A chuckle rippled through the crowd, and Elizabeth looked mystified at what the joke could be. Her breath hitched in her chest before she continued, this time with wide eyes taking in the whole courtroom. “I’ve always been so proud of the asylum. It’s a beautiful place, and I knew that we’d do right by Senator Mae when he was there. They didn’t want any of the patients near him, but I thought maybe a peek wouldn’t hurt anybody.

“I watched the carriages come from my window, all the fine people walking up the steps that I use too, and I picked out Senator Mae right away. You can’t mistake someone who walks with that kind of pride.”

Another titter swept the room, this one more restrained.

“I sat in my room and I listened,” Elizabeth went on. “I’m close to the stairs on the women’s wing so all their voices sort of float up to me. I couldn’t make out words of course, but people got louder as the night went on. I help in the kitchens, so I knew there had been ever so much alcohol ordered in. I thought this was my chance. If I wanted to sneak down and take a look at all the fine people, I should go when they were distracted by drink.”

Elizabeth fell quiet for a moment, the hush of the courtroom so still everyone could hear her draw her next breath. “I went down a flight of stairs, thinking I’d come to the ballroom through a side door, when Mr.—I’m sorry—Senator Mae himself turned the corner. I felt all nervous straightaway, knowing that they didn’t want him bothered with having to see mental patients. So I tried to excuse myself, but he said he was looking for . . . he needed—” Elizabeth broke off, her face scarlet.

“He needed what, Elizabeth?” Pickering prompted.

“He was looking for the privy, sir,” Elizabeth blurted out, her embarrassment sending the court into peals of laughter. Her flush faded after she took a drink of water, then continued. “He asked whether we had indoor plumbing—and we do, sir, the asylum added it new just a few years ago. It’s ever so very nice.”

Mr. Pickering leaned against the witness box, a patient smile on his face. “And what happened next, Elizabeth?”

“I told Senator Mae that I didn’t dare take him over to the men’s wing to their privy, but he said he’d use the women’s so long as I didn’t tell anyone, and he wouldn’t tell anyone I was out of my room. Then he kind of winked at me, and I thought maybe it would be okay to help a senator, even if I was out of bed and taking him into the women’s side. He’s . . .” Elizabeth paused, her eyes dropping. “He’s got that way about him, sir. The senator, he can talk you into doing things you wouldn’t consider otherwise.”

“Objection,” Mr. Atkinson called lazily from the defense.

“Sustained,” the judge said, and Elizabeth glanced up at him, alarmed.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

“You can’t say things that aren’t facts, Miss Martin,” he answered, his voice low and kind. “You’re here to tell us what happened that night, not to make conjectures about Mr. Mae’s personality.”

“Senator Mae,” Elizabeth corrected him.

“Yes, of course, Senator Mae,” the judge said. “Please go on.”

“All right.” Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Well, I took him to the ladies’ room. All the while we were walking he was ever so nice, asking me about my life at the asylum, what my name is, how old I was. And then we get to the . . . to the privy and I wished him a good night and—” She stopped, her lips quivering. “Do I have to, Mr. Pickering?” she asked, eyes pleading.

“I’m sorry, Lizzie. Yes, it’s very important that you tell the court what happened after you wished him a good night.”

“He . . . he grabbed my wrist, sir.” Elizabeth’s face contorted, her eyes shiny with tears and focused on nothing. “He grabbed and twisted it and dragged me through the door after him. He’d been so nice, so kind and polite, that I thought I had to be confused, that this fine, important man would never touch me like that and I couldn’t imagine a reason for him doing it. And then . . . then he shoved me down to the privy floor and pushed my nightgown up and I guess I knew pretty well what his reason was then.

“I started fighting, sir. Yelling and crying too. But the fighting only seemed to make him like it more, and yelling and crying isn’t anything new in an asylum. Nobody came to help, and he had his way with me, right there on the floor.”

Elizabeth was crying freely. Mr. Pickering reached for his handkerchief and she took it but left it unused, her tears as much a part of her testimony as her words.

“And the next part, Lizzie?” Pickering said quietly, his voice carrying in the dead silence of the courtroom.

Lizzie bit down on her bottom lip, hands twisting Pickering’s kerchief. “Near the end the senator, he put his hand over my mouth and my nose and pushed down real hard. The dark was coming in around the sides of my eyes and all I could think was ‘Let me die, so this is over.’ But I didn’t die, and he was through with his pleasure. And he pulled his hand back and put his face down close to mine and he said . . . he said, ‘You’re lucky you’ll be looked for, or I’d see you turn blue like that bitch out on the Pomeroy road.’”

A gasp rolled over the courtroom, followed by a swell of whispers and Elizabeth’s rolling sobs as she wiped away her tears, while Grace’s flowed unseen beneath her veil.

THIRTY-SIX

“Where are they taking her?” Grace asked Adelaide moments later as Lizzie was escorted from the courtroom by the bailiff.

“I imagine they’re giving her a bit of a breather before she’s cross-examined,” Adelaide said, her face pale and pinched.

Grace only nodded slightly, retreating back into herself before Elizabeth was ushered to the stand. The crowd was buzzing, and still her father sat unperturbed at the defense table, his smile flashing out at whoever looked at him. She averted her eyes, focusing instead on the moons of her fingernails and the drying teardrops that had landed on her hands.

When Lizzie returned the hush came with her, the courtroom falling silent in respect as if the corpse had arrived at the wake. Mr. Atkinson glanced at his notes while Elizabeth situated herself on the stand again, leaving them behind on the table as he approached to question her.

“Hello, Miss Martin.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Hello, Mr. . . . Lawyer.” Grace noticed a few jury members covering their smiles.

“That was a terrible tale you just shared.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any man who did that to a girl as sweet as you ought to be hanged, whether another’s murder came into it or not.”

Lizzie watched him warily. “That’s not for me to say, sir. I’m supposed to just tell what happened. That’s it and that’s all.”

“Right, right,” he said, his smile taking on an edge. “But the thing is, I’m not so sure it happened.”

Lizzie’s brow came together in confusion. “It did, though, sir.”

“That’s the thing, Miss Martin. It’s your word against my client’s, just as it has been with all the other women who walked through here today. They’re easily dismissed, with scores to settle or imaginary slights to return. But you’re playing a dangerous game, little girl. You’ve added the detail that makes this a federal case, and one with the death penalty attached. I hardly need to remind you—or the jury—that if what you say isn’t true, then there’s no reason to believe Senator Mae had anything whatsoever to do with Jenny Cantor’s death. The only reason we’re even here today is because of you, little Elizabeth Martin. You claim that Senator Mae raped you and during the course of raping you confided that he’d done the same to Jenny Cantor, asphyxiating her in the process. A man’s life hangs on the question of whether or not you are lying.”