Blood Moon

by Jana Petken

  “Margaret Mallory taught you well, Elizabeth,” he said sarcastically. “But you are playing a dangerous game. You must tell the judge tomorrow that you cannot remember Margaret Mallory’s death. You do not recall your husband’s name. Do you hear me? You fooled me, but that doesn’t mean you’ll hoodwink the judge or the prosecution. These folks know what they are doing. They will bring a doctor to examine you. He will ask questions about your state of mind …”

  “I’m not stupid,” she hissed at him. She lifted her eyebrow in disdain, and then her lips spread in another conniving smile. “I fooled my ma and pa. I made you believe me too, and I’ll convince everyone in that courthouse, including that ole judge, who’s probably deaf and dim-witted at his age anyhow. I will be going back to Portsmouth after tomorrow is done. You just wait and see. You will take me to Stone Plantation, and I will remain your loving and dutiful wife. Folks will see me as a vulnerable and pitiful woman, devoted to her husband, and I will be so clever at the game, you will never be able to leave me again. I’ll pray every day that the good Lord sees fit to take your miserable life on the battlefield – and then I’ll have everything.”

  Jacob’s eyes widened as a thought struck him like a lash. “When I found you with Margaret Mallory’s body, you were aware of what you had done?”

  “That’s enough talking, Captain Stone. Visiting time is over,” the marshal’s voice called out from the top of the stairs.

  “Tell me the damn truth!” Jacob whispered to Elizabeth.

  “C’mon now, time to leave,” the marshal reiterated, walking down the stairs. “I’ve given you long enough …”

  Jacob fingers gripped the bars. He stared at Elizabeth, his eyes flashing with anger. “Tell me,” he whispered again.

  “No, I want this nice man to stay!” Elizabeth sobbed loudly, silencing the marshal mid-sentence. “I’m scared! Why, I don’t even know what I’ve done wrong. Mrs Mallory will tell you I’m innocent. Marshal, I’m a victim. This is a miscarriage of justice.” She sobbed again. “I don’t understand why I am here!”

  “It’s all right, Mrs Stone,” the marshal said. “Why don’t you lie down and rest up? You’re safe here – ain’t no one going to hurt you.”

  Jacob watched Elizabeth return to the cot. She lay on it and turned to face the wall, still weeping like a baby. He climbed the stairs behind the marshal. His footsteps were heavy. His anger was rising. He had just witnessed Elizabeth’s clever ruse. She felt no remorse for the murder she had committed, none whatsoever. His guilt ebbed away and was replaced by regret. He had lost Mercy because of dutiful faithfulness towards a wife who was still intent on bringing him nothing but misery. He cursed himself for his stupidity and misdirected loyalty. He had been duped, as had Elizabeth’s parents. The trial would be swift and decisive, but he now believed his wife to be a competent adversary for the prosecution.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Mercy hid in a doorway just across the street from the Richmond courthouse. She had been standing there for at least an hour, intent on seeing Jacob entering the building before she made her own entrance. Her feet hurt because she was wearing new boots that pinched her toes. Wearing a corset, stays, and fitted royal blue gown for the first time in over a month, she found it difficult to breathe. Her bonnet was uncomfortable, digging into pins that secured her hair, which had been swept back at the front. A mass of ringlets fell softly to the middle of her back and lay on top of the black shawl that hugged her shoulders. She looked the part, she thought, knowing that her words would hold much more sway if she were dressed as a lady.

  Mercy believed that her plan to testify was solid and crucial to Elizabeth’s defence. Jacob’s words in Yorktown had embedded themselves in her mind: No one knows Madame du Pont. Not so, she had thought at the time. She, Mercy, knew du Pont better than anyone did. She would tell the judge just what a despicable creature the so-called Margaret Mallory had been. She would make him believe beyond any doubt that Elizabeth had probably acted in self-defence, fearing for her life.

  Mercy was well aware that baring her soul to the world in an attempt to save Elizabeth would be like swallowing the foulest of medicines. Elizabeth hated her, and she would continue to despise her. The Coulters and just about everyone else who knew them would not thank her for her testimony, nor would they open their hearts to her. But she had reminded herself repeatedly that the Coulters, Portsmouth’s society, and even Elizabeth were not the reason she was doing this. She was doing it for Jacob, and doing it gladly.

  Mercy pushed an image away. It lay sometime in the future. Jacob was a broken man, destroyed, eaten from the inside out by self-recrimination, until he could not bear to live with his tortured feelings any longer – until he could no longer bear to look at her. Whenever she saw this vision, her resolve strengthened. Elizabeth had to live. She had to be set free or, at the very least, given a short jail sentence. Only then would Jacob allow himself to see a flicker of optimism for a better future.

  Mercy was growing increasingly anxious. She looked at the courthouse clock tower and shifted her feet to ease their soreness. Jacob had still not arrived. Mr Rowland would be inside waiting for her, no doubt. She should go in – no, she thought, she must wait exactly where she was until Jacob arrived. Under no circumstances could he see her before her testimony.

  She was pleased with her decision to seek out Mr Rowland, the defence lawyer. He had been very confident that her testimony would help the defence’s case. She mulled over Mr Rowland’s instructions one last time. She was to focus on Margaret Mallory only. She was not to give an opinion about what happened the night Mallory was killed, nor was she to speak about her relationship with Elizabeth or Jacob. She was here to assassinate the dead woman’s character, nothing more.

  “At last,” Mercy mumbled under her breath. Jacob and Mr Coulter had finally arrived. They were not alone, she noted. Mr Coulter held a woman’s arm. He guided her up the stairs and into the courthouse. It was Mrs Coulter. She looked dreadful, Mercy thought. Behind her was another man, about Jacob’s age. She had never seen him before, and she wondered if he was one of Elizabeth’s brothers.

  Mercy waited until Jacob and his party had entered the courthouse and then crossed the street. In a short while, Virginia would know all about Mercy Carver, she thought approaching the doors. Would its people judge her, belittle her, and hate her even more than they did now? She didn’t know. She didn’t really care. She was doing what she had to do.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The hour was late, and Elizabeth’s trial had been adjourned for a twenty-minute recess. On his return, the judge insisted that the proceedings would conclude this very day, due to the interest that Margaret Mallory’s murder had generated. The court had been so full with newspapermen that there was barely space for spectators and jury. The state capitol on Capitol Square had sent a senator who would report back to Congress. This was an important case, probably the biggest in the Confederate capital since its conception, and it could not be allowed to linger.

  The presiding judge, Eli Travers, knew the stakes were high. He’d be tested, as would the Confederate Constitution. Hanging a woman evoked universal repulsion, and the very thought of it was abhorrent to all gentile Southerners. The judge had already decided that he would do all he could to sway the jury away from execution and instead suggest a more lenient sentence for the young woman defendant, who had quite clearly lost her wits.

  Jacob sat in thoughtful silence, unwilling to engage in hostile conversation with the Coulters, whose number had been bolstered by Nathan Coulter’s arrival. Elizabeth was putting up a good show. Her demeanour was that of a small child, bewildered by her surroundings and innocently ignorant of the charges brought against her. She had not acknowledged Jacob’s presence. She had denied killing Margaret Mallory with a vehement shake of her head. She had sobbed for her ma and had asked to be taken home. She was one hell of a chameleon, Jacob thought, and she had the jury eating out of the palm of her hand.


  The prosecution’s evidence had been harmful to Elizabeth, however. They had demonstrated a vicious murder with a drawing of a body with not one but two wounds on it. They had brought Elizabeth’s blood-soaked clothing into evidence, which also gave a clear indication of the ferocity of the stabbing. The lawyer had asked Elizabeth if the clothing belonged to her. In a resounding way, she had answered, “I cannot recall.” He had then questioned her about her relationship to the dead woman. Elizabeth had answered quite calmly, saying that Margaret Mallory was a dear friend but that she had stolen money and lost her trust. Did you kill Margaret Mallory? she was then asked. “No, I certainly did not. I could never hurt her – I wouldn’t swat a fly.”

  The written testimony of Charles, the slave, had created a possible motive for the murder. He had stated that Mistress Mallory had been the very best of mistresses, but that she and Miss Elizabeth had fought often. When he overheard raised voices coming from the breakfast room, he had not dared to enter. He had been warned never to go into a room until his presence was required. He always waited for the bell to ring.

  He had entered the room eventually, after hearing the call bell ring. He found Miss Elizabeth, soaked with blood and staring at Mistress Mallory’s dead body with a macabre curiosity. She had scared him with her crazy eyes.

  The slave was covering his own back, Jacob thought, and he couldn’t blame Charles for saying what he did. There was nothing the judge and citizens of Richmond would like better than to pin the murder on a nigger.

  Jacob closed his eyes. Newspapermen and citizens alike were staring at him. His privacy had been exposed to prying trespassers now scrounging for the most intimate details of his life.

  The defence lawyer had mutilated Jacob’s reputation, blaming him for cruelty and infidelity to his wife: “It’s no wonder Elizabeth Stone went mad,” the lawyer had said. “For what bride could endure such harsh and despicable behaviour from a husband who had so callously abandoned her for a notorious English prostitute?” Elizabeth Stone was a victim of cruelty, theft, and extreme malice, which had desecrated her poor mind to such an extent that it had expelled all memory of her ordeals.

  The Coulters had been busy furnishing the defence with a list of Jacob’s shortcomings. Yet Jacob was not overly worried about what had been said about him. He could live with a tarnished reputation if it helped Elizabeth’s case.

  Elizabeth was led back into the courtroom after recess. She continued to seem neither conscious of her surroundings nor emotionally attached to the proceedings. Jacob averted his eyes. She was repulsive to him. She reminded him now of du Pont in some ways. She was calculating, driven by a need for power and attention. She had killed and deceived, yet when she had revealed her true nature to him, she had not accepted an ounce of culpability.

  “I would like to call Miss Mercy Carver to the stand,” the defence lawyer’s voice boomed.

  Jacob’s mouth opened. His eyes, filled with disbelief and fear, stared at the defence lawyer. How was this possible? Why was she here? Why was she putting herself through this? What the hell was his woman getting herself into now?

  He looked anxiously towards the door. It opened to reveal Mercy standing there bravely, looking incredibly beautiful. Mercy could be here for one reason only, he thought. She had come to help the defence. She was going to tarnish du Pont’s reputation and declare to the world that she was just as much a victim as Elizabeth was. There could be no other reason for her appearance.

  This was the last thing he wanted for Mercy. She should not have to tell these people why and how she knew du Pont. He threw a scathing look at the defence lawyer, who shrugged his shoulders. Rowland was a bastard for allowing this to happen, he thought. This would go one of two ways. The people in the crowded room would pity Mercy or they would brand her as a whore, lying in an attempt to resurrect her reputation in South Virginia.

  Pride rippled through him. He was afraid for Mercy, but he also admired her tenacity. He was comforted and humbled that she thought him worth fighting for. He had been resigned to losing her and losing himself in the process, yet here she was, continuing to show him the truth: the undeniable fact that no matter how ugly life was at times, love stood solid.

  He was in awe of her graceful stature as she walked towards the front of the court. When she turned to face the spectators, her eyes were without fear, and when she sat, she did so with poise and elegance. Her eyes caught his, and a soft, reassuring smile played on her mouth. He smiled back and then looked at the shocked faces in the courtroom. To hell with all of you, he thought. This is the woman I love and it’s about time everyone in Virginia knew it!

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Mercy placed her hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth. Whilst she waited for Mr Rowland to begin, she quickly flicked her eyes to the public gallery. She shifted her gaze to Elizabeth for just a second or two and gasped at the hatred blazing in Elizabeth’s eyes. She looked away, confused and unnerved. How could Elizabeth have such loathing in her expression when seemingly she had trouble remembering her own name? Mercy wondered.

  All eyes were upon her. Some were disapproving, whilst others were filled with nothing more than palpable curiosity. It didn’t matter what they thought of her or what they were thinking, Mercy decided. She was here to do a job and do it well.

  Once again, she looked across at Jacob. Their eyes met, and he smiled at her. At least he wasn’t angry with her for being here, she thought. As Mr Rowland approached her at the witness stand, she cleared her throat. He asked if she required water. She declined.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Carver. You are here to give testimony about your knowledge of Mrs Margaret Mallory. Is this correct?”

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  “You are not here to give testimony about Mrs Elizabeth Stone or about Mrs Mallory’s murder. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You will speak about your own experience with the deceased – nothing else?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very good. Now, can you tell the court how and why you first met Mrs Mallory?”

  “Yes, I can. I was abducted from London by two men who worked in Mrs Mallory’s employ. They put a rag over my mouth, drugged me, bound my hands and feet, and took me to Liverpool, where Mrs Mallory imprisoned me and then tried to force me into prostitution.”

  The noise in the courtroom grew to a crescendo. The judge slammed down his gavel until silence prevailed. “Hush up now, folks,” he said. “Let the young lady talk.”

  “Please tell us what happened to you while imprisoned by Mrs Mallory,” Mr Rowland said.

  “Well, first of all, Mrs Mallory is not the name she went by in Liverpool. She was called Madame du Pont there – I’m sure you will be able to verify this information.”

  Murmurs grew louder once again. The judge shouted this time. “All right, folks! All right, simmer down. Any more interruptions and I will hear this testimony without a public audience. Let Miss Carver say her piece.”

  “Thank you, Judge,” Mr Rowland said. He moved closer to Mercy and said, “I see. So tell us more about Madame du Pont, if you will.”

  “She was not a lady – far from it. She was a whore madam who butchered one of her captives with a knife when the girl tried to escape. I saw her do it with my own eyes. I also saw her beat some of the girls with a stick and a leather belt. She took pleasure in killing and bullying. I was terrified of her. She beat me too, and she abused my body by stripping it naked in full view of the men who had abducted me. She locked me up in a darkened room for weeks. She threatened to kill me if I didn’t do as she ordered.”

  “Which was?”

  “To have sex with men. She sold aristocratic young girls to her clients for a lot of money. Most of the girls were virgins, like me. She was the most evil creature ever put on this earth – so when I found out she was in Portsmouth, shortly after my arrival in Virginia, I ran away, fearing for my life.”

  “Do you have
anything else to add?”

  “Only that I am sure Mrs Elizabeth Stone narrowly escaped death.”

  The prosecution lawyer sprang to his feet and shouted above the sound of raised voices from the gallery. “Judge, this is hearsay. Miss Carver has no evidence to give the court regarding Mrs Mallory’s murder, and I ask that she be silenced on that subject.”

  Elizabeth sat stony-faced.

  Mrs Bartlett stared in silence at Mercy with a thoughtful expression.

  The Coulters glared at Mercy with undisguised hatred.

  Jacob nodded at her when she looked at him for approval.

  As Mercy listened to the noisy people discussing her, she wondered whether the jury or judge had been impressed enough to consider that Elizabeth had more than likely acted in self-defence. She had made only a brief statement about Madame du Pont, and she had left out so much. Her biggest fear had been that someone might now connect her to Eddie’s murder at du Pont’s farm. But she had not mentioned Eddie as her London abductor, and she was confident that all association with him would remain her secret. She tried to relax in the chair as she waited for the voices and gavel to quieten down.

  A man’s voice rang out above the heightened voices. “She’s a spy! This woman is a goddamned Union spy!”

  “Who are you?” Judge Travers shouted back angrily.

  “Name’s Nathan Coulter, Judge. I have the proof to support my claim. This woman came to Yorktown not four days back, straight from Fort Monroe. She was trying to pick up information on our troop movements.

  Jacob gave Nathan a contemptuous stare. “Shut up, Coulter!” he shouted out. This was a low blow, even for Coulter, Jacob thought. Nathan must have read Mercy’s letter, which he had left in Yorktown. He would rip the son of a bitch apart when they got out of here. He looked then at Mercy. Her lips were slightly parted in disbelief. It’s all right, darling, he mouthed to her.