A Murder at Rosamund's Gate - By Susanna Calkins Page 0,70

had been cleared that night, Lucy brought a mug of mulled wine to Adam, taking care to leave the door wide open. A few thick law books lay about his room, various passages marked by any number of odd objects, including a feather, a rock, and a shard of wood. A sheaf of printed pamphlets was strewn across his writing desk. Placing the steaming mug on his desk, she waited nervously for him to look up.

After one last notation, his quill stopped scratching on the paper. “Thank you, Lucy.” When she did not move, he added, “Yes, Lucy? Is there something else?”

He knows what I’m going to ask, she thought. She nodded at the papers on his desk. “Is that William’s case?”

Adam grimaced slightly. “Yes. I’m afraid I haven’t much new to tell you. I’m trying to work out the questions he must put to his accusers.”

“You cannot ask the questions for him? I’m afraid he will not remember what to ask.”

“No, I wish I could. You see, the law of this realm is set up so that a man may face his accuser and be able to question him. That is all well and good, but I have seen many a time when an accused man grows flustered, or is tongue-tied, or simply forgets to pose the right questions to his accusers. I’ve often thought that barristers should be the ones to pose the questions in court, so long as the accused agrees.” He rubbed his forehead. “All I can do is try to keep him focused, so he’ll ask the right questions,” Adam said. “It’s rather tricky, you see. He must plead a certain way, so we must think through what words he should say. We must, in essence, work out his defense. It shan’t be ‘learn the neck verse’ either. Worst piece of advice a fellow can get!”

“How so?” she asked.

He explained. “One of the prison clergy taught it to him. The neck verse is the Fifty-first Psalm. It’s a common enough strategy. If the accused can memorize it and speak it to the magistrate and jury during his trial, sometimes that means the prisoner can be passed off as clergy.”

“Clergy are not harmed?”

“Sometimes they are spared. A fool’s strategy, I can tell you that!” Adam slammed down his book. “The whole case is based on hearsay! There is no definitive evidence that Will did it.”

“Because he didn’t,” Lucy said.

Adam glanced at her. “Of course. Unfortunately, Will had a motive and means—two things the law is most concerned with. Bessie was with child, probably his, and the jurors are likely to believe he did not wish to be hindered with wife and child when he’s widely let it be known that he wishes to be his own master.”

“Still, he had no need to kill her,” Lucy said. “He could just have denied her, as men usually do in situations like these.”

If Adam heard the bitterness in her voice, he did not let on. “Well, she was murdered in a fit of rage. It might be argued that Will killed her because he could see no other option. The courts might well have made him marry her, if she claimed he was the father to her babe.”

Lucy looked up at the ceiling, despairing of his logic.

“Or,” he continued, “the jurors could be convinced that Bessie was blackmailing him. And there were, of course, the stolen items. The constable might also say that Will had convinced her to make the theft and then killed her to maintain her silence.” He raised his hand to stem her protest. “We know that was not the character of either Will or Bessie. The jurors, however, do not know that. So we must create doubt in the minds of the jury. That is our only hope here.” Adam began to pace around the room, his steps on the wood floor softened by the leather slippers he wore.

Lucy watched him quietly. Does he regret his offer to help? Her lip curled. He must think the case is impossible. What hope is there for William?

Adam’s next words confirmed her fear. “We could say that he had been drinking, which is of course true,” he mused. “When he discovered her infidelity, and about the baby…”

“No!” she cried. “I won’t allow it! It’s not true!”

He went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “’Tis unlikely to get him out of jail, but it should do well enough to keep him from swinging at Newgate, to be sure.