by J. L. Jarvis
Emma returned to the livery and watched as the man unhitched the horse from her rented buggy.
“I was wondering, do you know Mr. Stark from down the road, a few miles out of town?”
He tossed a direct glance at her, and then turned to continue his work. “I do.”
“I’ve been looking for him, and for his lawyer, Fletcher Van Elden.”
“You won’t find them here.”
Frustrated, Emma bent over enough to put her face in the man’s line of vision to draw his attention from his work. “Yes, I know. But you seem to know something about where I can find them. I need to know. Please.”
“Try the county jail.” And the man walked away.
Unable to find further help here, Emma boarded a train bound for Buffalo, some fifteen miles away. She found her way to the Erie County Jail, a gray stone building that housed about thirty prisoners, presumably Benjamin among them.
“You can’t just walk in and go visiting as if you’ve come calling,” said the guard with a smirk.
Emma tried not to react. She suspected that he would enjoy seeing her flustered, so she refused to oblige him. She looked squarely at him. “What, then, is the procedure?”
He smiled. “There is no procedure. There’s no visiting.”
Emma tried not to show how angry she felt, for she knew it would get her nowhere. In a pleasant voice, she said, “If I gave you a name, could you tell me if he’s here?”
He stared at her too long before saying, “What’s his name?”
Emma told him, and he looked through his papers, and then smiled slyly. “We’ve got a Benjamin Stark here.” He gave Emma a too knowing grin.
A voice sounded behind her. “Miss Farlowe?”
Emma turned to find Fletcher Van Elden. She did not like him, nor necessarily trust him, but he was Benjamin’s friend. That made him her friend, for the moment.
“Mr. Van Elden,” she said, desperately grasping his hand. “What’s happened? No one will tell me.”
He lightly touched her back and guided her toward the door. “Let’s go someplace to talk.”
“Not until I see Benjamin.”
“You can’t right now. We can talk—someplace else.” He glanced back toward the desk, and then led her outside. He put her hand through the crook of his arm, and held on as they walked several blocks from the jail. The winter wind blew off the lake through the Buffalo streets. Emma found herself leaning both emotionally and physically on him. Soon they found a warm and inviting café, where they took a table in a corner.
Fletcher ordered some coffee for both. “Have you eaten? No, you haven’t—not in a long while, I’d lay odds.” He ordered soup and sandwiches over Emma’s protest.
Emma waited until the waitress had gone beyond earshot, then leaned forward and spoke in a hush. “What’s happened? Why is Benjamin in jail?”
He glanced down at Emma’s hands, clutched together and trembling. His eyes softened. “Yesterday Ben was arrested.” He looked at her and paused.
She reached out and grabbed hold of his arm. She was frantic. Some others nearby cast concerned looks their way. Fletcher gently put his hand on hers. “He’s been charged with criminal seduction.”
Emma’s ears rang, and her vision blurred.
“Miss Farlowe, stay with me. Here, drink some water.”
The waitress set down their food and left. Fletcher pulled out a crisply pressed handkerchief and dipped it in water. “Here, put this on your forehead.”
Emma took it and did as he instructed.
“Eat some soup.”
“Criminal seduction? I don’t understand.”
“Eat. I’ll explain.”
He waited for Emma to begin eating the soup. He looked at her, wondering how to start, how to word it.
Emma paused to look at him, and then set her spoon down. “I don’t understand. He’s been working at home. I’ve been with him. It must be a mistake. He could not have seduced anyone.”
Fletcher said gently, “Except you.”
Emma’s eyes flashed. “I’ve made no such accusations!”
“Nor could you. In such cases, the father is the aggrieved party.”
“My father?”
Fletcher nodded. “Your father has filed the charges against Benjamin on your behalf.”
Emma set down the spoon with a clink. Her cheeks reddened.
“I’m representing Ben for now, but I do wills, real estate—paper transactions. I’m not a criminal attorney. Right now he’s insisting, but I’m trying to convince him to retain another lawyer. But for now, he’s got me. If we’re going to help him—am I correct in assuming you want to?”
“Yes, of course!”
“Then, I’m afraid, Miss Farlowe...” Fletcher hesitated, clearly distressed. “The nature of the charges force us to discuss things that are personal. It will not be a comfortable process. You must trust that I will be discreet. However, things may come up at trial.”
Emma’s eyes flitted to his, and back down to the table. A tear fell to her folded hands.
“Now, the statute requires more than just the word of the plaintiff.”
“I would never accuse him—”
“You couldn’t even if you wanted to. Since seduction is treated as an injury to the father, he is the one to accuse and receive damages if he prevails.”
“Damages? For what? For lost value?” Her distress magnified.
“Indelicately phrased, but essentially, yes.”
“How can he do this?”
“The law requires more than the accuser’s word. So there must be some corroboration.”
“Someone knows?”
Fletcher watched as she realized her admission. He said quietly, “Benjamin denied it— to protect you, I’m sure.”
“But he’s asked me to marry him.”
Fletcher shook his head. “I was afraid of that.”
“Why? We love each other. I went home and broke my engagement. We can be married now.”
“That’s a fine story for magazines, but not for court. It will actually work against Benjamin in court. Your father’s lawyers will argue that Benjamin promised marriage you so you would...permit the seduction. The law is worded in such a way that a prior promise of marriage actually strengthens the case for criminal seduction.”
Tears pooled and spilled as she spoke. “Why would my father do this?”
“Perhaps he feels that he’s protecting your honor.”
Emma felt sick. “You said there had to be another witness. Are you saying that someone saw us…?”
“The burden of proof is so light. All it takes is a locked room with the two of you in it.”
“Mrs. Dowling.”
Fletcher nodded. “She can’t help it. She’s very proper. If she knew—”
“Well how could she not? She was there in the house,” Emma said, as the tears overcame her.
Fletcher said, “Although I doubt she went out of her way to offer it, if someone asked the right questions, I doubt she held back her disapproval.”
Emma wept silently into her napkin, no longer able to talk.
Fletcher offered his handkerchief. “Don’t be too hard on her. I can’t imagine she knew how it would hurt Benjamin.”
Emma asked to leave, fearing a scene. Her tears were drawing attention. Outside, they walked for a block and turned a corner onto an empty street on the side of a factory. Emma stopped walking and sobbed. Fletcher put his hands on her shoulders, as Emma sobbed on his.
A hearing was set for five weeks hence. Benjamin gave Fletcher Power of Attorney. He insisted on paying Emma’s expenses, so Fletcher took care of finding her someplace to stay in Buffalo. Staying in Benjamin’s home during the trial would not help his case or her feelings about Mrs. Dowling. She took a room on a quiet street. She avoided her neighbors. Fletcher had warned her not to try to work. She would be in the papers. Soon people would recognize her.
Benjamin had insisted on Fletcher as his lawyer.
She and Fletcher talked often. Emma asked the same questions, hoping the answers would change.
“Can I see him?”
“You know that you can’t. He’s not allowed any visitors.”
“How is he?”
“He’s holding up. He’s a strong man. And he knows that you’re here. I’ve assured him that you’re well taken care of.”
Three weeks before the trial, a letter from Fletcher arrived. He would not be able to see her before the trial. He begged her to please understand, but he offered no real explanation. Until then, he urged her to be strong. Emma sank to her bed, devastated. She was now almost entirely cut off from Benjamin, or anyone else in her life. She stayed at home, going out only at dusk when it was harder for people to see and recognize her. There was newspaper coverage, but no one had found her.
When the trial date came, Emma waited outside the courthouse until she saw her father and stepmother go in. A crush of reporters followed them. Emma waited and went in minutes later. Dressed in a worn hat and plain clothes, she hoped no one would suspect her as the now famous Jute Heiress.
The judge entered. Endless preliminary proceedings were dispensed with at last. Benjamin turned around and found her, as though he’d felt her there with him. Their eyes met.
Heads turned. A few people recognized her and murmured.
Fletcher asked to approach the bench. He was joined by Henry Farlowe’s three attorneys.
Fletcher said, “Your honor, in this action, a subsequent marriage or promise of marriage bars conviction. We have such a promise.”
“Mr. Stark, have you promised to marry the young lady in question?”
“Yes, your honor.”
Henry Farlowe’s attorney said, “Your honor, we’ve got a witness stand over there.”
“And a judge’s bench here,” he snapped at the lawyer. “Very well, let’s swear in the defendant.”
With that accomplished, Benjamin was asked once more.
“Yes, I asked her to marry me.”
“And you’re willing to marry her now?”
“Yes, your honor.”
Emma watched him from the back of the courtroom, barely able to see through her tears.
“Talk is cheap, Mr. Stark. Why haven’t you married this girl before now?”
“Because, your honor, they don’t allow weddings—or visitors—in jail.”
The judge turned to the plaintiff’s attorney. “Counselor, where’s your case? You’ve got a willing groom. And the bride—is she willing?”
Benjamin turned to Emma and fixed his gaze on her. Her eyes glistened. “Yes, your honor,” said Benjamin. “I believe she is willing.”
“A subsequent promise of marriage is a bar to a conviction for criminal seduction. Here we have a subsequent promise of marriage. So the court hereby dismisses the charges against the defendant, Benjamin Stark, pending a legal marriage by one week from today.”
“But he’s ruined her!” shouted Emma’s father. One of his attorneys pulled Emma’s father back down to his seat.
As the gavel struck, Emma rushed through the crowd into Benjamin’s arms. As he watched them embrace, the judge said to the bailiff, “If they had a license, I’d perform the ceremony right now.”
Chapter 10
Emma sat in the carriage with Benjamin on one side and Fletcher on the other. She leaned her head back and let tears flow freely. All the tension she had stored up flowed out with those tears.
Fletcher said, “Thank God that’s over. I’m not cut out for trial work.” He looked over and saw that neither of them seemed to notice his presence.
Emma gave Benjamin a kiss, and then studied him. “You look thin. Did they treat you badly?”
“I’m okay.” He could not stop smiling at her.
Her luminous eyes swept over each feature before she turned back to Fletcher. “I don’t understand why you had to stay away from me. It’s been three very long weeks.”
His eyes clouded. “I wish I could explain it to you, but I can’t, except to say that your father’s attorneys left no stone unturned—which was familiar ground for them, since they’d crawled out from beneath one themselves. Let’s just say they were very persuasive. But I never abandoned either of you.”
Emma did not understand any more than before, but Fletcher’s expression forbade further questions.
“Thank you.” Emma put her arms about Fletcher’s neck and kissed him on the cheek.
With an almost bashful smile, he shook his head and, dismissively smiling, asked the driver to stop. “It’s been a good day. I think I’ll go for a walk.” He grinned, and then stepped down and left them alone.
By the time their next kiss ended, the carriage had traveled for several blocks. Emma rested her hand on Benjamin’s chest and studied him, making note of any detail she might have forgotten. His raven waves fell to his forehead. The blue of his eyes still made her heart thrill. Thick neck, powerful shoulders—all were here. All were hers. She put her fingers on his cheek and let them glide down his jaw and his neck.
“You missed me?” He furrowed his brow as though it were a curious thing.
Emma tilted her head and leaned on his shoulder, her lips touching his neck. “I did.”
Hearing her halting breath, he lifted her chin. She looked up through moist lashes. His eyes brimmed with both pain and joy. He held her face gently and kissed her. “My Emma,” he whispered. “My love.”
The next morning, Emma opened her eyes. She was not in her bed. She was not in her room. The heavy bed clothing that lay bunched and draped over the mattress was not from Benjamin’s bed. She was on the floor beside it. She sat up, and her head hurt. Were they married already? No, they were getting married today. Sluggish throbbing in her head muddled her thinking. She remembered coming home after the trial. She went to sleep in the room next to his. It was the night before their wedding, she told him. They should pretend to be proper, just this once. How had she ended up here? She could not clear her mind. The room was a blur of undefined shadows.
“Benjamin?”
He was sleeping so soundly. Emma leaned back against the side of the four-poster bed. She could watch him sleep and waken at morning for the rest of her life. They would marry today. Wrapping her arms about her knees, she watched him without having to hide how he made her face glow. He was handsome. That much was clear from the first time she’d seen him. But appearances too often deceived, and she could not afford such an error in judgment. But she trusted his love. Before he had known that she was an heiress, he had loved her and told her. So she believed it was true. He was hers, and her heart was his. With light fingertips, she reached out to his face. It would be rough with morning stubble, and his lips would be soft and warm.
Morning sun washed the room. Bright and clear, it would be perfect for their wedding. She leaned over and ribbons of hair brushed his chest. Her kiss was so soft that he slept on. She would wake him. Like a sculptor, she ran gentle fingers over his brow and his nose. His strong cheekbones and jaw line were molded to perfection. His lips were too full and inviting not to kiss, so she did. He would not be awakened. Emma sat up. He was sleeping so soundly.
“Benjamin.” She said his name softly, a smile in her eyes. She put her hands on his shoulders. His strong muscles, relaxed, were still mounded. It pleased her to touch him and watch unashamed. But she wanted to see love in his eyes and to feel his touch on her now. She wanted that feeling again, when his tongue touched her lips and they parted.
“Benjamin,” she said with a laugh. She could not help her impatience. Gently, she nudged his shoulder, then shook it.
Something fell from his hair to the floor. A small piece of china. She looked at the floor. Other pieces were strewn over the carpet. The water pitcher lay broken. She brushed the ends of his disheveled hair with her fingers to loosen another small chip of china. Blood moistened the tips of her fingers. Dread tore through her. She bent over and patted his cheek. Frantic, but forcing herself to sound calm, she
repeated his name. “Benjamin, please. Please wake up. God help me. Benjamin.”
“What have you done?” The harsh voice from the doorway cut through her panic.
“Gwendolyn?” A wail came from deep in her throat, and it sounded so distant. She knelt over him, touching his face and his lips as she whispered his name. Then she spoke it, but her voice would not obey. Her throat strangled each word before it could sound. She was touching him, laying her palms on his face and his neck. Her stepmother walked over and gave her a shove that sent her sprawling. She struggled to regain her balance. Her thoughts were confused. But above all, Emma felt terror.
From downstairs, a door opened and footsteps mounted the stairs.
“Fletcher! Get up here!” shouted Gwendolyn.
Fletcher? Benjamin’s friend? He walked in and cursed.
“Shut up!” she barked. Her sharp look pierced Emma. “Get some water!”
Emma flinched and obeyed, but she stopped when she saw that the pitcher was not on the table. Then she remembered its broken pieces all over the floor. Her stomach convulsed. She went to her room, which adjoined his. She leaned on the bureau for a moment to steady herself. Harsh words came from the next room in rasps. Grabbing the pitcher and towel, she braced herself and went back to Benjamin’s room. Fletcher met her halfway but avoided her eyes as he took the pitcher and poured water into the bowl that now lay on the floor beside Benjamin.
Taking the cloth, Gwendolyn dabbed the damp rag on Benjamin’s forehead.
“He needs a doctor,” Fletcher said, noting Benjamin’s lack of response with alarm.
“I’ll telephone him. Where is it?”
“There’s no telephone here.”
“What?”
Fletcher shook his head.
“With his money?”
“He likes to live like he’s still in the wilderness.”
Gwendolyn scoffed.
Fletcher offered to ride to the doctor and bring him back.
“No. Hitch up the buckboard. We’ll take Benjamin to him.”
“Do you really think we should move him?”
“Yes.” Her look silenced him. “I do.”
Fletcher started to leave.