by Kari Edgren
I swallowed hard as he continued to stare at me.
“The first time was in a complaint filed by Dirk Fletcher.” Ely paused again, this time to riffle through the stack of parchment. “Here it is,” he said, lifting the sheet close enough to read. “Selah Kilbrid, resident of Hopewell, Pennsylvania, is hereby accused of openly colluding with Captain Harlow to secure the contract of indenture for one Henry Alan.” Ely set the parchment aside. “Does this sound familiar?” he asked me.
It was one thing to be charged for a real crime and another to be blamed for something so completely ridiculous. Squaring my shoulders, I looked right at the magistrate. “I offered thirteen pounds for the contract, which the captain accepted. That’s hardly grounds for collusion.”
Fletcher came to his feet. “She interrupted a legal transaction and bought the servant for one pound less than what I offered.”
“And what of the trap you set on our way back to Hopewell?” I asked, turning on him. “You forgot to mention that in your complaint.”
“The girl’s lying. I was traveling on the same road when we were all set upon by a group of bandits. It was a stroke of luck that any of us survived.”
“You shot Henry in the back!” I cried. “He would be dead if not...” I caught myself just in time. “If you were any kind of marksman.” It was sort of the truth. Two inches to the left and the shot would have gone into Henry’s heart.
Henry leaned closer to me. “Don’t let him upset you,” he whispered, though I noticed his own hand had strayed again toward the dagger. “Keep focused on the magistrates.”
I gritted my teeth, furious at Fletcher’s mendacity, but Henry was right. My intense desire to claw out Fletcher’s eyes would have to wait till later. For now I had to stay focused on the task at hand and not get distracted by his lies.
“Sit down, Fletcher,” Martin Jones instructed, speaking for the first time since the proceedings had started. “Your complaint has already been recorded, unless you wish to elaborate on these other events.”
“There is no need,” Fletcher said, glaring at me. “The matter was settled at the time.” He sat down in a show of great indignation.
“By good fortune,” Ely went on, “I was able to meet with Captain Harlow before he set sail to discuss the merits of this complaint. At my request, the good captain thoroughly recounted the confrontation on the docks that morning. He also mentioned the untimely demise of one particular passenger aboard The Berkshire, and how the subsequent guilt from this death ultimately influenced his decision to sell Henry Alan’s contract to you, Selah, rather than to Dirk Fletcher. As I possess a personal knowledge of the captain’s character, having conducted business with him on numerous occasions, I was duly satisfied with his explanation and dismissed the case.”
Fletcher released a loud, exasperated breath, but otherwise refrained from interrupting.
“Ten days after my conversation with Captain Harlow,” Ely said, looking back at me, “your name was brought to my attention again in a letter written by Nathan Crowley.” He shuffled through the stack of parchment, extracting several sheets this time. “Here it is,” he said, skimming one of the letters, “...Selah Kilbrid has used treacherous methods to ensnare her cousin, Samuel Kilbrid in matrimony...their union is a sham, and I demand it be annulled forthwith.”
I had forgotten about these other letters and glanced quickly over at Nathan. He met my eyes with a look that begged forgiveness.
“Over the course of three weeks, I received a total of five letters from Nathan,” Ely said, thumbing through the various sheets, “each challenging the legality of your marriage. In the final letter, he even goes so far as to accuse you of witchcraft.”
It was Nathan’s turn to come to his feet. “I already told you that I acted in error. Selah is not a witch, and there is no reason to challenge her marriage to Henry Kilbrid.”
“Your revised statement has been noted,” Ely said with an impatient wave of his hand. “Please take your seat.”
I had to remind myself to keep breathing. Nathan sank dejectedly back into his chair.
“Of all the charges,” Ely said, “it was those against your recent nuptials that I found most perplexing. Not two weeks before the first letter arrived from Nathan Crowley, the captain had specifically told me that your cousin and fiancé, Samuel Kilbrid, had died at sea.”
I watched Nathan’s expression change to utter confusion. Next to him, Ben let his head drop from what was coming next.
“Your cousin’s death was easy enough to verify from the documents the captain had filed before leaving the Colonies. It was the marriage contract that I had difficulty finding. You see, one of my fellow magistrates had failed to have it properly recorded.” Ely shot Martin a rather severe look.
“Yes, yes,” Martin agreed. “Terrible mistake. Put it in a desk drawer and completely forgot it was there.”
“So you say,” Ely said dismissively before turning his attention back to me. “Given the facts, I had to side with Nathan in believing that treacherous methods were indeed used. It would seem you have married a dead man.”
My face flushed red with embarrassment. I wanted to stop the hearing and ask Ely if we could continue this discussion in private without Nathan, George, and Fletcher present. Ben and James already knew this part of the history, which made it somewhat easier for them to hear it recounted.
“Given the severity of Martin’s error,” Ely went on, oblivious to my discomfort, “he was very helpful in getting to the bottom of this case. The day before your marriage to Samuel Kilbrid, you procured Henry Alan’s contract for indenture. Acting on a hunch, we followed up with Dirk Fletcher to get a physical description of the man he recently lost to your thirteen pounds.”
“It’s him,” Fletcher said, pointing gleefully at Henry. “That’s the lad who was stolen from me.”
“And is this the same man who stood as Samuel Kilbrid?” Ely asked, turning to look at the other magistrate.
“It is. They both agreed that he was her cousin. How was I to know they were lying?”
“Nor why they would lie in the first place,” Ely said softly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Hoping to solve this riddle, Martin and I decided to make a trip to Hopewell. We arrived this very morning just in time to witness the funeral of a well-respected Quaker Elder who had died after catching afire and falling from your bedroom window at Brighmor Hall.” Ely rubbed his forehead in frustration. “In truth, Selah, from the number of times your name has been associated with trouble these past weeks, I was not surprised to learn that you were somehow involved in Edgar Sweeney’s death.”
He made it sound as though it were my fault. Like I went around asking to be tied into my bed and burned alive. “I was involved against my will,” I said tersely. “Edgar was insane and tried to kill me.”
“Gideon has already explained the situation,” Ely said.
“Good. Then you have no reason to doubt my innocence.”
Ely raised his eyebrows, surprised by my impertinence. “Edgar aside, since your father’s death you have managed to deceive a magistrate, pass an indentured servant off as your deceased cousin, and be accused of witchcraft.”
“Nathan told you that I wasn’t a witch,” I reminded him.
Ely’s eyes bulged in their sockets. “You committed fraud!” he bellowed. “Not to mention living in a state of sin with Henry Alan, as your marriage is clearly invalid. What say you to these charges?”
There was nothing I could say other than admitting my guilt for what remained. George McKee might as well put me in irons and toss away the key—I was completely done for.
Dirk Fletcher started to laugh. “Not so high and mighty anymore, eh, my lady?” he jeered at me.
I scowled at him, but this only seemed to encourage his mirth.
“Selah’s virtue i
s intact,” Henry said calmly, finally breaking his silence. “Our union was never consummated.”
Ely gawped at him. “Do you really think me such a simpleton?” he asked. “Sweet Moses, man! You’ve been living together for nearly seven weeks now. One can only imagine the carnal knowledge you have shared while pretending to be husband and wife.”
“On my honor as a gentleman,” Henry said, “Selah is a virgin.”
“Mighty fine words from a servant,” Fletcher scoffed. “You’ll forgive me for saying that your honor means nothing here.”
“How dare you!” James said, shooting to his feet. “You should be flogged for insulting him!”
Fletcher stood up to face James. “Flogged my arse. I’m going to buy the lad’s contract soon as his young miss gets tossed in the stocks for lying.”
“I’ll see you in hell first!” James cried.
“And that you may if you don’t sit down this very minute!” Ely cried out. “I’ll have quiet at once or you’ll both be charged with disorderly conduct.”
The men remained standing almost nose-to-nose, glaring dangerously.
“Let it go, James,” Henry said, his cold stare resting on Fletcher. “There will be ample time for retribution after the hearing.”
“You will not threaten the witness,” Ely snapped at Henry. “Any retribution will come from me in the form of the law.”
Henry turned back toward the magistrates, his jaw tense with anger.
“During the past two months,” Ely continued, “there has been one consistency in all of these goings on with Selah.” He pointed directly at Henry. “I do not think it a mere coincidence that her problems began the day she met you.”
My mouth dropped open in surprise. Henry was about to be blamed for my own bad behavior. “It wasn’t his fault,” I started to say when his hand came firmly to my shoulder.
“You’re right,” he said. “It was my idea for us to marry.”
“Henry!” I cried, aghast at his admission.
His hand tightened on my shoulder, a reminder of my earlier promise not to contradict him. “Selah, don’t try to protect me. He already knows what happened.”
Ely smiled for the first time since we entered the courthouse. “So, it is as I thought. Do you admit to coercing Selah into marriage?”
“Yes, I do.”
Ben let out a long breath.
“Why did you do it?” Martin asked, barely ahead of Ely.
“The day I met Selah, she was very upset about her fiancé’s death and the prospect of returning home unmarried.” Henry shot Nathan a disdainful look. “I decided to turn her misfortune to my advantage and convinced her to let me stand in her cousin’s stead. In return, she reduced the length of my contract to one year, at which time I would be free to return to England.”
I could hardly believe what he was confessing to. These were my crimes—how dare he take responsibility!
Martin snorted in disgust. Ely was still smiling as he pulled out a quill and a fresh piece of parchment. Dipping the quill into the ink, he quickly scratched the tip over the paper.
“Henry Alan, you are charged with deliberately deceiving a young lady into a fraudulent marriage and assuming another man’s identity for personal gain. I hereby command you to accompany us to Philadelphia on the morrow where you will receive fifty lashes in the public square. Your contract of indenture is hereby revoked from Selah Kilbrid, and will be put up for purchase to the highest bidder following your punishment.”
“I’m afraid that will be quite impossible,” Henry said calmly. “As your authority does not extend to me.”
The smile faded from Ely’s face. “Let me remind you that your contract for indenture was purchased in Pennsylvania, making you subject to all of the laws of this colony.”
“That contract was illegal from the start.”
“You don’t say,” Ely practically laughed. “I imagine you will tell me next that your name is not really Henry Alan.”
“It is not,” Henry confirmed.
Ely narrowed his eyes. “Be warned, another false statement will result in additional lashes being added to your sentence.”
“My name is Lord Henry Fitzalan, son of Richard Fitzalan, Duke of Norland. I was kidnapped and sold into servitude against my will.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Fletcher said. “He’s just trying to weasel his way out of working the brick ovens. Give me a week, and he’ll remember his name, all right.”
“He’s telling the truth,” James said. “I have letters from his father and the King verifying his identity.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small packet, secured with a black ribbon.
Ely looked at James. “And who exactly are you?”
James bowed curtly. “Mr. James Roth, Lord Fitzalan’s personal secretary.”
“This is madness!” Fletcher cried. “You promised me the lad if I agreed to testify.”
“Please bring the evidence forward,” Ely said, purposefully ignoring Fletcher.
James walked over and dropped the packet on the table in front of the magistrate. Untying the ribbon, Ely opened the first letter. He scanned it quickly and then passed it over to Martin. By the time he read through the second one, his face had lost most of its original color.
“It seems you are correct,” Ely said with forced cordiality. “As a member of the royal family, you are not under my authority.” He paused and began to slowly tap his fingers on the table. After a minute, something like a smile returned to his face. Grabbing a clean sheet of parchment, he started quickly scratching out a revised edict. “This doesn’t mean, however, that you are entirely above the law. On the morrow you will still accompany us to Philadelphia where you will seek passage back to England to be judged for your crimes. I will grant you one week to leave Pennsylvania. If you remain after this time, I don’t care how many kings you can conjure up, I swear I’ll have you publicly flogged.”
I was stunned. One day to leave Hopewell. Seven days to leave the Colonies. This couldn’t be right.
“You are free to go for now,” Ely said, holding the new edict out to Henry. “We are staying the night at the tavern. I expect you to join us by nightfall to spare Selah’s reputation any more damage.”
Henry took the paper and turned to leave.
Unable to move yet, I stood stupidly in place.
Fletcher strode angrily over to the magistrates. “This is treachery!” he yelled, slamming his fist down on the table. “You promised I could have him!”
His cruel voice jarred me back to my senses. “Oh will you get off of it!” I cried. “Find another pair of breeches to chase and leave Henry alone!”
Someone snickered from the row of chairs, but I couldn’t tell who it was. My eyes were fixed on Dirk Fletcher’s, which were silently screaming murder.
Henry took my arm. “Let’s go, Selah,” he said, gently pulling me toward to door. This was enough to break the trance, and I turned to go with him.
We made it only a few steps when Fletcher suddenly rushed toward us, crying out like an enraged animal. Grabbing his dagger, Henry spun around just in time to plunge the long blade up into the soft tissue beneath Fletcher’s breastbone, straight into his heart. Blood gushed from the wound, turning his shirtfront crimson. The bleeding man looked at Henry with an expression of utter disbelief.
Before I could react, Fletcher’s body went slack and he sank to the floor, his own dagger clattering loudly against the wooden planks. My knees wobbled precariously, and I would have joined him on the floor if not for Henry. He caught me just as the other men rushed over.
“Send for a doctor!” Martin cried, apparently unaware that I was the closest thing Hopewell had in this capacity.
Ben knelt down and took Fletcher’s wrist. “There’s no need. The man�
�s already dead.”
“He was going right for Selah,” George said, staring down at the body. “Henry clearly acted defensively.”
“Yes, yes,” Ely agreed. “We’ve plenty of witnesses to verify what happened.”
George reached down to pull the dagger from Fletcher’s chest. Wiping the blade clean with a fresh handkerchief, he handed it to Henry. “The town’s already abuzz about the summons. Take Selah home before folks hear a man’s been killed. I’ll be over shortly to escort you to the tavern.”
Henry nodded curtly, and together we left the courthouse.
* * *
Anne Boyle looked at me, her steady gaze unnerving. “And this is the whole truth?” she asked.
Nora remained silent while Anne spoke, though I was fairly certain she wondered the same thing.
Henry sat right next to me on the sofa, my hand held securely in his own. “I promise, everything is true,” I said, letting my eyes fall to the floor.
By altering some of the facts for the magistrates, Henry had saved me from being publicly humiliated and possibly even from a day or two in the stocks. Once the hearing was over though, and we had returned home to find Anne and Nora in the sitting room waiting for news, I had insisted on telling the truth.
It had taken a full hour to recount the entire story, beginning from when I had met Nathan Crowley on the road the day before my father had died, all the way through to Dirk Fletcher charging after me inside the meetinghouse. I had confessed to everything—my desperation after learning of my cousin’s death, and coercing Henry into marriage with the idea that he could simply leave in a year or two when Nathan no longer posed a threat. I had also told them how Henry and I had inadvertently fallen in love while pretending to be husband and wife, and how we planned to marry for real once he was officially released from his current engagement.
To be sure, my confession spurred an abundance of guilt, but pouring out all of my secrets was also strangely cathartic. Well, almost all of them—there was still one that had to be kept.
