Page 23 of The Girl from Greenwich Street

The first, and perhaps the most material evidence on the part of the people, was Mrs. Ring.

—An Impartial Account of the Trial of Mr. Levi Weeks for the Supposed Murder of Miss Julianna Elmore Sands, by James Hardie, A.M.

New York City

March 31, 1800

Caty rose clumsily to her feet.

“Mrs. Ring,”

Mr. Colden said gently. “Do you solemnly declare and affirm that the evidence you shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do.”

The words were ashes on her lips.

This was Elias’s doing; it was he who forced her to—not lie. She wasn’t going to lie. But to withhold. She could feel her soul soiled by it. She wished she could scrub it clean the way she did the washing.

General Hamilton stepped forward, resplendent in a sky-blue coat, the candlelight glinting off the red in his hair.

“Your Honor,”

he said, in a voice that seemed to bounce into every corner of the courtroom. “The defense moves that Mr. Elias Ring be removed from the room while his wife gives her testimony.”

“What?”

Elias exclaimed.

“Your Honor—”

began Mr. Colden.

Caty felt sick with fear. Elias was arguing; the jury was whispering; the spectators were humming with the excitement of it all. The lawyers had convened in a huddle by the bench.

They knew. Why else would they ask? Levi had seen—Levi had told. Mr. Colden had explained to her—Levi wasn’t able to speak in his own case. But what would she do if his lawyers asked her about Elma and Elias?

Lie. She would have to lie, and then burn in hell eternally after.

Justice Lansing gave a smart rap of his gavel. “The prisoner has a right to it, of course, if he requests it. So ordered. Constable, will you escort Mr. Ring from the room?”

“It’s just their attempt to unsettle you,”

Mr. Colden murmured, as though she were a skittish horse, needing to be soothed. For the jury, he asked, “Mrs. Ring, when did Levi Weeks first come into your household?”

Caty could feel Levi’s eyes on her. “In July last, Levi Weeks came to board in our family.”

Seventh month. She ought to have said seventh month. It was against her religion to use heathen names. Already she was displaying her fall from grace.

Caty’s hands felt strange and clumsy in the white gloves Hope had tied on for her, so similar to the gloves she had tied on for Elma the night she disappeared. “Soon after, he began to pay attention to Margaret Clark, till about the twentieth of the eighth month, when she went into the country. About two days after her absence, Gulielma asked me—”

“If you will pardon me.”

Colonel Burr stepped forward. He wasn’t glowing in silk like General Hamilton. His frock coat was of sober black. Somehow, the black-and-white perfection of his tailoring made him even more sinister. “This, Your Honors, is a clear case of hearsay testimony, and does not come within any of the exceptions within the book.”

Caty looked to Mr. Colden, mute with confusion. How was she meant to respond to this?

Mr. Colden was already advancing on the bench. “Your Honors will agree that in the case of a person deceased—”

Colonel Burr was there before him. “No one seeks to deny that the declarations of a deceased person may be sometimes received as evidence against a prisoner, but as the assistant attorney general well knows, that rule applies only when such statements are made in the moments after the fatal blow—not several months before,”

Colonel Burr said drily. “Unless he can show that Gulielma Sands was in apprehension of death as early as August? Such statements are only admissible in the deceased’s final moments, when he must be supposed to be under an equal solemnity as an oath.”

Mr. Colden rallied. “Your Honor, Miss Sands is no longer here to speak on her own account—because she was most cruelly and foully murdered.”

Mr. Livingston unfolded himself from his seat. “Objection.”

“Anyone with conscience should object to the murder of a young girl. Your Honor will surely agree that this is one of those cases where such evidence must be admitted upon necessity.”

Mr. Colden seized triumphantly on one of the books on his table. “I refer, of course, to State Trials 487 and 488, Leeche’s cases, Bacon 563, and Skinner’s Reports.”

Caty had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded suitably impressive.

The attorneys for Levi Weeks, however, were less impressed. “Are we to acknowledge the authority of the English courts, when we have so lately secured our independence from their yoke?”

Brockholst Livingston mused. “State Trials has no precedential effect here, and even if they had, my colleague would do well to refresh his recollection of them. The case of Leech articulates the exact opposite principle than that contended by the prosecution.”

Mr. Colden began thumbing through the pages. “Your Honor, if you look at Skinner . . .”

“This question,”

said Colonel Burr, stepping in front of Mr. Livingston, “is larger than the case at hand. Our nation is a young one, as are our courts. What we determine today sets a pattern not just for the evidence in this case but for thousands—nay, hundreds of thousands—of cases to come. We must not let expedience blind us to the needs of the law.”

They’ll try to trick you, Mr. Colden had warned Caty. But this was something different entirely. Caty felt useless, helpless. She’d thought she was ready for any challenge they’d toss at her but she’d never imagined they’d use the law to brick shut her mouth, to stop her saying anything at all.

“To reply specifically to those cases raised by the assistant attorney general, the witness in the first case to which he referred was suffered to proceed without interruption and no point was made to the court respecting it.”

Colonel Burr smiled pleasantly at Mr. Colden, who was paging through his book with increasing agitation, grabbing at little slips of paper. “As to the second case, it was in the court of sessions in Scotland, and cannot be considered any authority here.”

He bowed to the judges and stepped back.

“The testimony,”

said Justice Lansing, “is ruled inadmissible. Mrs. Ring, you may proceed, but without reference to whatever Elma may have said to you, only what you yourself said and observed.”

“But—”

Caty didn’t know what to say.

Mr. Colden looked pleadingly at her. “You were telling us of what happened when Margaret Clark went to the country.”

Caty wet her dry lips, trying to remember the words she’d rehearsed and rehearsed with Mr. Colden, now with a great hole cut out of the middle of them. “After Margaret Clark had gone to the country a few days, Levi became very attentive to Elma, to whom I mentioned it, and she did not deny it. She and Levi were left together with my husband either the tenth or eleventh of the ninth month.”

General Hamilton bounced up. “Which room did Elma sleep in while you were in the country?”

What did that have to do with anything? “In the front room on the second story.”

Elma had slept in so many rooms while Caty was away.

“After I had been absent about four weeks, I received a letter from my husband, desiring me to come home as he was very lonesome.”

It was hard to keep the bitterness from her voice, to say it matter-of-factly, as if it were what it seemed. “I at first determined to return immediately, but I always thought Levi a man of honor, and that he did not intend to promise further than he intended to perform; therefore I stayed two weeks longer, and I came home six weeks to the day.”

“What was their conduct like upon your return?”

Mr. Colden prompted.

“I saw an appearance of mutual attachment—but nothing improper. During her indisposition, he paid her the strictest attention and spent several nights in the room, saying he did not like to leave her with Hope, my sister, fearing she might get to sleep and neglect her. And in the night he wanted to go for a physician, but I discouraged him, thinking she would get better by morning.”

And she had! They needn’t look at her like that, as though she’d been neglectful. She’d been trying to protect Elma, to hide her shame. If someone had helped Aunt Lizzy as she’d helped Elma, Aunt Lizzy might have been married now, in her own household.

And there would have been no Elma to seduce Caty’s husband and destroy her peace.

The noises had escalated. People were standing and pointing. Caty felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

Caty raised her voice over the murmurs of the crowd. “One night, after she had got much better, choosing to sleep alone, she went to bed, and, as I suppose, Levi was gone also.”

Behind her, she could hear heavy, labored breathing and smell the familiar mix of wool and sweat and her own homemade soap that belonged only to Elias.

“Your Honors!”

It was General Hamilton. “Mr. Ring has reentered the room!”

Chief Justice Lansing gave a smart rap of his gavel. “Constable, remove Mr. Ring.”

Elias grasped her shoulder. “Thee didn’t tell?”

he hissed.

Caty stared at her husband, riven with horror and anger. How could he be such a fool? Did he need to scream his guilt to the world?

Two constables grabbed Elias by the arms. He struggled in their grip. “What God has put together, let no man put asunder! She’s my own wife! Why can’t I hear what she has to say?”

“Because you, Mr. Ring,”

said Chief Justice Lansing, with considerable irritation, “are here not as a husband but as a witness in a murder trial. You will leave this room and not return again until you are told to do so. If you attempt to interrupt your wife’s testimony again, you will be sent to the Bridewell to cool your heels. Do you comprehend?”

“Oh, I comprehend,”

snarled Elias, glaring at Levi’s lawyers.

“Constables!”

snapped Justice Lansing. “Remove him. Mrs. Ring, you may proceed—as soon as the door has closed behind your husband.”

“Mrs. Ring,”

said Mr. Colden, sounding a bit desperate, “can you tell the jury about the events of the twenty-second of December?”

“Of the—yes.”

Caty was having trouble catching her breath; specks like dust motes danced before her eyes. “On the twenty-second of December, my sister Hope went to meeting and Levi went to his brother’s. In a short time, he returned, having fallen and hurt his knee. Sylvanus Russel said, ‘Levi, you won’t be able to go out today.’ He answered, ‘I am determined to, tonight.’”

There were the sounds of a scuffle outside the courtroom. Caty could feel the clammy sweat gathering at her brow, beneath her cap. She rushed on, pouring the story out in a jumble, how Elma had asked her which kerchief to wear, how Caty had insisted Elma go to a neighbor to borrow a muff—here Caty’s throat locked, but she pushed forward. How Levi came in just at eight, and, a minute or two after, as if at a signal, Elma had gone upstairs to get her hat and shawl.

“I took the candle and went upstairs; she had her hat on and her muff in her hand.”

In that moment, when Caty had thought Elma was going to be married, Caty had come closer to feeling fond of Elma than she ever had before. “I observed she looked rather paler than usual, but I thought it a natural consequence and told her not to be frightened.”

A murmur rose from the galleries.

“I went down and left her just ready to follow. Levi took his hat—”

“How long do you suppose it was from the time Levi came in, till they went out?”

demanded Brockholst Livingston.

Caty clasped her cold hands together. “Elma might have remained in the room two minutes. In the whole, I don’t think all the time from Levi’s coming in till they went out exceeded ten minutes.”

“Pray, Mrs. Ring, in what situation did you leave Elma upstairs?”

prompted Mr. Colden.

They’d discussed this. This was the key point, that Levi had left with Elma. “I left her just ready to come down,”

said Caty promptly. “Levi instantly took his hat and went into the entry. I heard a walking on the stairs and a whispering near the door at the bottom of the stairs. The front door was opened and the latch fell. I took up the candle and ran to the door to see which way they went. It was moonlight, but having a candle made it darker.”

It was Brockholst Livingston who interrupted her again. “Mrs. Ring, are you sure you shut the door before?”

As if she were the sort of slattern who would leave her door open at night! “I am positive. It stuck much and it was difficult to shut it. It was something out of order, which made a jarring noise, and it stuck a good deal.”

Mr. Colden stepped in again. “Are you sure about the sound of steps going out?”

Caty looked defiantly at Levi’s lawyers. “I am very positive. I heard the steps very distinctly.”

Chief Justice Lansing looked down at her. “Did Levi return to his lodgings the same night?”

“As I was going to tell, about ten o’clock he returned.”

Caty wasn’t afraid anymore, only annoyed. She would tell them all this if only they’d let her get on with it. “He sat down and said, ‘Is Hope got home?’”

Another murmur from the galleries.

“Then he asked, ‘Is Elma gone to bed?’ I answered, ‘No—she is gone out, at least I saw her ready to go, and have good reason to think she went.’ He said”—Caty looked at Levi—“he said, ‘I’m surprised she should go out so late at night and alone.’”

One of the other judges spoke up, Mr. Harison, the city recorder. “Did you express any alarm to him?”

“No.”

Caty knew how it made her look. But they didn’t understand how it was. “Feeling very uneasy and agitated, I thought I would speak to Levi more particularly than I had done. I went to his door twice, but seemed as if I had not power to enter. I thought perhaps Elma might be sitting by his stove.”

Mr. Harison asked, “Was anything said about Elma at breakfast by anybody?”

“No. Nobody mentioned her until Levi came in, saying, ‘Is Elma got home?’”

Caty could feel her voice breaking. “I answered no. I said, ‘Indeed, Levi, to tell thee the truth, I believe she went out with thee, she told me she was to, and I have good reason to think she did.’ He—he looked surprised and said, ‘If she had gone out with me, she would have come with me, and I never saw her after she left the room.’”

“Was there anything uncommon in his manner?”

inquired Mayor Varick.

“There was to be sure,”

said Caty fiercely, “more than I can express. Nothing more was said until afternoon, when myself and my sister, being so distressed, we determined to stand it no longer and said, ‘Stop, Levi, this matter has become so serious, I can stand it no longer. She told me that night at eight o’clock you were going to be married.’ He turned pale, trembled to a great degree, was agitated, and began to cry, clasping his hands together, cried out, ‘I’m ruined—I’m ruined—I’m undone forever unless she appears to clear me.’”

She should have known then. She should have gone straight to the constables, to someone. No one could blame her more for it than she blamed herself.

“Two days later, Levi, seeing us much distressed, sat down and endeavored to console us, saying, ‘Give her up, she is gone, no doubt—it’s my firm belief she’s now in eternity.’ I answered, ‘Why does thee say so?’ He replied, ‘Why, I heard her say she wished she never had an existence.’ I replied, ‘If thee recollects, I don’t doubt thee has heard me say so.’”

“Pray, Mrs. Ring,”

drawled Mr. Livingston, “did you say you had wished you never had an existence?”

“Yes! I dare say I have!”

Caty glared at him, too angry to be afraid. “In this very case, I might say, ‘I wish I never had an existence to witness such a scene.’”

A faint smile spread across Mr. Livingston’s lips, and he bowed, acknowledging the point.

“Pray, Mrs. Ring,”

said Mr. Colden, “I wish you would be particular as to her temper and disposition on the twenty-second.”

“I never saw her pleasanter in her life,”

Caty said honestly. “She was more so than usual.”

“What was her general temper of mind?”

“Very lively, open, and free.”

Colonel Burr stepped in. “Was it not more so than is usual among Friends?”

“I always thought her disposition rather too gay for a Friend—but she altered her dress and behavior to please me,”

Caty added hastily.

“How old was she?”

asked Mr. Colden.

“About five years younger than myself. She was about twenty-two at the time of her death.”

Caty squeezed her eyes shut, surprised by grief. It was Hope’s voice, crying that she would soon be older than Elma would ever be. It was the memory of Elma, that last afternoon, the Elma she might have been, married and no longer Caty’s burden. “I regarded her as a sister.”

“When was the body found?”

asked Mr. Colden.

Her voice hoarse, Caty said, “The twelfth day after she left our house, or the second of January.”

“No further questions,”

said Mr. Colden.

Caty, her eyes stinging, would have stepped down, but Colonel Burr asked, “What was the character of Levi Weeks while he boarded with your family?”

“It was such as to gain the esteem of everyone in the family,”

said Caty bitterly.

“Did you observe the prisoner after this affair of the twenty-second eat his meals as usual?”

This affair? As if it were a package gone astray and not a girl dead. “I believe he did.”

“Did Levi ever walk out with your sister Hope?”

Caty blinked. “He went once to a charity sermon with her, and Elma was to have gone too, but the going was wet and she was not very well, and I would not suffer her to go.”

“What was the state of Elma’s health generally?”

Mr. Colden had warned her they would try to bring up the laudanum. “For about a year past, she was at times rather unwell,”

said Caty cautiously.

General Hamilton jumped in. “Had she any habitual illnesses?”

Caty fell back on the old explanation. “She was at times rather troubled with the cramp in her stomach.”

“Where was her usual lodging room?”

Caty didn’t understand these questions at all. Why the concern about Elma’s room when she had died in a field on the outskirts of the city?

“In the front room. She at first slept in the third story before she went into the country, but for the three weeks before her death, she slept in the back room in the second story.”

“Was it not next to Mr. Watkins’s bedroom?”

Caty didn’t know where Mr. Watkins’s bedroom was. When she visited with the neighbors, she tended to stay downstairs. She hadn’t Elma’s habit of visiting bedrooms. “It was next, I believe.”

“Did you ever ask Levi whether he was engaged to Elma?”

“Never till after her death.”

“Nor said a word about it to him,”

General Hamilton pressed.

“No.”

She knew how it looked, but she couldn’t help it.

General Hamilton’s voice rang out through the room. “Had you any reason to suspect that any other person but Levi had an improper intimacy with her?”

There was a ringing in Caty’s ears. She looked him right in the eye and lied. “No.”

She braced herself for the inevitable rejoinder, the direct question she couldn’t ignore. But instead he asked, “Do you know of what materials the wall between your house and Watkins’s is composed?”

Did he think she was a carpenter? “I don’t know.”

“No further questions,”

said General Hamilton, smiling at her as though she had told him something he wanted to know.

What had she said?

Nothing. Nothing but what she and Mr. Colden had practiced. And they hadn’t asked her about Elias. The relief of it made her light-headed.

At the back of the room, she could see the doors opening, as Elias was readmitted. He jerked his head at her. Caty gave a little shake of her head. Their secret hadn’t come out.

Yet.