EIGHTY-TWO

The dock where I stood was set up at a slight angle to the examining magistrate’s bench.

For three long days of testimony I stood like that, in front of a courtroom crowded with family and friends—no longer my family; no longer my friends. For three long days I stood like that.

The servants gave the bulk of the testimony.

Timmins was so earnest in his demeanor, so self-righteous in his delivery, none who saw him doubted he had been a witness to all my shame, all my crime. And he had, after all, been the one to find the dress.

Lucy came next and that was, in some ways, even worse. For it was obvious to all that, unlike Timmins, she did not want to be there. She liked me, despite everything she had heard and seen, still liked me, felt gratitude toward me—her reluctance to speak said so—and yet the law, not to mention her conscience, required she do so now. If it were only up to her…

Nanny, as others still thought of Hannah, and whom I myself had blamed for Weston’s death, gave testimony such that one could see the dawning of disbelief on the faces of those assembled: They were obviously caught up in sharing with her the version she laid out concerning Weston’s death. A version in which I suddenly appeared culpable! She claimed he must have looked out the window for my coming, that I must have called up to him to gain his attention, like Circe calling him to disaster, even though there had never been any evidence of such a thing. If I did not know my own innocence, why, to hear her speak, I might have believed me guilty too.

Why did she do it? I wondered. Was it perhaps that, even at this late date, she hoped to exonerate herself of any lingering responsibility in her own mind? I could not say.

Everyone else was surprised—save me, of course—when my own father banged the final nail in.

“It is true,” he said, “although I am sorry to have to say it, Emma has always had the most violent temper when crossed. Even as a child, if she did not have her own way, there was the devil to pay.”

Since my mother was no longer alive to deny it, and since John’s sisters—the only others who might have testified on behalf of the fact that I had not been as my father described me; that I had, in fact, been the most even-tempered of children—were disinclined to do so, his words were taken as hanging proof of my bad character. As for himself, now he no longer need fear I should ever come unhinged and come at him with accusation of his own inability to protect me as a child; more to the point, should I attempt to do so now, no one would ever believe me. My father had loved my husband so much, he could not but hate me for removing him from this world.

The only thing remaining was for me to speak my piece. My solicitor had refused to allow me to testify, but I would at least be permitted to make a statement at the verdict.

“I dispute my father’s words,” my voice rang out with a bell tone harsh even to my own ears, “although I know you cannot believe me. And I wholeheartedly dispute Hannah’s attempts to push blame for my child’s death upon me. I loved Weston beyond any measure. Even in my maddest moments—and, I will grant you, I have had them—I would never have done anything to purposely harm him and would do anything in my power to bring him back to life. If you believe nothing else good about me, you must believe this. His death was an accident, regardless of what Hannah may say to you now or in her own mind in an attempt to ease her own guilt at having left a small child unattended with the window wide open. If I am to blame at all, it is merely in that had I but been at home that day, and not away, I might have somehow prevented it. As for the rest, however, it is pretty much, in the main, the truth of what has happened here. For the few departures between evidence and fact, I have no wish to pick quarrel.”

It would be easy for an outsider to wonder at why I did not resist more, why I did not fight the charges against me. But to what purpose? I was guilty. I knew that, had always known that. And I knew now I alone was guilty. Having lost Chance, what was there in the world for me to fight for any longer? Freedom does not matter when the only thing one desires is no longer attainable.

For three long days I stood like that, waiting to learn my fate. For three long days I searched the crowd desperately, hoping to see one single face.

But, search as I might, Chance was nowhere to be seen, Chance was nowhere to be found.