Houseman shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Drain the water? Let the
crown do that. We should but fish up more trouble. And prayers quo' she!
'Tis not prayers we want, but evidence."
He sent his clerk off to travel post night and day, and subpoena
Mercy, and bring her back with him to the trial. She was to have every
comfort on the road, and be treated like a duchess.
The evening before the assizes, Mrs. Gaunt's apartments were Mr.
Houseman's head-quarters, and messages were coming and going all day, on
matters connected with the defence.
Just at sunset, up rattled a post-chaise, and the clerk got out and came
haggard and bloodshot before his employer. "The witness has disappeared,
sir. Left home last Tuesday, with her child, and has never been seen nor
heard of since."
Here was a terrible blow. They all paled under it: it seriously
diminished the chances of an acquittal.
But Mrs. Gaunt bore it nobly. She seemed to rise under it.
She turned to Sir George Neville, with a sweet smile. "The noble heart
sees base things noble. No wonder then an artful woman deluded _you_. He
has left England with her, and condemned me to the gallows, in cold
blood. So be it. I shall defend myself."
She then sat down with Mr. Houseman, and went through the written case
he had prepared for her, and showed him notes she had taken of full a
hundred criminal trials great and small.
While they were putting their heads together, Sir George sat in a brown
study, and uttered not a word. Presently he got up a little brusquely,
and said, "I'm going to Hernshaw."
"What, at this time of night? What to do?"
"To obey my orders. To drain the mere."
"And who could have ordered you to drain my mere?"
"Mercy Vint."
Sir George uttered this in a very curious way, half ashamed, half
resolute, and retired before Mrs. Gaunt could vent in speech the
surprise and indignation that fired her eye.
Houseman implored her not to heed Sir George and his vagaries, but to
bend her whole mind on those approved modes of defence with which he had
supplied her.
Being now alone with her, he no longer concealed his great anxiety.
"We have lost an invaluable witness in that woman," said he. "I was mad
to think she would come."
Mrs. Gaunt shivered with repugnance. "I would not have her come, for all
the world," said she. "For Heaven's sake never mention her name to me. I
want help from none but friends. Send Mrs. Houseman to me in the
morning; and do not distress yourself so. I shall defend myself far
better than you think. I have not studied a hundred trials for naught."
Thus the prisoner cheered up her attorney, and soon after insisted on
his going home to bed; for she saw he was worn out by his exertions.
And now she was alone.
All was silent.
A few short hours, and she was to be tried for her life: tried, not by
the All-wise Judge, but by fallible men, and under a system most
unfavorable to the accused.
Worse than all this, she was a Papist; and, as ill-luck would have it,
since her imprisonment an alarm had been raised that the Pretender
meditated another invasion. This report had set jurists very much
against all the Romanists in the country, and had already perverted
justice in one or two cases, especially in the North.
Mrs. Gaunt knew all this, and trembled at the peril to come.
She spent the early part of the night in studying her defence. Then she
laid it quite aside, and prayed long and fervently. Towards morning she
fell asleep from exhaustion.
When she awoke, Mrs. Houseman was sitting by her bedside, looking at
her, and crying.
They were soon clasped in each other's arms, condoling.
But presently Houseman came, and took his wife away rather angrily.
Mrs. Gaunt was prevailed on to eat a little toast and drink a glass of
wine, and then she sat waiting her dreadful summons.
She waited and waited, until she became impatient to face her danger.
But there were two petty larcenies on before her. She had to wait.
At last, about noon, came a message to say that the grand jury had found
a true bill against her.
"Then may God forgive them!" said she.
Soon afterwards she was informed her time drew very near.
She made her toilet carefully, and passed with her attendant into a
small room under the court.
Here she had to endure another chilling wait, and in a sombre room.
Presently she heard a voice above her cry out, "The King _versus_
Catharine Gaunt."
Then she was beckoned to.
She mounted some steps, badly lighted, and found herself in the glare of
day, and greedy eyes, in the felon's dock.
In a matter entirely strange, we seldom know beforehand what we can do,
and how we shall carry ourselves. Mrs. Gaunt no sooner set her foot in
that dock, and saw the awful front of Justice face to face, than her
tremors abated, and all her powers awoke, and she thrilled with love of
life, and bristled with all those fine arts of defence that Nature lends
to superior women.
She entered on that defence before she spoke a word; for she attacked
the prejudices of the court, by deportment.
She courtesied reverently to the Judge, and contrived to make her
reverence seem a willing homage, unmixed with fear.
She cast her eyes round and saw the court thronged with ladies and
gentlemen she knew. In a moment she read in their eyes that only two or
three were on her side. She bowed to those only; and they returned her
courtesy. This gave an impression (a false one) that the gentry
sympathized with her.
After a little murmur of functionaries, the Clerk of Arraigns turned to
the prisoner, and said, in a loud voice, "Catharine Gaunt, hold up thy
hand."
She held up her hand, and he recited the indictment, which charged that,
not having the fear of God before her eyes, but being moved by the
instigation of the Devil, she had on the fifteenth of October, in the
tenth year of the reign of his present Majesty, aided and abetted one
Thomas Leicester in an assault upon one Griffith Gaunt, Esq., and him,
the said Griffith Gaunt, did with force and arms assassinate and do to
death, against the peace of our said Lord the King, his crown and
dignity.
After reading the indictment, the Clerk of Arraigns turned to the
prisoner: "How sayest thou, Catharine Gaunt; art thou guilty of the
felony and murder whereof thou standest indicted,--or not guilty?"
"I am not guilty."
"Culprit, how wilt thou be tried?"
"Culprit I am none, but only accused. I will be tried by God and my
country."
"God send thee a good deliverance."
Mr. Whitworth, the junior counsel for the crown, then rose to open the
case; but the prisoner, with a pale face, but most courteous demeanor,
begged his leave to make a previous motion to the court. Mr. Whitworth
bowed, and sat down. "My Lord," said she, "I have first a favor to ask;
and that favor, methinks, you will grant, since it is but justice,
impartial justice. My accuser, I hear, has two counsel; both learned and
able. I am but a woman, and no match for their skill Therefore I beg
your Lordship to allow me counsel on my defence, to matter of fact as
well as of law. I know this is not usual; but it is just, and I am
informed it has sometimes been granted in trials of life and death, and
that your Lordship hath the _power_, if you have the _will_, to do me so
much justice."
The Judge looked towards Mr. Serjeant Wiltshire, who was the leader on
the other side. He rose instantly and replied to this purpose: "The
prisoner is misinformed. The truth is, that from time immemorial, and
down to the other day, a person indicted for a capital offence was never
allowed counsel at all, except to matters of law, and these must be
started by himself. By recent practice the rule hath been so far relaxed
that counsel have sometimes been permitted to examine and cross-examine
witnesses for a prisoner; but never to make observations on the
evidence, nor to draw inferences from it to the point in issue."
_Mrs. Gaunt._ So, then, if I be sued for a small sum of money, I may
have skilled orators to defend me against their like. But if I be sued
for my life and honor, I may not oppose skill to skill, but must stand
here a child against you that are masters. 'Tis a monstrous iniquity,
and you yourself, sir, will not deny it.
_Serjeant Wiltshire._ Madam, permit me. Whether it be a hardship to deny
full counsel to prisoners in criminal cases, I shall not pretend to say;
but if it be, 'tis a hardship of the law's making, and not of mine nor
of my lord's; and none have suffered by it (at least in our day) but
those who had broken the law.
The Serjeant then stopped a minute, and whispered with his junior. After
which he turned to the Judge. "My Lord, we that are of counsel for the
crown desire to do nothing that is hard where a person's life is at
stake. We yield to the prisoner any indulgence for which your Lordship
can find a precedent in your reading; but no more: and so we leave the
matter to you."
_The Clerk of Arraigns._ Crier, proclaim silence.
_The Crier._ Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! His Majesty's Justices do strictly charge
all manner of persons to keep silence, on pain of imprisonment.
_The Judge._ Prisoner, what my Brother Wiltshire says, the law is clear
in. There is no precedent for what you ask, and the contrary practice
stares us in the face for centuries. What seems to you a partial
practice, and, to be frank, some learned persons are of your mind, must
be set against this,--that in capital cases the burden of proof lies on
the crown, and not on the accused. Also it is my duty to give you all
the assistance I can, and that I shall do. Thus then it is: you can be
allowed counsel to examine your own witnesses, and cross-examine the
witnesses for the crown, and speak to points of law, to be started by
yourself,--but no further.
He then asked her what gentleman there present he should assign to her
for counsel.
Her reply to this inquiry took the whole court by surprise, and made her
solicitor, Houseman, very miserable. "None, my Lord," said she.
"Half-justice is injustice; and I will lend it no color. I will not set
able men to fight for me with their hands tied, against men as able
whose hands be free. Counsel, on terms so partial, I will have none. My
counsel shall be three, and no more,--Yourself, my Lord, my Innocence,
and the Lord God Omniscient."
These words, grandly uttered, caused a dead silence in the court, but
only for a few moments. It was broken by the loud mechanical voice of
the crier, who proclaimed silence, and then called the names of the jury
that were to try this cause.
Mrs. Gaunt listened keenly to the names,--familiar and bourgeois names,
that now seemed regal; for they who owned them held her life in their
hands.
Each juryman was sworn in the grand old form, now slightly curtailed.
"Joseph King, look upon the prisoner.--You shall well and truly try, and
true deliverance make, between our Sovereign Lord the King and the
prisoner at the bar, whom you shall have in charge, and a true verdict
give, according to the evidence. So help you God."
Mr. Whitworth, for the crown, then opened the case, but did little more
than translate the indictment into more rational language.
He sat down, and Serjeant Wiltshire addressed the court somewhat after
this fashion:--
"May it please your Lordship, and you, gentlemen of the jury,
this is a case of great expectation and importance. The
prisoner at the bar, a gentlewoman by birth and education, and,
as you must have already perceived, by breeding also, stands
indicted for no less a crime than murder.
"I need not paint to you the heinousness of this crime: you
have but to consult your own breasts. Who ever saw the ghastly
corpse of the victim weltering in its blood, and did not feel
his own blood run cold through his veins? Has the murderer
fled? With what eagerness do we pursue! with what zeal
apprehend! with what joy do we bring him to justice! Even the
dreadful sentence of death does not shock us, when pronounced
upon him. We hear it with solemn satisfaction; and acknowledge
the justice of the Divine sentence, 'Whoso sheddeth man's
blood, by man shall his blood be shed.'
"But if this be the case in every common murder, what shall be
thought of her who has murdered her husband,--the man in whose
arms she has lain, and whom she has sworn at God's altar to
love and cherish? Such a murderer is a robber as well as an
assassin; for she robs her own children of their father, that
tender parent, who can never be replaced in this world.
"Gentlemen, it will, I fear, be proved that the prisoner at the
bar hath been guilty of murder in this high degree; and, though
I will endeavor rather to extenuate than to aggravate, yet I
trust [_sic_] I have such a history to open as will shock the
ears of all who hear me.
"Mr. Griffith Gaunt, the unfortunate deceased, was a man of
descent and worship. As to his character, it was inoffensive.
He was known as a worthy, kindly gentleman, deeply attached to
her who now stands accused of his murder. They lived happily
together for some years; but, unfortunately, there was a thorn
in the rose of their wedded life: he was of the Church of
England; she was, and is, a Roman Catholic. This led to
disputes; and no wonder, since this same unhappy difference
hath more than once embroiled a nation, let alone a single
family.
"Well, gentlemen, about a year ago there was a more violent
quarrel than usual between the deceased and the prisoner at the
bar; and the deceased left his home for several months.
"He returned upon a certain day in this year, and a
reconciliation, real or apparent, took place. He left home
again soon afterwards, but only for a short period. On the 15th
of last October he suddenly returned for good, as he intended;
and here begins the tragedy, to which what I have hitherto
related was but the prologue.
"Scarce an hour before he came, one Thomas Leicester entered
the house. Now this Thomas Leicester was a creature of the
prisoner's. He had been her gamekeeper, and was now a pedler.
It was the prisoner who set him up as a pedler, and purchased
the wares to start him in his trade.
"Gentlemen, this pedler, as I shall prove, was concealed in the
house when the deceased arrived. One Caroline Ryder, who is the
prisoner's gentlewoman, was the person who first informed her
of Leicester's arrival, and it seems she was much moved: Mrs.
Ryder will tell you she fell into hysterics. But, soon after,
her husband's arrival was announced, and then the passion was
of a very different kind. So violent was her rage against this
unhappy man that, for once, she forgot all prudence, and
threatened his life before a witness. Yes, gentlemen, we shall
prove that this gentlewoman, who in appearance and manners
might grace a court, was so transported out of her usual self
that she held up a knife,--a knife, gentlemen,--and vowed to
put it into her husband's heart. And this was no mere temporary
ebullition of wrath. We shall see presently that, long after
she had had time to cool, she repeated this menace to the
unfortunate man's face. The first threat, however, was uttered
in her own bedroom, before her confidential servant, Caroline
Ryder aforesaid. But now the scene shifts. She has, to all
appearance, recovered herself, and sits smiling at the head of
her table; for, you must know, she entertained company that
night,--persons of the highest standing in the county.
"Presently her husband, all unconscious of the terrible
sentiments she entertained towards him, and the fearful purpose
she had announced, enters the room, makes obeisance to his
guests, and goes to take his wife's hand.
"What does she? She draws back with so strange a look, and such
forbidding words, that the company were disconcerted.
Consternation fell on all present; and erelong they made their
excuses, and left the house. Thus the prisoner was left alone
with her husband; but, meantime, curiosity had been excited by
her strange conduct, and some of the servants, with foreboding
hearts, listened at the door of the dining-room. What did they
hear, gentlemen? A furious quarrel, in which, however, the
deceased was comparatively passive, and the prisoner again
threatened his life, with vehemence. Her passion, it is clear,
had not cooled.
"Now it may fairly be alleged, on behalf of the prisoner, that
the witnesses for the crown were on one side of the door, the
prisoner and the deceased on the other, and that such evidence
should be received with caution. I grant this--where it is not
sustained by other circumstances, or by direct proofs. Let us
then give the prisoner the benefit of this doubt, and let us
inquire how the deceased himself understood her,--he, who not
only heard the words, and the accents, but saw the looks,
whatever they were, that accompanied them.
"Gentlemen, he was a man of known courage and resolution; yet
he was found, after this terrible interview, much cowed and
dejected. He spoke to Mrs. Ryder of his death as an event not
far distant, and so went to his bedroom in a melancholy and
foreboding state. And where was that bedroom? He was thrust, by
his wife's orders, into a small chamber, and not allowed to
enter hers,--he, the master of the house, her husband, and her
lord.
"But his interpretation of the prisoner's words did not end
there. He left us a further comment by his actions next
ensuing. He dared not--(I beg pardon, this is my inference:
receive it as such)--he _did_ not, remain in that house a
single night. He at all events bolted his chamber door inside;
and in the very dead of night, notwithstanding the fatigues of
the day's journey, (for he had ridden some distance,) he let
himself out by the window, and reached the ground safely,
though it was a height of fourteen feet,--a leap, gentlemen,
that few of us would venture to take. But what will not men
risk when destruction is at their heels? He did not wait even
to saddle his horse, but fled on foot. Unhappy man, he fled
from danger, and met his death.
"From the hour when he went up to bed, none of the inmates of
the house ever saw Griffith Gaunt alive; but one Thomas Hayes,
a laborer, saw him walking in a certain direction at one
o'clock that morning; and behind him, gentlemen, there walked
another man.
"Who was that other man?
"When I have told you (and this is an essential feature of the
case) how the prisoner was employed during the time that her
husband lay quaking in his little room, waiting an opportunity
to escape,--when I have told you this, I fear you will divine
who it was that followed the deceased, and for what purpose.
"Gentlemen, when the prisoner had threatened her husband in
person, as I have described, she retired to her own room, but
not to sleep. She ordered her maid, Mrs. Ryder, to bring Thomas
Leicester to her chamber. Yes, gentlemen, she received this
pedler, at midnight, in her bedchamber.
"Now, an act so strange as this admits, I think, but of two
interpretations. Either she had a guilty amour with this
fellow, or she had some extraordinary need of his services. Her
whole character, by consent of the witnesses, renders it very
improbable that she would descend to a low amour. Moreover, she
acted too publicly in the matter. The man, as we know, was her
tool, her creature: she had bought his wares for him, and set
him up as a pedler. She openly summoned him to her presence,
and kept him there about half an hour.
"He went from her, and very soon after is seen, by Thomas
Hayes, following Griffith Gaunt, at one o'clock in the
morning,--that Griffith Gaunt who after that hour was never
seen alive.
"Gentlemen, up to this point, the evidence is clear, connected,
and cogent; but it rarely happens in cases of murder that any
human eye sees the very blow struck. The penalty is too severe
for such an act to be done in the presence of an eyewitness;
and not one murderer in ten could be convicted without the help
of circumstantial evidence.
"The next link, however, is taken up by an ear-witness; and, in
some cases, the ear is even better evidence than the eye,--for
instance, as to the discharge of firearms,--for, by the eye
alone, we could not positively tell whether a pistol had gone
off or had but flashed in the pan. Well, then, gentlemen, a few
minutes after Mr. Gaunt was last seen alive,--which was by
Thomas Hayes,--Mrs. Ryder, who had retired to her bedroom,
heard the said Gaunt distinctly cry for help; she also heard a
pistol-shot discharged. This took place by the side of a lake
or large pond near the house, called the mere. Mrs. Ryder
alarmed the house, and she and the other servants proceeded to
her master's room. They found it bolted from the inside. They
broke it open. Mr. Gaunt had escaped by the window, as I have
already told you.
"Presently in comes the prisoner from out of doors. This was at
one o'clock in the morning. Now she appears to have seen at
once that she must explain her being abroad at that time, so
she told Mrs. Ryder she had been out--praying."
(Here some people laughed harshly, but were threatened severely, and
silenced.)
"Is that credible? Do people go out of doors at one o'clock in
the morning, to pray? Nay, but I fear it was to do an act that
years of prayer and penitence cannot efface.
"From that moment Mr. Gaunt was seen no more among living men.
And what made his disappearance the more mysterious was that he
had actually at this time just inherited largely from his
namesake, Mr. Gaunt of Biggleswade; and his own interest, and
that of the other legatees, required his immediate presence.
Mr. Atkins, the testator's solicitor, advertised for this
unfortunate gentleman; but he did not appear to claim his
fortune. Then plain men began to put this and that together,
and cried out, 'Foul play!'
"Justice was set in motion at last, but was embarrassed by the
circumstance that the body of the deceased could not be found.
"At last, Mr. Atkins, the solicitor, being unable to get the
estate I have mentioned administered, for want of proof of
Griffith Gaunt's decease, entered heartily in this affair, on
mere civil grounds. He asked the prisoner, before several
witnesses, if she would permit him to drag that piece of water
by the side of which Mr. Gaunt was heard to cry for help and,
after that seen no more.
"The prisoner did not reply, but Mr. Houseman, her solicitor, a
very worthy man, who has, I believe, or had, up to that moment,
a sincere conviction of her innocence, answered for her, and
told Mr. Atkins he was welcome to drag it or drain it. Then the
prisoner said nothing. She fainted away.
"After this, you may imagine with what expectation the water
was dragged. Gentlemen, after hours of fruitless labor, a body
was found.
"But here an unforeseen circumstance befriended the prisoner.
It seems that piece of water swarms with enormous pike and
other ravenous fish. These had so horribly mutilated the
deceased, that neither form nor feature remained to swear by;
and, as the law wisely and humanely demands that in these cases
a body shall be identified beyond doubt, justice bade fair to
be baffled again. But lo! as often happens in cases of murder,
Providence interposed and pointed with unerring finger to a
slight, but infallible mark. The deceased gentleman was known
to have a large mole over his left temple. It had been noticed
by his servants and his neighbors. Well, gentlemen, the greedy
fish had spared this mole,--spared it, perhaps, by His command,
who bade the whale swallow Jonah, yet not destroy him. There it
was, clear and infallible. It was examined by several
witnesses, it was recognized. It completed that chain of
evidence, some of it direct, some of it circumstantial, which I
have laid before you very briefly, and every part of which I
shall now support by credible witnesses."
He called thirteen witnesses, including Mr. Atkins, Thomas Hayes, Jane
Banister, Caroline Ryder, and others; and their evidence in chief bore
out every positive statement the counsel had made.
In cross-examining these witnesses, Mrs. Gaunt took a line that
agreeably surprised the court. It was not for nothing she had studied a
hundred trials, with a woman's observation and patient docility. She had
found out how badly people plead their own causes, and had noticed the
reasons: one of which is that they say too much, and stray from the
point. The line she took, with one exception, was keen brevity.
She cross-examined Thomas Hayes as follows.