An Unspeakable Crime

by Theresa Lorella

  ******

  Marshall sat down with every eye in the courtroom still glued to him, Henry included. It was an oddly masterful argument. There was little or no emotion, no theatrics. It was like a seminar from a university on the criteria needed to convict a defendant. It was almost generalized, but with a bent towards the Randolphs. It was perfect.

  Henry looked up and noticed several of the justices were nodding as if they were thinking about Marshall’s request and saw his reason. My God, Henry thought, the justices wanted to impress John Marshall. They knew he was one of the brightest legal minds in the country and so he must be right. He was right, Henry knew, but what mattered was not whether Marshall was right, but only that the jury thought he was right.

  For the first time since this trial began, the courtroom was quiet. It was done, over. True, there would be a verdict and that would likely be the most sensational aspect yet of the Bizarre scandal, but there was no more evidence, no more argument. There was nothing left to say.

  Despite the silence, Justice Carrington banged his gavel. “Gentlemen of the prosecution.” Smith and Jones nodded towards the bench. “Gentlemen of the defense. Mr. Randolph.” Henry, Marshall, and Richard all likewise nodded towards the judge. “All sides shall now rest. The jury will retire to deliberate. We will alert you when a verdict has been reached.”

  “What was all of that?” Richard asked once he, Henry, and Marshall had settled into their little conference room beside the courtroom. “Why were they allowed to say such things about me again if there was no real evidence?”

  Henry sighed. It was always touching to know your own client suddenly believed in everything you had to say, but Henry never understood why a person could sit through an entire trial hearing evidence against them and still be so incensed after closing arguments. Richard continued when neither counsel responded. “If Mr. Marshall’s argument is correct, there was no reason to even have this trial. The justices will understand. I do not understand why I even had to go through all this.”

  Henry rolled his eyes, but he bit his tongue. Marshall stepped in before Henry could change his mind and remind Richard that he was there because he had requested a full inquest to determine his culpability. “Richard, I appreciate very much your confidence in my argument. I believe Mr. Henry would have said the same thing, even if not with the same style.” The two attorneys smiled at each other behind Richard’s back. “But I must remind you that juries rarely make their decisions based on the law. I asked them to disregard the gossip and circumstantial implications, but I’m afraid that jurors and judges are people and they often have made a decision before even hearing our arguments. Indeed, they may even have decided about you before you even walked into this court. You may have already been tried in the court of public opinion.”

  Richard shook his head as if he refused to believe such a thing. “But that isn’t fair! You yourself argued about the correct system for finding guilt.”

  Henry felt the need to make a very important distinction. “Remember, this is the justice system, not the fairness system.”

  That bit of wisdom silenced both Richard and any response from Marshall, at least for a moment. It was Marshall who resumed speaking after a moment or two. “We tell you this only to help all of us manage our expectations for what is coming. We did what we could and now we put our trust and faith into the jurors.”

  Henry had little or no faith in the justices as jurors—he never had much faith in the reason of juries. There was a fifty percent chance they would follow the correct legal procedure and do as they should, which was to deliver an acquittal. But who were these justices? Just men, peers of Richard. If they thought anything like Richard Randolph, that was not a comforting thought.

  “I appreciate your work and your words, gentlemen, but all this theory and thought isn’t what matters. What matters are people. People like Nancy who selflessly show up for you when you have everything to lose. If I win this—and I should win this—it’s all because of her.”

  This little childish and ridiculous speech did not surprise Henry in the least. He had developed an ever-depreciating viewpoint on the Randolphs of Bizarre and this insult to John Marshall seemed in line with the Richard Randolph that Henry knew. The one thing that bothered Henry was the fact that Richard implied that all the work in this matter had been done by a teenage girl, not by the veteran attorneys who had been up for nights planning his defense. Not by John Marshall, a great legal mind, but by the capricious young woman who may be his downfall.

  Henry wanted to let Richard finally have it, to defend his friend and colleague. Marshall beat him to it. “With all due respect, young man. You need not kowtow to Mr. Henry or myself, but I would like to make one thing perfectly clear: Nancy Randolph has done nothing but cause you heartache and pain. Her great selfless act of showing up to the court could very well have corroborated the rumor that you and she are in love. This is a child you brought into your home and since that day you have been plagued by rumors of incest, coercion, fornication, and murder. If you feel that people like Nancy are the architects of your success, well, there is nothing more I can do for you.” And then John Marshall stood up, pushed in his chair, and walked out of the room.

  Henry would have found all of this wildly entertaining but Marshall had once again left him alone with one of the Randolphs. Since Henry didn’t really know how to follow Marshall’s speech, he remained silent and studied his client. It was awkward, but Henry couldn’t really think of any way to make it less so. In fact, he didn’t really care if Richard was uncomfortable.

  It was Richard who broke the silence. “She’s not a bad person, Mr. Henry.”

  Henry nodded. “Ironically, Richard, I believe Mr. Marshall rather likes Miss Randolph. But even so—or perhaps even more so—it is true what he is saying. You and Miss Randolph need to separate yourselves from one another immediately if there is to be any hope at all for you. For either of you.”

  “But Mr. Henry, I take care of her. Nobody else wants her, especially now. I will not turn her away in her increased time of need.”

  Henry admired that Richard wanted to fulfill his duty towards Nancy, which was one of few positive things that Henry could think of to say about the man. But he shared Marshall’s concern that any continued cohabitation or displays of affection of any sort between the two would seal the deal that Richard and Nancy Randolph were remembered for all time for nothing other than their role in a scandal at a plantation called Bizarre.

  It was with profound relief for Henry that the court marshal knocked and poked in his head. “Time to go, gentlemen.”

  “Thanks, just one moment, please,” Richard said to the marshal, who nodded and closed the door. Richard turned to Henry with true panic in his eyes. “Mr. Henry, what happens now?”

  Henry nodded; it was a reasonable question. “Nothing for any of us, Richard. The justices will deliberate—talk about the evidence and arguments—and then make their decision. Once they have done so, they will alert us and will report back to the court to hear their verdict.”

  “And what do I do while we wait? What do you and Mr. Marshall do while we wait?”

  Henry nodded again. Another reasonable question. “Well, Mr. Marshall and myself do nothing but hope for a positive result. You, Richard, should take this opportunity to get as close to your God as you can. Pray for a favorable verdict, pray for mercy from above and from the court. That is all that you can do Richard.”

  Richard smiled. “I would not have pegged you as a religious man, Mr. Henry.”

  “We all have our secrets, don’t we, Mr. Randolph?” It was ambiguous, but he intended it to be such. Henry would spend the rest of his life wondering what had really happened at the odd home out at Bizarre and on that strange night at Glentivar. Richard would reveal nothing.

  Richard must have been feeling the gravity of the situation as he seemed to prolong the moments before he returned to his cell. For this Henry could not blame him—it must b
e torture to sit in a cell all night and not know if you were to live or die. “How do I get through this?” Richard asked in a small voice.

  “You have to breathe, Richard. Put down your head, take a deep breath, and have a little faith in the legal process.” At the moment he said it, Henry believed it. “It will be a very long night, young man. There is nothing I can do to help with that. And there may be more difficulties to follow. We don’t know when the justices will come to a decision.”

  Richard said nothing, but nodded in return as Henry left the conference room and the marshal entered the room to collect Richard. Even if he liked Richard there was little more Henry could have said to the young man. And, since he didn’t like the young man, Henry didn’t feel it was a tragedy that Richard would have an uncomfortable day or two waiting for the jury’s verdict. Henry wasn’t expecting good sleep himself for the next few days.

  The best thing about being left with Richard at the court was that the crowds had dispersed by the time Henry left the building. He was able to nearly make it to his patiently waiting driver and carriage without being accosted. He was just about to open his door when he heard his name being called. He sighed and turned.

  “Yes, Mr. Dickson?”

  Dickson smiled. “Thank you, sir. Any chance of getting a statement now? Since the inquest is essentially over?”

  Henry looked at the younger man and considered telling him to go, leave an old man alone. But he had said he would speak after argument and he owed Dickson for getting him through the crowds and into the court. If all that weren’t enough, this was one last chance to reach not only the public but also to speak to the jury. For certainly the good men of the judging panel would like to sit down with their daily paper as they mulled over the question of Richard’s guilt. Or of his innocence.

  “Very well, Mr. Dickson. I will give you a statement, but under two conditions.”

  Dickson nodded. “And those conditions would be?”

  “First, you must print my statement exactly as I say it, no edits or editorials.”

  Again, Dickson nodded. “Yes, I understand. And for you, Mr. Henry, I will accept. Providing, of course, that I can also accept your second condition.”

  Henry smiled and gestured to his carriage and the patient Tom, now standing beside the carriage door. “Second condition is that you take my statement in my carriage as we return to my lodgings. My driver will then return you to your intended destination. I am an old and weary man and I find that the last place in the world I wish to be right now is here at the Cumberland County Courthouse.”

  Dickson laughed. “I accept,” he said as he entered the carriage.

  “Then we have a deal.”

  ******

  The Virginia Gazette

  Matthew Dickson

  The time has come, dear readers. We have heard all the evidence and final arguments and now we wait. But before we do so, I have obtained a final word from Mr. Randolph’s second counsel, the distinguished statesman, former governor of Virginia, and prominent attorney, Patrick Henry. In deference to his wishes, I have reproduced Mr. Henry’s statement in full with no alterations:

  This matter has been tried in two courts—one of law and one of public opinion. The only one that matters to an attorney is the court of law. Mr. Marshall demonstrated the legal deficiencies of the prosecution’s case. Rather, the lack of a case against Mr. Randolph. We are confident that the men of the jury are legally sophisticated gentlemen who understand their duty to the principles of our legal system. They will see that there was no evidence of the crimes charged. They will acquit Mr. Randolph of these frivolous, gossip-based fabrications.

  I know not if I can have the same confidence in the public at large. I would hope that the good people of Virginia can distinguish the difference between a good, amusing story and the gravity of the truth.

  I have served and represented the people of this state for decades. I have met many of the good citizens who will determine Richard and Nancy Randolph’s guilt in the parlors and sitting rooms of their homes in the days to come. I know that many of these people have the capacity to understand that a story is not the truth.

  It is to these people of good reason and principle that I address the following: You who are smart enough to know the difference; you are tasked with helping the side of justice and right. When you hear someone telling a story about these people, that’s fine. You can enjoy it, be entertained by the salacious rumors. But then you must look to your companion and remind them of what you are wise enough to know: This was all just a story.

  ******

  Henry didn’t like the term “second attorney,” but other than that, Dickson had hit the nail on the head.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “I AM HAVING A hard time calming down,” John Marshall admitted over a late lunch in Henry’s rooms. Tom had refilled their glasses and the two men had retired to the chairs near the fireplace. “I can’t think of a time where I felt I was fighting my own client after such a well-thought argument.”

  Henry shook his head at Marshall’s good luck. “John, if that was the first time that has ever happened in your entire career, you, sir, have done very, very well for yourself. In my experience you never really know which client it will be that turns on you, but you can usually expect at least one at any given time.”

  Marshall laughed and clinked his glass against the one in Henry’s hand. “Well, since I am speaking to the man who once claimed to have over a thousand cases in one year I will accept and honor your wishes.”

  Henry nodded. “True story, I’m afraid. Nine hundred ninety-nine cases that nobody else wanted and one that I was lucky to get. I was hungry in those days. I needed to take them all to pay my bills.” And, Henry thought, I needed them to prove I could be a good lawyer even though I came from a working family, had no pedigree.

  Now Marshall nodded. “We all do what we must do. And once Richard is released, I am certain he will make good on his payment to you for this case.”

  Henry wasn’t so certain it would be that easy, but he knew Marshall was increasingly worried about the verdict, which hadn’t been reached yet, and he didn’t want to add to his friend’s worries. Rather than dwell, Henry nodded and now he clinked his glass against the one in Marshall’s hand. “To us, John. And to this case ending.”

  “Here, here.” Marshall took a sip from his glass and appeared to be thinking a moment before continuing. “You know, Patrick… I risk sounding presumptuous, as if I have the right to impart such wisdom, but I hope you know that you are an exceptional attorney.”

  Henry found that he didn’t know how to respond. He had to fight off the mist he felt at his eyes. “John, I appreciate your words more than I can say and I hope that I live to see the day you truly come into your own.” Many great things lay before John Marshall, of that Henry was certain.

  The men’s conversation was cut short by the concise but polite interruption of Tom, who entered the room and coughed into his hand. “Yes, Tom, what is it?” Henry smiled, happy to find a way to end this touching but awkward conversation.

  “A message has arrived, sirs,” Tom nodded towards both Henry and Marshall. “You have a verdict.”

  ******

  The verdict was the best and worst part of any case. No matter good or bad, it signaled the end of the case, which was, without exception, a good thing. The bad was obvious: You never wanted to lose a case. That said, Henry had had many a case where a guilty verdict that was a good thing. Good for society, good for mankind, good even for Henry, who didn’t want to meet some of his clients out, free in the world. Of course, when you had an ambiguous case—and this was one such case if ever he had had one—you didn’t savor facing your client after an unexpected guilty decision.

  As he and Marshall packed up their papers and cases to prepare for a return to the court, Henry replayed all the conversations he and Marshall had engaged in over the last few days, trying to guess the justices’ decision. The evid
ence was in Richard’s favor—there really was nothing to pin these accusations on him in an effective, legal manner. While that fact seemed to keep Marshall afloat, Henry was more cynical about the legal analytic abilities of the citizens of Cumberland County. In fact, in Henry’s experience, half of the judges he knew didn’t seem to know the law, so he had little hope for just a regular citizen sitting as a justice of the peace.

  Henry looked over at Marshall. They were both ready to go. Henry considered asking his friend how he was feeling, but what was the point, after all? Henry knew both he and John Marshall were in excited turmoil. If either were asked, they would feign calm confidence about the likely outcome. It would be pointless to even ask the other if they were all right; both were as nervous as they had ever been in their professional lives.

  It was a silent ride to the court, and it was with a swift determination that both men alighted from the carriage and stormed the door of the court, not without a little help from Mr. Dickson. “Good luck in there, Mr. Henry,” the newsman said as he held the door for the attorneys. “Thanks again for the statement. I owe you, sir.” Henry nodded in return. Dickson had grown in his esteem over the past few weeks.

  “Just print the facts, sir.”

  Dickson tipped his hat and disappeared into the growing crowd as Henry and Marshall made their way towards their conference room to meet Richard. “How could there possibly be so many people here?” Henry complained to Marshall, not expecting an answer of substance.

  “How they even found out is a mystery,” Marshall responded. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Henry nodded. “It’s as if this trial is entertainment. Imagine such a concept!” In Henry’s experience, a trial was nothing but hard work, anxiety and worry.

  Richard Randolph was waiting for his counsel at the small table in the conference room. He was a shade or two paler than normal and his face was drawn.

  “Come on now, Richard,” Henry said—and meant—“put on a brave face. You have the law on your side.”