Richard remained impassive. “I don’t know if that’s enough, Mr. Henry, but I know that it’s all I have. I have never been so scared in my entire life.”
Henry regarded the young man. This was the most normal thing he had ever heard Richard say. “Well, Richard, that is a very appropriate feeling I should think. This is likely the most frightening moment of your life. This moment will determine your very life.”
“Are you trying to make me feel better, Mr. Henry?” Richard asked.
“I am, in a manner,” Henry answered taking none of Richard’s anger-laden bait. “I believe what you are feeling is normal, appropriate. There is something reassuring in knowing your response is the correct one even if you are not comfortable. It means you are normal.”
Henry meant it as a compliment although he could see that his explanation wasn’t helping. He didn’t explain further—nor did Marshall have the chance to cut in and smooth things over—before the bailiff poked his head into the room and said, “It’s time, gentlemen.”
If Henry could bottle the feeling of walking into court to receive a verdict, he may have been a rich man. It was an excitement that could only be achieved when everything was on the line. A perfect mix of euphoria and fear. It was a dangerous feeling, but a rush nonetheless. As Henry settled into his chair at the defense table, it surprised him to discover that he felt for just a moment regret that the case was ending. Perhaps it was too early to consider retirement as Henry had been doing just a few days previously. Maybe he had a few good years left in him.
It was his own career that Henry was pondering when the bailiff shouted, “All rise,” and the justices of the jury filed in. Even as the justices settled down was Henry pondering his own next steps.
“Ladies and gentlemen, come to order,” Justice Carrington banged his much-used gavel. “We, the justices of Cumberland County, have reached a decision in the inquest into the guilt of the defendant, Richard Randolph.” The crowd murmured with excitement and the justice banged his gavel harder. “Mr. Randolph, please rise.”
For Henry, this was a moment where time would stand still. Anything could happen in this split second before the justices announced their verdict. The energy was palpable, rippling through the air in nearly visible currents. Henry could see Richard was swaying slightly; Henry put out a hand to steady his client. He looked to the justices and took a deep breath.
“This court finds that Richard Randolph, of a plantation called Bizarre, is found to be not guilty of all charges of which he has been accused. There shall be no further investigation or trial regarding this matter.”
There was a shocked intake of air in the room all around Henry. Richard sunk to his chair, his head in hands as he wept with relief. Henry and Marshall remained standing. It was not without considerable satisfaction that Henry noticed a look of shock and confusion on the face of Smith.
Justice Carrington hit his gavel several times to quiet the courtroom of the explosion of sound that had broken free. “Order. Mr. Randolph, please stand once again.” Henry helped his client to his feet. “Mr. Randolph, you have been tried by a jury of your peers on the charges of fornication and infanticide. Those same peers have acquitted you of the same. You cannot ever be tried for these alleged events again. You leave this courtroom a free man.”
******
“You are free to go, sir,” the marshal said to Richard as he opened the door to the small conference room. “Here are your belongings.” He placed a small piece of luggage on the table. “Best of luck to you.”
Richard straightened his back, already comfortable being lord of the manor once again. “Thank you, Paul. I appreciate your kind treatment during my stay here.”
“Just doing my job, Mr. Randolph.” These Randolphs, Henry mused. Even when they were dirt poor and did nothing right, the people give them preferential treatment.
“Shall we then, Richard?” Marshall asked, gesturing towards the door. “It’s a lovely day, perfect for feeling the sun on your face for the first time in several weeks.”
Dear Marshall, Henry thought, not unkindly. The man was a quintessential gentleman. Henry could not think of the last time he had learned so much from a colleague. Or, frankly, enjoying working with another attorney as much as he had enjoyed his work with John Marshall. Perhaps, Henry thought, they would meet again at the defense table.
“It that really it, Mr. Marshall?” Richard asked. “I don’t go back to my cell or anything?”
Henry sighed; these two were being too polite about the whole thing. “Mr. Randolph, if you would like to return to your cell again, perhaps we could arrange for you to stay here, maybe for another night or two. You would be the first client of mine to do such a thing, but it never hurts to ask, does it?”
Richard reddened. Henry immediately saw his mistake: Suddenly the power in his relationship with Richard had shifted. Until this point, Richard had needed something—desperately—from Patrick Henry. How, having gained his freedom, Richard Randolph had returned to his pedestal, returned to the power of his name and pedigree. “Mr. Henry,” he looked down his nose, “unlike you I do not have a working knowledge of a jailhouse. How am I to know what happens as you are released.”
This young man tired him and Henry was more than pleased this was all over, but for the matter of payment. “Mr. Randolph, seeing as how I have never been confined to a jailhouse—as have you—I figured you would know better than the rest of us. Are you suggesting that you will take up the marshal’s offer and allow us to walk you out of this building?” Henry smiled. It was not a friendly smile. He did not want to face the lingering crowd that must still be in front of the courthouse. He didn’t want to face Dickson and make a statement for the Gazette. Henry wanted out of this building, away from this client, and to be in his own home relaxing and dining with his family.
Marshall, as he had often done, interjected. “The good news is that no, Richard, no need to return to your cell—whether or not you want to,” a nod to Henry, “so we can just leave the building and never look back. A warning, though: There will likely be a crowd outside. They will want to speak to you, get your statement for the press. You need not say a word—we have designated Mr. Henry as our public spokesperson.”
“What if I would like to say something to the public,” Richard asked. Or, if Henry were to describe it, whined.
“Even if you want to talk, you shall not,” Henry pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “My God, Richard, don’t you remember how this all started? My advice to you is to keep your mouth completely shut. Do not speak to the press, do not speak to friends, and definitely do not speak to any extended members of your family. Just go back to Bizarre and relax. Life your life.” Henry paused, thinking about his audience. “But be careful how you live, young man. Consider what is best for your family and for Nancy.”
Richard visibly bristled at that. Out of the corner of his eye Henry noticed Marshall shake his head slightly. Likely he was telling Henry to stop. Even so, Henry was certain that his colleague agreed with everything he was saying. It would not be hard for Richard and Nancy to make things worse by continuing to live together. It would likewise not be hard to make things better by following Henry’s advice. They could find a family member in a lonely corner of the county who would willingly harbor a pleasant but socially tainted cousin.
“Mr. Henry, I will forever be grateful to Nancy for winning this case for me.”
Silence. It was a shocking statement.
“I’m sorry, Richard,” Marshall asked, likely wanting to cut off Henry’s brewing diatribe, “what do you mean that Nancy ‘won this case’ for you?”
“Listen, Mr. Marshall, all due respect to you and Mr. Henry. You did your best with your experience and abilities. But if Nancy hadn’t shown up to remind Patsy Jefferson—her sister-in-law—that Nancy deserved vindication, well, I would be hanging. It was brave, it was heroic.”
Henry considered whether he should murder this you
ng man with his own bare hands and then plead mitigating factors. He was so angry he couldn’t even process an argument against Richard’s point. He wasn’t certain that he even needed to make such an argument, not to John Marshall, anyway. And likely there was no amount of sense that would get through to this particular client. This client who was yet to pay his bill. A horrible feeling appeared in Henry’s stomach, the feeling of knowing that things were going horribly, horribly wrong, despite their victory.
It was the feeling of knowing that he hated his own client.
As Henry worked through his breathing, Marshall took charge, somehow ending this doomed and idiotic conversation, herding both men through the doors of the conference room, out the front door of the Cumberland County Courthouse, and down the steps towards a waiting carriage. There was only one thing that carried Henry onward and forward: The certain and complete knowledge that this matter was over.
******
Virginia Gazette
Matthew Dickson
The verdict is in, if you are the last person in the Commonwealth of Virginia to know what happened in the trial of Richard Randolph. After weeks of listening to a parade of Randolphs, hearing from attorneys, and even from bondsmen, we have heard the attorney’s closing arguments and received the astonishing news that the jury has acquitted Richard Randolph of all charges.
And now, as befits such a decision, Mr. Randolph has left the courtroom a free man to return to Bizarre. We must wonder, what awaits him once he returns home? Will his wife receive him with open arms? And what of Nancy Randolph? She has avoided any threat of charges against herself, but what of her name, her reputation? Her own aunt testified that she was pregnant and her sister-in-law indicated that she gave Nancy an abortifacient. And one can only presume how Nancy must get along with her sister Judith after all of this is said and done.
But they were not found guilty. That is the role of the courts—to determine whether a person is guilty or not. But that leaves the question: Are they innocent?
******
A message from St. George Tucker to the people of Virginia
I implore my fellow citizens of this great state to consider thoughtfully the fact that my stepson, Richard Randolph has been acquitted of every charge against him, found guilty of no wrongdoing.
This result was the product of a full inquest, brought by the Commonwealth, after they presented their desired witnesses and evidence against Richard. These witnesses comprised Richard’s own family, the type of testimony that can be devastating to a criminal defendant. But even with such witnesses, the jury could see that the lack of evidence did not fit the gravity of the heinous crimes that were charged against Richard and, by association, against Nancy Randolph.
While the good citizens of our state may whisper of the “surprise” and “shock” of the acquittal verdict, I ask that all consider several pertinent facts: First, Richard has been trying to clear his name from the moment that rumors against him began. He did not hide, he did not avoid the issue. He has requested duals, written letters to this paper, and told all who would listen that he was an innocent man. He asked the court himself to charge and try him for the crimes that he was rumored to have committed. He turned himself into the jail to be held during the ensuing trial. He has behaved with decorum and dignity throughout.
So too has Nancy Randolph behaved in a manner consistent with an innocent woman intent upon clearing the name of her brother-in-law. She has sacrificed her own name and reputation to stand before us, her peers, and say that Richard has done none of the things of which he is accused.
Both of these people have likely sacrificed more for this case than they even know. They will be spoken of for years to come for no other reason than the fact that they are the principal players in the Bizarre Scandal. But they are people—perhaps even victims of the frenzy that resulted from rumors that quickly grew out of control until the resulting monster did not in any way resemble the original events. When these people reappear amongst you, I implore you as both a father and a lawyer, to remember that the court has acquitted these young people. They should not be shunned, the subject of rumors and gossip, or excluded from society. They have done nothing illegal and should not be treated as such.
I reiterate that Richard Randolph has maintained his innocence in this matter from the moment he first heard a rumor that something amiss had occurred at the plantation of Glentivar. Why or how these stories began—and why Richard or Nancy would have such fervent and nasty enemies—we do not know. We may never know. Why any family members or household members would feel that they should have come forward with stories or testimonials is unknown. My years in the legal profession have taught me to not linger long on the why of legal actions. Perhaps those of the religious slant would say these are the crosses that some people have to bear. Some would say it is the luck of the draw.
Whatever may be the ultimate divine reasoning behind the accusations against Richard and Nancy, they have maintained their innocence, and they have been exonerated. Now that that has happened, we all must move forward and allow these young people to do the same.
EPILOGUE
Letter to John Marshall from Gouverneur Morris--1809
DEAR MR. MARSHALL,
I hope that in life finds you well. I write regarding a matter that brings to mind again the loss of Mr. Henry. It is hard to believe ten years have passed since that illustrious orator, statesman, and attorney has passed. I know that you and he may not have always been on the same side of an argument, but I understand that you greatly admired each other. I also know that your new duties as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court likely keep you more than occupied, so I must thank you again for your attention to my plight.
This is not a missive simply to give belated bereavements for your former colleague. I have reason to ask about the contents of a case you and he tried nearly twenty years ago. You will remember the odd matter of a Richard Randolph. I do not pose that as a question, but rather as a statement. I will not pretend that the gossip regarding that matter didn’t make its way even up to us in New York. You may not know that I was of an acquaintance with Thomas Mann Randolph the elder and so had a slight connection to some players in that matter, however passingly.
I would not have ever thought again about the so-called Bizarre Scandal or that it would ever touch my life. However, in the way that life has of sending us constant surprises, I am embroiled in that matter right here, right now. It seems that 1793 Virginia has arrived to my New York estate in the year 1809.
The unintended emissary of this scandal is the one person who likely wishes the matter would finally die a certain and complete death. Said person is the one and unique Ann Cary Randolph, known to many as Nancy. Ann has brought me much joy since I have come to know her and I would like to make her my wife. Yes, old friend, this ancient and confirmed bachelor has determined that I should join the ranks of civilized society. Unfortunately, with my unexpected happiness, I have also found myself to be embroiled in a strange—dare I say “bizarre”—family struggle that has played out for nearly two decades.
Let me explain a bit more. I have had a hard time finding an adequate housekeeper to run my home, Morrisania, without having the assistance of a wife. I mentioned this to a friend who let me know of a single young woman named Randolph who had fallen from fortune and was looking for a position. I knew the name and was shocked to find that this Ann was the same little Nancy who I must have met during a long ago visit to Tuckahoe. How the wheel of fortune turns and brings us all together!
I invited this Ann Randolph to my home and spoke to her about the position. Rather, I asked her to tell me how a young woman of such a family had found herself in a place wherein she was looking to find a position in someone’s home. I developed a great respect for the woman when she told me rather candidly that she had fallen from grace due to a scandal that had ripped apart her life when she was little more than a child. She told me about the rumors and the charges against Richard
and of the dramatic trial. She did not know you and I are old acquaintances. She also told me something rather remarkable—she was in fact pregnant at the time and lost her baby on that fateful night at Glentivar. She had been, she told me, in love with her cousin Theodorick and likely would have married him if he had not passed away prior.
John, this last bit alone would be enough to dissuade many of my family members against this woman, but I found that her honesty and fortitude in the face of so many years of adversity—she has had to bounce from family member to family member, moving north to find a living when she wasn’t receiving support—was refreshing and admirable. I also need not tell you that I myself have lived a life that has included a scandalous love affair or two (or more). How odd and unfair, I thought, that I am able to openly discuss my illicit love affairs but this young woman has lived more than half her life plagued because she succumbed to the temptations of the flesh. Indeed, her affair seems to have been based on mutual affection, which is more than I can say about many of my own such trysts, I am afraid to say.
I was prepared to forgive her any sins there on the spot, such as I have the power to do so. I do not believe she was asking for my deliverance, only my understanding. I found that she received not only my intellectual support, but she captured my heart while so doing. She is really a lovely lady and one who appears to have paid far more for her wrongs than most people must do. I rather admire her for keeping her head up through life, living essentially as a scorned and turned out woman. For shame that we would treat such a lady like such—are not all of us sinners at heart?
And so, dear sir, I know the sins of Miss Ann Cary Randolph, also known as Nancy, and I must admit my intention to you. I have been a confirmed bachelor my entire life, but if this vibrant and strong young woman—for she is young compared to me—would have me, I would like to ask for her hand in marriage. You must think that I should have this conversation with her family, not with an attorney who once long ago helped her through a nightmarish ordeal. Of course, I mean no offense. However, I have found that her family has been most unhelpful. Nay, I should be honest with you: Her remaining family appears to be completely opposed to Nancy ever finding happiness in this life.
An Unspeakable Crime Page 22
