Eventually Lincoln dismissed Gentry and returned to our side, shaking his head. Bingham leaned over to give him an encouraging nod, while Tessie stared straight ahead.
“For our next witness,” Prickett announced, “the People call Telesphore Roman.”
As Telesphore came forward, the gallery whispered excitedly. From his last name and clear physical resemblance to Tessie, many guessed correctly it was her brother, arriving to testify against his sister’s accused lover. Others had seen Telesphore’s attack on Bingham during the lunch recess and hoped for a repeat of the violence in the courtroom.
Indeed, rather than taking the witness chair, Telesphore walked straight to where Tessie and Bingham sat. At first I thought he meant to assault the artist again, but instead, Telesphore leaned down next to his sister and loosed a torrent of words into her ear. Even sitting two seats away, it was impossible to hear him over the buzzing crowd. Then Telesphore straightened and made for the chair. Tessie’s face had gone as pale as a ghost.
“Your name, sir?” began Prickett, who affected not to notice his witness’s behavior.
“Jacques Telesphore Roman the Second. Most people call me Telesphore.”
“Your residence?”
“Roman Hall, near Commerce, Mississippi.”
“What is your business?”
“I am my father’s lieutenant. Together we farm eight hundred acres of cotton. We harvested and packed 4,962 bales in the fall just passed. Our most productive season in history.”
“You’ll pardon us, Mr. Roman, if those of us in this state are not familiar with your name,” said Prickett obsequiously. “Is your family a prominent one in your home state?”
“I’d like to think we are,” said Telesphore, puffing out his chest. “Beginning with my uncle Andre. Governor of the state for the better part of the past decade.”
“You are your father’s eldest child?”
“I am.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“Eight who survive.”
“May I ask if any of them are present today?”
“That’s my dear sister Contessa, sitting right there next to that damned murderous ruffian.”
A shout of excitement went up from the gallery, whose fervent hopes for a confrontation seemed on the point of being realized. Lincoln shot to his feet and objected. Judge Thomas nodded.
“Watch your tongue, son,” the judge said, looking down at Telesphore with a cool gaze. “Please give your evidence to Mr. Prickett and let the gentlemen of the jury draw their own conclusions.”
“I will try, sir,” Telesphore responded earnestly, “but when I see the face of that scheming, worthless—”
Thomas did not bother to take out his cigar this time but merely gave Telesphore another severe look.
“Yes, Your Honor, I’ll do my best,” Telesphore said with an air of only the mildest contrition.
“How old is your sister Contessa?” asked Prickett.
“Nineteen years, for another month.”
“Is she betrothed?”
“No.” Telesphore nearly shouted the word.
“Will her hand come with a substantial dowry?”
“I would not wish to speak for my father, sir,” said Telesphore, “but I know he plans to treat Contessa and her husband, when she acquires a proper one, with substantial generosity.”
“You are familiar with the defendant Bingham, I take it from your earlier remarks?”
“I am.”
“What is his financial condition, if you know?”
“I believe he has not a penny to his name.” The crowd murmured with satisfaction. The plot being laid out by Prickett was easy to follow.
“How did you come to know Bingham?”
Under Prickett’s questioning, Telesphore proceeded to relate the story at length. A grand party had alighted from a steamer for a festive postharvest gathering at Roman Hall. Among the invited guests was John W. Jones, a fellow scion of a cotton baron, with whom Telesphore struck up a friendship. Among the guests who were not invited but nonetheless managed to take advantage of the famous hospitality of the proprietors of Roman Hall was a shipboard traveling artist, who had spied the opportunity for living above his station, if only for a fleeting moment.
“What happened next?” asked Prickett.
“Contessa and Jones began to take an interest in each other. It was an obvious thing to see and a welcome development for me and my father. He was a fine man. I would have been proud to call him ‘brother.’ I fear his death has been a loss to our entire family.”
Tessie made a noise of disgust. Telesphore ignored her. The gallery whispered excitedly.
Watching the spectacle, I began to wonder if we had done more harm than good by going to find Tessie as a witness for Bingham. But for our adventure, Telesphore would never have traveled up to Alton, and thus he would never have been able to give his damaging testimony. A loss for our entire family. What nonsense. Telesphore had not even known of Jones’s death before his arrival in town earlier today.
“Did Mr. Jones and Miss Roman form an understanding?” asked Prickett after the courtroom had settled down.
“That man Bingham determined no man could be satisfied if he couldn’t gratify his base desires,” said Telesphore. “So he strove to disrupt the growing union through any means possible.”
“What, specifically, did he do?”
“He used his false language of the arts. He pretended a desire to create a portrait of my sister, and he praised her lavishly, gratuitously, for her carriage and demeanor. He had no other means of wooing, so he used cheap words and paint and canvas. It was revolting.”
“Did you intervene to protect your sister?”
“I tried, and so did my father. Neither of us was wholly successful, I fear.”
“What happened?”
“Eventually we managed to uproot Bingham from our midst. I very nearly had to eject him forcibly from Roman Hall. Mr. Jones needed to head back to his family, so he left at the same time. My father and I talked to Jones before he left and invited him to return to Roman Hall in the spring. We assured him Contessa would be over any infatuation with the artist and would be receptive to his manly advances.”
Again Tessie made a noise of derision. Lincoln gave her a look suggesting she’d serve Bingham’s cause better by holding her tongue.
“Did you speak to the defendant Bingham before he left Roman Hall?”
“I did.”
The hunger in Telesphore’s eyes reminded me instantly of his expression out by the quarters as he prepared to take the whip to the house slave tied up between the pegs. I wished I could intervene to redirect him now as I had then.
“What did you say to him?”
“That he was never to darken our door again if he wished to retain the use of his hands to draw or paint.”
“And what did he say to you?”
Lincoln sprung up. “Objection, Your Honor. Hearsay.”
“It’s an admission,” said Prickett. “A series of them, as you’ll hear.”
Judge Thomas cleared his throat and said, “The objection is overruled.”
“What did he say to you?” repeated Prickett.
Telesphore breathed in and out to steady himself. He looked unblinkingly at the gentlemen of the jury. “He said he intended to marry Contessa and that there was nothing my father or I could do about it. He said that only he would make her happy—that Jones never would.” Telesphore took another breath and expelled it. “He said he would take every step to ensure Jones never returned to Roman Hall or laid eyes on Contessa again.” Another breath. “He said he would murder him with his own hands if that’s what it took.”
The courtroom was in an uproar. Men were on their feet shouting that Bingham should be pulled from the courtroom and strung up from the nearest tree branch. Tessie leaned against Bingham’s shoulder, sobbing. Bingham was rigid, staring straight ahead. Lincoln looked pained. Judge Thomas shouted for order. Even
Daumier, who had been standing at the back of the room with his arms crossed and watching the witness’s performance with satisfaction, urged the crowd to settle down.
It had all sounded simple when Lincoln, Martha, and I had discussed the case the prior night. Lincoln would blame the murder on Jones’s clumsy threat to reveal some secret scheme on board the War Eagle, and Tessie would affirm her love for Bingham, thereby removing any possible motive for deadly action. But messy, unpredictable circumstance had collided with our carefully laid plans, and circumstance was winning—decisively.
“No further questions for this witness,” shouted Prickett above the roar.
Judge Thomas pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s nearly five, Lincoln,” he said. “I think we should defer further examination until the morning, when the gentlemen are fresh.”
I suspected Lincoln would want to commence his examination at once, so as not to send the jury back to their hearths with Telesphore’s damning words foremost on their—
“Joshua!”
I smelled her familiar scent even before I turned to see Martha sliding in next to me. She was breathing deeply. Her cheeks were rosy, and beads of perspiration dotted her forehead.
“Telesphore just—” I began in a hiss.
“I know. I heard as I was coming in. But you’ll never guess what I’ve discovered.”
Lincoln was arguing in the background with Prickett about when his cross-examination would begin.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“I’ll tell you and Lincoln together. But you’ve got to stop him.” She nodded toward Lincoln. “He needs to hear what I’ve learned before he examines Telesphore.” I hesitated. “If you don’t go up and tell him, I will,” said Martha at nearly a shout.
Lincoln was in the middle of an impassioned plea to Judge Thomas about the importance of commencing his examination without delay. I rose to my feet and put my hand on Lincoln’s shoulder. He cut himself off and looked at me with surprise.
“Martha says she found out something you should hear before you question him,” I whispered into his ear.
“But I . . . what is it?”
“She didn’t tell me. But she says you need to hear it now.”
“She better be right,” he muttered. Turning to the judge, Lincoln announced, with as much dignity as he could muster, “On second thought, Your Honor, I concur. I’ll question Mr. Roman in the morning.”
CHAPTER 35
We had locked the door to Lincoln’s small office off the hotel’s public room and given strict instructions to Kemp not to let anyone enter. As an extra precaution, we moved Tessie’s chair to rest right inside the door, so she could listen to make sure no one was lingering on the other side.
Kemp had brought in supper and Martha, who had not eaten anything since breakfast, was devouring her boiled pork loin. The rest of us merely picked at our food; no one else was hungry after the distressing day in court.
“What did Telesphore say to you, Miss Roman, on his way up to testify?” I asked.
Tessie flushed. “I’d not like to repeat his exact language, as it’s not fit to pass my lips,” she said, “and certainly isn’t what a brother says to a sister he truly loves.” She swallowed. “But he made it clear he intended to say whatever he needed to ensure that George would never marry me. And I’m afraid that’s just what he did.”
“Lincoln hasn’t had his chance to examine him yet,” I said. “He’ll show the jury he’s a liar.”
Martha swallowed one last gulp and shook her head. “None of that matters. Let me tell you what I’ve learned.”
“We’ve all been waiting,” I said, and she made a face at me before commencing her story.
“As we agreed,” Martha began, “I went over to where the War Eagle was docked as soon as I saw Captain Pound and the others departing for court. A roustabout challenged me when I began to walk up the gangway, but I acted like I knew what I was doing and said I had to retrieve something I’d left in my cabin, and eventually he let me pass.
“The ship was almost completely empty. I didn’t see any other passengers. It looks like Pound told them he’d be docked in Alton indefinitely and that they’d do best to secure alternate passage.”
“Even worse for Judge Speed,” I muttered. While my main concern at present was for Bingham and Lincoln’s sinking fortunes at trial, I was cognizant as well of my father’s sinking fortunes. These had only gotten worse in the month since I’d inserted myself into the business.
Martha continued: “Anyway, I walked around the decks, hoping to find someone who might know something, and eventually I opened a door, and there was Devol, the gambler. He was practicing palming cards, making one after another disappear. He said he’d remained aboard the ship because the last time he’d taken his cards out for exercise along the Alton levee, he’d had too close a call.”
“He was arrested by Daumier and freed with Lincoln’s help the next day,” I said. “A case of a marked deck trotted out one too many times.”
“It makes sense you’d performed a service for him,” said Martha, “because at first he dismissed me without even listening to my questions. But when I told him I was on an errand for Mr. Lincoln, he reconsidered. I pressed him for anything that might help our cause at trial, and eventually he suggested I should try to talk to the maid.”
“Who?” asked Lincoln and I simultaneously.
“Sary.”
“Did you say ‘Sary’?” asked Tessie with a catch in her voice.
“She’s a free Negro chambermaid on the War Eagle,” continued Martha. “I made her acquaintance on the way downriver. She’s a tall, light-skinned woman, of twenty-eight or thirty years, I’d guess. Eventually I located her in the small compartment at the rear of the ladies’ cabin, washing the linen from the tables in a wooden tub.”
“What did she tell you?” I asked impatiently.
“I didn’t say anything about Mr. Lincoln or the trial. I explained I’d come back aboard because I thought I’d left a favorite shawl behind, and she went with me to our old cabin to look for it. It wasn’t there, of course. But we were visiting for a bit, and eventually I asked her how she’d gained her freedom and started working on the War Eagle. And she told me she’d been born into bondage and held as a girl as a slave at—”
Martha broke off and looked over at Tessie. Her eyes were flashing. “I thought so,” murmured Tessie.
“—Roman Hall.”
“What?” I shouted. Lincoln was rocking back and forth and nodding to himself.
“What do you remember about her, Miss Roman?” asked Martha.
“Not very much,” said Tessie. “She looked after me and Telesphore when we were little. Then one day she disappeared. My mother said something about her making trouble with the men. I think we contracted her out to someone in New Orleans.”
“What she told me,” said Martha, “is that when she was of fifteen years, she was sold by your father to a cotton broker in New Orleans in need of a nurse for his own children. I guess your father had other girls among his bondsmen who could serve as a nurse for you and your siblings.”
Tessie nodded. “We had Rose and . . . Barbary and then Julia Ann after Sary left. And the younger ones have had more, too, after I no longer needed minding. I remember my father complaining about how many daughters the slave women on our plantation kept producing, but it did mean no shortage of available nurses.”
Lincoln looked very grave, and I sensed he was holding his tongue only with great effort.
“How did Sary gain her freedom?” I asked.
“She was vague about that,” said Martha. “She worked for the family in New Orleans for a number of years and left them on good terms, according to her. Maybe they let her earn enough money to buy her own freedom.”
“Or maybe she ran away from the family in New Orleans and defrauded them and us both,” said Tessie. “Maybe she’s living on false papers.”
“There’s no reason to think tha
t,” said Lincoln, “and it’s not important now anyway.” It was hard to miss the irritation in his voice. “The important question—”
“—is whether she had family remaining at Roman Hall,” broke in Martha, with a triumphant expression on her face, “and the answer is yes.”
There was a loud rattling of the doorknob and a pounding on the door. All of us jumped.
“Mr. Lincoln?” called a familiar raspy voice. “Mr. Speed? Why’s the door locked? Let me in.”
“I’ll take care of this,” I said. I slipped out of the door and closed it tightly behind me.
“Good evening, Nanny Mae,” I said.
“Who else is in there?” the old woman demanded. “What are you doing?”
“Lincoln is preparing for court tomorrow,” I said evenly. “He’s asked that he not be disturbed. Is there something I can help you with?”
Nanny Mae’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. For a moment, she looked like she intended to force her way past me. But then her expression relaxed into a seemingly harmless grandmotherly pose.
“I was merely hoping to ask about your sister’s health, Mr. Speed,” she said. “She looked flustered when she arrived late at court, and I wasn’t able to have a word with her afterward in the crush of people departing.”
“It’s very kind of you to inquire,” I said. “Our mother wrote from home with distressing news—Martha’s favorite horse has gone lame, I’m afraid—and it laid her out. But these things happen, and Martha will be back to her old self soon enough. I’ll be sure to pass along your good wishes.”
“You do that,” said Nanny Mae, unsmiling.
I waited for her to elaborate, or leave, but she did neither. Eventually I mumbled that I needed to get back to Lincoln’s side, and I let myself into the small library again, opening the door only as wide as I needed in order to squeeze through and locking it securely behind me.
I motioned to Lincoln and the young women that we should speak softly. Lincoln was slumped over in his chair against the small worktable he’d appropriated, his chin resting on his palm. His gray eyes were deep in thought.
Perish from the Earth Page 26
