She withdraws a packet from under her cloak, heavy with coin. Doro knows without looking that she is offering them gold. Real, true gold.
“Not enough,” says Doro’s father again. What is he playing at?
“This is what I have,” says Mrs. Collins, annoyance coloring her voice now. “Careful of greed, Mr. Roset. What’s the saying the lower classes are so fond of? Pigs get fat, and…?”
“Hogs get slaughtered,” supplies Doro’s father, unruffled.
Doro looks back and forth between their faces, the fine lady and the former seaman, standing inches and worlds apart. They seem to have forgotten she is in the room at all.
With a sharp, ready voice, she reminds them. Looking straight at Mrs. Collins, she says, “Your necklace.”
After a moment of hesitation, her father agrees. “Yes. That’s a nice sweetener. It’ll do.”
Mrs. Collins puts her hand on her throat, touching the necklace in question, which is a rich triple strand of pearls interrupted with elegant beads of jet. “But this was a gift from my husband, one he had made for me after our third child was born. I could send you other jewelry. This one is dear to me.”
“More dear than your daughter’s memory?” asks Doro’s father, his voice dark.
The woman glares daggers at him while she puts her fingers up to the back of her neck, apparently reaching for the clasp. Her fingers fumble and slide. Finally, unable to unclasp the necklace herself, she says, “Dorothea. Come here. You want it, you take it.”
Doro puts her cold fingers on the back of the rich woman’s neck and undoes the fine gold clasp. The necklace comes away in her hands, still warm from the other woman’s flesh.
It feels like a live thing, thinks Doro, and she has chained herself with it. She has promised to betray Virginia for coin and gem. Virginia took her north, expanded her world. Trusted her when no one else did. How can she repay that with lies? She transfers the necklace to one hand, holds it between them, pearls spilling out between her fingers and dancing in the air.
“I’m not sure I—” begins Doro.
Her father cuts her off. “You will. Virginia Reed will be sentenced to hang one way or another. This grieving mother is simply going to compensate us for speaking up in the name of justice.”
Perhaps he’s right, Doro realizes. Staying silent won’t save Virginia, not now that the truth has come out about her past. A past Doro didn’t know about. She thought she’d known Virginia, thought they’d shared everything, and now it seems clear that Virginia had been hiding her true self all along.
“Let’s go over the specifics,” Mrs. Collins says, touching Doro’s arm gently again. “To create the impression you need to create.”
It seems like the only possible way forward. Part of Doro screams against it even as she says it, but the screaming part stays silent. The complicit part is the part that speaks.
“All right,” she says to Mrs. Collins. “Let’s.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Virginia
Massachusetts Superior Court, Boston
October 1854
Because Virginia is no longer allowed to visit with her attorney, the first time she sees him after the revelation is when she is led, chained, into the courtroom for the final day of testimony.
Mason falls into step beside her, matching her speed so they advance together toward the dock this final time.
“I’m sorry,” she tells him, softly enough that only he can hear.
“I want you to know, Virginia, you are not giving up.” There is a glint of humor in his eyes but also defiance. “Because a defeat for you is a defeat for me, and I do not accept defeat.”
“I rather think the defeat for me will be more…final.”
“True,” he says, his hushed voice gentle. “I don’t mean to put my fate ahead of yours. But we are not yet done. Until the last, I must at least put on a good show.”
“Show away,” says Virginia.
He goes back to the bar, and she climbs up into the dock.
She lets a dying candle of hope flare up in her. Her stepfather was tarred with the brush of participating in the Donner Party—he even killed a man with his own two hands, no one disputes it—and now he is a politician. Sir John Franklin lost half his party and ate his own boots in the Arctic wilderness, and a few years later, they sent him back into that same land with ten times as many men. Presidents have been generals, leading men into battle, fighting with guns and swords; men who have endured are seen to have succeeded. It is the testing of their mettle that makes them even more fit to lead.
But has it ever worked that way for women?
Perhaps, she tells herself, hoping against hope, she will be the first. She is not a fool, but there is something in her that wants to be a fool today if it gives her hope. Caprice hoped, she remembered, and Caprice was not a fool.
Alone now, Virginia turns to look at the front row of the courtroom, and what she sees there slams the optimism out of her in half a breath.
The five are now four.
Her rosary, her beads, they’ve come unstrung. They don’t even sit in their usual order. Instead of five stoic, silent faces—pretty maids all in a row—there are only four ordinary, individual women, each in her own attitude of disarray. Althea stares straight ahead, her eyes glassy with tears. Margaret balls her fists, and Virginia can see the knot in her hard-set jaw. Ebba looks down at her hands, then reaches out to lace her fingers into Althea’s, and though Althea’s face does not change, she grasps the outstretched hand like a lifeline. Irene gleams like a marble statue, showing no more emotion than stone.
They know what it means for one of them to be gone. Even though she is being called as a defense witness, if she were going to defend Virginia, she would have sat with them this morning and been called from the spot in which she’s spent the past two weeks.
She could not face them this morning. And they all, every one of them, know what that means.
It’s Doro.
The bailiff calls Doro’s name from the back of the room, and here she comes walking. The lawyer smiles at her because he does not yet realize what it means, that she’s coming from that direction. Only the women of the expedition know, including Doro herself, who walks oh so slowly up the aisle toward the witness box, passing the others. Is it Virginia’s imagination, or does she, just slightly, slow her step as she passes?
Virginia stares straight ahead, pretending to be untouched, pretending she is not terrified.
She is terrified.
The prosecutor cannot even hide his grin. Virginia’s entire arm burns with the desire to slap that grin off his face. Her hand even twitches up, beginning to move, but she catches Mason’s eye, and he shakes his head the smallest of fractions. She lays her hand in her lap. How would things have been different if he’d been her counsel from the beginning instead of that first, incompetent young man? If she had told him the truth about her past before he put her on the stand? If she’d told the lie Lady Franklin offered her the world for, she’d be safe now, and rich. But no use in wishing things had been different. Now she just wishes things would be over.
Doro seats herself in the witness box and tries to meet Virginia’s gaze. Virginia looks past her, through her, denying her the connection she so obviously seeks. If she meets her friend’s eyes, she will burst into tears. She has given up on trying to save herself, but she can at least not give the jury more evidence that she is filled with shame and regret.
Doro’s dark blue eyes flicker as she gingerly steps up into the witness box. Her windburned cheeks, as red and ruined as Virginia’s, are powdered smooth now. For a moment, Virginia wonders who has powdered her. But there is only one possible answer. Doro, above all the others, was susceptible to a bribe. Her father’s shop, Virginia thinks. On the ice, all that mattered was survival. Those long, cold months in the ice house, they
had been a small society unto themselves. But back here in civilization, life is complicated again.
The bailiff asks Doro to raise her right hand, and she raises her left, then her red cheeks flush even darker at her mistake, and she switches hands. She has no composure. Somehow, Virginia doesn’t think it will make her less credible as a witness. If the jury wants to believe Doro, they will.
In a deeply flounced, modest tartan in shades of copper and cream, Doro is better dressed today than she’s been since their return to civilization. Her lovely dress is buttoned all the way up to cover her throat; she looks proper, civilized. Virginia knows it’s no coincidence. If she looked out into the courtroom beyond the front row, she expects she would see the Collinses. Their hands have wrought this. They have chosen their weapon and shaped her, and there’s no mistaking where she’s aimed.
Virginia’s lawyer stands, readies himself, and speaks to the witness with confidence. “So tell us, Miss…Roset, is it?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re a mapmaker’s daughter, Miss Roset, is that right?”
“I work in my father’s map business, yes.”
“And in what capacity were you asked to join this expedition north?”
“I know a great deal about the geography of the Arctic,” Doro says, her voice clear and proud.
“And who ran this expedition?”
“Virginia,” she says, indicating Virginia with a sharp jab of her chin.
“You mean the accused, correct?”
“Correct. Virginia Reeve.”
“Objection,” says the prosecutor. “We know now that is not the defendant’s real name.”
The judge says, “I think we’re all aware. The reminder is not necessary.”
“My apologies,” the prosecutor says.
“Don’t be sorry. Just be quiet.”
His mouth opens for another apology, but wisely, he closes it.
Mr. Mason, still unaware Doro is no longer on the side of the defense, plunges ahead.
“And were you given any information about who planned the expedition? Who funded it? Whether there was some greater power behind Virginia?”
“She said Lady Franklin was behind it,” Doro says, “but I had only her word on it. I never saw hide nor hair of the lady herself.”
A shadow crosses the lawyer’s face. He’d expected a different answer; he needs a moment to decide how to react to this one. “But she swore to it that she’d been sent by Lady Franklin.”
“She did. But there was no evidence.”
His brows knit together now. He’s starting to catch on.
“But you trusted Virginia, yes? With your life.”
Her expression wobbles on her face for just a moment, doubt flickering across her features, but she quickly regains control. “I did then. But so did a lot of women who never came back.”
Hot whispers begin to circulate throughout the room. Mr. Mason looks at Virginia, then the women in the front row, then back at Doro. He makes a calculation.
And then he gives up before Doro can do more damage.
“Thank you, Miss Roset. I’m sure this hasn’t been easy for you.”
She simply gives a grave, sober nod, like a queen would give a commoner.
“No more questions,” he says.
“But I have plenty,” says the prosecutor, rising, and Virginia’s heart sinks. Unlike her counsel, he is fully prepared. He knew this was coming, and he’s ready to take advantage.
“Miss Roset,” he begins. “To my ear—a rather experienced ear, mind you—it sounds like the defense’s lawyer was surprised by your statements.”
“I wouldn’t presume to guess,” says Doro unsteadily and falls silent.
“Of course, of course. I’ll only ask you about your own thoughts and feelings from here on out, I promise.”
She nods, but her eyes still look unsettled.
The prosecutor goes on. “I won’t ask you to give an account of the entire expedition.”
“Thank you.”
“But I’ll read an itinerary that was provided to the police, and you tell me if you agree with it in the main. All right?”
“All right.”
“You traveled from Boston to Buffalo by train, rode in canoes to Sault Ste. Marie, from there crossed overland to Hudson Bay at Moose Factory, where you sailed north on the Doris. All correct so far?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you disembarked the ship, you proceeded overland to where you hoped to look for the Franklin expedition. Still correct?”
“Yes.”
“And of the five women who have sat here in the front row this entire trial, you were the only one who took to the ice, correct?”
“No.” She points. “Irene was there.”
Irene does not react, but the prosecutor moves on before the moment can land with the jury.
“I will be clearer. You are the only one among the women with the power of speech who fits that description.”
Doro’s voice is softer this time. “Yes.”
“Wintered over with Virginia and that portion of the party?”
“Yes.”
“Because it took place on the ice, none of the other women can tell us anything about the death of Caprice Collins. I’d like to ask you to be more forthcoming.”
Clearly unsteady, at least to Virginia’s eyes, she says, “I will certainly try my best, sir.”
Virginia expects more questions about details, laying a series of events down for the eager audience, but he does none of that. Instead, he simply goes for the throat. “Miss Roset, did you see Virginia Reed kill Caprice Collins?”
Doro hesitates.
Virginia’s eyes are on Doro’s face, and she knows the lie Doro has been paid to tell. Yes is all she has to say, and that coffin the Collins family has been sizing for Virginia will finally have all the nails it needs to seal shut.
Even now, she cannot be angry with Doro for her weakness, for giving in to the temptation. In Doro’s position, it is entirely possible she would have done the same thing.
But she is not in Doro’s position. She is in her own, the position of defendant. As she watches her friend prepare to hang her, she realizes the only thing she wants right now is not to die.
Virginia has been so careful to appear unaffected this entire time, and what difference has it made?
The prosecutor repeats his question. Doro’s gaze slides away from his face to Virginia’s.
Virginia raises her hand. Not high. Just high enough for Doro to see from the witness box.
She puts her palm out, toward Doro.
Help.
Doro freezes. Her eyes skitter over to the remaining four, Virginia’s pretty maids all in a row: Irene, Althea, Ebba, Margaret. Virginia locks eyes with Irene first, and she sees an immediate flash of understanding in her keen gaze.
Irene’s palm goes out in imitation of Virginia’s, aiming her motion at the same target, Doro in the witness box. Help.
Then Althea, then Ebba, then Margaret. All three make the gesture, looking mutely at Doro, making the only plea they can, their hands out in solidarity with Virginia.
Help. Help. Help.
In that motion, in the single, silent word it represents, the survivors speak volumes.
Virginia hears it, and she knows Doro does too.
They’re saying Please don’t do this. They’re saying Don’t lie. They’re saying We understand why you wanted to, but this is too much, too far. Don’t sell out the woman who kept us alive on the ice, who keeps our secrets even when it might mean her death, the woman who brought us back.
Help, they tell her. You’re the only one who can.
Doro swallows.
She puts her fingers to the high collar of her uncomfortable, fancy dress, and she tugs so
hard the top button comes off in her fingers. She flings it to the floor. She gulps a deep breath through the new gap in the rich fabric, and her whole manner changes. A new feeling is clearly surging through her. It bears a strong resemblance to joy.
The judge says, “Miss Roset, will—” but gets no further.
Doro interrupts, “No, I did not see Virginia kill Caprice, because she didn’t. I was paid to say otherwise by Lydia Collins.”
The room explodes.
Thank you, mouths Virginia silently, moving her palm from one signal to the other, extending her hand with its back parallel to the floor. Thank you.
There are tears in Doro’s eyes, tears making tracks down her cheeks. She tosses her head back and looks up to the ceiling to try to stop them; the tears run into the hair at the sides of her head, including the whorls of hair she has fashioned to cover the missing ear. Wet and sad and coughing with emotion and…
Smiling.
She smiles at Virginia. Virginia smiles back, her eyes equally wet. Thank you, she thinks.
The judge bangs his gavel, but the shouts of the crowd do not even slow.
All four of the women in the front row are extending their hands too, grateful to Doro for relenting, their palms echoing and multiplying the message, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.
Over the din, the prosecutor shouts, “Liar! Reprehensible woman! How dare you sully the name of an upstanding, gracious lady with your lies.”
Now the room quiets somewhat, though not completely. They look around for Mr. and Mrs. Collins but do not find them. If they were here, they slipped out in the madness.
“Quiet!” shouts the judge, banging his gavel three times. “We must hear what Miss Roset has to say.”
This finally begins to do the trick. The audience quiets, hanging on every word of what comes next.
“I am not lying,” Doro says over the continued murmurs, her voice clear and high. Virginia can hear the tension only because she knows her so well. “I can prove it.”
From a pocket tied to the outside of her dress, she draws out coins of gold and lets them fall in a shower over the edge of the witness box. They bounce and scatter on the courtroom floor.
The Arctic Fury Page 35
