Shattered Moments (26 page)

“Miss Whitfield, can you recall the afternoon in question?” Mr. Brooks asked, smiling in an effort to put her more at ease.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Was there anything unusual about that day?”

“Robbie and Harry were chasing each other around the kitchen table, bringing Cook to the edge of reason, especially when they knocked a bowl over, spilling peas all over the floor.  Cook berated them most severely, and they began to cry, which in turn, led to Millie and Tom crying.  Evie considers herself to be too old for such childish behavior, so she just laughed at them, but it took Minnie and I a good quarter of an hour to restore the peace.  They were still sniveling as they ate their meal, and I finally shepherded them off to the nursery.”

Mr. Brooks nodded, allowing a moment for Genevieve’s account to sink in.  “So, it was unusually noisy, was it?”

“Oh, yes.  It’s normally very noisy as is, with so many small children, but that day was particularly chaotic.  I could barely hear my own voice over all that wailing.”

“I see.  Thank you, Miss Whitfield.
  You may step down.”

Mr. Brooks looked around the assembly
, his gaze showing nothing more than mild curiosity at all the people gathered to watch the proceedings.  His eyes briefly met those of Lady Sheridan, who was perched on the edge of the bench, her hands gripping the worn wood like that of a drowning man hanging on to a bit of flotsam in a roiling sea.  She was waiting for the next witness, hoping and praying that her gamble would pay off.  Mr. Brooks had been stunned when she suggested it.  He’d never heard of such a thing before, especially from a woman, but he had to admit that the idea had merit. 

Proving that Mrs. Annabel Whitfield might have misheard the conversation was certainly very useful in creating doubt, but the
council could still go either way.  With no other suspects and no witnesses to vouch for the whereabouts of Lord Sheridan on the night of the murder, discrediting Mrs. Whitfield would only go so far.  The elders of the colony were eager for justice, no matter what form it took, and sending an innocent man to his death went a long way to keeping order and instilling fear in the population.  A murder couldn’t go unpunished, and some of the members of the council, as well as Sir George, could happily convince themselves that Lord Sheridan was guilty, simply to put the matter to rest and move forward. 

The sentence would hinge on this last witness, so he had to make the testimony as dramatic as possible, although it would be
shocking enough in itself.  Calling a physician to testify in a murder hearing was certainly radical, and as far as he knew, had never been done by any other lawyer before.  He would either be lauded as introducing a groundbreaking new aspect of law, or laughed at by his contemporaries for turning a respectable hearing into a spectacle and making a mockery of the law.

The room finally quieted down, countless pairs of eyes watching
Mr. Brooks to see what he would do next. 

“Will you be making your closing argument now, Mr. Brooks?” Sir George inquired, clearly bored with the proceedings.  It was nearly time for luncheon, and Sir George was very fond of his
cook, in more ways than one, if the gossip happened to be true.

“Ah, no, Sir George.  I have one more witness that I would like to call to testify. 
Mr. Jacobson, would you kindly step forward please?”  He speared Jacobson with his gaze, daring him to refuse. 

The physician, or “the Butcher”, as he was known in Jamestown
, due to his propensity for killing rather than healing, had been appalled by the suggestion that he take the stand in the murder hearing, but Mr. Brooks had hinted that testifying might improve the good doctor’s reputation in Jamestown, especially if his controversial testimony helped save the life of a good man; a man who was wealthy, and would show his appreciation should he be cleared of all charges.  Jacobson got the hint and reluctantly agreed, but now that the time had come, he looked nervous and ready to refuse.  He was just about to say something when Mr. Brooks cut him off, addressing the assembly.

“Mr. Jacobson has some very important information that will shed new light on this puzzling case, and it’s only his vast expertise and knowledge of the human body that has made these new discoveries possible.  Mr. Jacobson…”

The physician reluctantly rose from his seat, beaming at all the curious faces that were now watching him with undisguised curiosity.  Maybe Brooks was right and these people would finally recognize him for the great physician he was, especially Lord Sheridan, who might indeed be feeling very grateful after his testimony.  The man pulled back his shoulders, raised his chin and marched forward as if going into battle.  His demeanor would make all the difference to how his answers were received, according to Brooks that is, and he was about to put on the best show he could. 

The lawyer smiled with more confidence seeing the change in Jacobson.  The man was a vain, pompous imbecile, but he would play his part nicely, especially since he could almost taste the reward.  Brooks glanced again at Lady Sheridan. 
An admirable woman
, he thought yet again,
simply admirable.  Who knew she had such a keen legal mind?
 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve taken it upon myself, with the express permission of Mrs. Deverell, of course, to have our esteemed physician Mr. Jacobson examine the body of the late Mr. Deverell.  Mr. Jacobson, do you believe that Mr. Deverell died by drowning?”

“I couldn’t swear to it without performing a postmortem, but I don’t believe there was any water in the lungs of the deceased.  No liquid came out when his chest was pumped, so he was likely already dead by the time he was tossed into the James.”

“So, how would you say he died, Mr. Jacobson?”

“Upon examining the body, I found many bruises consistent with a beating, and marks upon the neck that suggest he was strangled.”  Jacobson looked around the courtroom, clearly enjoying the attention he now commanded.

“I see,” uttered the lawyer, turning to face the
council.  Now came the tricky part, the part he’d argued with Lady Sheridan about, but had to concede made sense.  He hoped the members of the council would see it the same way.  “Mr. Jacobson, would you say that Mr. Deverell was killed by a strong man?”  This was speculation, but it could save Lord Sheridan’s life.

“Yes, I would.  The marks on the neck were very wide.”

“And what would that tell us, sir?”

“It would indicate that the man who strangled him had large, powerful hands.”  Mr. Jacobson looked around as if he just explained something very profound, and indeed the spectators were all looking at Lord Sheridan’s hands, which is exactly what Brooks had wanted. 

“Lord Sheridan, would you please raise your hands?”  Kit threw him a look of pure resentment as he held up his fettered hands, but the point had been made.  Lord Sheridan, although tall, was lean and aristocratic, with elegant, long-fingered hands, which probably wouldn’t even fit around the neck of the squat, corpulent Mr. Deverell.

“Mr. Jacobson, do you think Lord Sheridan’s hands are big enough to have strangled Mr. Deverell?”

“No.  As a matter of fact, I don’t think Lord Sheridan could have beaten or overpowered Mr. Deverell, who was at least ten stone heavier than Lord Sheridan, possibly more.  Mr. Deverell would have had the advantage in that fight.  At a guess, Mr. Deverell had been attacked by a much larger man, a man who was not only bigger, but much fitter and stronger.”  Mr. Brooks nearly smiled to himself as several people gasped, shocked by this new testimony.

“And do you believe that Mr. Deverell was thrown into the water near Rosewood Manor?”

“If he had, he’d probably been carried by the current and not wound up right in the harbor.  Most likely, he was dumped into the river from the dock, where his clothing got tangled with a wooden pole and kept him from drifting away, thus allowing the body to be discovered.”

“So, if Lord Sheridan had killed Mr. Deverell near Rosewood Manor
, he would have had to transport the body to Jamestown where at least one person would have seen him. As it happens, no one saw Lord Sheridan that night, no one at all.  He was nowhere near the scene of the crime, or so it would appear.  Thank you, Mr. Jacobson; you may step down.”

Mr. Brooks waited
until the doctor took his seat at the back before diving into his closing argument.  The church was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop as all eyes followed Mr. Brooks around as he paced in front of the council, taking a moment to lock eyes with every member before finally speaking.

“Gentlemen,
today we heard the testimony of four people, three of whom reside at Rosewood Manor, and on the premises on the day in question.  Mrs. Whitfield claims to have heard Lord Sheridan threatening to kill Mr. Deverell, a fact that she’s willing to swear to.  Her resolve is very commendable, and I don’t doubt that she truly believes that’s what she heard; however, the two men were conversing fifty feet away from the house during a time when five children were crying and screaming just down the hall.  According to Miss Minerva Pike and Miss Genevieve Whitfield, the children were in the kitchen during the time of the exchange, and carried on for at least a quarter of an hour before they were subdued enough to eat their luncheon. 

Now, I ask you, is overhearing a snippet of conversation, heated though it might be, over the cacophony of screaming
children from a distance of fifty feet, solid enough evidence to convict a man of murder and sentence him to death?”

Mr. Brooks paused for a moment, giving the members of the
council a moment to process what he said.  Then he pushed his glasses up his nose and continued, “And then we have the testimony of our physician, Mr. Jacobson.  According to him, it would have taken a much stronger man than Lord Sheridan to overpower and strangle Mr. Deverell; a man who would have to have done the deed right here in Jamestown in order for the body to still be in the harbor the following morning.  Everyone here knows Lord Sheridan, and no one saw him in Jamestown, or anywhere near the harbor on the night in question. 

Now, we may never know who
committed this gruesome crime, but based on the evidence presented today, I say it isn’t Lord Christopher Sheridan, who has neither the disposition nor the strength to murder a man of Mr. Deverell’s girth in cold blood.  Thank you.”  Mr. Brooks swept to his seat and sat down, crossing his legs and brushing a speck of lint off his coat, as if preparing to watch a performance of some sort rather than hear the outcome of the trial in which his client might be sentenced to death. 

“Ladies and
gentlemen, the members of the council and I would like some time to consider the evidence, so I propose that we reconvene after luncheon, at say two o’clock.” 

The spectators shuffled out of the church, talking loudly
amongst themselves and debating what they’d just heard.  Louisa remained seated, her eyes glued to Kit’s.  “You’re amazing,” he mouthed as the guard led him away to his cell to await the verdict. 
But am I amazing enough to have saved the day?
Louisa thought as she squeezed Fred Taylor’s hand.

It had taken them hours to convince Mr. Brooks to talk to the physician.  He gaped at them as if they’d suggested whipping out a broom and using it to fly across town, doing a few summersaults over the church.  Medical evidence had been used in a court of law to confirm the cause of death, but speculating as to the type of man who might have killed a victim was unheard of.  No forensic evidence of any kind would be used for centuries to come, but this was as close as they could get in the seventeenth
century, using their twenty-first century knowledge.  As Fred Taylor repeatedly pointed out to Mr. Brooks, they didn’t have to prove Lord Sheridan innocent; all they had to do was create a reasonable doubt of his guilt, a doubt that would prevent any man of conscience from sentencing him to hang based on such circumstantial evidence. 
Damn Annabel
, Louisa thought for the hundredth time;
if it weren't for her blasted testimony none of this would be happening
. 

Louisa finally rose to her feet, suddenly eager for a breath of fresh air.  She hadn’t eaten since last night
, and her stomach was growling in protest as she swayed with lightheadedness.  Genevieve was instantly at her side, taking her by the elbow and steering her toward the door.

“You must take some food, Lady Sheridan.  Cook sent a hamper with Minnie, so why don’t we find a place to sit
, and you can have something to eat while we wait.”  She squeezed Louisa’s hand in mute support, and Louisa nearly burst into tears, feeling the lack of Valerie.  She needed her sister there, and Alec.

“Thank you,
Genevieve, you’ve been a great help.  I will have something to eat, and so should you.  You girls were splendid,” she said as Minnie approached them by the door, her face tense with worry. 

“Do you think it will help, your ladyship? Minnie asked, her eyes filling with tears.

“It must.

Nearly an hour later Louisa walked back into the church, followed by Genevieve, Minnie, and Mr. Taylor.  The small space was already full, spectators eager to hear the verdict.  Louisa could hear snippets of conversation and muted arguments, as people voiced their opinion of the evidence and the possible outcome.  She wished she could put her hands over her ears to tune out the malicious tongues that still thought Kit should hang.  At that moment, she didn’t care what Kit had done with Buckingham, or even if he really killed that odious man; all she wanted was for him to be cleared of all charges so that he could come home with her. 

Louisa
realized that she’d forgiven him long ago, and always knew she would.  Whatever he had done, it had been because he had no other choice, and he’d suffered enough not only while it lasted, but long after, knowing there was a chance she might find out.  Louisa watched as the members of the council filed in, led by Sir George who looked as if he’d had time to enjoy his luncheon after all.  He appeared well-pleased with himself, rubbing his hands in satisfaction as he took his seat and surveyed the members of the council. 

Kit was finally brought in.  He appeared to be calm, but Louisa knew him well enough to notice the lines of tension around his eyes and the defiant set of his shoulders.  He was scared, and he had every right to be.  Come this time tomorrow, he might be dead, and she might be a widow, her children fatherless and disgraced.  Louisa said a quick prayer, but she didn’t really believe that God would hear her.  When did he ever?  She sucked in her breath as Sir George rose to his feet, surveying his audience with an air of a man who was about to deliver a riveting
performance.

“Ladies and
gentlemen, the members of the council and I have considered the evidence most carefully.  I must admit that the testimony of Mr. Jacobson was rather unorthodox, but we unanimously believe that there isn’t enough proof to convict Lord Sheridan of the murder of Mr. Aloysius Deverell.  We will continue to search for the perpetrator of this heinous crime, and will bring him to justice once he’s apprehended.  In the meantime, Lord Christopher Sheridan, you are free to leave.  Guard, please remove the shackles.” 

Louisa nearly fainted with relief, her heart pounding with joy.  She wanted to fly into Kit’s arms and tell him that she loved him and forgave him everything, but this wasn’t the time or the place.  Despite his calm demeanor
, Kit was overwrought and needed a little time to deal with his emotions.  Louisa strode to the front and put her arm through his, leading him out of the church.  “Let’s go home, Kit,” she said, drawing closer to him as he kissed the top of her head. 

“Yes, let
’s.  We have much to discuss,” he added wearily, knowing his ordeal wasn’t quite over.

“There’s nothing to discuss.  It’s over.”  Louisa smiled at Kit as he gazed at her in confusion.  “It’s over,” she repeated, “and we shall never speak of it again.”

Kit just nodded happily, relief showing in his eyes.  “Let’s go home.  I miss the children.”

**

Louisa smiled happily as she drove the trap away from Jamestown and toward Rosewood Manor.  Kit was free, and at this moment that was all that mattered to her.  He was emotionally overwrought, exhausted from lack of sleep, and could use a bath, but otherwise he was unharmed and would be back to his old self in a few days.  Of course, there was still much to discuss once the dust settled.  She had offered him love and forgiveness on impulse, but things were far from settled between them.  She had pushed thoughts of Kit and Buckingham away from her spinning brain for the past few weeks, but now that the trial was behind them
, she would have to finally analyze her feelings and try to come to terms with what she’d learned.  In her heart she knew that Kit loved her and the children and would have never submitted to Buckingham unless he had a very good reason, but the unbidden images of the two of them together still ambushed her when she least expected, leaving her gutted and sick to her stomach with revulsion.  She supposed any person could submit to unwelcome sexual advances under dire circumstances, but what if Kit had enjoyed their trysts?  What if he got a taste for men?

Louisa’s twenty-first century brain tried to assure her that people didn’t just become homosexual.  The attraction to the same sex and the desire to act on it would have been there, possibly buried, but still there from the start.  Kit had never shown the slightest interest in men.  He had been a man’s man, the kind Louisa rarely met in her previous life in the future.  Surrendering himself to Buckingham must have cost him dearly
, and now he had to deal with the knowledge that his wife might never fully forgive him or love him as she had before.  She wanted to believe with all her heart that things could go back to the way they were, but only time would tell if the tear in the fabric of their relationship could be repaired, or if the ugly seam would always mar the surface, a constant reminder of something ugly and forbidden.