THE CONVICTION.
Thus on her doom to think,
Well may the dews of torture now
Hang bead-like on her straining brow,
Well may her spirit shrink.
’Tis hard in youth to yield our breath;
To die in thought is double death,
Shivering on fate’s cold brink.—_Nicholas Michell._
Mr. Fenton arose for the defence. He was much too wise to weaken his
cause by attempting to deny that which was undeniable. He therefore
resolved to waive the first, and to concentrate his forces upon the
overthrow of the second and vital point in the prosecution.
He commenced by saying that he would admit the fact that the Leaton
family had perished by poison, but would totally deny that this poison
had been administered by his client.
“Let the jury,” he said, “look upon Eudora Leaton, where she sits,
overwhelmed with her weight of woe! Observe how young, how delicate, how
sensitive she is. Can any one for an instant suppose that she, a young
girl of sixteen springs, a mere child in years, an infant still in law,
could have conceived, planned and executed so atrocious a crime as the
destruction of a whole family to clear the way for her own inheritance
of their estates! Such a supposition would be preposterous.
“It can only be because, for the deep atrocity of this crime, the law
demands an instant victim, and no other is to be found, that this poor
child has been seized and offered here as a sacrifice to appease the
offended majesty of justice. And if in the end she is immolated, it will
be only as the pascal lamb, slain upon the altar of the temple for the
sins of others!
“I will not,” he continued, “affect to disregard the meshes of
coincidence that envelop my most innocent client.
“Like the poor lost dove, beaten down by the storm, and fallen into the
net of the fowler, she is involved in a coil of circumstances that may
prove to be her destruction, unless the just interpretation of an
intelligent jury intervene to save her from unmerited martyrdom.
“But,” he continued, “I have a theory that I shall offer in explanation
of those circumstances, which I firmly believe must exonerate my client
in the mind of the jury and every just person present.
“Before proceeding further, I will read a few extracts from the records
of the coroner’s inquest upon the case.”
Here Counsellor Fenton took from the hands of his clerk certain
documents, from which he read aloud that part of the evidence given by
the late Lady Leaton, in which she testified to having seen the shadow
of a woman’s form upon the wall, and heard the rustle of a woman’s dress
along the floor of her husband’s chamber a few moments before he drank
the fatal sleeping-draught that stood upon the stand beside his bed on
the night of his death.
Next the advocate turned to another part of the record, and read the
evidence given by the late Miss Leaton, in which she deposed that, at
the very time at which her mother heard the noise and saw the shadow in
her father’s room, Eudora was seated beside Agatha’s bed, engaged in the
vain effort to read the restless invalid to sleep.
Finally, he referred to the record of the second coroner’s inquest, and
read the evidence given by Eudora Leaton, in which she testified that,
while watching by the bedside of her cousin, on the night of her death,
she fell into a light slumber, from which she was awakened by the
impression of some one moving about the room, and that at the moment of
opening her eyes, she saw a figure steal away through the door opening
into her own adjoining chamber; but that on following the figure, she
found the next room vacant, and therefore fancied that her half-awakened
senses had deceived her.
“The evidence which I have just read,” continued Counsellor Fenton, as
he returned the documents to the hands of his clerk, “is so significant,
so important, so vital to the cause of justice, that, had it been
permitted to have its due influence with the coroner’s jury, no such
cruel suspicion could have fallen upon Eudora Leaton as that which has
placed her here on trial for her life. And now at least, when that
evidence shall be duly considered, it must entirely exonerate this most
innocent girl. From that evidence, gentlemen of the jury, I draw the
whole theory of this most mysterious chain of crime, and that theory I
would undertake to establish, as the only true one, to your perfect
satisfaction.
“The whole Leaton family have perished by the hand of the poisoner.
True—alas! most horribly true! But who, then, is that poisoner? Who but
that nocturnal visitor, who had stolen like a fell assassin to the
chamber of Agatha Leaton, and while her watcher slumbered, put the
poison into her drink, and whose ill-boding form was seen by the
awakening watcher to steal away and disappear in the darkness? Who, but
that midnight intruder, who, in the temporary absence of Lady Leaton,
glided like an evil spirit to the bedside of Lord Leaton, and dropped
the deadly drug into his drink, and whose rustling raiment was heard by
Lady Leaton to sweep across the floor like the trailing wings of a
demon, and whose dark shadow was seen to glide swiftly along the wall
like its vanishing form?
“But who was this fiend in human form. Not Eudora Leaton, whom the
testimony of the late Agatha Leaton proved to have been at that hour
engaged in another place. Who, then was it? Heaven only knows! But
whoever it might have been, it was one who, in resolving upon the
destruction of the whole Leaton family, had determined upon the death of
Eudora too! One, who in carrying out the fell purpose of extirpation,
while compassing the death of Lord and Lady Leaton and their daughter,
took measures to fix the crime upon Eudora Leaton for her ruin. The same
fiend who, in the midnight glided into the chamber of Agatha Leaton, and
infused the deadly ignatia into her cooling drink, in passing through
Eudora’s room, deposited the fatal drug in her drawers to fix this
suspicion upon her! It was a most diabolical plot, worthy only of the
accursed spirits of Tophet.
“This,” he concluded, “was his theory of the murders, a theory that he
most fervently believed to be the true one—a theory that he most
earnestly entreated the jury to deeply consider before consigning a
young, lovely, and accomplished woman; a delicate, sensitive, refined
being; a most injured, most unhappy, yet most innocent maiden, to the
deep dishonor of a capital conviction, the unspeakable wretchedness of a
blighted name, and the horrible martyrdom of a public death!”
The advocate sat down _really_, not professionally, overcome by his
emotions.
The influence of this address upon the unhappy girl was very beneficial;
it inspired her with hope; it revived her sinking courage; it enabled
her to look up and breathe.
The effect upon the spectators was seen by their changed expression.
They no longer regarded the poor young prisoner with looks of horror,
but with eyes full of compassion. But the effect upon our guileless
friends of the Anchorage was noteworthy.
“Well, now, perhaps after all she did not do it, poor thing!” observed
the blunt admiral, whose convictions were shaken by Mr. Fenton’s
address.
“Didn’t do it? Why, of course she didn’t do it!” exclaimed Mrs. Stilton,
who had been turned completely round by the advocate’s speech; “it’s
certain she didn’t do it. Haven’t you just heard the nice gentleman in
the gown and wig explain how it was all a plot against her, poor dear,
motherless child? It’s my belief as the attorney-general was in it; and
it’s my hopes he’ll be found out and punished. I don’t believe the good
Queen knew anything about it, as forward as they are using her name in
the dockerments.”
“I love that dear, darling old Lawyer Fenton. Oh, how I do love him for
his defence of poor Eudora! Yes, I do, Cousin Vally, and so you needn’t
bite your underlip and frown. I do love him, and if he was to ask me to
have him, I’d marry him to-morrow!” exclaimed Annella, to the annoyance
of Mr. Valorous Brightwell, who could not see any reason for such
enthusiastic gratitude.
But the clerk of arraigns was summoning witnesses for the defence, and
the attention of the spectators was immediately attracted.
These witnesses were some of the household servants of Allworth Abbey,
and some of the friends and neighbors of the Leaton family, who being in
turn called and sworn, testified to the integrity and amiability of the
prisoner, and the confidence and affection that existed between her and
the deceased.
And with the examination of the last witness, the defence closed.
Alas! how weak it was, although the best that could be offered. To the
attorney-general, indeed, the defence appeared so weak and so unlikely
to influence in any way the decision of the jury, that he waived his
right to reply upon the evidence adduced by the counsel for the
prisoner, and left the case in the hands of the judge.
The Lord Chief Baron Elverton rose to sum up the evidence on each side,
and to charge the jury.
Every eye was now turned upon the noble, grave, and grief-worn face of
the venerable judge, and every ear was strained to catch the words of
his address, for every soul believed that from the spirit of his speech
the jury would take its opinions, and the young prisoner receive her
fate.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” began his lordship, “you have heard the charge
brought against the prisoner at the bar. You have heard that charge ably
expounded by the learned counsel for the Crown, and strongly supported
by the witnesses he called. You have also heard the same eloquently
repudiated by the distinguished advocate for the prisoner, and somewhat
affected by the evidence he has presented.
“On the one hand, the case against the prisoner, as made out by the
prosecution, is strong, very strong, but it is only circumstantial, and
may well be fallacious. On the other hand, the explanation of those
circumstances, as offered by the defence, are plausible, extremely
plausible, and may easily be true; and I feel it my duty to recommend
this explanation to the most serious attention of the jury.
“Of the guilt or innocence of this young girl, none but the Omniscient
can judge with infallibility; but in all cases of uncertainty it is the
duty of Christian jurors, as it is the spirit of civilized law, to favor
the acquittal of the prisoner. Such doubtful cases are most frequently
found among those sustained solely by circumstantial evidence.
“Now, circumstantial evidence is not positive testimony—far from it.
Witness the recent case of Eliza Fenning, an innocent woman, convicted
by an English jury upon circumstantial evidence, but whose innocence was
not discovered until after her execution, when it was too late to repair
the dreadful error—when no power on earth could restore the life that
the law had unjustly taken.
“One such judicial murder as that should be a warning to English juries,
through all future time, never, except upon the most unquestionable
proof, to assume the awful responsibility of pronouncing upon a
fellow-creature’s guilt, or taking that sacred life which no earthly
power ever can give back. Better that some guilty homicides should be
left to the sure retribution of God than that one innocent person should
be consigned to the unmerited ignominy of a capital conviction and a
shameful death.
“If, from the evidence before you, you feel assured of the prisoner’s
guilt, it is your duty to convict her; but if any—the least degree of
uncertainty disturb your judgment—it is your duty to acquit her. English
law recognizes no such middle course as that taken by the jury in
rendering their verdict in the celebrated case of Madeleine Smith. If
the charge is considered ‘not proved,’ the prisoner is entitled to a
full acquittal.”
And, finally praying that their counsels might be directed by Omniscient
wisdom, he dismissed them to the deliberation upon their verdict.
The venerable chief baron resumed his seat, and the bailiffs conducted
the jury from the court-room.
The spectators breathed freely again. His lordship certainly favored the
prisoner. And if ever the charge of a judge could sway the minds of a
jury, those twelve men must certainly bring in a verdict of acquittal.
“All will be well, dearest Eudora. The judge believes you innocent,”
whispered Malcolm to the prisoner.
“All is in the hands of God,” breathed the poor, pale girl, in a dying
voice, for her very life seemed ebbing away under the high pressure of
this terrible trial.
In other parts of the crowded court-room the charge of the judge was not
quite so highly approved.
“Ah! Oh? Umph! The most one-sided charge I ever heard in all the days of
my life,” exclaimed Sir Ira Brunton, indignantly, wiping his flushed
forehead as if he himself had just made a long speech. “It actually
forestalls the verdict of the jury; it positively amounts to an
acquittal. It is the most unjust, barefaced, abominable abuse of office
I ever knew in my life. The man is unfit to sit upon the bench. He
should be impeached. He must be getting into his dotage.”
“Lor! Do you think so? Why I thought it was an excellent discourse—as
good as a sermon. And as for being in his dotage, why how you do talk,
boy. He is younger than you,” said old Mrs. Stilton.
“God bless Lord Elverton,” exclaimed Annella, fervently; “and when he
himself shall appear at the last judgment-bar, may God judge him as
mercifully as he has judged that poor girl.”
“You know nothing of the matter, Miss!” exclaimed the admiral, angrily.
“But hush! I do believe the jury are coming in. What a little time they
have taken. But oh, of course their going out was only a form, since the
charge of the judge was tantamount to an instruction to bring in a
verdict of acquittal.”
The jury, marshaled by the bailiffs, were already in court. All eyes
were immediately turned in eager anxiety towards them, to read, if
possible, in their expression the nature of the verdict they were about
to render.
The faces of those twelve men were pale, stern, and downcast. It seemed
ominous to the prisoner, and every eye was instantly directed towards
her to observe the effect of all this upon her manner.
Eudora, no longer conscious of the hundreds of eyes fixed upon her, had
half risen from her seat, thrown her veil quite back, and bent her white
face towards the jury, in an agony of suspense, terrible to behold. The
hand which, in rising, she had rested upon the side of the dock, was
firmly grasped by Malcolm, who stood with his eyes fixed upon the face
of the foreman in fierce anxiety. There was a breathless pause. And then
the clerk of the arraigns arose, and demanded of the foreman of the jury
whether they had agreed upon their verdict.
The foreman, a tall, fair, sensitive-looking man, hesitated for a
moment, and his voice faltered, as he replied:
“We have.”
The order given to the prisoner and the jury to confront each other was
quite superfluous as regarded Eudora, who had never taken her wild,
affrighted gaze for an instant from the faces of those who held her fate
in their hands.
But to those twelve men who had young sisters, wives, or daughters of
their own, it was a severe ordeal to gaze upon the white, agonized face
of that poor child whose doom they were about to pronounce.
The momentous question was then put by the clerk:
“Do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty of the crime
for which she has been indicted?”
“GUILTY.”
A low, wailing cry, like the last quivering note of a broken
harp-string, burst from the pale lips of the prisoner, as she fell back
in her seat and covered her face with her hands.
Malcolm, with a groan that seemed to burst his heart, leaned towards her
in helpless, speechless anguish.
The low sound of sobbing was heard throughout the hall among the women
present.
All wished to end the torture of this scene.
At a sign from the judge, the crier called out for silence, and the
clerk ordered the prisoner to stand up and receive the sentence of the
court.
Eudora attempted to rise, but her limbs failed, and she sank powerless
back into her seat.
“Help her—lift her up,” said an officer to the female turnkey that sat
beside Eudora.
“Try to stand, my poor, poor child,” said the good woman, putting her
arms around the waist of the wretched girl, and raising her to her feet,
where she stood leaning for support against the shoulder of Mrs. Barton.
And then amid the awful stillness of the hall, the venerable chief baron
arose to pronounce the doom of death. His fine face, usually so pale and
woe-worn, was now convulsed with an anguish even greater than the
terrible occasion seemed to warrant. He appeared to be incapable of
uttering more than the few frightful words that doomed the body of that
poor, shrinking, fainting girl to “hang by the neck until she should be
dead,” and commended her soul to the mercy of that Being who alone could
help her in this her utmost extremity.
Everyone looked to see how that young, delicate, sensitive creature
would bear this cruel sentence. Ah! Eudora had not heard one syllable of
all those awful words. The utter fainting of her heart, the sudden
failing of her senses, the swift ebbing away of all her life-forces,
saved her from that last torture.
And when the order was given that the prisoner should be removed from
the court, the weeping woman who supported her, answered:
“My lord, she has fainted.”
And in this state of insensibility, Eudora was conveyed from the court
to the prison, and laid upon the iron bedstead of the condemned cell.
As the lord chief baron was leaving the court-house that night, a
dark-robed woman plucked at his cloak.
“You have this day condemned an innocent girl to death!” hissed the
stranger, close to his ear.
“I believe it,” groaned Lord Elverton.
“It is another consequence of—”
“I know—I know!” interrupted his lordship.
“Nor will it be the last result—”
“Woman! demon! say no more! The end of these things is not here!” cried
the chief baron, hastily escaping into his carriage, which immediately
drove off to the Leaton Arms.