“Young man, you realize that I helped fight the war that resulted in creating the very concept of such a thing as the Commonwealth of Virginia. Of the United States.” He smiled. “And so, shall we get back to why you are here?”
Smith looked like he swallowed a fly. Marshall stepped in, likely trying to minimize the growing conflict. “Yes, what brings you here, Mr. Smith? Is everything going all right? We are still on schedule, I am guessing.” He smiled kindly. Henry thought he might try to adopt some of Marshall’s mannerisms for dealing with difficult people. Once this case was over.
Whatever Marshall’s trick, his charm worked. “Yes, Mr. Marshall. I am actually here to discuss a possible option to end this case.” Henry smiled. The prosecution was seeing the holes in their own case. Why else offer a plea deal, which was most certainly the “option” that Smith was talking about?
“You have heard many of our witnesses, gentleman and there are more to come. Even the daughter of Mr. Jefferson will testify. I must warn you that the aggregate of all this testimony will not look good for Mr. Randolph. And then, of course, there is the published story of Sally Adams. That did not help your client’s cause, did it?”
Henry slammed his fist down on the table, visibly startling both Smith and Marshall. “How dare you, Mr. Smith? The slave’s testimony is not admissible. You wouldn’t have had the temerity, the complete and utter lack of respect for the legal process to submit that story to the press, would you?” Truthfully, Henry worried that this display of anger was akin to letting them see him sweat. It shouldn’t bother him. But such a violation of prosecutorial duties was essentially cheating. Either you had the admissible evidence you needed to convict a person of the crimes charged or you did not. You didn’t get to break the rules as you wanted. There were protections against this, protections that had been written into the Bill of Rights for God’s sake. No, Henry was not ashamed to be visibly angry. This situation merited righteous indignation.
“Why, no, Mr. Henry, I cannot say who leaked the story,” Smith smirked.
“Leaked” didn’t seem the correct word for what appeared to be the complete transcript of an entire witness statement. Henry was neither impressed nor convinced. Smith was playing dirty. There was nothing worse than a person in power abusing the same when they didn’t even need to do so. In a criminal case the state always had more power than the defendant—they determined what charges to file, what punishment to request. There was no reason for the prosecution to flaunt and abuse their power by lowering itself to dirty tricks and lowly tactics. Follow the law and put on your case. If you cannot prove guilt within the parameters granted to you, perhaps the defendant should not be found guilty.
All this Henry wanted to say to the smug and self-satisfied Smith. The prosecutor seemed to know there was nothing that Henry or Marshall could do to prove he had given the press the slave’s story. Maybe he was willing to cheat to get this conviction. That was infuriating, but it also indicated an admission of sorts that the prosecution’s case was weak enough that they needed to bend the rules if they wanted to convince the justices against Richard. This was no sure-fire victory for the Commonwealth of Virginia. Henry bit his tongue and played Smith’s own game. He said nothing further, allowing the tension in the room to grow.
After several long and awkward moments wherein none of the three attorneys said a word, Smith finally broke the silence. “So, would you gentlemen be interested in receiving an offer for a plea?”
Henry’s smile was genuine; whatever power the young man had hoped to maintain had shifted. His voice was practically plaintive rather than that of a benign overlord bestowing justice. “No, Mr. Smith, I would not,” Henry answered, still smiling. Marshall’s shake of the head was friendly, nonplussed. He was growing used to his fiery counterpart and his style, it would seem.
“Mr. Smith, I am afraid I have to more or less second Mr. Henry’s position. While we will hear you out regarding any offer you have for Mr. Randolph, it is very unlikely that we will accept. But please, do tell.”
Smith looked absolutely horrified at this point. It was one thing to get into it with the more emotive Mr. Henry—even Henry himself could admit as much—but to be shut down by John Marshall meant that the men for the defense weren’t just posturing. “Well, Mr. Marshall, uh, very well. The offer is this: Mr. Randolph admits his guilt and we work out a punishment wherein he spends his life in jail but does not hang.”
Henry snorted. “You want him to spend his life in the county jail? You understand, Mr. Smith, that such a sentence would likely result in death by pneumonia or some other such disease caused by the cold and damp? Your sentence is still one of death, just slower and perhaps even more tortuous. What an insult this is!”
“Now, Mr. Henry, let’s discuss this further with Mr. Smith,” Marshall smiled calmly. “Is what Mr. Henry saying true—your offer is that Mr. Randolph would live in jail for as long as his natural life remains?”
“Yes, sir. But only if he pleads guilty.”
"Well, now that you have clarified the magnitude of your benevolence how could we help but agree on the spot?"
“Mr. Henry, please, let me ask a few more questions of Mr. Smith,” Marshall’s tone was measured. He could have been talking about the weather. “And what of Miss Randolph, Mr. Smith?”
“Miss Randolph, sir? I, well, I don’t have any thoughts on her. This offer is for Mr. Randolph.”
“Ah, but you surely realize that if Mr. Randolph were to admit to any of the alleged misdeeds of which you accuse him, he would by default implicate Miss Randolph.” Don’t give the idiot any ideas, Henry thought, but he remained silent. He was too busy trying to breathe deeply and stay calm so he could see Marshall in action. “What protection would you offer her, Mr. Smith?”
“Her? Well, nothing Mr. Marshall.”
“So why would Mr. Randolph, who has done nothing but fight to clear not only his name but that of his sister-in-law, now admit guilt in a manner that would send her to the gallows but preserve his own life?”
“Why indeed,” Henry added. Richard would never accept that offer. And Henry hadn’t even thought of Nancy. Richard would decline. As he should. Nancy may be one of the most annoying women Henry had met in some time, but turning her over to the executioner seemed far too Draconian a fate.
“Well, I, uh,” Smith stammered.
“Yes, Mr. Smith?” Marshall could have been asking a child about her favorite toy for all the fluster he was showing the prosecutor.
“Miss Randolph is not on trial here, Mr. Marshall. Perhaps if she turned herself in we could then work with her to arrange a plea agreement as needed.”
“Except that you are asking to have her served up on Salome’s platter, are you not, Mr. Smith?” Marshall purred in a perfect Virginia drawl. Henry smiled again. His co-counsel was much tougher than he appeared to be all while presenting both Socratic argument and Biblical reference. It seemed apt and all the more powerful for its gentlemanly delivery.
“Well, I wasn’t aware that Miss Randolph was your client, Mr. Marshall. Perhaps you should focus on your duty to your current client and accept my offer.” Henry sat back and waited. Marshall was an extremely—almost an excruciatingly—calm and collected person. But any man had his limits. Smith’s last comment had crossed the line. There was no attorney in the country who was fit to remind John Marshall of his ethical duties to his client.
“You may leave now, Mr. Smith.” He wasn’t loud or particularly rude, but the request was forceful and final. Marshall’s eyes betrayed the anger that had not yet seeped into his voice.
“This offer comes off the table if you don’t take it now.”
“Leave.” Marshall’s tone brooked no further argument. The country gentleman had left the room.
Henry stood up and opened the office door for Smith, who was still sitting down across from Marshall, his mouth hanging open.
“Now, Mr. Smith,” Marshall smiled.
Smith put hi
s hands against the edge of the table and slowly pushed himself up. “I don’t want you to make a mistake, Mr. Marshall. You are the calmer of the two of you and so your client is counting on you to be the more reasonable counsel. Think this through.”
“Mr. Smith, if you don’t leave now we may need to ask for a plea deal for Mr. Marshall.” Marshall’s eyes twinkled at this statement from Henry, which was a relief because Henry himself thought it might have been too aggressive.
“Are you threatening a representative of the Commonwealth, sirs?”
“Actually, we are protecting you by asking you to vacate this office immediately, Mr. Smith.” Henry gestured towards the door as if a great prize lay on the other side. “Go on now. Perhaps there is a story or two you need to sell to the Gazette before they go to print this evening.”
“You will wish you had taken this deal, Mr. Henry. Your client did not hire you to refuse valid offers.”
“No, Mr. Smith, our client hired us to win. And I think now we very well shall have no other choice but to do so. Thank you kindly for your visit.”
******
Marshall was shaking he was so livid. “That young man has a thing or two to learn about the practice of law, Patrick.”
“I should say so, John. And I think today may be a good first lesson in how to deal with this opposing counsel. I believe he showed us his character in a variety of unsavory ways.”
“Do you think he leaked the story to the press? That would be too much, don’t you think?”
Henry considered before answering. “It would be so beyond the pale to have done so I can only hope that he did not. But he very well—and very likely—met with the slave girl, heard her story, and told her she couldn’t testify so…”
“She could always go talk to the newspaper,” Marshall finished Henry’s thought. “It’s not much better, but not quite as vile. A suggestion carefully planted rather than an order from the prosecution.”
Henry nodded, “I agree that it is not as vile. It isn’t entirely ethical whatever it is.”
“Do you suppose we should consider it?” Marshall had a look of doubt on his face.
“Consider what, my friend?” Many prosecutors were pompous in Henry’s experience and it surprised him that Marshall would be so affected by this one.
“The plea offer,” Marshall said. Henry nearly fell out of the seat he had resumed after escorting Smith to the exit.
“You know I believe you are a smart man, but obviously you have lost your senses, John. What are you saying? Did I not just hear you ream that young man when he made his little offer? You also pointed out that accepting the same would be putting the noose around Nancy Randolph’s young neck. You practically kicked Smith out of the room.”
“I have to admit that much of that was my ego stepping in.”
“Deservedly, John.”
“But not a great trait in an attorney to be so easily swayed on a personal level. I can’t allow my sense of self-importance to get the better of my logical self.” Marshall leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed to think a moment or two before answering. “He was rather imperious though, was he not?” Henry nodded that Smith was unbearably imperious. “But we owe it to our client to consider the pros and cons of the offer.”
“His ‘offer’ was to plead guilty to all charges and spend his life in jail. If Richard had wanted to do that, he could have just admitted guilt and turned himself self in for imprisonment. It makes little sense at all. Why would he ever take such a deal?” Henry truly could not see a single reason that their client would even consider the proposal.
“Because he doesn’t want to die, I presume,” Marshall responded without irony. “That may be an attractive option to someone who feels his neck warming up every time he hears testimony against his honor. Fear of losing may be enough. It would allow Richard to take control of his future and know the outcome of this situation.”
“While I always appreciate any measures that allow for the dissipation of anxiety, I hardly see how pleading guilty to infanticide would help reduce any stress in the long term.” Henry thought for a moment. “Or even the short term. I think the prospect of life in prison is likely a very stressful concept in and of itself, John.”
“And what if we don’t win, Patrick?” Marshall whispered as if afraid someone would overhear him. “Won’t it be far more stressful for all of us if that happens? Preparing a client for his death, knowing we had something to do with him going to the gallows. I don’t think I could handle it.”
Henry reached across the table and put a hand on Marshall’s arm. “John, of course I do not want to send a client to the gallows, especially one who is innocent.” Henry paused. “You do think he is innocent, do you not?” Was there something that Marshall knew about these people he wasn’t telling Henry?
“I think he’s innocent of the charges against him, Patrick.”
“John, you realize you are talking to another lawyer, do you not? That was not a very reassuring answer. Do you know something else that you should tell me?”
John Marshall looked Patrick Henry square in the eye. “I don’t know what any of these people were doing, Patrick. I’ve seen nothing in my life like the family of Bizarre.”
Henry found this oddly reassuring—if Marshall had known something he would have told him. And Marshall was only echoing what had been running through Henry’s own mind since this case had begun. “Has there ever been a more aptly named farm for such people?”
Marshall laughed, “God no, they are truly the strangest family, Patrick. How did we get ourselves involved in this?”
“I’ll tell you why, John: Because you and I both know that whatever was going on with every single one of those Randolphs at Bizarre, at Glentivar, at Tuckahoe, or at Monticello, the one thing that Richard Randolph did not do was murder a baby. That is why we are doing this.”
Marshall looked long and hard at Henry and then he nodded. “Yes, that’s right, Patrick.”
“And that is exactly the reason that James Smith can take is so-called deal and shove it right back up his pompous ass.”
“Patrick, that is likely the most astute thing I have ever heard you say. Now, since we are honor-bound twice over to win this damn thing, we had best get to work.”
“I thought you wanted to talk to Richard about whether he wanted to take a plea bargain?”
“Why on earth would he do such a thing when he has the illustrious Patrick Henry and John Marshall on his side?”
Henry smiled. He was happy that he had been able to repay Marshall for the many times that John had been the saner, calmer of the two keeping Henry from a complete meltdown. But his words were just that, sentiment meant for helping his colleague. For Henry felt the load on his shoulders only grow heavier as he took on not only the expectations of his client, but also of Marshall. Sleep would become a thing of the past, at least until a verdict came in. Or rather, an innocent verdict.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT WAS BECOMING FAIRLY clear that James Smith's dislike for the Randolph family was becoming a personal vendetta against Patrick Henry and John Marshall. It was a phenomenon that Henry had seen time and time again when negotiations had broken down between counsel. He himself had been guilty of the same behavior in his youth. He was now too old and too busy to care about the personal feelings of the young attorney for the prosecution. Still, Henry always liked to win, and he found that Smith’s obvious attitude was as good a reason as any to strive towards victory. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, Henry smiled to himself as he prepared for court on a sunny morning. He had determined that he would not hold Smith’s alarming peacocking against his co-prosecutor and perhaps all would be just fine as the case came to a close.
In all honesty, Henry could barely remember the name of the other attorney for the Commonwealth. Jones had melted into the background. Smith was the only attorney for the Commonwealth to address the court, to examine witnesses, and to speak for
the Commonwealth for the bulk of the proceedings. Henry would have felt concern for Jones if the young attorney hadn’t looked so content to become one with the table at which he sat. In fact, it seemed as if Jones was having as good a time as any other courtroom observer watching the trial with no obvious obligations.
While Jones sat back and smiled, Smith appeared to be on a warpath to dredge up enough witnesses to secure his desired pronouncement of guilt or, in the least, to provide the testimony to help fill in the holes in his anticipated closing argument. Marshall and Henry objected to the introduction of new witnesses and their testimony, which was often nothing more than useless gossip paraded in front of the justices. The fact that the good gentlemen of the jury seemed intent on hearing all the drivel was less than heartwarming to Henry. This was turning into entertainment rather than justice. That was one thing for the public—and bad enough—but it seemed gravely dire if the justices were enjoying this case like a gaggle of maiden aunts (which, in Henry’s opinion was near to a death knell for his case).
When the Commonwealth, in the sole form of James Smith, called the defendant’s very own elderly and meddling aunt, Mary Cary Page, to the stand, Henry had had too much.
“Objection your Honors. This is preposterous. We are here to discover whether an infanticide occurred on the night in question at Glentivar Plantation. Only the people present know what happened that night and Mrs. Page is not one of those people. We have already heard our fair share of hearsay and gossip to last the rest of this case.” Marshall cleared his throat rather indiscreetly signaling to Henry to stop. This was concurrent with the sound of the gavel banging for his silence.
“Mr. Henry,” the chief justice asked, “What is your actual objection?” There were rules, not just the right to object as one felt. This was the beauty of the legal system. It was ordered and rule-oriented. But now all Henry wanted to do was jump on the defense table and argue to the packed room of court goers that this inquest was a farce, a publicity stunt against the Randolphs. That everyone should be ashamed of themselves. He was known for his loud and boisterous declarations; perhaps this one would be no different.
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