by Jana Petken
Nathan held a piece of crumpled paper in his hand. He waved it in the air and shouted again, ignoring the judge’s order for silence. “I found this letter beside Captain Stone’s bunk. It was in plain sight, for all to see. His little whore here is a spy for the Yankees, and there ain’t no denying it.”
Mercy was mortified. Being called a whore was bad enough – but a spy! That was a dangerous accusation. She looked at the judge, silently begging him not to believe what was just stated. He looked at her for a second but gave no indication of what he might be thinking or planning to do.
The judge’s face was as red as a ripe tomato. He thumped his gavel down four times in quick succession and then stood up with his fists clenched. “Another outburst, folks, and I will clear this room. I will not warn you again!”
Noise abated until there was silence. “Well, what do you have to say about this, young lady?” Travers finally asked Mercy. “Remember that you are in a court of law and still under oath.”
“I have a lot to say about this accusation,” answered Mercy. “I am not a spy. I wouldn’t know how to be a spy.”
The judge pointed to the marshal and gestured him to approach the bench. “Take her away and lock her up until I decide what to do about this. We have a murder trial to resolve here, and I don’t want it delayed.”
Mercy cowered in the chair as the marshal approached her with two deputies. She looked at Jacob. Jacob stood up. She panicked. She spoke to him with her eyes. No, Jacob, please don’t do anything.
Jacob excused himself to the people sitting on the long bench, blocking his access. When he passed the last person sitting nearest the centre isle, he moved quickly and approached the judge. Two deputies caught and held him just before he reached Travers. Both his arms were pulled and then locked behind his back. He twisted his head around and threw a thunderous look at Nathan Coulter, who seemed to have lost some of his earlier bluster now that Jacob was on his feet.
Jacob turned again to the judge and shouted angrily. “Judge, this is a travesty. Miss Carver came here of her own free will to help my wife! Nathan Coulter is lying through his rotten teeth. You cannot haul an innocent woman off to jail because of that buffoon’s outrageous sham of a story! And more, I demand you question him about his looting of private papers belonging to his commanding officer.”
“I might be a buffoon, but I sure as hell ain’t no traitor, Stone!” Nathan shouted from the gallery.
“Watch your lying mouth, Coulter!” Jacob countered. “I will knock those teeth of yours down the back of your throat!”
The judge slumped in his chair. He had lost control of his courtroom. Even his gavel had no power against the tidal wave of voices filling every corner. The newspapermen were having a field day, scribbling frantically in their notepads.
The senator stood up with a disapproving shake of his head and left the room with his aides. Jacob would hear from him later, no doubt. Mrs Bartlett, an influential woman, was surrounded by her association members, and she appeared to be enjoying the damn circus going on. News of this shambles would be all over Richmond by tonight. The judge clearly decided that it was time to halt this shit fight.
“Marshal, get Miss Carver and Mrs Stone out of here now. I want them both locked up nice and tight. When you have done that, come back here for Captain Stone and the buffoon there.” He pointed to Nathan. “Deputies, take both of them to my office,” he shouted to two of the marshal’s deputies.
“Folks, there won’t be a verdict today. We will adjourn until tomorrow morning. Travers banged his gavel again. “Now all of you clear my courtroom!”
Chapter Forty
Jacob and Nathan were manhandled into Judge Travers’ office. Jacob glanced at the judge, sitting with a scowl on his face, a cigar in his hand, and a shot of whiskey on his desktop. Jacob hung his head. He was embarrassed by his outburst, but his shame was nothing compared to the rage he felt. He was livid with Coulter. Given the chance, he would have punched the bastard. He was fuming at the thought of Mercy being locked up. He hoped to God she was not in a cell next to Elizabeth.
Judge Travers told the deputies to get out. He drank his whiskey, slammed the tumbler on the desk, and then sighed as he bent down to remove his boots. He put his feet on the desk and wriggled his toes, puffing on his cigar and still scowling at the two men. “This is damned inconvenient having to adjourn,” he murmured. “What the hell is going on here, Corporal?” he asked Nathan first.
“There ain’t nothin’ goin’ on, Judge. It’s like I said: that Carver woman shows up in Yorktown on a horse with Union Army saddle markings, dressed like a man and swinging her hips, like she was fast and loose, for every man to see.”
“Talk about her like that again and I’ll rip your filthy tongue out!” Jacob blazed.
“Shut up Captain!” Judge Travers shouted. “Carry on corporal.”
Nathan smirked at Jacob and began again. “I know for a fact that she came from Fort Monroe. I got that information from the men that brought her into town – they found her wandering near our defensive lines. If that ain’t spying, I don’t know what is. And I got this letter to prove she was in the fortress. Now, I don’t know about y’all, but I don’t reckon no spy should be allowed to wander free, picking up information about our army. I had a duty to report her, just like I have a duty to tell you that Captain Stone is more than likely in cahoots with her treason.”
“Coulter, you’re blowing smoke out your ass. There is no treason here, and you know it,” Jacob said dismissively. “And you can say goodbye to your stripes. There’s no way you’re going to keep your rank after this farce of yours. Not in my brigade.”
“That’s enough, Captain.” The judge waved his hand at Nathan. “Show me the letter, Corporal.”
Nathan handed the letter to the judge and said hurriedly. “It’s all true. It’s right in there. Every word.”
Jacob watched Judge Travers’s expression quickly change from impatience to anger. This was bad, he thought. Fort Monroe was mentioned various times in the letter that the judge held in his hands. Mercy clearly wrote that she was there, and she couldn’t deny it.
The judge waved the letter in front of Jacob. “What have got to say about this, Captain?”
“Look, Judge. I will not deny that Mercy – Miss Carver – was at Fort Monroe, but that woman was born with a habit of getting herself into sticky situations. Believe me, I know her. She has a mighty spirited disposition, but she ain’t no spy. I reckon Corporal Coulter is causing trouble because of a personal vendetta against me. It’s plain as day.”
“That might be so, but it doesn’t explain why Miss Carver was cavortin’ with the damn enemy at the fort.”
Jacob shrugged his shoulders in ignorance. “Well, Judge, I can’t rightly say why she was at the fort, but it makes sense, seeing as how she lived for a while in Newport News. She has acquaintances there. I reckon her curiosity about the fort got the better of her. She’s English, God damn it – she has no Yankee leanings. And, Judge, I’m sure the folks in Newport News trade with the fort. There must be comings and goings in and around Hampton and the fortress every day. How else are the folks there going to get their supplies? We have the entire area bottled up.”
Judge Travers sighed loudly. “It’s been a long day, and I’m too old for this baloney. I better not find out that this is a trumped-up charge, Corporal, because I’ll wager Captain Stone might have hit the mark about you bein’ a rabble-rouser looking for payback for your sister’s predicament. This said, it’s still a damned serious accusation. I will have to have a talk with Miss Carver later tonight or tomorrow morning, and I will determine if she is or is not a Union spy.”
“Judge, surely you are not going to keep her locked up in a jail cell all night?” Jacob said.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. With the eyes of the South on me, I cannot dismiss a charge of spying. I am duty-bound to look into this. I just hope to God that Miss Carver comes up with a reasonab
le explanation, similar to your own.
“Boys, take a good look at yourselves. You have both disgraced your uniforms today. It’s bad enough that every damn newsman in South Virginia is lapping up this trial like thirsty gluttons. Captain, your wife is on trial for her life. Your mistress has been accused of spying for the enemy. In a court of law, you threatened to knock a man’s teeth down his throat … I reckon you better quit while you can. I don’t want to hear another word come out of your mouth, you hear?”
He pointed to Nathan. “As for you, Corporal, you’d better not be here come morning. If I ever see you in my courthouse again, I will personally have you incarcerated for as long as it pleases me. Leave Richmond and get back to your brigade. If you disobey me, I’ll haul your ass to jail.
“Captain Stone, I don’t believe you’re a traitor to the Confederacy, but you are a Confederate officer. I have a good mind to report your conduct to the Ninth Brigade commander.”
“I want an apology from this fool here, Judge,” Jacob said stubbornly. “This was a deliberate slur on Miss Carver’s reputation – and theft of my personal possession.”
“I told the goddamn truth, Stone!” Nathan shouted.
“And what truth do you think the jury will recall today? That Mercy was imprisoned by a murdering whore of a woman who might have killed your sister had she not defended herself … or that Mercy is a spy? Tell me, Coulter, why would you jeopardise your sister’s chances just to take a potshot at me?”
The judge abruptly put his hand up to stop the conversation. “That’s enough, Captain. Go cool your heels. Be back here in the morning and do not let me find out that you visited that jailhouse tonight. It’s off limits – understand? Now get out of my sight.”
Jacob nodded and gave Nathan one last lingering look as he left the room. He said not a word, but his thoughts had clarity. Nathan Coulter was finished with the Ninth Cavalry. Jacob needed men he could trust with his life, not people he suspected wanted to stab him in the back on the battlefield.
Chapter Forty-One
The jailhouse was but a couple of blocks from the courthouse, but to Mercy it felt like the longest journey she had ever taken. The inside of the sheriff’s wagon was cramped, with room for no more than two people. Mercy sat opposite Elizabeth, who was wearing the same deadpan eyes that she had in the courthouse. Mercy’s gown, bunched up and spread out in all directions, brushed Elizabeth’s legs, and every now and again, Elizabeth bad-temperedly flicked the material away from her as though it held a disease.
Mercy felt her head spinning with questions. Was the hatred she had witnessed between Nathan Coulter and Jacob so great that Nathan would sacrifice Elizabeth’s chances of an acquittal? She had never seen Jacob so angry. He had put himself in danger with an outburst which in the eyes of most did not befit the proper conduct of a cavalry officer. She couldn’t help but feel a thrill of delight course through her. He had gallantly defended her in front of everyone, including the Coulters, which meant he might be having second thoughts about not wanting her to go back to him. A soft smile played on her lips. She was afraid of the interrogation that would surely come tonight, yet her fear was somewhat dimmed, for all she could think about was Jacob’s love, still burning brightly.
She lifted her eyes and met Elizabeth’s angry scowl. She was not imagining the loathing that sat on Elizabeth’s face, not this time. She smiled tentatively but was still puzzled by the flashes of lucidity in Elizabeth’s eyes. The poor woman was ill, she thought. She looked pitiful and nothing at all like the self-assured Elizabeth that Mercy had met at Stone Plantation almost a year ago. Who knew what the poor demented woman was thinking, she thought. Perhaps she was reliving some nightmare with du Pont in it. In which case, Mercy could only sympathise further with Elizabeth.
“I don’t know if you can understand me, Elizabeth,” Mercy finally said. “I just hope you know how sorry I am about your horrible predicament. I’m sure the jury will find you innocent of murder, I really am. The judge has learned who the real Margaret Mallory was, and I’m convinced he’ll let you go home. I hate the thought of you fighting for your life against that murdering cow. I’m glad she’s dead, and you should be too.”
“I don’t need words of support from a whore,” Elizabeth said calmly.
Mercy gasped with the malice present in Elizabeth’s tone. “Do you know me? Do you remember me?”
“Of course I remember you. You’re the white trash bitch who stole my husband.”
“I don’t understand...”
“No, of course you don’t. All you understand is how to steal what’s not rightfully yours. I hated Margaret Mallory, but you are far beyond my contempt.”
Mercy swallowed painfully. Her throat was as dry as a bone. “I thought you had no memory. I was given to believe you were ill … Have you recovered?”
“I have recovered enough to know you are the sow who ruined my life.”
Mercy was livid. She stared now at the woman with loathing of her own. Elizabeth was a liar, allowing those who loved her to suffer with worry and grief. “This is a cruel trick you are playing on your family. Shame on you!”
“Shame on you, Mercy Carver! Don’t you dare mention my family. You broke my marriage.”
“I’m sorry if you think that. I don’t agree. You broke your marriage because you never loved your husband as a wife should. Let me explain …”
“No! There is nothing I want to hear from your filthy mouth. We’re almost at the jail, and before we arrive, there are two things I want to say to you.”
“Go on, then. Say your piece, ya’ rotten liar,” Mercy said.
“Such common words from a common prostitute,” Elizabeth scorned. “Look at you, all dressed up, trying to look like a lady, when we all know you have no class – well, your fine gown won’t help you get what you want. You have lost, and I have won.”
“Won what?”
“I’ve won everything...Oh, don’t look so surprised. You must have watched the jury today. They pity me, and I will use their pity to get my husband back. I will never give Jacob a divorce – never! I’ll make sure he looks after me as a proper husband should, and you will not see him again. I will have the sympathy of Portsmouth’s most influential folks, whereas you will never be received. You would do better rearing hogs in the swamps.
“I will move back into Jacob’s plantation just as soon as I get out of this city, and I will woo Jacob and bear his children. Yes, I’m sure if I close my eyes and think about my grand life, I will tolerate him in my bed – and I swear on all that is holy, his life will be as miserable as yours.”
Mercy felt the carriage turn a sharp corner. She swayed on the narrow bench, not knowing if Elizabeth’s words or the movement of the wagon was the cause of her dizziness. She righted herself and stared into Elizabeth’s face, which she dearly wanted to slap. “You dare to speak of holiness – you! You are just as conniving and wicked as Madame du Pont. Well, let me tell you something, you deceitful little bitch. You might not agree to divorce Jacob, but he will come away with me regardless. I promise you, he will. I don’t need marriage. I have his love, and that is something you will never get from him!”
Elizabeth slapped Mercy’s cheek. “I hate you, Mercy Carver!” she shouted.
Mercy’s head jerked backwards, hitting the wagon’s wall. Her eyes blazed. She righted herself and threw Elizabeth a scathing look. “Hitting me won’t get you what you want, Elizabeth. You’re full of hatred and greed, and you’ll never be contented. I pity you.”
The wagon halted, and the iron door opened shortly after that. Any lingering sympathy for Elizabeth’s situation had evaporated. Mercy was tired of being bullied by other women who looked down their noses at her. For all she cared, Elizabeth could hang!
Jacob should be told of Elizabeth’s ruse, Mercy thought whilst being marched through the jailhouse office. What would the judge think if he found out? She sighed. Strange, she thought. Here she was, off to jail, and all she could thi
nk about was the sneaky wench who had just outsmarted her and everyone else.
The two women were separated. Mercy was taken down a hallway and then ordered to stand perfectly still. She looked at a the cell with its thick, heavy iron bars, front, and sides, and her first thought was that a prison cell was much smaller than she had imagined one to be. The deputy asked her if she was hiding anything under her gown, and she replied, “No, sir. Nothing.” The keys in the keyhole rattled loudly when the bars swung open. Mercy looked behind her. Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. Good, Mercy thought. At least she didn’t have to put up with her!
The deputy gestured her to step over the cell’s threshold. She held her head high as she walked doggedly into the small confined space that would hold her. She had never been in jail. This would be a new experience.
“I would like to see her … now,” Mercy heard the booming woman’s voice say. “My husband specifically told me to come and check on her treatment. Do you really want to disappoint the senator?”
Mercy craned her neck, peered through the bars, and wondered who the authoritarian voice belonged to. A short, slim woman came into view. She was in her forties, with mousey brown hair which was greying, and she was dressed in finery. She was highly agitated.
“I require only five minutes with Miss Carver,” Mrs Bartlett said to the deputy escorting her. “You may remain if you wish.”
The deputy tipped his hat. “That’s all right, ma’am. I’ll be down the hall. You just holler when you’re done.”
Mrs Bartlett stood for a moment, looking Mercy over with a thoughtful expression. She then surprised Mercy with a friendly smile. “Finally, Miss Carver, we meet. My name is Regina Bartlett,” she said.