“Mr. Pellam, I request to meet with my client outside this foul cell.” George insisted.
Pellam nodded humbly. “You may sit in the exercise yard.”
A few minutes later, he paced the bricked ground of the narrow little exercise yard outside the cell’s courtyard. George, seated on a wood chair Pellam fetched for him, looked deeply troubled.
“By the Almighty, Jeffrey, you are a ghastly sight.” The older man’s face pinched in pain. “Are you all right?”
“Never better. Food’s all the best, accommodations much more cozy than the Raleigh.” A glimmer of his old humor surfaced.
“I’m afraid I have rather bad news. There are several witnesses willing to testify against you.”
Several? Jeffrey felt a last tendril of hope disappear. “How many?”
“At least ten.”
His heart sank with his hopes. Jeffrey sat on the ground. “That many?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “So many claim they saw me run from Daniel’s house?”
“That and those who overheard what you shouted at Daniel in the Raleigh. As well as other evidence found. Your walking stick outside Merton’s yard.”
Jeffrey snorted. “My stick is at the silversmith’s being repaired. Mandy told me so. The repair, ’tis a wedding gift.”
When George did not respond, his dread increased. “Is it not?”
“Your cane is the evidence that is most damning. I saw it myself. ’Tis not at the silversmith’s.”
He cursed loudly, his shock mounting. “Are you certain? Why would she lie to me?”
George hesitated. “I do not know. Jeffrey, does she have a reason for wanting you in gaol?”
“Why would my own wife want me imprisoned?”
The attorney gave him a level look. “Is she truly loyal to you, Jeffrey? Or to her cousin and England? You forced her to wed. Could this be a plan she conceived to get rid of you as Dunmore had wanted?”
He started to protest and then remembered the day she’d driven to the almshouse, the day she’d taken his cane. Amanda had planned to stop by and visit her mother. Mayhap her mother had coaxed her into the deed. Memories of the heated arguments they’d had over England came to mind. He had stepped out in trust and told Amanda about repairing the muskets, his work to support arming the militia. Had Amanda betrayed him by trapping him with his own cane? Were her whispered words of love actually false pledges?
Grief and anger twined together. Jeffrey rubbed the bristles on his chin.
“’Tis possible,” he muttered, shamed at admitting it.
“Then we must assume she did,” George said gently. “You must not trust her, Jeffrey. Not now. I’ll question her myself. But with the evidence of your cane, and the testimony of the witnesses, it looks quite bad for you unless we find out who could have done this.”
Amanda had whispered she loved him. Surely George was wrong. She could not have taken part in this foul deed and used his cane against him.
Jeffrey gave a humorless laugh. “George, does anyone truly believe I’d be that addle-headed as to leave my cane at the crime scene?”
“’Tis the argument I plan to present myself. But the people are eager for a scapegoat. They are much incensed.”
“What’s the reaction? How is the public leaning?” Slim hope rose again. If most disbelieved the stories that he’d set the fire, there might be a chance.
But George’s eyelids dropped. Jeffrey felt a tinge of real fear. “They think you did it. The witnesses say they saw you running from Merton’s house, yelling for him to burn in Hell.”
“I did no such thing,” Jeffrey snapped. “I was not even in town!”
“Jeffrey, ’tis most urgent you tell me who you were with and why. If you have an alibi, someone I can call to testify on your behalf, he will set you free!”
“Nay.” Jeffrey thought of Daniel. His throat tightened. Betray Daniel and questions would be asked. Dunmore would immediately suspect Daniel of treason. His friend would be clapped in chains and sent sailing to London to be tried and hung.
“’Tis not a matter I can do. If I confess, another man’s life is forfeit. I cannot exchange another life for mine.”
Every bone in his body ached with exhaustion. Walls of imposing red brick surrounded him, seeming to march closer until they closed on him like a tight noose. As his throat constricted, he concentrated on remaining calm.
George glanced about the empty yard and withdrew a crinkled paper from his pocket. “I managed to obtain a copy of the arrest warrant so you could see the charges.”
Jeffrey snatched the document and scanned its contents, his dismay growing. “I’m to be tried for burning down half the town, it seems.”
Rage snaked through him. How could his Mandy do this to him! But had she? She professed to love him. He swallowed, feeling the imaginary noose around his neck pull tight.
George removed the paper and clapped his shoulder. “I shall do my utmost best. Fear not. The Almighty watches over the innocent.”
Jeffrey gave a wry smile, wondering if it were true.
Certainly, this must be what Hell was like.
Three days after her husband’s arrest, Amanda swallowed hard as the gaoler swung open the heavy wood door of Jeffrey’s cell. She walked inside, straining to see. Wood walls soaked up the faint sunlight streaming through a barred window. The hefty stench of a necessary made her want to gag. With all her might, she resisted.
The door thudded shut behind her. More gloom now.
“Amanda.”
She jumped. His lifeless voice lacked its usual husky note. Sitting on a pile of straw upon the floor, Jeffrey leaned against a wall No chairs. No beds. She stifled a shocked gasp. A scruff of beard covered his proud cheeks. His hair was matted and wild, though he’d tried to tie it back. This was not her handsome, dashing husband whose confidence could light up a room.
Her sight finally adjusted to the dimness. Amanda swallowed again. She beamed at Jeffrey, who stared sullenly at her. Why was he acting like this? Wasn’t he happy to see her?
She knelt beside him, noticing with dismay that he was chained to the wall. The heavy manacles looked painful and barbarous. Amanda held out the pudding she brought to him like an offering, and whipped off the cloth covering the dish. She hoped it would bring life to those dead eyes.
“Jeffrey, I made this for you. Baked fresh this morn.”
He looked down at it. Up at her. Gave her a wry smile.
“Smells delicious, but I’ve no appetite.” He looked away again, shutting her out as effectively the heavy cell door.
She set the pudding down, desperation mingling with fresh nausea in her belly. For two days, she’d retched, blaming her illness on the stress of Jeffrey’s incarceration. Finally today she had felt well enough to make the visit.
Amanda tried again to engage him in conversation. How she longed to hear him call her Mandy again! Any kind of affection, even the barest scrap, would suffice. But he remained cold and aloof.
She nudged him gently, then nodded toward the two men sitting quietly. “Jeffrey, who are they?”
His gaze darted into the corner, and he gave a cynical smile. “Why, Amanda, my cell mates. Meet Mr. William Pittman and Mr. John Watkins. Mr. Pittman is accused of beating one of his slaves to death. Mr. Watkins is being gaoled for rape.”
Shuddering, she gazed at her husband. ’Twas so horrid for him here. Amanda put her hand on his thinning arm.
Jeffrey jerked away as if her touch burned, as if she had put him here. She stifled a cry.
Why did he act like this?
Why had she come?
The squab pudding tormented his grumbling stomach. Pride resisted. Jeffrey refused to take anything from her. Not after she’d so effectively betrayed him. George had returned earlier, informing him Amanda had sworn she’d sent the cane to the silversmith’s. Jeffrey’s bitterness stuck in his throat as he thought of how Amanda had probably framed him. Dunmore had set her to the trap. Why, maybe he even g
ave a nod of approval to her marrying Jeffrey for that very reason.
Hunger, exhaustion and gnawing fear made the thoughts dance about in his head, chasing away logic. Amanda betrayed you, the voices mocked. Doesn’t love you. Loves England more. Anger came with the fury of a flooded spring creek. Amanda had framed him for arson. His own cane used against him! How had he been so gullible to think she’d turn her back on England? Her loyalty to the Crown came before all else. She only professed to love him.
Now she came to the cell to gloat, those huge violet eyes seeming so innocent and wide. Jeffrey’s throat went dry. For the first time since meeting her, he lacked any desire for her.
He stared at his hands. Not that he’d want to touch her. He felt disgusting and dirty. Seeing her was like glimpsing an angel amid filth. Even her green gown feathered with white blossoms seemed to be lit with a soft glow. A delicate scent of lavender cut the cell’s foul stench. He wished she hadn’t come. Wished she would not leave. When she left, she’d take the light with her.
“Jeffrey, I want to help. You are my husband.”
“Help?” he repeated.
She lowered her voice. “I will speak in French so no one will understand.” Amanda began doing so. “Tell me what to do. I can use my influence with Lord Dunmore. Perhaps persuade him to release you.”
Now he did laugh. Bitterness rose like acid. “Use your influence. ’Tis a mighty strange thing to do when you and he have already reached your goal,” he replied in flawless French.
“Je ne comprehend pas,” she said, looking bewildered.
He tugged angrily at the manacles and switched back to English. “You don’t understand? I will explain. Who sweetly offered to repair my cane? Who offered to take it to the silversmith’s as a wedding gift? And what instrument of mine was found at the crime scene?”
His wife drew back with a small gasp. “Jeffrey, you do not think that I had anything to do with this?”
“Who else then, Amanda? Or did my cane walk over to Merton’s house and plant itself?” he shot back. He slumped wearily against the wall. The brief tirade expanded all his energy.
“Jeffrey, please, you must believe I would never...” She touched his shoulder. Her touch was warm and he jerked away.
“Leave me be. Please go now.” Then he turned his head as she called for the gaoler.
Jeffrey did not turn back as the door opened and she left.
Jeffrey thought her guilty. Long after her visit, Amanda still felt stunned by this new twist of events. How could she convince him of her innocence?
The greater deed lay in proving his innocence. Trusting the court system, she faithfully attended each proceeding in the following days. First the preliminary hearing in the county court where Jeffrey made a statement of his innocence and signed the document. Then the examining court at the county courthouse where Jeffrey stood before two justices and answered to the charges brought against him. Again, he pleaded innocent. Then the grand jury, which heard more testimony and indicted him for arson.
Final justice awaited Jeffrey at the General Court. If found guilty by this jury, he’d hang. He would stand trial tomorrow. She had to be there. Amanda went to her parent’s store and confronted her father.
“Papa, I need your help. Jeffrey is being tried for arson tomorrow and I have not the strength to go to the Capitol alone. Meg is too shaken. Now is the time to make up for all that happened in the past. Will you be there for me?”
Her father looked downward with a guilty expression.
“Clayton was right. I have sorely mistreated you, Amanda, and for that I am deeply sorry. He is of a good heart, I think. He told me he had deep feelings for you for some time and desired only to make you happy. And he could easily have married you without relieving my debts.”
Papa apologizing? Amanda smiled softly. “He does wish to make me happy.”
“Is he a good husband to you?”
“Yes.” Jeffrey had told her father he cared for her. He must love her. Such a love could not be eradicated by a misunderstanding. Her hand drifted down to her abdomen, as it had often these past days.
“’Tis all that matters. I do wish for you to be happy. I wish you could believe that.” He seemed to grow in stature. “I have not touched a drop of the drink since he and I talked.”
Amanda licked her lips. “If you truly desire my happiness, will you come with me then? I dare not ask Mother.”
He nodded. Remorse shaded his expression. “About your mother, Amanda, please do not judge her so harshly. She only wanted the best for you.”
Bitter words came to mind, but she held her tongue.
“She was strict with you because she did not want you making the same mistakes she made. Mistakes of, er, youthful passion.” Papa gave wry smile. “Mistakes I am certain she still regrets, for otherwise, she would have married nobility instead of a mere merchant.”
Amanda stared at her father in astonished shock. For a moment he looked sad and lost, a man who also had regrets.
She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Papa.”
“I have tried to be a good father to you, though I have failed at times.” He patted her hand. “I will not fail you now.”
Amanda smiled, hiding her anxiety. Jeffrey would hope to be a good father as well, she thought.
But if the Court found him guilty, he wouldn’t live long enough to find out.
“Clayton, ’tis time for your trial.”
Pellam unlocked the heavy cell door. Jeffrey tugged at his waistcoat, smoothing it. He stared with distress at the heavy shackles the gaoler held.
“Must I be chained?” he asked.
“No choice,” the gaoler replied.
Jeffrey drew in a breath and obediently held out his wrists. Pellam shackled his hands and ankles and then dropped his hands, the chains weighing upon his arms.
He followed the sheriff and Pellam out of the cell, his eyes watering from the harsh daylight. He blinked rapidly, cursing under his breath. Damn if he’d let the public think he’d been crying like a woman!
Down the steps outside the exercise yard, he shuffled, movements restricted by metal. Shuffle, clank, shuffle, clank. Jeffrey gave a mirthless smile as he thought of how this dance step would look in Lord Dunmore’s grand ballroom. Too bad he couldn’t teach it to his lordship. Why, he’d adore seeing that pompous ass in chains.
How utterly ironic. Jeffrey had forged metal and it now bound him tightly. Were these chains ones he had fashioned? He shuffled up the path cut through the green yard behind the Capitol. Fresh air, sunlight and trees. A bird sang merrily upon a white oak branch. He bitterly resented its freedom.
The sheriff led Jeffrey inside. The burning hatred of the townspeople pierced his skin. Jeffrey filed into the capitol courtroom, the spectators making a human tunnel as he shuffled past. The sheriff opened the gate that cordoned off the area separating jury and lawyers from bystanders.
He darted a glance at the twelve seated men who would decide his fate. None looked kindly upon him. He steeled his resolve, reminding himself he was innocent until proven guilty. God grant George the ability to find some chink in this mad scheme to convince them he was innocent. To his right, John Randolph, the King’s attorney, and George sat side by side at a table, making notes and studying papers. George gave Jeffrey an encouraging smile. Jeffrey flashed George his old, cocky grin, hiding his trepidation.
“Will you step up?”
The sheriff opened the gate leading to the bench where the justices and Dunmore sat, presiding over the courtroom. Back to Dunmore, Jeffrey stood and faced the public. He could imagine what image he presented. Grubby beard. Clean shirt, blue waistcoat and matching breeches, thanks to George. But his face was dirt-streaked and his hair matted. He probably looked guilty simply through his scruffy appearance.
Jeffrey felt like a pig roasting over a spit, seared on both sides. Dunmore’s gaze burned into his back. The public stared hostilely at him in front. He clutched his hands,
proudly stiffening his shoulders. Now he knew what a slave felt like on the auction block. Only at this auction he faced a fate worse than losing his freedom.
If the court found him guilty, they’d sentence him to hang.
He prayed he’d never hear that word. Guilty.
In the upper galley reserved for gentry, Amanda leaned over the railing, peering down anxiously. Murmurs indicated Jeffrey approached. Double doors swung wide open. Her husband walked in, clinking and clanking in his shackles. She gasped, shocked at his appearance. Jeffrey had lost weight. His thick, black hair was bound back in a queue, but locks fell over his forehead in tangled disarray. A rough beard and mustache stubbled his hollow cheeks and it angered her that he’d been denied the simple decency of a shave. The growth made him look dangerous. As if he were already deemed guilty.
Her heart ached as he stumbled forward, chain links swinging to his slow gait. ’Twas like watching a condemned man walk his last mile. But he lifted his chin bravely. Even shackled, he had dignity. Pride surged through her at his defiant stance, his set shoulders. She wanted to shout her association with him, not shrink in shame as was expected.
Amanda’s gaze darted to Lord Dunmore. He exchanged a look. Deliberately, she turned, gave a tiny sniff and looked down again at Jeffrey. She prayed he’d be found innocent.
The court clerk stamped his cane. “Oyez, Oyez, silence is commanded in the court while his Majesty’s Governor and Council are sitting, upon pain of imprisonment.”
“How do you wish to be tried, Jeffrey Clayton?”
“Upon King and Country,” he replied. Jeffrey rubbed his wrists.
Slowly the drama unfolded. Witnesses questioned by Randolph swore they’d seen Jeffrey flee Merton’s house, “like a thief in the night,” said one. Even Captain William Christopher testified against him.
“Why I overheard Clayton myself, as did others, tell Mr. Merton that he’d see him, excuse my delicate language, burn in Hell, maybe even put him there himself.”
“But why, sir, would Mr. Clayton say such a thing?” Randolph questioned.
The Patriot's Conquest Page 24