An Unspeakable Crime Page 2

  Letter from Patrick Henry to John Marshall

  Dear Mr. Marshall,

  My good man, how are you? Life finds us well although I am hoping soon to increase my land holdings soon and my plans to do so inhabit my brain. As with all things in life, I find these plans to be more of a dream than a reality, which is a rather sobering thought. That said, I found Mr. Randolph’s generous offer regarding compensation to appease my worries regarding the same.

  Besides inquiring after you and your good family, I feel that we should share my thoughts about young Mr. Randolph and his current predicament. I realize that some of this may be old news, but allow me to “educate” you for the purpose of organizing my own thoughts. I must tell you I believe Richard is rather correct to be fairly pessimistic about his likelihood of being charged. The so-called Bizarre Scandal is all that anyone can talk about. As you likely know, the papers can speak of nothing else. It cannot be ignored that the parties in question are both cousins and in-laws to the illustrious Mr. Jefferson, turning this rather odd family drama into a minor political dilemma. I have no reason to believe the Secretary of State even knows of the existence of this matter although it is hard to see how that can remain the case seeing as how Mr. Randolph’s brother-in-law lives at Monticello with the man himself.

  Ironically, connection to such a powerful man does not seem to help Mr. Randolph’s plight. While I think most Virginians hold the Jefferson's in high esteem, the connection to such an illustrious person is only fanning the fires of the gossip mills. And that, my esteemed co-counsel, is what I feel I must tell you above all else: The ladies of Virginia smell blood. The passion and vehemence in which our women are discussing this matter has taken on an alarming strength. I likely need not tell you that women do not seem to warm to the idea that a husband would welcome his wife’s teenage sister into the marital home and then make love to the girl behind his wife’s back.

  Nancy, the sister in question, is seen as a victim, but I would predict it is only a matter of time before she finds herself completely shut out of polite society. Even now, the wives of Cumberland County are trying to discern whether the girl was an innocent victim seduced by a conniving older man, or if she is a manipulative vixen, stealing her sister’s husband right under her own sibling’s nose. (And after the wife had a child of her own, a point that my wife indicates makes this situation that much more inflaming to the gentle female sensitivity.)

  And the seduction is, as you know, only the half of it. The public here seems determined to believe Nancy was most certainly pregnant on October 1, 1972, the night she, Judith, and Richard found themselves at the Harrison’s Glentivar Plantation. There is no question in the minds of our good ladies. So if she was pregnant, who was the father? Worse: What happened to that baby? Because there is no baby.

  There is no baby, Mr. Marshall.

  As it is, Mr. Randolph has not been charged with any crime at all. Nor is there any dead body to be found, I might add. But if Richard continues on the path he seems insistent upon following, I fear that charges are imminent. He wishes to fight duels with his brothers-in-law (who have thus far refused his offers, thank God) and he wishes to declare his innocence in the local press. My God, he even wishes to throw himself upon the mercy of the court and ask them to try him. To clear his name, of course. I have never heard of such ridiculous approaches to determining innocence and I say that with all the due respect of knowing you and I have differing opinions on that last issue.

  You and I are somewhat different in our approach to law if I may say so. I will presume that you take that as a compliment as I don’t believe you have held my rather oratory style of law to be the more pure form of the art. Well, be that as may, I would like to stress that every day that passes at this rate increases the public’s dislike and speculation about the Randolph's of Bizarre. But there is nothing in my training, practice or experience that would indicate that Mr. Randolph should do anything to volunteer to be tried for infanticide. If he is found guilty, he will hang. If he is tried, there is at least a fifty percent chance he will be found guilty, regardless of whether he is.

  Mr. Marshall, those are bad odds, even if the man is innocent. Especially if the man is innocent.

  I implore—I am not too proud to use the word beg—to ask you to second my advice to Mr. Randolph that he should lie low. He absolutely should not fan the flames of this fire.

  Signed, Patrick Henry

  ******

  Letter from John Marshall to Patrick Henry

  Dear Mr. Henry,

  It was good to receive your letter—it has been far too long since we have last spoken. I suppose that now we will find that we grow tired of each other’s company we will see each other with such frequency. That said, I share your enthusiasm for working together and do most wholeheartedly agree that it is odd to assemble a legal team or coalition before being charged with any crime or sued in a court of law. I must admit that I rather find myself like a fish out of water. I am a man of the law and I am not implying that you are not, Mr. Henry. What I mean to say by that is that I also find myself somewhat at a loss as to my role at this juncture. There is no legal analysis I can give to young Mr. Randolph until a case has been presented.

  Perhaps that is why I must stick to my original suggestion that Richard in fact appear at the court and ask for an inquest. It is rash, but you are so very correct in pointing out that there is no victim here. No victim’s body, rather. What there is, is an ever-increasing cloud of gossip that will likely only get worse. Before every mind in this county has been poisoned against Richard and Nancy, I think we should have this matter adjudicated. Right now I believe there is a chance of winning.

  Now, all that said, I will confess that I have gone through several possible hypotheticals in order to be best prepared should Mr. Randolph find himself before the justices of Cumberland County. I fear that many of the possible outcomes are not great and thus you are not wrong in presuming that it a voluntary inquest may lead to heartache. The gossips have charged Richard and Nancy with the crime of adultery, one that could be detrimental to both, but most especially to Nancy if they also charge her. Very charming young woman if you haven’t already met her. And infanticide is likely the most horrid form of murder. It is rather hard to argue any mitigating factors when one has killed (hypothetically) a baby. Naturally, I don’t think Richard or Nancy are guilty, but one hopes that we can convince others of the same should it come to that.

  Most Sincerely,

  John Marshall

  ******

  Henry sighed as he folded up Marshall’s concise but quickly received response. It would appear that he and the great Mr. Marshall were not of the same mind regarding whether one should volunteer oneself for criminal prosecution. Henry was a famous and well-regarded attorney—well enough regarded for John Marshall himself to ask him to join this legal team. But it would seem that in the balance of things, John Marshall was perhaps more famous and well-regarded since his word was the be all, end all apparently. Well, it would create work for Henry and he could always blame any catastrophes on his colleague. Fine, he determined, it’s not my problem to worry about. If he allowed himself to think it, Henry realized it was hurtful that his opinion apparently meant nothing at all. But there was no time now for such thoughts.

  This was the calm before the storm. Henry’s quiet day, the peaceful routine he had settled into building up his farm was all about to be disrupted. He knew it would be temporary—the chaos and anxiety that were about to enter his life would not last forever, though it would be so intense it would feel endless in the moment. It wouldn’t change his life or his legacy—people were unlikely to remember that Patrick Henry was involved with Richard Randolph—but it would live in Henry’s mind and said mind was an unforgiving place. Likely whatever horrors awaited would become part of an arsenal of old lawyer war stories to tell for a laugh with colleagues. Battle scars. But for Henry they would be real.

  The fact was that Henry wo
uld retire in a heartbeat if only he could buy a bigger, more profitable plantation. Like a respectable Virginian. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the practice of law; it was just that the practice had picked him up, put him in its mouth, chewed for a few decades, and spit him out. All only to pick him up again and begin the process again. It was Henry’s own Inferno.

  It was a depressing outlook and Henry knew he had to adjust his attitude. It would make life so much easier to affect a carefree demeanor about the whole thing. He would smile and be happy and hope to God that his client took good advice and this all just went away. Or he hoped that Richard Randolph would listen to John Marshall if not to Patrick Henry and that said Mr. Marshall would then clean up the mess he was about to create.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A FEW WEEKS HAD passed without a word. Long enough to presume that perhaps all the anxiety and worry about whether Richard Randolph would get himself hanged was all for naught. Henry hadn’t heard from the young plantation owner or from John Marshall, nor had Richard paid him for any future services. Henry had all but presumed that the story had died a natural death and life would go on. While his wife assured him otherwise, that the women of Cumberland County were still recounting the horrors of Bizarre, Henry had heard little lately about the whole affair. This may have been willful ignorance on his part. Still, it was with carefree pleasure that Henry picked up his copy of the Virginia Gazette one fine morning in April 1793.

  Henry enjoyed reading the paper, finding out what his fellow Virginians were up to and what was happening around the Commonwealth. It was relaxing, a calming ritual. But there was nothing at all relaxing about the paper on that day, in fact, quite the opposite. Henry set down the Gazette and rang his bell for his manservant Thomas to fetch his best bottle of whisky. When Thomas didn’t come quickly enough, Henry reached for his emergency flask, nearby in the drawer of his large study desk. God help me, he muttered under his breath as he took a calming and generous swig of the strong liquid. God please help me.

  When Thomas finally made it to the study, Henry had put both hands on his desk and was breathing deeply, his head drooping towards his desk. “Mr. Henry, sir? Are you all right sir?” Thomas asked, worry furrowing his brow. As much as he tried to hide it from the world, Thomas knew the attorney and statesman was failing.

  While he wasn’t in the mood to be coddled, Henry appreciated Thomas’ concern. Henry was good, or tried to be, to his bondsmen. He felt that slavery was an abomination, but also a necessary evil. He tried to treat his own slaves as decently as he could to make up for the personal guilt he experienced as he continued to grow his landholdings and thus his number of slaves. To make up for the awkwardness of owning the man standing in his study, Henry felt he at least deserved respect. Which was difficult on the one hand because Henry was perfectly close to raging. He took a few breaths as Thomas continued to fret.

  "I’m sorry something delayed me, sir." Thomas was not unfamiliar with Henry’s moods by this point, a fact that brought both peace of mind and embarrassment.

  “Tom, I am in a perfectly terrible mood. I am furious. Just bring me my bottle of whisky from the pantry and be done with it.” Thomas turned immediately to follow his master’s orders. How refreshing, Henry thought, that at least someone did as told. So unlike the young Mr. Richard Randolph, who apparently felt he was well-suited to disregard Henry's advice.

  How explicit Henry had been with telling Richard—and his co-counsel—to not, under any circumstances, reach out to the press with his story? To Henry’s recollection, their words had brooked no alternate interpretation. Do not contact the press. Hardly any room for interpretation, Henry would think. Not for a reasonably intelligent man who spoke English as their primary tongue. Do. Not. Contact. The. Press. Five simple and unmistakable words.

  And yet, sitting right there in front of Henry, printed in black and white typeset in the Virginia Gazette, Henry came upon a letter written by none other than Mr. Richard Randolph of Bizarre Plantation. And now, Henry thought with dread, here we go.

  The Virginia Gazette, April 17, 1793

  My character has lately been the subject of much conversation, blackened with the gossip and imputation of crimes at which all humanity revolts, and which the laws of society have pronounced worthy of the most severe punishment. The charges against me have been spread far and wide throughout this county and beyond before I received any word of the lies being spread about my family and myself. Since learning of this horrifying gossip, I have been endeavoring to trace it to its origin, but all along the strength of the story has only continued to grow in the minds of the people.

  It will take far too long to wait for this story to die out in the public’s mind, as I am sure it shall, as it is wholly untrue. Rather, in the meantime, my name, and that of Miss Nancy Randolph, is only further impugned by these lies, despite our innocence. Thus, in order to clear our names, I have resolved to present myself before the Bar of the public and submit myself to judicial inquest.

  I do therefore give notice to the public and the court that on the first day of the next April session of the Cumberland County Court, I will appear and render myself a prisoner before that court. I will then answer in due course of law to any charge of crime that any person shall appear to allege against me. Let not my accusers pretend an unwillingness to appear to testify against me if they are so willing to testify in the privacy of their homes. I will consider it a favor to be allowed the opportunity to hear their accusations in person and to therefore refute them.

  I ask that a pretended tenderness or sympathy for my supposed accomplice not shelter me from the worst accusations. Neither she nor I need any such protections. She will meet such accusations with a fortitude of which innocence alone is capable.

  If my accusers decline this invitation—out of shame or fear they can determine—there yet remains another mode of procedure that I am equally ready to meet. Let them state to any of the public papers, with precision and clearness, the facts of which they charge me and what evidence they have of such “facts,” whether direct or circumstantial. Let them tell the public how I am to be proven guilty of these rumors, leaving out no details of their claims. The public shall then judge me according to other rules than the strict rules of legal evidence.

  If neither of these methods be adopted in order to fix the stigma which has been imposed upon me, let my candor acquit me of the unspeakable crime of which I am falsely accused.

  Richard Randolph, Jr., March 29, 1793

  An unspeakable crime, indeed, Henry thought as he threw the paper across the room. Yet for something so unspeakable, it would seem that Richard couldn’t help himself from talking. So much for a calm, reflective day. Henry had an inquest to prepare.

  ******

  “We only have a few days to prepare, Patrick,” John Marshall was calm, almost detached from the raging stress of the situation he had created. Henry needed time to calm down from the shock of Richard’s proclamation, but time was not a luxury afforded. The paper had come out on Wednesday; Richard was to report to the courthouse the following Monday. It was hardly time enough to prepare a murder defense. The good news was that it was hardly enough time for the Commonwealth to create a case on their end. That said, when John Marshall had arrived at Red Hill, nearly galloping all the way from Richmond, he had in hand a hastily written but very real warrant:

  To Richard Randolph of Bizarre Plantation, along with his sister-in-law, Miss Nancy Randolph. We have issued a warrant for your arrest in the murder of an unknown child and for fornication outside of marriage. We hereby request you to turn yourselves over to the jailer of the Cumberland County Courthouse by the end of this month, April of the year 1793. If you do not report to the keeper of the Cumberland County Jail by the end of this month as requested, we shall come for you.

  Really, Henry was still astounded that Marshall had encouraged such a thing. “Do you really think this was the wise course, John? There is no turning back and I don’t know if it w
as a great first impression with the public for Richard to make such an impassioned and confident statement. He may be over-promising.”

  “Patrick, I agree with you that the release via the most popular newspaper in the county was not the best course of action,” Marshall acquiesced. It wasn’t exactly a mea culpa, but Henry wasn’t looking for a show, just an honest discussion. “I was thinking more along the lines of appearing at the court and demanding an inquest. That would have given Richard the benefit of catching the Commonwealth off guard and the public would hear soon enough he had made such a heroic gesture. I would like to clarify that I did not encourage such an emotional display. The law I can handle; I can leave a heartfelt soliloquy to the poets and playwrights.”

  Henry chuckled at Marshall’s earnest response. John Marshall was only thirty-seven years old—hardly a spring chicken, but not as old as the falling-apart Henry—but his reputation was that of a seasoned jurist. While Henry had no previous ill will towards the younger attorney, he was curious how someone so smart could make such a poorly calculated decision. But then, in Henry’s experience, courtroom agility didn’t require logic, but wit. At least Marshall had a good reason for his thoughts.

  “Well, at any rate, here we are. We have a murder inquest but no list of witnesses, no formal charges, just a request to turn over our client,” Henry listed on his fingers. “And the fact that neither you nor I live in Cumberland.”

  “Don’t worry on the last issue, Patrick. I have a set of rooms ready and went to the liberty of renting a set for you. I believe you will find the accommodations to be comfortable,” Marshall smiled. “Please let me know what I can do.”

  Marshall’s thoughtfulness impressed Henry. Of course, it also meant that Henry now couldn't bow out, claiming no logistical manner in which to get and stay near the county courthouse. Well, there was one way to decline to move forward. “I appreciate that all very much, John, but I am afraid that I should not incur such costs… it would seem that Mr. Randolph hasn't officially hired me. He never made payment.” Henry did his best to look disappointed.