America's First Daughter: A Novel(98)

Inside, I was all atremble, but I somehow kept my voice steady and calm. You’re a Jefferson, I thought, as if to spite Colonel Randolph. Sunny disposition, but ice water in your veins. “No sir, I’m not confessing to a crime. In truth, I hadn’t the slightest notion that Nancy could’ve been with child, though, obviously, I suspect it now.”

At my words, Patrick Henry couldn’t recover swiftly enough. It was John Marshall whose cool question cut through the crowded courtroom. “If you had no notion that Nancy Randolph might be with child, why did you supply her with the gum?”

That was the question I’d needed someone to ask, and I wanted to pat Mr. Marshall on the head like a good dog for asking it. “I gave her the gum because I know it is an excellent medicine for colic. So when my sister-in-law complained of colic—you know, Nancy has been afflicted with colic as long as I’ve known her—”

The judges looked impatient with my aside, but I saw hatted heads nod amongst the spectators. I’d laid my ground over a hundred teacups these past weeks, sighing of Nancy’s delicate stomach. Was there a soul in Virginia who wouldn’t swear she’d always had colic? Not after the seeds I’d sewn.

“She’s delicate that way,” I said. “It runs in the family. So when I visited a few weeks before the incident, I added some of the resin to her tea and encouraged her to avail herself of it whenever she felt her pains coming on.”

Nancy went even paler at my story, shock and confusion warring in her expression. Meanwhile, Mr. Marshall was quick to seize upon my testimony. “Did the defendant, Richard Randolph, know that you provided such medicine to the women in his household?”

I gave a disdainful sniff. “Womanly troubles are hardly the sort of thing a gentlewoman of Virginia discusses with menfolk . . . unless, of course, she’s dragged from hearth and home to talk about it before the whole county.”

I heard a chuckle in the audience, followed by another. I’d been a little tart, but not too tart. They were charmed by me, I hoped.

Marshall leaned forward. “Is that why you didn’t mention it before now?”

Acutely aware that my husband was in this courtroom, no doubt burning a hole in me with his dark eyes, I replied, “I hadn’t thought of it before now. I came here believing the accusation was against Richard for some criminal mischief. But when I heard witnesses blaming Nancy for taking an elixir, that’s when I remembered the gum.”

I don’t think I fooled the owlish Mr. Marshall, but he wasn’t about to lose a case by contradicting me. I’d given him the bait. Now it was up to the illustrious lawyers for the defense. I’d provided all the evidence they should need to persuade the magistrates that even if Nancy had been delivered of a child, it was likely stillborn—its death an accident, not murder.

But would anyone believe me?





“NOT GUILTY,” CAME THE VERDICT.

Richard let out a triumphant cry, while Nancy’s knees nearly buckled underneath her. Some people cried, “Shame, shame!” Not at Richard, but at his accusers, many of whom were slaves, forbidden from testifying at all.

Given the glee with which Richard celebrated the verdict, hooting with no sense of decorum, he seemed to believe himself vindicated. His honor restored.

I knew better.

In the end, he’d been saved by women. By Nancy’s willingness to sacrifice her own honor by writing that letter, by my willingness to lie, and even by his poor betrayed wife.

Judy had stayed by his side, insisting to the court that her husband and her sister were innocent. What other option did she have? She couldn’t let him die. Neither could she leave him and go back to her father, even if Colonel Randolph would’ve had her back. She was Richard Randolph’s wife and could never be separated from him. His fate was her fate. If he was ruined, so was she. So if she had to pretend her husband had no carnal knowledge of her sister, then that’s what she’d do.

I felt so sorry for Judy, betrayed once already by her husband and her own sister. Sorrier, still, when Richard insisted that Nancy return with them to Bizarre. For a moment I feared that my husband would rush upon Nancy and tear her away from her lover. Or, much worse, that he’d descend upon Richard and dash his head open on the cobblestones. But in spite of all the rage brewing in him, my husband kept his silence, a thing more galling to him than perhaps any other indignity of his life.

And I was so unutterably proud of him, though I remained more than a little frightened of his reaction to what I’d done. Nancy never thanked me for it. Never spared me a glance. I supposed it was because she knew perfectly well the judgment she’d see in my eyes—for she’d already seen it, that night in the darkness of Bizarre’s kitchen. For my husband’s sake, I’d saved her life, but I knew they were guilty. I knew not only that they were guilty, but also that only a small part of the world would be influenced by the decision of the court.

Nevertheless, we watched Tom’s disgraced sister climb into Richard’s phaeton and drive off with him, either too stupid, or too deluded, to realize that she ought to be chastened to her soul by the entire sordid debacle.

In our carriage back home, Tom quietly said, “They’d have strung my sister up.”

“Yes,” I replied, nervously wetting my lips.

His gaze burned into the side of my face. “They would’ve strung her up—if not for you.”