Tender (The Trelawneys of Williamsburg Time Travel Romance Book 1)

by Anne Meredith

  “I’d been at my mother’s home, over in Surry.”

  Thomas nodded, hesitating another moment. “When you found Lady Windmere, what was she wearing?”

  “A nightgown, sir.”

  “And what of the ropes at her wrists and ankles?”

  Griffin stared at Thomas. “Why, they’d been removed.”

  “By whom? Perhaps those famed fish of the James River?”

  “The ropes was gone,” Griffin said flatly.

  Nodding, Thomas asked, “Mr. Griffin, you operate an ordinary here in town, don’t you?”

  “The Phoenix.”

  “Do men gamble at your tavern?”

  “I expect so. ’Tis what men do.”

  “And are you one of those men?”

  His eyes shifted nervously. “Sir?”

  “Do you ever join in the gaming at your tavern?”

  “Once in a while,” Griffin said, shrugging.

  “Thank you.” Thomas turned to go, then pulled a Columbo. “Mr. Griffin, are you aware of the penalty of perjury?”

  “I am.”

  “I once saw a man who’d perjured himself. His ears were nailed to the pillory, and what was left of them at the end of two hours was cut off. He wasn’t especially pretty to begin with, but after …” He shook his head.

  “I’m a deputy sheriff, sir. I’ve seen it all.”

  “And yet, when you witnessed the murder of a woman, it so sickened you that you couldn’t go to the sheriff with this news, as is your sworn duty?”

  Griffin fell silent.

  “I’ve no further questions, Mr. Randolph.”

  “Your excellency, I call Mr. James Manning to the stand.”

  Manning was sworn in, and Randolph stared at him thoughtfully. “Sir, what is your occupation?”

  “I’m an overseer.”

  “For whom?”

  “Until recently, I worked at Rosalie, the estate of Grey Trelawney.”

  A sudden commotion arose as two people entered the courtroom and made their way through the crowd to the area where Grey and Thomas waited. Aid had arrived from two unlikely sources: George Wythe, the man who had reviled Grey for his dealing in slaves.

  And Camisha.

  Manning observed her warily as she and Wythe crowded in beside Grey. But Camisha ignored him and quickly began examining Thomas’s notes.

  “Please give us the reason for your dismissal, Mr. Manning.”

  “Mr. Trelawney and I differed on the disciplining of unruly niggers.”

  “By that, am I to assume you mean bondservants held by Lord Windmere?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If you were no longer in Lord Windmere’s employ, why were you at Rosalie?”

  “I don’t want to slander a lady’s reputation.”

  “Pray tell us what you know, sir,” Randolph said curtly.

  “I was on my way to see Letitia—Lady Windmere. She was unhappy, and she sent one of the niggers to get me.”

  “What do you mean by unhappy?”

  “In her marriage.”

  “Did she give you an indication why?”

  “He’s a cad.” Manning directed a black gaze toward Grey. “The poor lady came across the ocean, leaving her homeland to be with her husband, and when she got here, he had his mistress living right in the house with him.”

  The crowd rumbled, and the governor spoke. “If there can be no peace in this court, spectators will be removed.”

  Rachel was sick hearted. Manning was lacing the story with just enough near-truth to lend it credence.

  “Lady Windmere sent for you. Why?”

  Manning hesitated. “’Twas precious little happiness, for a woman who had nothing to look forward to but heartbreak. And it only happened the once, between us.”

  The crowd’s restless anxiety grew as Manning went on. “Trelawney’s never at home at all, from what I know. When he is, he squanders his days on the affairs of his estate. And I’ve heard he takes it upon himself to teach his daughter.”

  Manning spoke the words mockingly, and a few chuckles crossed the room.

  “Mr. Manning, the man you describe—from hearsay, I hasten to add—sounds like an industrious citizen and devoted father. That he chose to educate a female is hardly a reason to execute a man. Can you explain what this has to do with the murder in question?”

  “A devoted father doesn’t have a woman living right under his wife’s nose. Lady Windmere was an unhappy woman. She turned to me in her unhappiness.”

  Randolph sighed, as if weary of muddling through the mire. “When you worked for Lord Windmere, did you ever witness anything untoward in his behavior toward his wife?”

  “Yes, sir. He quarreled with her the day he dismissed me.”

  “Please explain what happened.”

  “Well, like I said. Trelawney likes to go easy on his slaves. When one of them got out of line with Lady Windmere, she had me flog the wench. He stopped the flogging and told his wife he was angry enough to kill her.”

  Dear God! The man was re-inventing history, yet staying true to the incriminating threat Grey could never deny.

  Randolph’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “Describe specifically what you saw the night Letitia Trelawney died.”

  “I was on my way to meet her behind Rosalie. When I came upon them, he was choking her. And then he threw her in the river.”

  “Did you endeavor to stop him?”

  Slowly, Manning said, “I’m not the bravest man, sir.”

  Randolph’s eyes were bright on Manning for a long moment. He then turned to the gallery of justices. “Gentlemen, we have not one but two men who claim to have watched a man strangle his wife to death and neither raised a hand to stop him. We may have corralled the two most cowardly men in all of the colony.”

  He turned back to the witness, clearly aggrieved. “Thank you, Mr. Manning.” He nodded toward Thomas. “Your witness, sir.”

  But Thomas simply stood by Grey. When Camisha instead approached the witness stand, Manning’s outrage exploded. “What the bleeding hell is this nigger wench doing?”

  Governor Gooch pounded his gavel against the tumult in the courtroom. “Sir, I remind you that you’re in a court of England. You will conduct yourself with the reverence accorded it. Mr. Randolph, pray enlighten us.”

  “Your excellency, the lady is Miss Camisha Carlyle, a free woman who is educated and qualified to question the witness and who speaks on behalf of the defendant.”

  “Proceed, then.”

  Camisha had changed into a somber brown silk of Rachel’s, and Rachel watched her in admiration and anticipation. Bearing the stigma of her color, she exuded only calm, shrewd competence.

  She stopped before Manning, her gaze expressionless. She waited until each murmur in the courtroom fell silent, each person leaning forward at the curiosity before them. When she spoke, she commanded attention with that soft-spoken murmur; she had perfected a pitch she used in the courtroom that was just loud enough to compel listeners to hang on her every word. “What time was it when you came upon the man you allege to have seen choking Lady Windmere?”

  Manning’s resentment melded with nervousness as he grappled with whether to answer her at all. Before him he had a human embodiment of the truth of his own deeds. He glared at Randolph, who merely waited. “About nine in the evening,” he muttered, looking away from her.

  “Please speak up, Mr. Manning. A man’s life is at stake.”

  “Nine in the evening,” he said, his voice booming.

  “Where were you?”

  Manning continued to address the floor as he spoke. “As I said, I was on my way to Rosalie, to meet the lady.”

  “Specifically, how far were you from Lady Windmere and her killer?”

  “P’raps thirty yards.”

  “Thirty yards. The area where Lady Windmere’s body was found is rather densely wooded, would you not agree?”

  “Woods surround the James River on Rosalie.”

&n
bsp; “Where was the killer standing?”

  “On the riverbank.”

  “The riverbank, which is also overgrown with trees.”

  “Yes.”

  “When you heard the cry for help, did you recognize Letitia Trelawney’s voice?”

  He scowled. “I don’t recollect saying I heard her cry out.”

  “Oh, of course. My apologies. That was the testimony of Mr. Griffin. What did you hear that night, sir?”

  Another pause, as his eyes shifted. “I heard nothing.”

  “Your chivalry isn’t on trial, Mr. Manning. Just tell us what you heard—was the lady calling for your help? Was it disturbing to hear her cries?”

  “I heard nothing.”

  “Is your hearing impaired?”

  “What? I can hear fine.”

  Camisha frowned. “Yet Mr. Griffin, who was three times the distance from the murder scene as you, claimed to hear Lord Windmere say, ‘That’s the last time you’ll ever make a fool out of me.’”

  “The wind was strong that night. Griffin may have been in a better position to hear.”

  “You recall a strong wind that night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then can you tell me what sort of moon was out?”

  “What?”

  “The light—was it bright, average, dim? Did clouds obscure the moon?”

  Manning hesitated, sensing the snare.

  “You were approximately ninety feet from Lord Windmere when you say he choked his wife to death,” she pressed. “You were in a densely wooded area. What sort of light did you have to aid in your identification of him?”

  His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

  “I repeat, Mr. Manning. You stood in a thickly wooded area. Letitia Trelawney’s killer also was surrounded by trees. Can you swear it was Grey Trelawney you saw that night?”

  “I’ve said it was Trelawney,” Manning snapped. “I saw his face as clear as I see yours.”

  “Sir, you see me in the bright light of day. But on the night Letitia Trelawney was murdered, there was no moon.”

  Dull hatred flashed in the gaze he focused on her.

  “Mr. Manning, do you often gamble?”

  “I’ve been known to play a game of loo,” he muttered.

  “Loo, yes. And whist, and every card game known to mankind. And dice.”

  “What of it?”

  “How long have you known Jarvis Griffin?”

  He met her eyes in challenge. “Mr. Griffin and I barely know each other.”

  “On the contrary, sir. It’s my understanding that you and Mr. Griffin often meet over the tables.”

  “We may have played a game or two. Grey Trelawney and I may have met over the tables, for that matter.”

  “Yet Grey Trelawney has not lost Rosalie to you as a result.”

  “What?”

  “Did you not play a high-stakes game with several men just last week at the Phoenix? A game in which Mr. Griffin was a consistent loser?”

  “I don’t recall the outcome of the game you mention.”

  “That’s peculiar, since Mr. Griffin’s bondsman Isaac remembers Mr. Griffin overbidding so recklessly that, in the end, he was obliged to stake the deed of his establishment.”

  “And?”

  “And you held the winning hand.”

  “Madam, have you proof of this allegation?” Governor Gooch asked.

  Camisha walked forward and placed a document before the governor. “I submit to the court for consideration this sworn statement Isaac Goodman gave before the court clerk this morning, your excellency.”

  “And it proves …?”

  “Jarvis Griffin’s liability to James Manning. His motive for offering false witness.”

  “She’s lying!” Manning shouted. His tanned face was ruddy with rage. “No slave can testify against a white man!”

  Governor Gooch, busy reviewing the document Camisha had offered, eyed Manning shrewdly. “Mr. Manning, you are not on trial. As of yet,” he added curtly. He nodded to Camisha. “I’ll accept it.”

  “Thank you, your excellency. I’ve no more questions.”

  Manning walked back to his seat, and Rachel saw the angry glint in his eyes as he passed Camisha.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Randolph rose. “Your excellency, I’ll now call Mr. Stephen Clancy.” Clancy was sworn in and took the stand. “Mr. Clancy, please tell the court what you know regarding this case.”

  “As sheriff of James City County, I was summoned to Rosalie on the morning of the first of July to witness the coroner’s examination of Letitia Trelawney. When two witnesses swore they saw Grey Trelawney murder the lady, I arrested him.”

  Randolph nodded. “Please state where he was at the time of the arrest, and with whom.”

  Rachel’s heart sank.

  “On Duke of Gloucester Street, approaching the home of Mr. Thomas Trelawney, and he was with a woman.”

  “Who is the lady?”

  “I have only the hearsay that she’s his mistress.” Clancy gave a slight smirk. “I’ve seen her in town, bringing Lord Windmere’s daughter to town to visit her grandfather.”

  “I find this unremarkable.”

  “Peyton, you yourself have said there’s never been any love lost between the Trelawney men.”

  Randolph glanced at Governor Gooch. A peculiar quiet descended the courtroom, and the men under discussion stood stoically, watching Clancy.

  “Describe the arrest, if you will.”

  Governor Gooch stopped him. “Of what interest is the arrest, Mr. Randolph?”

  “In the interest of establishing motive, sir.”

  The governor nodded at the witness. “Go on.”

  “Well, we’d traveled to Rosalie that evening to locate him, and a chambermaid said Mr. Trelawney—Grey, that is—had just come from a trip, and had left straightaway for his father’s house. We had just arrived at Thomas Trelawney’s home when we saw Lord Windmere and the lady approaching. It was around ten o’clock in the evening, and they appeared rather—well, intimate.”

  “Intimate?”

  The sheriff looked at Grey. “They were both … they looked as if they’d recently bathed. Their clothing was wet. And Lord Windmere, well, his arm was about her waist.”

  A restless, faint murmur passed through the court. The governor ignored it.

  “The woman twice told me I was mistaken, and … Well, sir, I can’t say for sure, but I think she was about to provide an alibi for Lord Windmere, without knowing when the crime occurred.”

  “You have no proof of this allegation?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then I remind the council to exclude this from their consideration. Thank you, Mr. Clancy. Mr. Trelawney?”

  Thomas went forward. “Mr. Clancy, about those bruises. Were there any comments made at the time of the coroner’s examination?”

  “Yes, sir. ’Twas all conjecture, some of it occurring after the examination ended. Someone said—and I regret I don’t remember—‘looks like she finally came upon someone who didn’t understand the rules of the game.’”

  “Game?” Thomas asked, puzzled.

  Clancy hesitated. “Games played in the bedroom, sir.”

  “Sex, you mean.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Were you surprised by the suggestion?”

  “No, sir. There have been rumors about the lady for years. Never paid it no mind, till I saw those marks. They were the marks of shackles.”

  “How would you know?”

  “’Tis my business, the restraint of criminals. But I’m not sure how they left bruises since her wrists were so small. ”

  “Thank you, Mr. Clancy.”

  Presently Randolph rose and walked forward. “Governor Gooch, honored justices, I have presented to you the evidence of this case: two witnesses who have sworn that they saw the accused, Grey Trelawney, strangle his wife and leave her body in the James River. I will now ask the defendant to present any witnesse
s.”

  Thomas rose. “Your excellency, I call Mr. Godfrey Hastings.”

  Hastings rose and went forward. The gray queue wig he wore emphasized his somber black waistcoat, and his slender, elegant form was ramrod stiff as he was sworn in.

  “Mr. Hastings, in what capacity and for how long have you known Grey Trelawney?”

  “I have been engaged as the lieutenant of Lord Windmere’s tobacco plantation for five years, sir.”

  “Is he an honorable man?”

  “Scrupulously so, sir.”

  “Mr. Hastings, please tell the court what your salary is.”

  Hastings shifted where he stood, frowning sharply at Thomas. “Sir, I fail to see—”

  “Do you receive a salary?”

  Hastings glanced at Grey. “No, sir. Lord Windmere evenly divides the proceeds from Rosalie with me.”

  “You receive half the plantation’s profits? Is this a typical arrangement for the manager of a plantation?”

  “No. Lord Windmere is an uncommonly generous man. I attempted to refuse this arrangement and he circumvented me to set it up with his banker. As I assume you already have ascertained.”

  “Thank you. Mr. Hastings, did you know Lady Windmere?”

  “Yes, sir. Quite well. Although she resided in London, she had visited Rosalie more than once over the years of their marriage.”

  “Did you have any personal exchanges with her during this most recent visit?”

  “Yes. The morning after she arrived, she inquired after Mr. James Manning.”

  “Rosalie’s overseer? Did she have business with him?”

  “I did not ask.”

  “She gave no indication why she needed to speak with him.”

  Hastings’ austere mien grew discomfited. Rachel knew how little he liked airing such unseemly details.

  “Mr. Hastings?”

  “The lady had spotted Mr. Manning in the fields. She commented that he looked like a … well, as I recall, her words were ‘a brawny, lusty lad.’”

  “Did it strike you as unusual that your employer’s wife would speak to you in this manner?”

  “No, sir. I know my capacity, and I knew the lady.”

  “Was that the end of your experiences with her?”

  “No, sir. She inquired after Miss Camisha Carlyle. She demanded to see the woman’s papers verifying her freedom.”