Heart's Heritage

by Cecil, Ramona K. ; Richardson, Lisa Karon;

  Mr. Randolph sniffed.

  “Can we bear to allow that to happen on such flimsy evidence as has been presented here? I tell you that I could pick a man from this very room and make a stronger case against him.” His palms were damp with sweat, but Graham did not stop his discourse to obtain permission for his little demonstration.

  “Mr. Fraser, you were at the Benning house and have testified on behalf of the prosecution. I understand that you were Mr. Benning’s business partner and confidant?”

  Fraser nodded gravely.

  “And yet I could easily suggest that you had access to his bottle of patent medicine, and thus opportunity to place the poison. You had as easy access to lily of the valley as anyone else in this courtroom, and thus the means of committing the crime. To complete a case against you there remains only the reason you might do so.” He paused dramatically as if he hadn’t thought of that aspect.

  A laugh filtered through the small courtroom.

  “Yes, that could be a problem.” He paused again and then flourished a finger. “But no, I can provide even that. Mr. Benning planned to break off the partnership and expose you because he had discovered you guilty of fraud and in league with pirates.”

  A collective gasp filled the courtroom, and every head pivoted to peer at Fraser. He seemed rooted to the spot, as if turned into a pillar of salt by the accusation. A scowl deformed his lips as his face turned red and then purple, and at last he sputtered in impotent fury.

  “Your Honor.” Mr. Randolph sprang up from his bench. “Mr. Sinclair cannot make such accusations without proof. This is the merest calumny. Slander in order to distract this court from his own client.”

  “Oh, I have proof.” Graham held up Jim Nash’s affidavit and the letter of assessment. He passed the documents to the clerk of courts.

  An expectant hush settled over the crowd as the chief magistrate received the documents. He placed his spectacles on the end of his nose and perused them. After a long moment he turned a speculative gaze on Fraser.

  Graham remained as still as if he were confined to the stocks.

  The chief magistrate passed first one and then the other document to his colleagues. He lowered his glasses.

  “It appears that charges may indeed be forthcoming against Mr. Fraser. However, I do not find that these documents constitute proof of murder.”

  Avid whispers swirled through the court as spectators nudged and pointed.

  “And nor should you, Your Honor. As I said, these documents are proof merely of motive. And yet the case built by the crown against my client is even weaker.”

  A clamor sounded outside the courtroom, and several heads turned to the noise.

  “I am afraid, sir, that we are beyond the stage of looking for further suspects. Have you any proof that this Negress did not commit the crime?”

  Graham’s heart sank. “Sir, I have further witnesses who were scheduled to appear—”

  The courtroom door burst in before a tidal wave of noise. Shouts and curses surged through the courthouse as more people pushed their way into the room.

  The sheriff added to the clamor by banging his tipstaff vigorously, but to no avail.

  Sitting on the bar, Graham swung his legs over and grabbed Jerusha’s arm. He pushed her behind him. Any mob intent on hanging her would have to go through him first.

  He caught sight of Merry near the heart of the tumult, and his heart clenched. What on earth?

  As fierce as an avenging angel, Abigail Benning strode beside her. She marched straight to the bar. Jerusha’s shackles clanked as Abigail thrust little John into her arms. She fixed the chief magistrate with her glare. “Your Honor, I must speak.” Her imperious tone sounded nothing like her usual gentle courtesy.

  Like the waves on a beach, the crowd receded, and Graham realized that Merry was holding the arm of a bound Catherine Fraser. They both looked as bedraggled as inmates fresh off a convict ship.

  “Widow Benning, I do not deny your right to address us in the matter of your husband’s murder, but I do not thank you for this disruption to the court’s dignity.”

  “You have my sincere apologies, Your Honor. However, I believe you will find my actions forgivable. I am come to prevent a serious miscarriage of justice.”

  The chief magistrate merely raised an eyebrow.

  Obviously taking this as permission to continue, Abigail sailed on. “Mrs. Catherine Fraser has admitted to myself and to Miss Merry Lattimore that she murdered my husband.”

  Graham’s jaw fell open, as did the magistrate’s.

  The crowd surged. Shouts of outrage and peels of laughter mingled with gasps of horror and chagrin.

  The only people seemingly unaffected by the pronouncement were Abigail, Merry, and Mrs. Fraser herself. She stared at the wall as if she were alone in the room. Her face grimy and her hair toppled, but not a tear streaked her face.

  When his efforts to quell the mob failed to restore order, the chief magistrate gestured to his sheriff. “Clear the courtroom.”

  When the doors had been shut and barred against the crowd, only the interested parties remained standing before the justices. Fraser stared at his wife as if he had never seen her before.

  “You make grave accusations, Mrs. Benning. Indeed, you have opened yourself to a charge of libel if you cannot support these claims.”

  Abigail outlined the events of the morning. “I still don’t know how Miss Lattimore knew to condemn her, but her reactions proved the veracity of the charge.”

  The magistrate turned to Merry next. “How is it that your suspicions rested on Mrs. Fraser?”

  Merry had turned as pale as her fichu, and one hand moved to smooth her hair into place, but she remained composed as she responded. “I had been privy to much of Mr. Sinclair’s investigation, and therefore knew that Mr. Fraser had much to answer for in his dealings with Mr. Benning. Indeed, I believed him guilty of the murder.

  “This morning, however, whilst working in the garden we were in conversation with Mrs. Fraser, and she mentioned that the poison had been administered in Mr. Benning’s patent medicine. It was something Mr. Sinclair had deduced, but everyone else assumed it had been in the draught Jerusha poured. When I confronted her, her actions and words put the lie to her claim of innocence.”

  The magistrate turned to Abigail again, and the whole story of the afternoon’s events came out.

  Throughout the proceedings, Mrs. Fraser refused to speak. But she stared at Abigail Benning with a gaze so acid it might have burned a hole through her.

  The chief magistrate asked the disheveled woman several questions, which she ignored. She made no movement at all until her husband sidled near and placed his hand on her elbow, urging her to respond to the magistrate. She yanked free of his touch as if he had been an adder.

  The magistrate pursed his lips and motioned for his colleagues and the clerk of the court to draw closer. After a brief conference he straightened in his seat and cleared his throat. “It is hereby ordered that Mrs. Fraser be taken to the new Public Hospital for persons of insane and disordered minds.”

  “No!” Catherine’s shriek raised the fine hairs on the back of Graham’s neck.

  She lunged away from her husband’s restraining hands and hurtled toward the door despite the bonds that still secured her hands and arms. With her disheveled hair flying wildly, her face contorted in a grimace, and her eyes frantically darting side to side, she more than looked the part of a madwoman.

  The sheriff scrambled from his perch and joined Mr. Fraser in trying to subdue his thrashing wife. The bailiff joined them, and together the three men hauled Mrs. Fraser from the room.

  The justices stood, evidently having decided they had heard enough for the day.

  Graham wasn’t about to let them get away without assigning Jerusha’s disposition. He pressed forward. “My Lords, I must ask for your judgment in the matter of this slave woman. Am I to understand that she has been fully acquitted?”

  T
he chief magistrate turned back to him. His eyes held no warmth, but he nodded once. “The Negress is acquitted. Mrs. Benning, take her home and make sure she causes no more mischief.”

  Chapter 14

  Heedless of the disapproving glare of the officials, Merry embraced Jerusha. They had done it. Thank You, Lord. An instant later her hands were shaking, and she wished for a place to sit down. They had done it.

  If only it hadn’t been so awful. Catherine Fraser was clearly unhinged. Still, Merry couldn’t help but lay some of the blame at Mr. Fraser’s door. His cold greed had led to much of his wife’s desperation. Now they were both ruined.

  Merry had expected to feel triumph, but she simply felt tired and disheartened.

  Abigail turned to Graham. “Mr. Sinclair, I wish you would accompany me to my home. I have a request of you.” Abigail held her hand out to Graham, allowing him to raise it to his lips.

  There was something different about Abigail. Merry tilted her head, hoping a shift in perspective would reveal the source.

  Abigail spoke again. “I fear that I have ignored unpleasantness because I have been too cowardly to face it. It is unseemly. I would most appreciate your assistance in straightening out my husband’s affairs.”

  “Of course, madam.”

  Abigail nodded graciously and took her son back into her arms. Skirts swinging like a church bell, she turned and swept from the room.

  The ride home was silent. The eyes of the townsfolk followed their progress with unwonted speculation. There were none of the heralded congratulations Merry might have expected at the unmasking of a murderer. Mr. Benning’s true killer had been apprehended. And yet, looking into the grave gazes of the pedestrians they passed, Merry got the sense that they would have preferred that Jerusha had been found guilty of petty treason and burned at the stake.

  Merry ground her teeth. No doubt these good folk resented having their view of things disrupted. For all the recent clamor in the colony about freedom and justice, it seemed no one wanted to extend those things beyond their own social set.

  Her heart clenched. Was the entire world the same? If it had not been for her own experiences, she might easily have accepted the status quo. Could it be that God really had brought her to Virginia for a greater purpose, not just to help Jerusha and Daniel, but to fight for justice on a larger scale?

  She ruminated on the new thought, and her gaze found Graham’s. She owed him an apology. She had known for some time that he was not at fault for her transportation. He had simply been a convenient scapegoat, someone upon whom she could focus her anger.

  His gaze continued to hold hers. Could he understand? Would he forgive her manipulation in forcing him to help Jerusha?

  Abigail ushered Graham into the drawing room, and once more he was struck with the elegant simplicity of the room.

  He took the seat she offered and settled in comfortably.

  “Mr. Sinclair, I fear that I have done nothing in the interests of my husband’s estate since his murder. I … I had left it all in Mr. Fraser’s hands, thinking him trustworthy and capable. Now, of course, there is a different complexion on matters, and I must know if he has managed things as I fear he has. Would you be willing to look into the matter for me?”

  “I would be happy to do so, Mrs. Benning. It’s wise to be concerned under the circumstances.”

  “I would also like you to prepare an order of manumission for Jerusha and Daniel.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Do you think it will be granted?”

  A small smile flickered over her features. “I shall see to it. You may leave that part to me. After what Jerusha has been put through, it is only fair and … Did you see the people in the street? They seemed not at all pleased that the real murderess has been captured. Had Jerusha been alone, they might still have strung her up on some pretext.”

  “I will certainly do so, but you realize that if she is freed, she will not be allowed to remain in Virginia.”

  “It will be difficult to let her go, but I will give her enough to get her to Pennsylvania. I have heard that freed slaves can make a life for themselves in that colony.”

  “It seems you have thought this all through.”

  “For the first time in a long while I am thinking for myself rather than gliding along the river of someone else’s expectation.” Her wistful smile was fleeting.

  He nodded in sympathy. In some small measure he understood her regrets. He himself had been going through the motions of life for too long. This journey to Virginia, the pursuit of justice, had reminded him of his zeal for the law, and the joy to be found in seeing right prevail.

  “There is one more thing I would ask you to consider, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “Yes?”

  For the first time Abigail Benning looked away and seemed at a loss for words. When she turned her gaze back to him it was with an accompanying flush heating her cheeks. “Go to Merry. Confess your feelings for her.”

  The flush transferred itself to him. He tugged at his already straight waistcoat. “I … I do not. That is to say—”

  She held up a peremptory hand. “Please, I would not ask you to expose your affection if I did not believe it might be returned. She is a lovely girl, and you might make each other very happy. If all of this has taught me anything, it is not to squander the opportunities we are given to love and be loved.”

  He could not move. The air in his lungs seemed suddenly insufficient.

  “You will at least consider it?”

  With an effort he forced a nod, and she smiled. “Ah, here is Hattie with refreshment. Would you care for tea, or perhaps you would prefer coffee?”

  The children’s squeals of laughter filled the air as they dashed about the lawn playing tag.

  Merry smiled where she sat in the shade of the oaks. There was something infectious about their radiant joy. Beside her, Abigail continued an anecdote about Mr. Benning. Her grief at his death remained, but it was less raw. She seemed to draw a great deal of comfort from the happy memories they had shared.

  A figure appeared around the corner of the house and sauntered toward them. Shading her eyes, Merry leaned forward. Her heart fluttered. It was Graham Sinclair. She had tried to find the chance to make amends, but though he had been by the house often in the last few weeks, they had never been alone.

  Today she would grasp the opportunity. He would not leave until she had a chance to speak to him.

  He neared and swept off his hat. “Good afternoon, ladies.” His queue gleamed dark chestnut in the sun. His smile as catching as the children’s.

  “Mr. Sinclair—”

  “Miss Lattimore—”

  Trust her to blurt something out just as he was trying to speak. “I’m sorry. What did you wish to say?”

  “What I have to say can wait.” He seemed relieved.

  Merry licked her lips. “Are you certain? I would not mind waiting.” She turned to ask Abigail to excuse them for a moment, but she had disappeared. In for a penny, in for a pound. Merry sighed and waved toward Abigail’s seat. “Won’t you be seated?”

  He complied.

  “Mr. Sinclair, I …” Tears pricked her eyes. “I owe you an apology. Since my trial I have treated you terribly. I blamed you for all my wretchedness. And I was most unkind. I beg your forgiveness.”

  He shook his head and seemed about to speak, but she held up a hand.

  “No, please. I was innocent, but matters certainly did not give credence to that fact. I shouldn’t have held that against you. Particularly when you were so gallant as to secure my pardon and come all the way to the colonies to deliver it to me.” She bit her lip. On with it. Confession would do her good. “And then I manipulated you into handling Jerusha’s case, though I knew you must wish to return to your own life in England. I’ve acted wretchedly. I am so sorry.”

  “My dear girl. Your apology isn’t necessary, but since you’ve made it, I accept it in the same spirit it was offered. If I’d been more discerning w
hen you first appeared in my court, none of this would have happened.”

  Her gaze met his again. He had the kindest face. “My father was right to promote your passion for justice. I ought not to have said he wasn’t.”

  “But you were right, too. I had forgotten myself. I was so bogged down by the cases I heard in my court that I gradually forgot that in every instance there were people’s lives and livelihoods at stake. I don’t know if I would ever have awakened to that realization but for you. Shall we consider it even?”

  She smiled. He could be so adept at putting her at ease.

  He stood and offered his arm. “Would you care to walk?”

  Little bubbles of warmth effervesced through her. He helped her to her feet, and they walked toward the orchard. Fall had kissed the leaves, turning them every shade of red and orange and gold.

  “I must apologize as well,” Graham said. “In my attempts to find you, I spoke to your mother. She admitted that when she sent me away all those years ago, it had been without your consent. I allowed resentment—”

  “What?” She stopped and tugged her hand free.

  He looked bewildered. His mouth opened and then shut twice.

  She closed her eyes and tears prickled the lids. “She sent you away?”

  He nodded. “I thought you knew?”

  She shook her head. Despite her effort at restraint, the tears spilled over. She covered her face with her hands. He hadn’t abandoned her, he’d been sent away. All this time he’d been as hurt as she. The last few bands of iron that had constricted her heart tumbled free. “I thought you no longer cared.”

  He drew near, wrapping her in the warmth of his embrace. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his chin pressing gently against the top of her head.

  At last she regained her composure. “I ought to have known. She was so determined to see me married off to that odious man.”

  “No, I should have spoken to you before just disappearing.”