Unsure as I was whether I would come back her or not, I called out, "Thank you, Mrs. Russell, for all you kindness and consideration. And, please tell Mrs. Reagan, as well."
I was led out of the room and across the hallway into the courtroom. The officer accompanying us reached for the door, however Mr. Jennings came to an abrupt halt, and reached for the officer's arm, preventing him from opening it. He looked at me and said, "Let me do most all of the talking, all right, my dear?"
"Yes, sir." I answered, but even I could barely hear myself say it, my voice was so low and hoarse. The policeman threw open the door and ushered us into a packed courtroom, rumbling with the noise of hundreds of voices all speaking at once.
It was a hot day -- even hotter and more humid than the week before. People -- known and unknown to me -- crammed into the courtroom. Many were there, I knew, to show their support for me and to give me strength. Others, however, were people who believed me guilty. I was able to feel the hatred and malice they radiated toward me.
My nerves tingled and I was suddenly aware of everything happening around me. I realized how many of these people, thwarted from attending the inquest, had spent the morning -- perhaps all night -- in the street outside Central Station just to get a place in the courtroom. There was a holiday-like atmosphere among them, as they sat in their Sunday best, waiting for a chance to see me.
I can still remember those days, back then, when we wore our clothes until they stank beyond reason. Men's suits were never really laundered -- merely sponged and spot cleaned. And even women's clothes, though more thoroughly cleaned, still tended to give off an odor of their own. It had been two weeks of incredible heat and tension. This "perfect storm" created a cloud of sweat and rancid clothing.
I think it was actually this stench that pierced my nostrils as we passed through the crammed courtroom, and brought me back to my senses -- like some human smelling salt. I moved to a table where Emma already sat and, at Mr. Jennings' indication, I took a seat beside her.
A murmur crackled through the courtroom, causing me to straighten up in my chair. A door behind an enormous desk opened, and a man, who I later learned was the bailiff, cleared his throat and called out, "Be upstanding."
Mr. Jennings and Emma stood, so I, of course, followed suit. In fact, all the spectators rose as of one body, and waited. I was stunned by the deafening silence. After a moment, Judge Blaisdell entered and settled himself behind the desk. Everyone in the courtroom sat down, and indulged in a fast flutter of conversation. Then, with sharp rap of his gavel, Judge Blaisdell fixed his eye upon me, and I stood up again.
Mr. Jennings rose as well, and when I stole a glance at him, he looked calm. The judge shuffled some papers and I took the opportunity to look around. I saw that Uncle John, Bridget, and Reverend Buck were all there. But, with the exception of Reverend Buck, I cared not. Instead, I refocused my attention on the proceedings.
Rather than speaking, Judge Blaisdell merely gestured to the clerk, who moved forward and handed me a paper, saying, "You are to read this and sign it."
Mr. Jennings nodded for me to follow his instructions, and so, like the good, dutiful, complacent young woman I was, I signed it.
After the clerk returned to his own desk, he asked me, "How do you plead to the charges against you?"
The "not guilty" that slipped from my lips was, indeed, barely audible, so his claim of not having heard me was not unexpected. I said, in a loud, clear voice and what I hoped was a firm note of conviction, "Not guilty." I dropped back to my chair.
Mr. Jennings said, "Well, then I insist we go to trial immediately."
Here, Mr. Knowlton jumped up and said, "We are not ready for a trial. In fact, the inquest has not even been officially ended. We ask that the pretrial be continued until August 22nd."
"It would seem to me," Mr. Jennings said, in a cold growl, "that by your issuing an arrest warrant against my client, you have "officially ended" the inquest. I repeat my request for an immediate trial."
The judge glowered down at him from his place -- like God peering down at us all from his heaven -- and said, "I will decide what constitutes the inquest's ending, and when."
The district attorney turned his back on Mr. Jennings and repeated, "So, Your Honor, may we plan on the continuance?"
Judge Blaisdell looked to his clerk, who checked a paper. When he nodded, the judge announced, "Granted." He turned to me and, at Mr. Jennings' encouragement, I rose again. The judge said, "Miss Borden, because of the severity of the charges against you, you are ineligible for bail. And, because we have no proper facilities for you here, you will be transported to the Bristol County Jail in Taunton this afternoon, where you will be held until we resume on August 22nd.
"I shall issue an order that Mr. Jennings, your friends, and your family are allowed to visit you. Court is adjourned." He rose and left.
I collapsed back into my chair, and looked to my sister -- the person whom had always watched over me. But, I knew from her expression, she was more afraid I would break down again than worried about my being sent away.
Mr. Buck stepped forward, presented his arm to me, and with Emma and Marshall Hilliard following close behind, escorted me, once again to the matron's room, where Mrs. Reagan awaited us with a pot of tea.
And, as if it were the most natural occurrence in the world for her to host a tea party in this place, she sat and served us, each in turn. She called for Mrs. Russell to join us.
I found it a most peculiar afternoon.
*****
Just before three o'clock, Officer Seaver presented himself to us, and announced he would accompany our party to Taunton. I swear to you, that is what he said -- party -- as if he and Marshall Hilliard were escorting us to a picnic. I found it just one more surreal aspect of this bizarre afternoon.
They hurried us through the still-milling throng, including many journalists, and out and into a closed carriage. We were crammed into just the one conveyance and driven by a circumlocutory route from the courthouse to the train station. Marshall Hilliard insisted this was an attempt to confuse the press -- but even in my befuddled state of mind, this made no sense to me. After all, everyone knew full well we were going to catch a train. In fact, they all knew exactly which train we were to travel on and where we were going.
Alas, as I was to find so often, I had little in the say about what things were done, or why. We would have arrived with just as much attention, and felt a good deal less queasy, had we only taken a more direct path.
Emma had brought a large bag filled with more of my clothes and personal items. The Reverends Buck and Jubb each carried large piles of reading matter -- most of which, it turned out -- was of an inspirational nature.
Once we arrived at the station, Marshall Hilliard, after instructing us to remain within until the train arrived, alighted from the carriage. As soon as it was announced, we were scuttled from the carriage through a cordon of officers and onto the train, where we were seated at the end of one of the cars. I sat with Reverend Buck, with Marshall Hilliard sitting directly behind me.
Even though I could not see him, I felt his presence, and did my best to blot him from my thoughts. In fact, I closed my eyes and remained silent the entire journey.
A large contingency of police met us at the Taunton station. They maintained an open path for us to pass through even more journalists. They hurried us through the station, and rushed us, unceremoniously, into another carriage, which whisked away before any of the newspapermen could break through. But this did not stop them all from crying out questions.
The Taunton officer in charge took us directly to the jail. I, for one, was thankful of this. Although, I had eventually slept soundly the night before, it was a drugged sleep, and it was the very first rest I had had in a week. As short as the day had been, I looked forward to being alone somewhere where I could slip off my shoes, lie down, and close my eyes -- even if only for a short while.
Marshall Hilliard did not accompany us into th
e matron's room here. Instead, I suppose, he went to deal with the business regarding his relinquishing me to Bristol County. Officer Seaver, however, escorted me to the women's section, and officially turned me over to the jailer's wife, a Mrs. Wright, who acted as the prison matron.
She took one look at my eyes and exclaimed, "Why are you not the Lizzie that used to play with my little girl on Ferry Street? I would know you anywhere by those large, soulful, pale-blue eyes."
My eyes, which I had always felt to be too light -- more weak and watery then true blue -- told her at once who I was. Or, perhaps, I should say, who I had been. This was the first and only time, before or since, that someone said something pleasant about my eyes. Later, the press would deem them "ice blue" and claim only someone with a heart of ice could murder her own father -- especially, in such a horrible fashion.
In truth, this was the same Mrs. Wright who had been a neighbor to us on Ferry Street, twenty years ago or more. Somehow, this gave me great solace -- although it appeared to vex Emma. She left almost at once, after promising me she would bring me some more of my things the next time she visited. Reverend Buck did not seem disposed to leave just then, but Emma's abrupt exodus, along with the train's impending departure, changed his mind. He left, as well.
Mrs. Wright placed me in the cell beside her waiting room, and did all she could to accommodate me and make me comfortable. She assured me once the preliminary hearing was held, she was sure I would be released. And, I clung to this, as a drowning woman might cling to a waterlogged plank.
It was Emma's behavior I found most confusing during the next few days. For, it seemed, the more Mrs. Wright tried to do for me, the nastier the comments Emma would whisper about her. She insisted the Wright's had not been considered a "very nice" family, and we shouldn't "lower ourselves" by association with them.
I found this most ironic, since it was I -- not Mrs. Wright -- being held in jail for the murders of both our father and stepmother. But, if everyone who visited me was right, I would only be here for about ten days. Then, after the preliminary hearing, the charges would be dropped, I would be released, and Emma and I could begin to reshape our lives.
So, I did my best to find goodness in a bad situation. I remained calm and positive. I read the religious tomes from Reverend Buck, and contemplated on what I read.
At night, I prayed.
Chapter Six
The next two weeks went by fairly quickly. Mr. Jennings, both the Reverends Jubb and Buck, as well as Emma, visited me regularly. Mrs. Wright continued to treat me with nothing but kindness and consideration.
Emma's strange behavior, with regard to Mrs. Wright, persisted. However, the matron seemed unaware of it, and I had long ago learned not to question my sister's odd notions. Once she set upon something, there was simply no changing her mind.
Once again, crowds of reporters pressed to get close to me and my companions when the time came to go to the Taunton railway station for the trip back to Fall River. One would imagine that one becomes used to such treatment. I am sad to say, however, one does not.
And, as we approached our destination, my anxiety began to grow.
Unlike the inquest, the preliminary hearing was not held in secret, so I was allowed to attend and hear all that went on. Unfortunately, that held true for the general public. So, I used the carriage ride from the train station to the courthouse to try to steel myself to any and all that might occur. However, nothing could have prepared me for the circus-like atmosphere I discovered. Apparently, those unable to squeeze into the courtroom proper, filled the streets surrounding Central Station.
Why, I could not to tell you. After all, if the inquest had taken three long days, this hearing was bound to last at least that, and I suspected more. But, I suppose Father and Abby's murders had been so horrific, and received so very much press coverage, such a crowd was inevitable.
We all took our places in the courtroom, and the bailiff called out for order, the door behind the judge's bench opened and Judge Blaisdell came through and seated himself in the center chair. Now, at first, I thought nothing of this. But, Mr. Jennings choked an oath I could not quite make out clearly.
I turned to look at him and was shocked to find him in both high color and dudgeon. Mr. Jennings jumped up and, before anyone else could speak, blurted out, "Judge Blaisdell, I must protest. It is not only unseemly, but unethical for you to preside over this preliminary hearing.
"You sat at the inquest and chose to issue a warrant for my client's arrest. You have already decided she is guilty. How can you fairly listen to all that is about to be presented and pretend to be unbiased? I insist that you immediately disqualify yourself from this preceding!"
This caused a sensation in the courtroom, and the spectators began talking again. It was quite clear the bailiff had lost control, and struggled to regain it. Meanwhile, Mr. Jennings and the judge appeared to be involved in some silent battle of wills.
I looked from my attorney to the judge and back again. Judge Blaisdell's face now reddened, as well. District Attorney Knowlton joined the fracas, for he jumped up and approached the bench. When he moved towards the judge, Mr. Jennings marched to the bench and began to argue with them both.
In the end, the judge denied my lawyer's demands, and instructed the bailiff to begin. Mr. Jennings returned to his seat beside me, but once the courtroom was called to order, he stood up and demanded his protests be entered into the official transcripts.
Judge Blaisdell scowled, making his displeasure known, but it appeared he had no choice but to allow Mr. Jennings' request. However, I did hear a murmur pass through the gallery, and I do not believe everyone felt Judge Blaisdell was either right or fair in his refusal to step aside.
Since I had not been present when any others testified at the inquest, I found the testimony enlightening to say the least. Mr. Jennings had made it quite clear to me that I was to say nothing. I was to sit, listen attentively to all that was said, and make a note of anything I heard that I believed to be inaccurate. Above all, I was to remain calm, demure, and submissive.
So, of course, that is exactly what I did. I must admit I did slump in my chair a couple of times when someone said something that distressed me. Thank heaven Emma was there to reprimand me and remind me to sit up straight and be a "Borden."
Rather than being shuttled back and forth between Fall River and Taunton, I was once again housed in Central Station. And, since I was to be there more than one night, Mrs. Reagan gave up her own quarters so I could stay there.
There is nothing I can say, either in defense or denial, concerning my inquest testimony. Everyone present knew of it since it was read aloud in the courtroom. Later, one of the newspapers chose to print my testimony in its entirety.
*****
The one significant occurrence during the preliminary hearing would have to be the supposed argument between Emma and me within Mrs. Reagan's hearing.
She reported to one of the many reporters that I told Emma, "You have given me away," and that she had answered, "No Lizzie, I have not."
Mrs. Reagan continued on to say how I had turned away from my sister as I lay on the chaise, and ignored her for the rest of the day. If my staunchest supporters, the Reverends Jubb and Buck, had stayed out of it, the silly occurrence would most probably have faded away.
However, their attempt to squelch this incident only succeeded in snowballing it into more rumors, innuendos and bad press. For some reason, known only to God and themselves, they prepared a letter denying any truth of the incident and presented it to Mrs. Reagan to sign.
At first she refused outright. Then she waivered, and agreed to sign their letter if Mayor Coughlin approved it. The entire party marched into the mayor's office and presented their case before him. There, Mayor Coughlin told her if she signed it, she did so against his direct orders. After that, naturally, Mrs. Reagan would not sign. Nor, would she back down about what she insisted she had heard.
Later, she testi
fied to it at the trial. So, although, I was not present, I have no doubt she testified before the grand jury, as well.
What I actually said to Emma was, "You have driven him away." The truth be told, there was -- or rather, there had been -- a gentleman.
I had met the man at church. At the time, he lived and worked in Boston, and had become disenchanted with city life. He had recently inherited a modest, but adequate income from an uncle, and decided to find a smaller town, with a slower pace. Once he could arrange his affairs, he planned to retire and move. After visiting Fall River a number of times, he announced he had found just what he hoped to find. We became better acquainted at a church social and began corresponding.
He was about forty years old, pleasant enough, and had a reputation above reproach. In short, someone I was sure my father would approve of -- if the relationship were to lead to marriage. I had not had a beau -- a real suitor for nearly ten years. And to be frank, the idea of spending my remaining days in that house had become more disturbing than my uneasiness with the idea of marriage. I had decided that, perhaps, I should take this one last chance to establish my own household -- have a home, and possibly a family of my own.
Initially, I had hoped, albeit unrealistically, he would never have to hear of my predicament. Remember, originally, everyone insisted the culprit would be caught. I was under no suspicion. I should have realized by the day following the murders, there was no way he would not hear of everything. I should have gone ahead and written to him, but Emma advised against this. Instead, she urged me to wait.
However, unbeknownst to me, she took it upon herself to find his address and write to him. So, I'm sure she read his letters to me -- not that there was anything in any of them that my father or ministers could not have read.
She did not do this until immediately after I was arrested. Yet, she only told me when I returned to Fall River for the preliminary hearing, after almost three weeks of lurid newspaper articles. By that time, I am sure he had read all he needed or wanted to read. So, I was not surprised I heard no more -- either, from him, or of him -- ever again.
Sisterly Love: The Saga of Lizzie and Emma Borden Page 4
