An Unspeakable Crime

by Theresa Lorella

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE AIR OUTSIDE THE Cumberland County Court was charged as Henry stepped out of his carriage on the day of closing arguments. He had never experienced a palpable tension like this, even in the days leading up to the conflicts with England. True, those were special days—days that were by far superior to the inquest of Richard Randolph—but this day was one that would stand out in his mind. It was the energy of the people swarming around the building like angry bees trying to get back to their hive. During the war, the people were abuzz with positive, creative energy. These people were hungry for blood. All for what, Henry mused, a guilty verdict? This was the legal system, not a circus.

  Henry had been drawn to the law for its excitement, its high-level stakes. He was a trial attorney, a showman. He had not studied law because he had an inherent love for the procedure and precedent. That, he presumed, was exactly what had motivated his colleague, John Marshall. That said, Henry had never found his job to be entertaining and so it confused him when friends and acquaintances wanted to discuss his cases at dinner parties and holidays. “You must have such good stories,” people would say to him. Yes, Henry wanted to say. Stories of murder, betrayal, heartache and, every once in a while, stories of people meeting their end at the gallows. Entertaining, perhaps, but hardly the stuff of happy endings.

  Henry sighed as he set one foot in front of the other and made his way slowly towards the entrance. Well, hadn’t people always turned out for executions and pardons? This was really no different.

  “Mr. Henry!”

  Henry stopped and literally closed his eyes for a split second, hoping he could make it all go away. He wasn’t in the mood. He didn’t have the hard work today, but it didn’t make this any less demanding for Henry. Since the argument was in the hands of Marshall, Henry would be on Richard duty, seeing to the client’s concerns and questions as the day progressed. What with Smith (or, perhaps, Jones) giving his closing argument first, this task was likely one that would keep him busy. No defendant could sit entirely still as they heard a prosecutor construct a cast against them. It would take the patience of Christ to remain silent and centered when put in that position. And so Henry wanted to remain calm in order to best be prepared to tend to the needs of a man whose fate would be sealed that afternoon.

  Dickson made his way to Henry while he was still standing there with his eyes screwed shut. Henry breathed deeply. “Mr. Henry, are you all right?”

  Really, he was too tired for this work. This will be my last, Henry thought to himself. It was a comforting idea; just a few more hours and he would never have to deal with this kind of case ever again. “I’m fine, Mr. Dickson. I am rather distracted today, what with the task at hand. If you don’t mind.” Henry surprised himself by answering so honestly. He dreaded to see the next day’s paper announce that the unflappable Patrick Henry had shown any sign of weakness leading up to closing arguments. Well, Henry didn’t care if they did—he was too old to care at this point. This case had aged him, taken a year or two off his life. Henry was certain that such a sacrifice had not been worth such a price. Particularly if he wasn’t even paid for the work he had done.

  Dickson nodded and put his arm companionably on Henry’s shoulder. "Fair play, sir. I thought I might just help you whittle a way through all these people to get to the front door. It’s rather crazy out here and I don’t get to write my story if you don’t get in there to make closing arguments."

  The younger man seemed genuine. “I will be happy to partner with you in this one task, Mr. Dickson, but I must tell you it will not ensure any special treatment from me once this case is over. I must also tell you that Mr. Marshall will be arguing today so my presence is not as detrimental to the day’s events.”

  Dickson smiled. “Fair enough on all counts. Although no courtroom is properly full without your presence, sir.” Dickson huddled over as if he was planning on becoming a human battering ram. “Shall we, sir?”

  Dickson was helping himself as much as Henry by plowing his way to the courtroom. Getting inside the building was where the real story awaited. That said, Henry did not dislike this young newspaperman. He put down his head and allowed the younger man to man to set aside the masses as Henry trudged along behind him. “Let us through!” Dickson announced. Henry was mildly amused to see that the power of the press seemed to do the trick of cowing the crowd into dumb submission.

  Henry nodded to Dickson once they were in the court and made his way to the conference room where he would meet Richard. Marshall would spend the early morning reviewing his notes and then go straight into the courtroom. Henry did not want to talk to Richard, and he was certain his face showed it. It was not particularly professional to dislike your client openly, so he did what he could to put on a facade of neutral indifference as he opened the door to the small room. If they know you dislike them, in Henry’s experience, you could guarantee that a client would continue to cause you problems long after their case concluded.

  Richard was already inside, along with a court marshal. Still shackled, Richard was pacing back and forth, back and forth. Henry summoned his strength to prevent groaning; the last thing he wanted to do was provide emotional support to someone facing the closing argument in his murder inquest. Henry really hadn’t yet forgiven this client who had apparently given Marshall a rather pat answer as to why Richard had lied to counsel for so long. “I was protecting Nancy.” Henry had had to promise Marshall that he would not speak to Richard at all about it until the inquest was over—Henry knew that anything that came out of his mouth would likely destroy any goodwill left between him and his client.

  The problem was that avoiding the elephant in the room meant that all conversation was stilted. Feeling the need to say something, Henry said the first thing that came to mind and instantly regretted so doing. “Richard, there is nothing to worry about today. It’s not as if we will have a decision from the justices.” In Henry’s mind this was an important nuance—there was no ultimate decision being made today, just the last arguments by counsel. The worst moment would be leaving the court and waiting to be summoned back to hear if Richard would hang or not. This was a reasonable distinction to Henry, but once he said it he realized that it was likely not what Marshall would have said if he had been here. Well, it was the truth, Henry thought. He had been drained of all sympathy for this client who had lied to him for months. Add to that lying, the insult of not having been paid. Henry took a deep breath and remembered his ethical duty to the justice system if not to this client in particular.

  “You are feeling anxious, I gather,” Henry tried to be more empathetic if only to appear to be more professional.

  Richard just nodded and sat down. “Where’s Marshall?”

  “He’ll be reviewing his argument and we’ll meet him in the court.” Henry just stared at the young man. More than at any time, now Henry wanted to just ask Richard if he and Nancy had done it. Was her confession yet another lie to cover up even darker deeds? Henry did not have to argue to the court; he could learn even the worst and not be compelled to violate any ethical duties. Still, Henry asked no questions. Richard was fine with lying, but it was possible that Nancy had been honest. Oddly, the girl was growing on Henry. Compared to the rest of the family, she was practically normal.

  “What do you think will happen, Mr. Henry?” Richard asked in a small voice.

  Henry regarded the man and determined to avoid the question asked. “Well, Richard, Mr. Smith will entertain the court with an imaginative retelling of the witnesses’ testimony and then Mr. Marshall will point out all the different ways that said witnesses did not prove any such things occurred.”

  “Why didn’t you and Mr. Marshall let me take the stand and tell my side of the story? I could have easily explained everything.”

  Henry sighed. “Richard, are we going to have this conversation again? You and your explanations have landed you here. You may have had good intentions, but you lied. My advice to you when
you get out of here—if you get out of here—is to never talk about this again to anyone. Don’t tell the truth, don’t say a word. A simple rule that should not be difficult to follow. Bizarre is relatively remote. Go home and stay put for a while. Spend time with your wife and son. But never try to exonerate yourself again.”

  Richard regarded Henry for a moment and Henry did the same in return. These two men didn’t like each other, Henry could see that. Well, liking a client was not a prerequisite to zealous advocacy. The law was an attorney’s love, not their individual clients.

  It was Richard who broke the awkward silence. “You know, Mr. Henry, my stepfather wanted me to be an attorney like him.”

  Henry considered. Said stepfather, St. George Tucker was a reputable lawyer. Whether Richard could ever be “like him” was debatable in Henry’s eyes. “Mr. Randolph, I am loath to advise anyone to take up the practice of law.” There, Henry thought. That was far better than what he had wanted to say: Mr. Randolph, you are the last person who should ever consider such a career.

  Things may have become increasingly strained between the two men if the bailiff had not knocked on the door, peeked in his head and announced, “We’re ready for you.”

  Henry rose to his feet, ignoring the jangle of nerves that ran through his body as he did so. He had entered a courtroom more than a thousand times and it never got easier. “Now then,” Henry put an arm on Richard’s shoulder, “keep up your spirits. You have one of the greatest legal minds in the entire world sitting in that courtroom waiting to argue on your behalf.” Richard nodded, but he did not look to Henry and say anything like “and one of the other greatest here beside me.” No, Henry hadn’t expected such a thing. That said, it would have been nice to hear. Since Richard wasn’t forthcoming with a single kind word, Henry did not complete his thought: “And the attorney arguing for the other side may be a certifiable idiot.” That may have invited an unwanted comment from Richard that would have ruined Henry’s day.

  Henry and Richard entered the courtroom side-by-side. It was less of a friendly gesture than the actions of two men who found themselves on the same side of an unpleasant equation.

  “How are you this morning,” Marshall asked as Henry and Richard sat down. It didn't really matter much how he was doing since he was not the person who had an important argument to make.

  Henry kept that to himself and instead asked Marshall how he was doing. “Well, Patrick, we shall soon see, shall we not?” The two attorneys smiled, but Richard remained stony-faced and lost in his own world. Not a surprising reaction, Henry thought.

  “Well, this is it then,” Marshall said as the bailiff announced the justices. There was no time to say anything further. Marshall put his hand on Richard’s arm either for reassurance or for luck, Henry couldn’t tell.

  Marshall seemed to completely in his own mind, yet not as nervous as Henry would be in the same situation. Not that Henry would have let anyone see his discomfort. He would have overcompensated by acting overly confident. Not John Marshall; he could be about to recount the last horse race to a room of friends for any nerves he showed. Well, Henry thought, good for him. He had given up even trying to control his anxiety, but bully for those who seemed to have no nerves—or nerves of steel.

  As Henry mulled over Marshall's abilities, the bailiff asked everyone to rise and the justices filed in. Henry made the subtlest of nods towards the justices, but otherwise made no attempt at friendliness towards the gentlemen who held Richard’s fate in their hands. He had learned that testifying with one’s face never paid off.

  After preliminaries were addressed and completed, Justice Carrington addressed the courtroom: “We have come to this court every day for several days. This has been a much-discussed and anticipated inquest and many of you have been here every day as we have heard from several witnesses. Today each counsel will have their respective chance to make closing arguments to the justices to summarize their positions based on the evidence presented. These arguments may be passionate and they may sensational. That said, I do not wish for any interruptions that will lead to a delay in these proceedings. If anyone in this room—anyone—feels they cannot control themselves as this day unfolds, I ask them to stand up and leave now. If you do not do so and I hear you from where I sit, you will be escorted out immediately at any point during the day.”

  An angry and frustrated judge. Never a good thing, but for which side would that prove to be worse on this important day? The justice did not appear that he was long on patience for the day. Well, Marshall was nothing if not no-nonsense. That said, Marshall was a bit of a talker and perhaps a little too intellectual for his own good. Henry hoped he didn’t lose an impatient panel of judges with any convoluted legal arguments. But first, the Commonwealth had to make their last appeal to the court.

  “Mr. Smith, you may proceed,” Justice Carrington announced.

  Smith stood and said the most surprising thing of the entire inquest: “Your honor, my colleague, Paul Jones, will make arguments today.”

  Every head in the court—Henry’s included—snapped towards the Commonwealth’s table. After days of hearing nothing at all from the Jones half of the prosecution team, the young man stood up to full height and smiled to the justices. He also got in a grin towards the audience at large and one squarely aimed at Henry and Marshall. Well, well, thought Henry, who would have ever thought that Jones would make his debut and in such a dramatic fashion. It would upset Marshall that he had planned an argument based solely on the presumption that the more boisterous Smith would argue for the Commonwealth. They had no idea what kind of attorney awaited them in the form of Paul Jones—Marshall would have to adapt pretty quickly.

  “Thank you your honor,” Jones began.

  ******

  Closing Argument of the Commonwealth of Virginia

  When this matter began, my colleague told you what was at stake: betrayal, fornication, and infanticide. I can guarantee to you that the defense will stand up before you and pick apart everything that was presented to you, but you have seen and heard the same set of facts. You have seen and heard the evidence that points to one thing and one thing only: The defendant, along with his sister-in-law, caused her pregnancy to end on the night in question at Glentivar plantation.

  We heard from the self-same owner of Glentivar, Randolph Harrison. He testified that when his guests arrived, there was no mention to anyone that Nancy Randolph was pregnant. In fact, we heard testimony that she was known to deny the same, although she also tried very hard to hide the growingly obvious. I will repeat: Nancy Randolph was known to say that she was not—ever—pregnant. Yet we also heard testimony from her own aunt, a woman who may be nosy, but who confirmed what so many others had suspected. Nancy was pregnant, and she did not want anyone to know it.

  And what else did we hear about Nancy’s pregnancy? We heard she had been learning the use of plants and herbs from her sister-in-law Martha Jefferson Randolph. This would have been a passing fact of no consequence but for the fact that Mrs. Randolph testified that she had given and taught Nancy the use of a plant called gum guaiacum. True, she claimed this plant helped cure the symptoms of colic, Nancy’s supposed ailment that fateful night last autumn at the Harrison’s home. But Mrs. Randolph also indicated that the same produces a woman’s monthly courses. If said woman is pregnant, so using gum guaiacum would cause the termination of that pregnancy. Mrs. Randolph testified that she may have told this very information to Nancy. She implied that Nancy may have wanted to know this very thing.

  Why would Nancy want to know such a thing as how to abort a baby? Certainly that would be information that would come in handy if you were predisposed to wanting to end the life of your unborn or recently born child, would it not, gentleman?

  Now, the defense is likely to argue that the fact that Mrs. Randolph argued that Nancy had colic as a recurring issue would indicate that she may have accidentally caused the death of her baby. Or, in a more sinister yet not entirely i
llegal argument, she knew she was pregnant and Nancy purposely ended that unwanted pregnancy.

  I will posit that neither of these things happened, gentlemen. If they had, they would have been unlikely to happen away from Bizarre when Nancy and Richard were guests at Glentivar. A planned abortion of that pregnancy would not have occurred in a location with unknown entities milling about. Cousins, servants, there were too many variables for any reasonably intelligent person to determine they would purposely miscarry an unwanted and unknown baby in another person’s home.

  There was no accidental or planned miscarriage, gentlemen. We know now that Nancy, Richard, and likely Richard’s wife, Judith, all knew Nancy was pregnant. While there can be claims easily made that any child would have been the offspring of Theodorick Randolph, a dead man cannot testify. It is an easy answer, is it not? Young lovers tragically thrown apart by death, but not too soon to create a natural marriage and create a child. An uncomfortable situation to be sure. But not a criminal situation and one that is not, as we all know, uncommon. If that were the case why would Nancy not tell people of her predicament? Perhaps she would have to deal with prudes and their scorn for becoming pregnant outside of marriage, but she would not be the first to have done so. Why, since the Randolphs of Bizarre have demonstrated a penchant for lying, they could have simply fabricated a story that Nancy and Theodorick married on the poor young man’s deathbed.

  But they did not.

  And why did they not? You have heard testimony that Nancy and Richard were close. Too close for such a young woman and her brother-in-law to be. For every person who has testified that their relationship was normal if not affectionate, there is another who indicates that their affection seemed to go beyond the bounds of a true brother and sister relationship. And if that were the case, gentleman, you would have to lie about a pregnancy that resulted from such an unnatural and perverted relationship. There was the element of the adultery, which was bad enough. But the betrayal of trust for Judith Randolph, to have her own sister and husband treat her in such a way. And the betrayal of trust for Richard to take advantage of a young girl—his wife’s sister—sent to him to care for after the death of her mother. That is why Nancy could not tell anyone she was pregnant, gentleman: That baby belonged to Richard. Richard sits before you charged with fornication outside of marriage. He should be found guilty on that charge.