I found this an enthralling read. Dame Alice Lisle, beheaded in 1685 on a charge of treason, has long been regarded as the victim of a dire miscarriage of justice - perpetrated in particular by the notorious Judge Jeffreys. Antony Whitaker's fascinating revelation is that, although her trial was a virtual travesty, she was not in fact innocent but almost certainly guilty of the vengeful charge brought against her at the time. His book, I believe, proves this conclusively.
There are two kinds of such miscarriages. One is when an innocent person is wrongly convicted. The other is when someone may nor may not be guilty but should NOT have been convicted because of the flawed manner in which the trial was conducted. No one can doubt that Dame Alice was a victim of the latter, especially in the light of the contemporary source material on which Whitaker draws. I am full of admiration for the depth and breadth of his research. Yet in no way does the extent of detail get in the way of the narrative thread. Were it not for the wretched fate of the woman concerned, one could describe it as a rattling good yarn.
En route, nevertheless, the author interjects some shrewd personal observations. To cite two examples: in his introduction, he notes that, although her case was 300 years old, the establishment had still not fully learned the lessons from it. Even in the 1980s, "the system buckled under public outrage at terrorist bombings and the need to assuage it with putting culprits, actual or supposed, speedily behind bars". Again, in his chapter on "The Law of Treason - Then and Now", he points out that in cases of royal adultery (from Anne Boleyn to Diana, Princess of Wales), the woman is guilty under the law although the king or the heir to the throne, whatever his philanderings, is not.
As a former magistrate, I naturally had a close interesty in the cut-and-thrust of the legal proceedings as directed by Jeffreys. Taking into account the judge's political priorities, the government's desire for retribution and the fearful atmosphere after the abortive Monmouth rebellion, Whitaker has been as even-handed about Jeffreys' character as he could be. Yet he shows incontrovertibly that the man's behaviour was appalling and went beyond the pale even by the laxer standards of his day.
What an irony, then, in the author's comment that, if the Crown had done its homework more thoroughly, it could easily have demonstrated Dame Alice's guilt - without bending the rules or bucking the system, as Jeffreys did.
In short, you don't need to be a lawyer to find this book absorbing.