The Queen of Swords

by R. S. Belcher

  Maude kept her face set as Arabella recounted the lie. Bella didn’t know it was a lie, of course, only Maude and Martin knew, now that Arthur was dead. Arthur had a reputation for losing money almost as quickly as he made it. Father had been suspicious that he was after Maude’s inheritance, and had convinced her that to protect herself and her future, he should oversee everything.

  She trusted her father, and it turned out he was right. Arthur had mismanaged and lost part of the money that Father had given him access to. In the end, they had been forced to leave Charleston because of the ensuing scandal and the angry investors who had lost their own money as well. It wasn’t that Arthur was a swindler or a confidence man; he simply had poor instincts when it came to investing other people’s money, including his wife’s.

  Arthur did learn a lesson from his failure. In the years they had lived in Golgotha, Arthur had become president of the Golgotha Bank and Trust. He performed his professional duties exceptionally well, but the first seed of doubt had been planted in her about his motives toward her, and therein began the rot that ate at the heart of their union.

  “Mr. Stapleton died over two years ago,” Arabella continued. “However the defendant has continued to manage and control the property and monies that are rightfully my client’s inheritance. He also abducted my client’s only child, a minor, just recently fifteen years of age…”

  “I did no such thing!” Martin stood, shouting. “I didn’t abduct anyone. My granddaughter returned home with me of her own volition from a godforsaken mining camp in Nevada!” Davenkirk cracked the gavel on the bench.

  “Sit down and be quiet, Martin,” the judge said. “You’ll get a say in a moment. Mrs. Mansfield, continue, please.”

  “My client is imploring the court to find this agreement null and void,” Bella continued, “and order Martin Anderton to release his control of my client’s resources, as well as surrender custody of the child back to her mother, my client, Miss Stapleton, as he had no standing to remove her from her sole surviving parent.”

  Arabella sat back down. Rutledge stood, straightened his suit and walked out to address the judge. “Your honor, this agreement we are discussing is basic, ironclad contract law. Miss Stapleton trusted her husband and father to handle the complex fiscal burdens of such a vast estate. Martin Anderton has a lifetime of experience in such matters.

  “His daughter and her family moved out to the western frontier over a decade ago and when his son-in-law, Arthur Stapleton, was murdered in Golgotha, the small mining community they had settled in, he corresponded with his daughter and provided her with sufficient funds to adequately and comfortably maintain her household. My client implored her to return to Charleston with his granddaughter. When his offers fell upon deaf ears, he made the arduous trek to Golgotha, Nevada, himself.

  “My client was denied access to the town initially due to some issue of community hygiene, to wit, a plague. When he did make it to Golgotha with United States soldiers from Camp Bidwell, a nearby fort, he discovered there had been a lawless riot, a literal war between the locals and an army of marauding bandits. Dead bodies littered the blood-soaked streets! Mr. Anderton’s granddaughter and the plaintiff were both injured in the hullabaloo. Miss Stapleton had sent her then-fourteen-year-old daughter alone on horseback across the Nevada wasteland to seek aid at Camp Bidwell.”

  Maude felt the anger burn in her as this pompous man, who knew nothing of her, her daughter or their life, recounted the events of last year in Golgotha. She could kill him with little more volition than a thought required. Arabella gave her a light look that told her that her mask of control was slipping. She pulled the anger deep inside and calmed the fire with reason and discipline, but it was hard, harder than it should be for her. Rutledge droned on.

  “My client pleaded with his only child, his daughter, that such a brutal environment was no place for a helpless widow to eke out an existence among lawless criminals, characters of ill repute and godless savages.”

  Whispered mutterings of disapproval drifted through the gallery. Rutledge fed on the energy he had tapped in the spectators. He raised his voice, sounding more like a stump politician or a revival preacher now than a lawyer.

  “This vast, golden land that God Almighty has seen fit to bless the American people with is truly a treasure, and the West promises to be a glorious land of prosperity for the Lord’s chosen people. I think I speak for every red-blooded man when I say that it is our duty, as Americans, and as Christians, to conquer these wild regions, to make them safe for habitation by all Americans, and to shepherd and educate the violent, child-like souls of the unsaved savages who infest these golden lands.”

  Maude had a momentary flash of what one of the “poor, unsaved savages” would have to say to Rutledge if he were here. Even when Mutt wasn’t physically present, his memory was a comfort to her, and she felt a small amount of her anger diminish. She saw a brief flash in Bella’s body language and realized her attorney was worried. She glanced casually at some of the faces in the gallery and saw all the silent indicators of approval of what Rutledge was saying, and a few unconscious nods of agreement with his hateful words.

  “While it is a man’s duty to tame this wilderness,” Rutledge continued, now addressing the crowd, as well as the judge, “it is certainly no place for a feme sole to raise a young lady, especially when my client has ample resources here in Charleston to secure a safe and enriching life for both ladies, and to foster a proper Christian education for his granddaughter in a civilized bastion of culture.”

  Another wave of whispers and muttering from the gallery, this time of approval. Maude anticipated the judge would bang his gavel for silence, but he didn’t. Rutledge let the gallery have a moment to feel they were part of the trial, then he spoke again.

  “The plaintiff refused to leave her dangerous little camp on the edge of the desert. She had undertaken employment on her own since her husband’s demise. This alleged ‘business’ put her, and her daughter, in contact with all manner of unsavory characters, including women of low morals.” More disapproving gasps. “My client, who I remind the court is a well-liked, well-respected man in this community, a god-fearing man who risked his own life to travel out west to intercede and protect his family, respectfully requests the court grant him sole custody of the child, Constance Claire Stapleton, as her mother has demonstrated a flagrant disregard for her child’s physical, moral and spiritual safety.”

  “Your honor,” Bella said, rising, “I must object to this disgraceful characterization of my client and her character.” She kept her voice controlled and respectful, free of emotion, but Maude’s ear caught the tremor of stress in her words. Bella was trying to slow down the juggernaut that Rutledge was unleashing. She was hoping that Davenkirk’s chivalry could still be invoked.

  “Your honor, we have sent out subpoenas to numerous individuals in Golgotha to collaborate our charges against the plaintiff,” Rutledge interjected.

  “I object,” Arabella said. “We have been given no prior notification of these witnesses appearing.”

  “We intended to notify the court and opposing counsel as soon as we received notification of which witness had been served and responded, your honor,” Rutledge said. “The wheels of justice turn a bit less smoothly out in the frontier. We are having some trouble receiving verification of receipt of the subpoenas from the Golgotha sheriff’s office. Numerous telegrams have remained unanswered. I’ve been led to understand that disruption of communication with Golgotha through various agencies, both natural and man-made, is not uncommon. My client, at his own expense, has dispatched Pinkerton agents to hand-deliver the subpoenas. I assure you no chicanery was intended.”

  Davenkirk nodded and rubbed his eyes. “Well then, we will table those allegations until such time as those witnesses can be confirmed, Mr. Rutledge.” Maude felt the uncertainty in the judge’s voice and unspoken communication. He was being swayed by Rutledge’s arguments and inflammatory rhet
oric.

  Everyone had biases, and Rutledge was playing to them masterfully. Maude knew techniques, subtle postures, to minimize the impact of Rutledge’s accusations. But her mind and her body were in chaos; she was hurting and this onslaught had come too soon after her confrontation with her father. She tried again to center herself, to focus. She had faced death, unspeakable violence and horror too many times to recall, always with a calm mind and steady heart, but this, this was killing her.

  “Proceed, Andy,” the judge said. Rutledge, like a predator smelling blood, walked toward Maude’s table.

  “In conclusion, your honor,” he began, nodding at Maude. “The plaintiff has demonstrated the very reason for the binding legal agreement between herself and her father. Despite the widely radical politics of our age, it is still common sense, and common law, that the fairer sex does not have the rational mind and steady habits necessary for many of the complex challenges of life. It is the duty of the husband to care for and manage the property and resources outside the home. It is the god-given responsibility of Christian men to support and guide women. The Good Book says ‘the head of every man is Christ, and the head of every woman, man.’ Miss Stapleton has shown an emotional disregard for the best interests of herself and her child, and we implore the court to uphold the contract that she, her late husband and her father entered into, for her own sake and the sake of her daughter.

  “It is our contention that Miss Stapleton is bound to the terms of this agreement which was made by her husband while she was feme covert, a married woman. Mr. Stapleton’s right to manage his wife’s affairs and to entrust an executor, in this case her father, to oversee the estate and protect her best interests is black-letter law under coverture, your honor, and extends beyond his lifetime. We merely ask the court to uphold what has been the law of the land for ages, and dismiss this frivolous petition.”

  Rutledge resumed his seat. There were a few claps from the gallery over the crowd’s muted hum of approval. This time Davenkirk did crack his gavel for order and then addressed Bella.

  “Mrs. Mansfield, please call your first witness.”

  “We call Professor Nathaniel Tully to the stand, your honor,” Bella said. She quickly patted Maude’s hand and gave a curt smile. “Here we go,” she whispered. “Don’t worry, he said the magic word. We’re ready.”

  Tully was a distinguished, well-dressed, middle-aged gentleman. He still had a full head of graying hair, which he wore short in the back and combed forward in ringlets over his brow, in the style of the Roman emperors of old. The style was a bit dated, but it fit him and his patrician features well. Tully was sworn in on the Bible and took the witness chair.

  “Professor Tully,” Bella said, “please tell the court your position.”

  “I am a professor at the Columbia Law School in New York City,” Tully said.

  “Professor, the counsel for the defense mentioned a term in his remarks to the court a moment ago. Could you please explain what the concept of coverture is?”

  Tully nodded. “Certainly,” he said. “Coverture dates back to feudal times, back to English common law, from which most of our American legal tradition comes. Simply put, it is a doctrine that a woman, once married, loses her legal identity, merging it with that of her husband.”

  “So they become one legal entity,” Bella said, “indistinguishable and equal in the eyes of the law?”

  “No,” Tully said. “Husband and wife do become one persona for legal purposes, but the persona they become is the husband.”

  “What does that mean for the woman?” Bella asked.

  “The husband can constrain her liberty to keep her from leaving,” Tully said. “He may have her returned to him, as if property, if in the company of others. He may forbid activities he does not approve of, and he may take legal actions in her name, including filing suits, signing contracts and executing deeds.”

  “Can a married woman do any of those actions of her own volition?” Arabella asked.

  “Under the doctrine of coverture, no,” Tully said.

  “So under the shadow of coverture, a woman loses the power of her own independence,” Bella said, turning as she spoke to address the gallery of spectators, “and any independent identity in legal matters.”

  “That is correct,” Tully replied.

  “It sounds a great deal like slavery to me,” Arabella said.

  “Objection, your honor!” Rutledge shouted, as he rose.

  “Mrs. Mansfield, if you please,” Judge Davenkirk said. Bella turned back to her witness.

  “Professor, could you elaborate on the moral and ethical underpinnings that explain the development of coverture in the common law and the laws here in America?”

  “Certainly,” Tully said, and cleared his throat. “It considers women as being predisposed to a leadership role in the domestic issues of the union of marriage—being a wife and mother—while being too emotional, frail and erratic, as a sex, in their thoughts and actions, to deal with the complexities and burdens of life outside the home. The assumption is that women are like children, or slaves, incapable of the reasoning and judgment to make sound decisions about their own life and resources. It is a concept reinforced in the teachings of most of the major religions of the world, including Christianity.”

  Arabella walked toward Martin’s table as she continued to speak. Maude noted that the gallery was still and quiet. She felt an undercurrent of discomfort and disapproval from the audience. “Professor, have there been any changes in the development of law in the United States in regards to coverture?”

  “Oh, yes,” Tully said, nodding. “Since the turn of this century many states have begun to rethink the entire coverture ethos. Mississippi passed legislation dealing with property rights for married women over thirty years ago. Arkansas and Maryland passed similar legislation a few years later, as did Michigan, Iowa, Ohio and Indiana. Texas crafted legislation almost forty years ago, while they were still an independent republic, to grant married women numerous rights and liberties. My home state of New York has greatly expanded the rights of women over the past three decades. As of seven years ago twenty-nine states have passed some form of women’s property rights legislation that expands the liberties due to a woman under the notion of coverture.”

  “If my client was in New York, or Texas, would she require the remedy of this court to dissolve this prior agreement between her late husband and father, and manage her own affairs as she saw fit?”

  Tully stroked his chin. “I’d say no. While there might be a few legalities to address, overall she would have strong legal footing and precedent to stand on in the disposition of this issue.”

  “Thank you, professor,” Arabella said. “Nothing further for this witness.”

  “Mr. Rutledge?” the judge asked. Rutledge stood at the table but did not approach the witness stand.

  “Mr. Tully, have you ever practiced law in the great state of South Carolina, sir?” Rutledge asked.

  “No,” Tully replied.

  “Well, thank you so much for coming all the way down here from up north to lecture this court on common law and how other jurisdictions have decided to govern themselves,” Rutledge said. “Our proud state was one of many who just recently shed our dearest blood, so that each state could have the right to govern itself as its people saw fit. Tell me, sir, are you familiar with the parts of the so-called Women’s Earnings Act your high and mighty state of New York saw fit in its grand wisdom to repeal over nine years ago, sir?”

  “Yes,” Tully said.

  “Please enlighten the court, professor.”

  “The legislature repealed the parts of the law that allowed women to manage the estates of their late husbands,” the professor said, “and the right of a married woman to guardianship of her children.”

  “It seems to me that both those issues are very relevant to the proceeding you are testifying in today, don’t you, Mr. Tully?”

  Tully reddened a bit. “Yes,�
� he said.

  “So perhaps overturning this legally binding agreement wouldn’t be such an easy sell for the plaintiff, even if she were in a carpetbagger court in New York, would it?”

  Tully looked at Bella. “No,” he said, “perhaps it wouldn’t.”

  * * *

  “Rutledge is worth all that money of yours your father is paying him,” Arabella said, taking a sip of whiskey from her glass. Dinner at Grande Folly was done, and the lawyer was sitting in a high-backed chair before the fire. She held up the glass and watched the fire dance through the amber liquid. Maude was at the reading table in the library, poring over another very old book, her untouched glass of bourbon beside her. “What you learned is most assuredly correct,” Arabella continued, “he’s looking to run for a higher office. He wants your father’s backing in that endeavor, clearly. How did you find that out? That reporter friend of yours?”

  Maude was running a finger down a column of text in the book, then quickly whipped to another page. She growled a little in frustration, closed the book and opened another one.

  “But he’s not ready for what we’re going to throw at him,” Arabella continued. “Given the mood of the courtroom after that tent revival of his today, it may not make any difference, Maude. You need to be ready for that. We are swimming against the tide here.”

  Maude said nothing. She turned the pages, her brow furrowed in frustration. “Damn,” she muttered.

  “Have you heard anything I’ve said in the last ten minutes?” Bella asked. “Not that it’s been any great revelation.” Maude looked up from the book.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “This is just damn frustrating. I’m looking for some very specific family information. I’m sure my Gran has it somewhere, but I’ll be damned if I can find it. I know today didn’t go as well as you had wanted it to go, but I have confidence in you, Arabella.”

  “Thank you.” Bella sipped her whiskey. “I have confidence in me too. I can reason circles around this argument, but this isn’t an argument, it’s a litigation, and all litigation is political. You’re not just challenging some contract, Maude, you’re challenging these people’s way of life, their concept of how the universe spins. They are going to fight back, try to crush you down.”