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Authors: Alanna Knight
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man, radiant in countenance and confident in the future.
How could Jeremy Faro, the friend whom he believed was more than that – kin who could be trusted – now with his terrible knowledge, use the power in his hands to ruin for ever that image of hope and happiness.
As he reached them in the little courtyard, he saw the two lovers were absorbed in each other, Lena snuggling into Erland’s side, smiling up into his face. She looked so young, so pretty and wistful and – dear God, so innocent – Faro found himself remembering that was exactly how she had appeared during her trial.
Hardly hearing their bright conversation about those inevitable wedding arrangements, he saw instead that hot dusty Edinburgh courtroom waiting for the trial to begin, the room packed, the audience noisy with clerks hurrying among the desks, distributing papers and official documents. A sudden hush as judges and lawyers took their seats, an absolute silence of anticipation as a trapdoor in the floor opened and Madeleine ascended, wearing a brown silk gown, lavender gloves and a white bonnet with a veil.
An artist seated directly below Faro was already busily sketching, possibly for the various newspapers whose reporters were waiting anxiously for her image. Madeleine, as if aware of the artist, turned round to look at the reporters to see how they were getting along with the note taking carrying her name and notoriety into every British home. Not only in Edinburgh and Glasgow newspapers but even the London Times carried a daily report of the proceedings.
The prisoner, a young lady of remarkably prepossessing appearance, took her place at the bar with a firm step and a composed aspect, her self-control never forsaking her for a moment…she entered the dock with all the buoyancy with which she might have entered the box of a theatre… her restless sparkling eyes, her perfect self-possession indeed could only be accounted for either by a proud conscience of innocence, or by her possessing an almost unparalleled amount of self-control. Through her veil she seemed to scan the witnesses with a scrutinising glance and even smiled with all the air and grace of a young lady in the drawing room, as her agents came forward at intervals to communicate with her.
Any man would have considered her desirable. Faro recognised that. Small, slender, vulnerable and quite lovely. She carried a small vial of smelling salts which he never saw her use during that nine-day trial. Her Declaration was read out and verified and the Sheriff remarked that her answers were given clearly and distinctly. There was no appearance of hesitation or reserve but there was a great appearance of frankness and candour.
The audience held their breath as the indictments to murder on three occasions, two in February and one in March, were read aloud.
All eyes turned to Madeleine, who stood up and said in a clear voice, ‘Not guilty.’ She sat down again, her polite and gentle smile with no more emotion than she would have declined an invitation to a supper party. After that, silence. This was her one and only public utterance for she was not permitted by the law to speak in her own defence.
Faro observed her closely and saw how with every witness her demeanour was the same. Calm and unruffled, she listened with complete attention, sometimes leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand.
Only once, with the recitation of her letters which took an entire day, was there any change in her self-control. But even the flat monotone, the strong Glasgow intonation of the elderly Clerk of the Court, could not disguise the passion and the implications of the word ‘love’, often underlined emphatically, which indicated that there was indeed a sexual relationship. Some portions, however, were considered too obscene to be read out in court and were excluded by the three judges, and at such announcements she occasionally hid her face in her hands.
As Lena did at that moment. But
How could Jeremy Faro, the friend whom he believed was more than that – kin who could be trusted – now with his terrible knowledge, use the power in his hands to ruin for ever that image of hope and happiness.
As he reached them in the little courtyard, he saw the two lovers were absorbed in each other, Lena snuggling into Erland’s side, smiling up into his face. She looked so young, so pretty and wistful and – dear God, so innocent – Faro found himself remembering that was exactly how she had appeared during her trial.
Hardly hearing their bright conversation about those inevitable wedding arrangements, he saw instead that hot dusty Edinburgh courtroom waiting for the trial to begin, the room packed, the audience noisy with clerks hurrying among the desks, distributing papers and official documents. A sudden hush as judges and lawyers took their seats, an absolute silence of anticipation as a trapdoor in the floor opened and Madeleine ascended, wearing a brown silk gown, lavender gloves and a white bonnet with a veil.
An artist seated directly below Faro was already busily sketching, possibly for the various newspapers whose reporters were waiting anxiously for her image. Madeleine, as if aware of the artist, turned round to look at the reporters to see how they were getting along with the note taking carrying her name and notoriety into every British home. Not only in Edinburgh and Glasgow newspapers but even the London Times carried a daily report of the proceedings.
The prisoner, a young lady of remarkably prepossessing appearance, took her place at the bar with a firm step and a composed aspect, her self-control never forsaking her for a moment…she entered the dock with all the buoyancy with which she might have entered the box of a theatre… her restless sparkling eyes, her perfect self-possession indeed could only be accounted for either by a proud conscience of innocence, or by her possessing an almost unparalleled amount of self-control. Through her veil she seemed to scan the witnesses with a scrutinising glance and even smiled with all the air and grace of a young lady in the drawing room, as her agents came forward at intervals to communicate with her.
Any man would have considered her desirable. Faro recognised that. Small, slender, vulnerable and quite lovely. She carried a small vial of smelling salts which he never saw her use during that nine-day trial. Her Declaration was read out and verified and the Sheriff remarked that her answers were given clearly and distinctly. There was no appearance of hesitation or reserve but there was a great appearance of frankness and candour.
The audience held their breath as the indictments to murder on three occasions, two in February and one in March, were read aloud.
All eyes turned to Madeleine, who stood up and said in a clear voice, ‘Not guilty.’ She sat down again, her polite and gentle smile with no more emotion than she would have declined an invitation to a supper party. After that, silence. This was her one and only public utterance for she was not permitted by the law to speak in her own defence.
Faro observed her closely and saw how with every witness her demeanour was the same. Calm and unruffled, she listened with complete attention, sometimes leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand.
Only once, with the recitation of her letters which took an entire day, was there any change in her self-control. But even the flat monotone, the strong Glasgow intonation of the elderly Clerk of the Court, could not disguise the passion and the implications of the word ‘love’, often underlined emphatically, which indicated that there was indeed a sexual relationship. Some portions, however, were considered too obscene to be read out in court and were excluded by the three judges, and at such announcements she occasionally hid her face in her hands.
As Lena did at that moment. But
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