Chapter Sixteen

Aaron dropped the reins of his horse into the metal ring of a carved tethering post and surveyed the village hall, standing in a flower-strewn green across from the harbor. He had seen the building many times and had been inside it often, but without giving a thought to the lockup cages in the basement or the human suffering that might be taking place within them. He of course was aware farmer Adler Smyth would on occasion drink too much, start a fight in the pub, and find himself thrown into the lockup by Sheriff Madison to sing himself to sleep in a bed of filthy straw. And he had himself seen Luther Carrington taken from the building in chains and loaded onto a coach bound for Ludlow Prison in Hartford.

But he had never expected to leave the sunny upper level of the building and be led down a dark stairway and along a clammy hall behind the grim-faced sheriff. But today that was his fate, and he walked along silently, unwilling to share his thoughts or emotions with the stoic lawman.

When they reached Hannah’s quarters, Madison turned abruptly.

“You have thirty minutes, no more.”

Aaron nodded, checked his watch, and then proceeded toward a heavy oaken door with an iron-barred window. He looked within, at first seeing nothing but a pile of straw, but then perceiving a brown swath of cotton protruding from it.

“Hannah,” he called softly. “Hannah, it’s Aaron. Are you awake?”

The straw moved slowly. As he watched, Hannah sat up, crawling awkwardly from the straw as if she were in pain. She turned toward him, and he caught his breath as he looked at her. Her hair was in disarray, and straw was clinging to it. Her face was thin and pale; she seemed all eyes as she stared at him seemingly without recognition.

“Hannah, it is Aaron. Come closer.”

He saw her lips move and form the word “Aaron” and then she crawled to the door and sat before it, staring up through the barred opening at his face.

“Aaron.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “You must go away. They are going to hang me, and you must go away or they’ll hang you too.”

“Hannah,” he choked out, trying to reach through the bars toward her. “You must have faith, dear, dear Hannah. We’re going to get you free. You must stay strong and have hope.”

“No,” she whispered. She began to cough violently, and when the spasm ended, she looked up again, her eyes shiny with fever. “You must go.” She turned and began to crawl away.

“Hannah, wait!”

“I want to die,” she whispered. “Please leave me in peace to die.” Coughing again, she buried herself in the straw.

Aaron stood and pounded his fists against the wall in rage and frustration. Every instinct screamed at him to march into the sheriff’s office and beat the man with his bare hands. But this he could not do. He must not anger the sheriff, for if he did, all hope of helping Hannah would be gone. In silent grief, he walked from the courthouse.

The next day Aaron, Mr. Carne, and Corey were in the small plain courtroom when the jury returned its verdict. They sat together on a wooden bench, their eyes on the pitiful figure huddled in the dock. The judge, an elderly white-haired man whom Aaron did not recognize, looked bored as he asked for the decision.

The jury of twelve men shifted uneasily as their chairman rose. They were farmers and businessmen, bankers and traders—men who had been called to do their duty but were not savoring the process. Aaron knew a few by name and others by sight. As he looked at them, two or three shifted their eyes away from his stare.

The chairman awaited the judge’s nod to proceed and then cleared his throat.

“Judge Watson, we find the defendant guilty of the crime.”

Aaron cried out, his pain more than he could bear. He attempted to rise but was held firmly by the Carnes. The judge banged his gavel and demanded silence. In the dock, Hannah laid her head gently on her arms. Her slender back shook with muffled coughs.

Judge Watson glared at Aaron. “Interruptions to this proceeding will not be tolerated.” He turned his attention to Mr. Brockton. “Sir, your client will rise to receive her sentence.”

Brockton tried to get Hannah to her feet, but she fell forward and would have dropped to the floor if he hadn’t caught her. The clerk assisted, and between them they held her upright facing the judge.

“Hannah Winstead, a jury of your peers has found you guilty of murder. What say you before I pass sentence upon you?”

Hannah said nothing. Her head drooped forward, and coughs racked her emaciated body.

The judge paused, regarding her, but then seemed to resign himself to his duty and continued. “For the crime of murder, I sentence you to death by hanging.”

Brockton awkwardly raised one arm, holding Hannah with the other. “Judge, I object to the sentencing of Miss Winstead at this time.”

“Mr. Brockton, you cannot object to a judge’s order.”

“With all due respect, Honorable, it would be wrong to hang this woman at this time. She is severely ill and isn’t able to beg forgiveness and make peace with her God.”

The judge stared at Brockton. The courtroom was silent as the two men looked at each other, with Brockton struggling to support the weight of the limp body at his side.

The judge turned to Sheriff Madison, who was standing at the side of the room.

“Madison, I order this woman to be placed under the care of a physician. I will not set a date for her execution until she’s recovered. The county won’t hang her until she’s had the opportunity to declare she’s sorry for what she’s done and ask the forgiveness of God.”

Judge Watson then turned to Elijah Crow, the county prosecutor. “Mr. Crow, you will make regular inquiries as to the defendant’s condition. When you’ve determined she has recovered sufficiently to receive her sentence, you will inform me.”

“Aye, Judge.”

The judge banged the gavel, and the court was adjourned. Aaron watched as Hannah was half carried from the room by Madison. He wanted to bless Judge Watson, who had listened to Brockton’s desperate plea and in the process perhaps given Brockton and himself time to find a way to discredit the testimony of Maria Compton.

The next day Aaron received a letter from Gabriel.

Linwood, September 15, 1839

My dear Aaron,

Since you departed from Linwood, Father and I have been racking our brains for a way to help your situation. We’re not sure what to do, but we’re sure of one thing: we want to be with you in this time of need. Father doesn’t feel up to traveling across the sea at his advanced time of life, and Mother wouldn’t hear of his going, but they’re willing to have me go, and it’s what I’ve been itching to do. If nothing else, I can take my cousin’s children back to England with me so you can be relieved of their care for a time. Mother is anxious to see them and vows to give them the love their own mother denied them.

I will leave for London in two weeks’ time and will sail on the Glenard. I will see you in a month or so, God willing.

I pray, dear brother, that the situation is not as grave as you feared.

Yours ever,

Gabe

Aaron was on his way out the door when the letter arrived and read it hastily before mounting his horse. He had a call to make before proceeding to the village hall to see Hannah. It would not be an easy visit, and he was not looking forward to it.

Miss Compton was in her sitting room when Captain Clarke called, and the maid bade Aaron wait in the parlor while she fetched her mistress. He was immensely glad to find Maria’s aunt and uncle were from home, for to petition them for a private conference with Maria would have been awkward indeed.

He rose when she entered, and he was struck once again by her beauty. She was dressed in a deep rose morning frock with a bit of ecru lace adorning the rather daring décolletage. Her black hair was pulled up in a knot, but several jet ringlets danced about her face, highlighting her ivory complexion.

Yes, he mused as he watched her walk toward him, she is beautiful indeed…a beautiful flower…a wild rose to be admired from afar lest its thorns rip your flesh.

Her smile was false, and she made no attempt to impersonate genuine pleasure.

“Good morning, Captain Clarke. To what do I owe this visit? I didn’t know you had returned from abroad.”

He seated himself. “I’ll not play games with you but will pay you the compliment of honesty. I’m here to ask you—beg you, in fact—to recant your statement regarding Hannah Winstead.”

“Recant my statement? You’re referring, of course, to the murder of Lord Earling.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You want me to recant my testimony. In other words, you’re asking me to lie to the court?”

“No,” he replied, his eyes cold as he regarded her. “I’m asking you to tell the truth.”

“Oh, I understand,” she answered with sarcasm. “You’re accusing me of having lied. That’s rather extraordinary considering you were not even in this country when Lord Earling’s murder occurred.”

Aaron leaned forward and stared into her eyes. “Maria, I’ve already stated I won’t play games with you. We both know you lied, and I believe your decision to lie was based on your anger at me. If not that, then what in devil’s name was your motivation? What could have possessed you to do such a terrible thing, to commit such an unspeakable act of dishonesty and betrayal? If Hannah dies, it will be you who committed murder, not she.”

Maria began to speak but then paused, her expression wary. A slight shiver made her pull her shawl about her shoulders. “I have nothing to say to you, Captain Clarke. I beg you to excuse me. My aunt would not like to find you here when she returns, so it would be best for you to take your leave.”

He stretched his arms out toward her, instantly changing his stance and demeanor. “Maria, for the love of God and for truth and justice—I pray you, do not do this thing. Hannah is a sweet, trusting girl and has done nothing to harm you. Whatever anger you may have against me, I implore you, do not take it out on her!”

Maria smiled slightly, her fear dissipated by his pleading. “I confess, Aaron, dear, that it gives me a certain amount of wicked pleasure to see you groveling at my boots.” Her smile faded, and an expression of cold anger took its place. “You should perhaps have considered the possible results of your behavior before you flirted with me and then dropped me as if I were a leper. You left me to bear the snickering and gossip of the entire village while you sailed away to England.”

“You’re right,” he said quietly, endeavoring to be calm. “I wronged you, and I’m sorry. But why take it out on Hannah? She has had nothing to do with it.”

“Don’t patronize me!” she spat, rising and pacing the room. “Do you think me a fool? You’re in love with her, and if you lie and tell me otherwise, I’ll call the hostler to come and throw you out of the house!”

“Fine!” he replied, rising also. “I’m in love with her, but that is not her fault! She doesn’t even know it. I didn’t realize it myself until a short time ago.”

“Get out!” she hissed. “You’re nothing but an idle philanderer, and your little strumpet can rot in hell!”

There was a swirl of rose-colored skirts as Maria turned and marched from the room. He heard her calling for the maid.

“Bella, escort Captain Clarke from the house! He’s leaving immediately!”

The frightened maid hurried in and held the door for him as he walked out, his face flushed and hands clenched with rage.

****

Solicitor Brockton leaned back in his chair and regarded Aaron Clarke, who had just finished reciting the story of his ill-fated visit to Miss Maria Compton.

“It is well, Clarke,” Brockton said slowly. “It is very well indeed.”

“Well? She threw me from the house. And you say it’s well?”

“Very well indeed. She needed to vent her rage, and you gave her the perfect opportunity. Now that that’s over, one can hope she’ll negotiate.”

“Why should she negotiate? I have nothing to offer.”

“Of course you do.”

“I don’t think money will sway her.”

“I agree. But ask yourself—what does, or did, the lady want from you?”

“What did she want? I suppose she had in her mind I was courting her and that this would lead to our marriage.” As he spoke the words, Aaron bitterly recalled his foolishness in expressing unguarded admiration for such a woman.

“Indeed,” replied Brockton. “And why did she feel so? This is not a romantic woman, so don’t say she simply fell in love with you.”

Aaron was thoughtful. “Financially, I’m quite well to do. But with her beauty, it seems likely she could easily marry for money.”

“I’m sure you’re correct. However, consider carefully. In marrying you, she gains independence from her relations, who, I have heard, have been at some trouble to control her wild willfulness. She gains wealth, and she gains stature in the community. Also—and this is no small matter to a woman like Maria Compton—she ties herself to a titled English family.” Seeing Aaron start to speak, he quickly added, “I’m fully aware you’re not the elder son; however, circumstances sometimes change in families and even if you never became Sir Aaron, she’d still be the daughter-in-law, then sister-in-law, of Sir Somebody.”

Aaron paced once more across the room and dropped heavily into a leather armchair. “What are we to do?”

“As I see it,” Brockton said slowly, “you have two choices. You can crawl to her, beg her forgiveness, and agree to marry her if she’ll recant her testimony. Or you can watch Miss Winstead die.”

Aaron stared at Brockton, at first shocked by the solicitor’s words and then realizing somewhere in his own mind he had known it would come to this. He turned away toward the window across the room and watched a blue muslin curtain flutter in the breeze. Outside the stuffy room was fresh air and freedom. Freedom…dear freedom.

“What you are saying,” he finally stated in a flat toneless voice, “is I must marry Maria. Letting Hannah die isn’t an option to be considered. One of us must die; either she in reality or I metaphysically. I choose myself.”

Brockton fingered a long quill, tapping its point against his desk. “You can change your mind about marrying her later when Hannah has been taken to safety in England.”

“Change my mind? No. The lady, if she accepts my extraordinary offer, will prove far too intelligent for that. She’ll secure me first.”

“No, that won’t be. I’d be negotiating the terms and because there’s far more to lose on our side than on hers if the terms are not kept, we’ll insist on Hannah’s freedom first. You can give your word of honor to her uncle and later whether or not you keep your word will be up to you.”

“I couldn’t go back on my word. You must realize that.”

Brockton shrugged. “Then you’ll have a wife, and Hannah will have a life.”

“It must be done then. To do otherwise would be to condemn myself to a hell of guilt. I couldn’t endure it.”

“Then let’s carry on with the plan. The first step, I believe, should be a letter from you to her uncle. In the letter, you’ll declare you love Maria and want to marry her. You’ll state you believe Maria to be angry at you, and you beg his intervention with his niece.”

“And then?”

“Most likely he’ll be delighted at the prospect of getting the troublesome girl off his hands. He’ll speak seriously to her about how hopeful he is that she’ll accept your proposal.”

“And what do you think she’ll do? I can answer that! She’ll dangle all of us like a cat with a mouse.”

“Of course she will. But not to the point of Hannah’s death because then she’ll lose all her power.”

“Dear God, Brockton. The girl despises me now. I think revenge is what she’s looking for, not matrimony.”

“For an astute, worldly man, you know little of such women as Maria Compton. Her anger is proportionate to the degree to which she desired to have the thing that was taken away. Her rage is such she would condemn an innocent girl to death; this tells you how desperately she wanted to marry you.”

“You make a point, but it’s difficult to fathom. I never felt she was attached to me. On the contrary, I often suspected her of being partial to Whetherton, the captain of the Bonnie Reel.”

“Perhaps she is,” Brockton replied with a shrug. “He’s a handsome, charming fellow. But Whetherton has one ship, and you have three. He gambles his money away and has not a fine house like River’s Edge. His father was a country parson, and yours is a baronet. To a woman, my dear fellow, these are great considerations.”

Aaron rose to take leave. “I hope to God you’re right, Brockton.”

“So do I. It’s our only card to play, so let’s play it.”

“I’ll write to Colonel Compton tonight.”

“Good. I’ll continue putting pressure on Sheriff Madison to ensure the restoration of Hannah’s health. I’ll see she’s placed in Dr. Kidder’s infirmary and given treatment for her cough and fever. It will be best if you don’t visit her. You must do nothing to incite Maria’s rage or render her uncle suspicious. Once the vixen has agreed to marry you, I’ll meet with her and the colonel to negotiate terms.”

During the evening, Aaron found it was one thing to promise to write a letter filled with lies and false declarations and quite another to actually perform the feat. Reared by his parents to value honesty and forthrightness, he was now forced to turn away from all he believed right and honorable. Only the image in his mind of Hannah being dragged to the gallows, her head covered with a hood and her emaciated body unable to fight against her cruel fate, inspired him to labor onward until the deed was done. Before signing his letter, he read it through.

River’s Edge, September 18, 1839

Dear Colonel Compton:

I am addressing you on a matter of great delicacy. As you may perhaps have been aware, I’ve developed a certain interest in your niece, Miss Maria Compton. In short, I want to marry her.

My courtship appeared to be going well until recently, when Miss Compton seemed to become angry at me over some issue or other; I’m not sure what. I’ve behaved in a gentlemanly manner toward her on all occasions, so you have nothing to fear on that head. I can assure you, sir, I’m well able to provide for your niece and give her a respectable home. At your request, I will lay all pecuniary matters before your eyes.

I respectfully request your intercession with your niece in favor of my suit.

Your servant, sir,

Aaron Clarke

Aaron sighed as he signed the letter. There was everything to gain for Hannah—her life—and there was everything to lose for him. He would marry a woman whom he could now never love, and Hannah would be sent away. That part would be necessary, he was well aware, for he could not be married to another and see Hannah every day. Even if he never tried to touch her, he would be unfaithful to his wife in his heart every moment he was with Hannah. And Maria would never tolerate her presence, he was sure of that.

While he was sealing the letter, Corey knocked softly on the library door. Aaron had advised the Carnes of his plans and although they were saddened by the turn of events, they agreed there was nothing else to be done. Corey had offered to carry the letter to Compton.

The next morning Aaron waited impatiently for word from Maria’s uncle, but none was forthcoming. Unable to visit Hannah, he paced restlessly. Finally, desperate for something to do, he had the carriage brought round and took the little boys on an outing to the seashore.

After several hours of running about, digging in the sand, and gathering twigs for a small fire, Aven and Andrew were well tired out. Even so, before he nodded off in the carriage, Aven said sadly, “I do wish Miss Winstead were here.”

Aaron, thinking of the person who would take Hannah’s place, could barely reply. He hugged the little boy to him and vowed to himself the children would not suffer from his marriage; he would see to it.

The next morning brought the expected communication from Colonel Compton.

Dear Captain Clarke:

I am in receipt of your letter dated September 18. I have spoken with my niece but have not yet received an answer regarding your proposal. She apparently has some reservations; however, she would not be specific.

Your offer to my niece does you a great honor, sir, and my wife and I have full power from my brother, Maria’s father, and Mrs. Compton, her mother, to close with the offer when all matters are settled to the satisfaction of all parties.

Your servant, sir,

Feragus Compton

Aaron grimaced as he read the note. It was exactly as Brockton had suspected. The man had been saddled with the willful child of his brother, and he was anxious to discharge his duty as quickly and painlessly as possible.