The Sapphire Brooch Katherine Logan (best beach reads TXT) 📖

arm, took Charlotte’s hand, and kissed it. “I know ye’ll worry, regardless of what I say. So I’ll leave with one of Kit’s favorite ditties, a Shaker hymn, I believe.

“’Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,

’Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

’Twill be in the valley of love and delight

When true simplicity is gain’d,

To bow and to bend we shan’t be asham’d,

To turn, turn will be our delight,

Till by turning, turning we come round right.”

“What a beautiful song. There’s a message there, but I’m missing it today,” Charlotte said.

“Turn, Charlotte, and ye’ll find yerself in a place just right. Kit did, and I know ye will, too.”

90

Washington City, 1865

The courtroom already buzzed with speculation about the identities of the prosecution’s star witnesses against Jack. There were opinions bandied about, but no one knew for sure, including the defense, or so the prosecutor believed.

Heads turned as eyes followed Braham to his chair. There was no mistaking the spectators’ looks of admiration. Several newspaper articles had appeared yesterday describing Braham’s exploits as a master spy. Somehow the public now knew about his near-death experiences in Richmond.

Folks were curious about the hero lawyer representing a conspirator, wondering why he would risk his reputation for such a distasteful assignment. Cullen and Braham were betting if the citizenry’s consciousness was aroused, they might take another look at the evidence against their client. It had been part of the defense’s strategy from the beginning, including leaking certain information. After today, the defense team hoped to have the press firmly on its side, and with the press came public opinion.

Braham and Cullen took their seats at the defense table, put their briefcases aside, and then sat quietly, with hands clasped on top of the table. When General Holt entered, he scanned the table, noting the absence of law books and papers usually stacked in front of Braham. He glared, giving Braham a questioning lift of his brow.

Once the commissioners were seated, the defendants were brought into the courtroom and their hoods were removed. Jack blinked at the sudden bombardment of light in his eyes. Braham nodded with only a slight dip of his chin while raising his thumb. Jack blinked again, gave Braham a quick nod, and settled into his seat.

Cullen had never seen his client outside the courtroom, but Jack’s demeanor when compared with the other defendants clearly set him apart. The press commented on his intelligence and compassion, and his proper courtroom demeanor. Press reports attributed it to his pose, which drew attention to his best attributes: penetrating blue eyes, sculpted features, muscular frame, and large, relaxed hands. To Cullen, the lines around Jack’s eyes and mouth made him look tired. Otherwise, he appeared to be holding up well enough, although his clothes and hair were more and more disheveled. Braham and Cullen had always before insisted their clients dress in their best Sunday clothes for court appearances. It wasn’t possible for Jack.

General Hunter pounded his gavel and Cullen turned in his chair. Today his assignment was to observe the commissioners, members of the press, and spectators, and to note their body language and facial expressions.

If the defense would ever completely win over the commissioners and the press, it would happen today. Later, the arguments which triggered favorable reactions would be the ones Braham stressed during closing arguments.

“General Holt, call your first witness in the case against Jack Mallory,” General Hunter said.

Holt pointed to the guard standing next to the witness room. “Send in the witness.”

A man worn down by life and age shuffled into the room, swiping at shanks of thinning, dirty gray hair. His pursed lips and shuttered eyes gave him a sinister appearance. Holt directed him to the witness stand where he stood holding tightly to the rail, whether for balance or fear, Cullen couldn’t tell. A combination of both, most likely. After being sworn in, Holt asked him to state his name and occupation.

“Name’s Troy Stroker. I’m a hackney driver.”

“Who is your employer?” Holt asked.

Stroker licked his lips. “John Howard. It’s his livery stables where I rent my carriage.”

“Do you recognize any of the defendants in this case?”

Stroker turned, wobbled a bit, then pointed at Jack.

“Let the record show the witness identified Jack Mallory. Now, Mr. Stroker, did you have an occasion to pick up Mr. Mallory and deliver him to his requested destination?”

The witness wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Yes, sir. It was in March. I picked him and Mr. Booth up at a residence next to the Lafayette Park. I remember because the Booth fella called the defendant there…” Stroker pointed over his shoulder toward Jack. “Called him Mr. Jack Mallory. I thought it was odd.”

“Where did they ask you to take them?” General Holt asked.

“To the National Hotel.”

“Did you hear any of their conversation?”

Stroker shrugged. “Just a word or two. Theys was goin’ to celebrate their April plan.”

“Their April plan?” Holt raised his brow, glancing at the commissioners for effect. “You remember those words specifically?”

“I do, sir. I do. Thought it were odd. But I remember. Came to tell you right away after the shooting and all.”

“Did anyone ask you to make the report?”

“Oh, no. No. No. No one asked me. I did it on my own.”

“Thank you for being such a good citizen, Mr. Stroker. No more questions for this witness.”

“Colonel McCabe, your witness,” General Hunter said.

Braham stood. He tapped his fingertips on top of the table, looking straight ahead. Several members of the commission leaned forward slightly, waiting. The press also waited with pencils poised. Finally Braham said, “Who’s yer employer, did ye say?”

“John Howard.”

“And how long have ye worked for him?”

“A few weeks.”

“Who did ye work for previously?”

“Ah.” Stroker licked his lips and swallowed.

Braham rubbed a finger down his nose, thinking. “Ye did have an employer, didn’t ye? A former employer?”

“James Pumphrey,” Stroker said under his breath.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear