but under her expert guidance has become so much more. It would not have been written without her and my gratitude is boundless.

Prelude

Who we are and whence we came, creatures of a paltry birth, Cyphers in the cosmic game

It seemed to Frederick as if the night would never end. He gripped the rail of the upper deck and stared into the black, wind-whipped sea; the ship rose up the mountainous swells and shuddered into the troughs with every timber straining, things below decks banged together as it was hurled from one gigantic wave to the next. Frederick looked up; across the sky the scudding clouds revealed brief glimpses of wheeling stars, At sea now for fifteen days – the average crossing from Liverpool to New York being nine to sixteen days – there was still no land in sight and storm had been raging for more than a week. Except for the angry red horizon at dawn the days were almost as black as night. Food was running low and many of the passengers and crew were weak from seasickness. Below decks the air was putrid and even the Captain, who appeared among the passengers from time to time grim-faced from lack of sleep, held a handkerchief to his mouth.

Frederick felt neither sick nor scared; he was secretly enjoying the rough weather, exhilarated by such a force of nature. Born in the year of Napoleon’s ill-fated Russian Campaign, Frederick Halkett was the eldest son of General Hugh Halkett, hero of the Battle of Waterloo. Of Scottish descent, he was a brave and bonny lad of medium height, blue eyed, with a bright, open face, an engaging manner and, at the age of twenty three, already a Lieutenant in the Coldstream Guards. Now, in this pitching vessel, the s.s.United States, he was en route to Canada in company with Sir Francis Bond Head, engaged as his Aide-de Camp. Also on board in the small party were Bond Head’s son Henry, aged eighteen, and a secretary. It was December, 1935 and Bond Head had just been appointed Governor of Upper Canada, charged with the amalgamation of Upper and Lower Canada.

A huge wall of water washed over the deck, drenching Frederick’s legs and leaving runnels of foam. He heard a shout, and turned to see Henry sliding across the wet boards, greatcoat flapping, and laughing as he made his way to the rail beside Frederick.

How are you holding up?

Frederick‘s words were torn away by the wind.

I’m fine, came the reply, but Father is prostrate. He wants to see you, if you don’t mind.

We’ll both go down, shouted Frederick, and not wishing to leave the boy alone on deck he put his arm around Henry and the two stumbled amidships into the comparative shelter of the companionway, and down the ladder.

1

‘The night is dark and I am far from home’

From the hymn Lead Kindly Light, John Henry Newman, 1833

Letter from Frederick Halkett to his father, General Sir Hugh Halkett

Elmsley House

Toronto

Upper Canada

Easter 1835

Dearest Papa

We arrived two weeks ago after a very rough passage. We had gales the entire voyage and almost the entire ship’s complement was laid up with mal de mer. Such was the duration, 32 days, that we ran out of most foodstuffs and our water was rationed for the last week. From New York, warmed only by buffalo hides, I rode on horseback in freezing weather—the coldest winter for 60 years, I’m told—the 550 miles to Toronto. However, Sir Francis, his son and his secretary rode in a carriage over very rough tracks so I think I was better off in the saddle.

The Governor’s residence is sufficient, if somewhat small in scale for entertaining, though the grounds are well laid out. It is sad to see that things here are in complete confusion and I do not think Sir Francis has any idea how to put them to rights. Bond Head was a soldier, but left the army some ten years ago to pursue adventures in South America, so he no longer has the discipline that goes with the profession—though I must confess he is intrepid. He twice rode a horse across South America between Buenos Aires and the Andes.

Nor is he a diplomat. He seems not to know why he has been appointed to this post of Lieutenant Governor, and relies entirely on me in matters of etiquette. I shall not let him down though I cannot say I like the man, but I feel sorry for him as he is so clearly out of his depth. His wife and family have not yet joined him as he did not wish them to endure the rigours of a sea voyage. One wonders how he imagines they would get to Canada other than by sea! Surely overland would be far more arduous. At present he has only one son, his eldest, for company.

Our first task—or should I say my first task—is to organize a Reception for the good citizens of Toronto to introduce Sir Francis. There is a large military community here, and amongst that company will be ladies knowing Who is Who in Toronto. The reception could be held in the garden if the weather holds, then another party at Christmastide would include the children of Officers and local gentry.

I have already heard from Lady Vansittart and another friend who claims your acquaintance, so I anticipate a lively social life. If I must be in a civilian position while still attached to the Regiment, then at least I will enjoy my enforced civilian life. I ride out every afternoon with some fellow Officers towards the forests which surround this town in the hope of seeing a bear. I am told these animals abound, but so far I have not laid eyes on one.

I hope all is well at home. Pls. give my love to everyone

Frederick

Letter from Frederick Halkett to his father General Sir Hugh Halkett

Elmsley House

Toronto

September 1836

Dearest Papa

Thank you very much for your letter which I received on the 15th inst. It is a comfort to know that all is well at home.

The mid-summer Reception went off in splendid style and it was interesting to meet Toronto Society. This is not yet a big town so there was room for all at the Reception. Not one person refused the invitation so anxious were they to make the acquaintance of Sir Francis, though that gentleman, not having a great liking for Society, has a manner alternately shy, then forcedly jovial and sometimes arrogant, so I think he did not make a good impression.

Being a small colony the secret was soon out that Sir Francis had insisted on a knighthood as a condition for taking this job. He is known to be bitterly opposed to the Reformers and he rarely consulted his councilors. The Assembly then censured him—so he dissolved the government, an act of lunacy. His popularity is under question in more ways than one. His wife needs to set sail from England before long since he is clearly lost without her.

The weather for the Reception was fair, hot enough to melt the ices and cause some of the ladies to seek the shade. I met one young lady with whom I shall endeavour to be better acquainted in the near future. She is Miss Elizabeth Moodie, daughter of a retired Lieutenant Colonel, Robert Moodie, a Scot and a proud loyalist in that tradition. He is much favoured by Sir Francis since they share the same political views that I fear will lead, if not to open Rebellion, then at least before long to a skirmish with the French Nationalists. Sir Francis is presently threatening to send all British troops to Lower Canada to contain the Patriotes, their discontent fuelled by crop failure and an increase in immigration from Britain, as well as larger international economic challenges. They are holding protest rallies and boycotting British goods and are said to be arming themselves for an insurrection. The local wise men are aware of this and advise against any impulsive move, but Sir Francis will not listen to them.

The more time I spend in Toronto and become acquainted with Miss Moodie’s circle of friends, the more I become aware of the limits of this town. Since it was founded only 40 years ago, there is a small group, a self-constituted soi-disant aristocracy that constantly looks back to England and imports the fashions and follies of Home. These people believe that the true interest of the Colony is to remain under the control of the Mother Country. This faux élite circulates within very confined limits, its culture based on what prevails at Home, with all the gossip, rivalry and jealousies which are common in a small society. Canada is not yet a country, and I suppose its inhabitants must wait several generations before they have the courage to become a true Nation.

I am glad to say that Miss Moodie is not like the elite. She is demure, has no political opinions and is very pretty and genteel besides.

Duty calls, Papa. Please write to me soon

Your loving son

Frederick

Letter from General Sir Hugh Halkett to Frederick Halkett

Celle Castle

Hanover

Christmas 1836

My dearest Boy

Margaret and I greatly enjoyed reading your letter describing Toronto Society in the new colony. Bond Head sounds a stubborn, precipitate chap, and though he certainly doesn’t lack courage he does not seem entirely suited to a position of peace-keeping, which requires some skill in negotiation. It is to be hoped that his wife and family will join him soon.

You must be patient with him and tactful in your guidance. Goodwill and cheerfulness will go a long way towards securing the approval of government and local citizens alike, and you have both qualities in abundance. If I may offer a word of advice it is to avoid, at all costs, any personal involvement in the local political debate.

The family sends their love and Christmas blessings. Your brother Hugh is departing to India with his regiment in January and is eager to be off, though I would keep him closer to me in Europe. I know my sons must go out into the world to seek their fortunes but every parent frets a little when their children are far from home, as you will find yourself when your lambs leave the fold.

Your sister Georgina is being courted by a German with diplomatic ambitions. Clara and Otto Christian are expecting their third child in March.

Miss Moodie sounds charming. Social life is very important in an outpost such as Canada and Margaret hopes that you are making the most of every opportunity.

Write to me soon dearest Boy

I send my fond love

Papa

Letter from Frederick Halkett to his father General Sir Hugh Halkett

Government House

Toronto

Easter 1837

Dearest Papa

By the time this letter reaches you, I shall have proposed to Miss Elizabeth Moodie and it is my fondest hope that we will be engaged to be married. She is so fair and so good that I am sure you will love her as I do. I have spoken to her father and asked for her hand, so I do not think my proposal will come as a surprise to her.

Colonel Moodie readily gave his consent. He is a good enough fellow, somewhat choleric in temper, but his military record includes the Anglo-American war of 1812 and some Napoleonic campaigns, so you may be heard tell of him in those days. I have some leave owing to me, so I shall appeal to Sir Francis to give me three weeks at Christmas, and plan to marry at that time.

Can I now make a humble request? There is no jeweller of any skill or worth in Toronto so I must beg you for a ring or some other token of Mama’s for my dearest girl, to mark our engagement.

Other good news is that Lady Julia Bond Head and the other three children arrive in Toronto next week. This will provide Sir Francis with the happy distractions of family life, the benefits of which have been sorely missing since his arrival. For my part, I shall be delighted to have my evenings free to return to my own pursuits, instead of sharing the port with my superior and listening to his oft-repeated stories and constant agonizing over his supposed failures, many of which could have been avoided if only he had taken advice from those who know the political situation in this Colony far better than he. I do not mean to be unkind for he does admit his ignorance in matters of politics and government, and his other interests are keen and wide-ranging, but his judgment in military matters is erratic and his impulsive, if well-meaning gestures such as his active interference in the local elections, have led to some trouble. He will leap into things feet first but entertains no opinions other than his own. I think he knows he is not a success here.

I will write again soon and tell you if my suit has been successful.

Your loving son

Frederick

From the Diary of Elizabeth Moodie

April 1837

I am engaged! Dearest Frederick proposed to me on Saturday a week ago, and with Father’s blessing we shall be married at Christmas. He is the sweetest, most gallant gentleman I have ever met, so handsome in his scarlet tunic, and I have never felt such happiness. Mama is already in a pother about my wedding costume and is sending to a friend in Paris for a bonnet. My older sister Alice is quite put out that I am to be married before she has captured a beau, though I am certain I saw a handsome Lieutenant looking somewhat boldly at her during the last Dance at Government House.

I am glad to be first in at least one regard in this family! My dearest cousin Susanna, who is so clever that she is writing a book about life in the backwoods, shall be my bridal attendant with Alice.

Frederick has written to his family in Hanover to inform them of our engagement. He comes from a family of eight brothers and sisters, and he says that they will all love me. Now I pray the days will fly till we can be joined together by God. I swear I am amazed at how swiftly one’s circumstances, indeed one’s whole life can change in an instant by the asking, and answering of the simple question: ‘Will you marry me?’ My response was Yes, Yes, Yes!

Letter from Frederick Halkett to his father

Government House

Toronto

Christmas 1837

Dearest Papa

We are in great turmoil here on account of recent events. Sunday last, after some intelligence was received (but ignored) there was a brief skirmish with the rebels during which Colonel Moodie was shot and killed. Such a senseless affray, and now my poor darling Lizbeth has lost her Father. Our wedding has been postponed, of course, so there is double sorrow for her.

Moodie, a fervent British loyalist, had gathered other Tories for a meeting at his house on Richmond Hill. When rebels were seen massing in the street outside, tempers ran high. The owner of the local tavern, William Crew, set out to ride to Toronto to apprise us of the situation. Some way down the road Crew was stopped and detained against his will by the rebels, whereupon Moodie, a hot-headed chap, on hearing the news declared he would himself ride south to save the Governor. As he reached Montgomery’s tavern with two friends the rebels intercepted the trio and shots were exchanged. Moodie died in the tavern a few hours later. The rebellion lasted another two days, before the rebels were routed by our troops and the tavern burnt to the ground.

Mrs Moodie has declared an unspecified period of mourning, and Lizbeth and I wish to be married the moment it ends. I ride over to visit her every other day, and though she is not permitted to attend any entertainments, we do walk in the woods near their home and I try to distract her with plans for our life together. I pray that it will not be long before we are wed.

I gave her the little gold brooch you sent that belonged to dear Mama. She became quite tearful, declaring it is the prettiest thing she has ever seen, and wears it every day.

My grateful thanks for writing and making my dearest Lizbeth happy in the midst of her sorrow.

Your loving son

Frederick

From the Diary of Elizabeth Moodie

Christmas 1837

Today would have been my wedding day but instead of a celebration our family is in deepest mourning for dear Papa. His death at the hands of the rebels has shocked us all deeply. Darling Mama begged him not to go, indeed we all pleaded with him on that fateful night three weeks ago, but he was determined to carry the news of Wm Crew’s capture by rebels to the Governor, thus he galloped away into the dark with Hugh Stewart and Davy Bridgeford and we never saw him alive again. Dearest Frederick has been a great strength to me at this terrible time, but I do not know when we will be married. Sir Francis is apparently insisting we marry at Government House instead of in Church—which I fancy will lead to tears and opposition from Mama. Although Frederick has Reservations about Sir Francis, he has a mass of curls around his face that would charm any girl!

Frederick gave me a charming brooch set with garnets that had belonged to his Mother and I wear it whenever I see him, and sleep with it under my pillow. I was hoping for a ring and now my sisters are teasing me and saying I am not properly engaged! Mama is prostrate with grief, but Lady Julia has privately whispered to me that a period of three months of mourning would be sufficient. Given the uncertain times, the sooner we are wed the better. My lavender dress trimmed with violets, and the Paris bonnet hang ready and, sad that I am, I also long to be gone from here and am ready, more than ready, and eager to become Frederick’s wife.

Letter from Frederick Halkett to his father

Elmsley House

Toronto

February 1838

Dearest Papa

This winter has been a bitter one, with snow and ice making the roads dangerous for the horses—in fact all but impassable—and the Moodie family still in mourning. However, I am pleased to inform you that this is soon to end. Mrs Moodie has agreed that Elizabeth and I may be married in March.

I must needs now find a house for us to live in and will move from Government House as soon as one can be found. Lady Julia has told me that the Bond Head family is leaving in the summer to return to England. This is not unexpected since Sir Francis still has no real grasp of the political situation in the colony. It is to be hoped that another more experienced man will be sent to expedite the amalgamation of Upper and Lower Canada, and put to rest the fractious spirit that has so far prevented this from occurring. I expect I shall stay on in some capacity—perhaps on the staff of the next Governor—though I would willingly return to the Guards. However, I think my sweet Lizbeth would not like my returning to active military duty so soon.

In haste, your loving son

Frederick

From Government House records

7 March 1838

The marriage took place this morning at Government House, Toronto, between Captain Frederick Halkett of the Coldstream Guards, and Miss Elizabeth Margaret Moodie. The Reverend John Strachan, Archdeacon of York, officiated. Witnesses to the marriage were Sir Francis Bond Head, Captain James M. Strachan, and Alexander Wood Esq.

The local paper, The Patriot, carried the wedding announcement.

Letter from Frederick Halkett to his father

Graves Street

Toronto

16 March 1838

Dearest Papa

As you see from the address, my wife and I (how good it is to write these words!) have moved to our new home, a pleasant dwelling in Graves Street, not far from Elmsley House. I am deeply grateful for the 2000 pounds that you deposited to my account with the Bank of Canada, for it has enabled me to rent a far better house than I could have afforded on my military pay. We both send our heartfelt thanks for your generosity.

I enclose the newspaper announcement of our marriage, which seemed to go off well enough. Sir Francis not only insisted the ceremony be held at Government House but also acted a chief witness, along with the