The family preferred to dine early on Sundays to allow the kitchen staff time to themselves, and Jo would have happily taken the discussion of weddings and gowns and flowers into the drawing room for the remainder of the afternoon. When the butler announced that Kane Branson had arrived from Edinburgh and was waiting in the study, Grace asked to join Hugh for she wanted to share information from a particular case she’d found.
“M’lord,” the law clerk said, rising from a table by the window as they entered the room. “I have the testimony.”
Grace watched as the young man produced a packet of documents.
“Tell us what you’ve learned.”
“When I arrived in Edinburgh, I went directly to Mr. Kinniburgh’s school in Chessels Court, as you directed. He could not have been kinder, sir, when he heard your name.”
“He’s a good man,” Hugh said. “Proceed.”
“Immediately, he canceled all his appointments and accompanied me to the Bridewell on Calton Hill. We had some difficulty there. They needed to send to the warden’s house for the man, but eventually we all were situated in his office where Mr. Kinniburgh translated your questions and Mrs. Campbell’s answers—which was a wee bit like some dismal harlequinade pantomime—and the warden served as witness.”
“Excellent,” Hugh encouraged. “What did she communicate to you?”
“What we learned earlier about her husband was correct, though some question remains about whether they were legally married. He deserted her and their three children in Glasgow not a week before the event on the bridge. She reluctantly confirmed the neighbors’ account that after a bout of drunkenness, the villain gave her a thrashing and lit out. He hasn’t been seen since, though a neighbor believes he shipped out on a merchant ship bound for the Indies.”
The blackguard, Grace thought. Like a snake, slithering away from his responsibilities to his family.
“The day of the child’s death,” he continued, “Mrs. Campbell was crossing the Saltmarket Bridge on her way home to her children. One of them was with her. Three years of age he was. The lad had grown weary from the long walk, and some time before she’d strapped him on her back.”
“A three-year-old can be a handful,” Grace said. She’d seen women escaping war-torn areas with young children strapped to their backs.
“Mr. Kinniburgh offered her a handkerchief to represent the child. She showed us how she’d been carrying him, using her shawl as a sling and holding the ends tight against her chest. Mrs. Campbell told us that when they reached the bridge, she rested for a moment, leaning back against the battlements. A chestnut dealer was not far off, and the lad began to squirm and point that he was hungry.”
Grace felt her insides go cold, knowing how this would end.
“Mrs. Campbell reached inside her dress to see if she had the ha’penny for the chestnuts, and one end of the shawl slipped from her grip. Before she knew it, the boy had rolled free and tumbled into the river.”
Grace could only imagine the panic and the helplessness the mother must have felt.
“M’lord, when she showed us this, she wept something pitiful. Some folk passing only saw the lad go over and they grabbed hold of her. The boy was swept away on the river current.”
“How awful for her,” Grace murmured, feeling herself choke up.
“You’re right about that, mistress. When Mr. Kinniburgh conveyed to her that the people on the bridge reported to the authorities that she’d thrown the child over intentionally, the woman nearly went mad right then and there. The sounds of anguish that filled the warden’s office would have melted the hardest of hearts. She thought she was being held because the child had died by accident. She didn’t know any better, and she couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t let her go home to her other children.”
The horror of losing your child would be devastating enough, Grace thought. But then, not to know what was happening to your other children. Not to know who was feeding them and caring for them.
She looked at Hugh, whose fierce frown showed that he was also clearly moved by the story.
“I told her, through Mr. Kinniburgh, that your lordship had taken a personal interest in her case. It was beyond our ability to explain the dilemma of the madhouse versus the gallows, and I didn’t think she needed to know just then what was facing her.”
“Quite right, Branson,” Hugh said quietly.
“We stopped there. I copied out my notes of the testimony, added the warden’s comments and Mr. Kinniburgh’s, as well. The gentlemen took an oath and signed it as witnesses. But will it be enough, m’lord?”
Hugh sat back in his chair, his brow furrowed as he considered what they’d heard. Grace recalled what he told her about the predispositions of juries and the limited choices of the judges hearing these cases. The deadlock of the justices in this case pertained specifically to that issue. If Mrs. Campbell was capable of understanding the moral implications of the case, then she would face a potentially prejudiced jury. If she wasn’t, she would spend the rest of her life in an asylum. The future of her children looked dire, either way.
Grace decided this was the time to share what she’d found. “I found a few things that might be helpful.”
Hugh’s approving nod encouraged her. “Tell us.”
“To begin, your clerks have been noting a few cases of relevance that I found in Lord Dreghorn’s Arguments and Decisions in Remarkable Cases. And volumes one, four, and five in Dilly and Elliot’s Decisions of the Court of Session produced cases involving deaf-mutes which would support your position on the unreliability of juries faced with such defendants.”
“But you found something specific?” he asked, reading her thoughts.
“Yes, I did. Just this morning.”
Grace rose and went to the chair where she’d been working earlier. Picking up a thick volume, she brought it back and laid it on the table in front of Hugh.
“Thomas Leach’s Cases in Crown Law.” She sat again. “Several cases pertain to the issue, but Case 58, found on page 97, relates to a defendant named Thomas Jones, being tried in 1773 for stealing five guineas. The court faced the same dilemma that caused such difficulty for the justices in Glasgow regarding Mrs. Campbell. This Jones was deaf and mute, and the court could not decide if he ‘stood mute through obstinacy or by the visitation of God.’ It was either the asylum for life, or trial. Finally, someone found a Mrs. Lazarus, who could communicate with Jones. Realizing that the defendant was ‘capable of receiving intelligence from her by means of signs,’ the court used her as a translator of sorts, and he was arraigned and put on trial.”
“And how did it turn out for him?” Hugh asked.
“Whether it was the evidence against him or the jury’s antipathy, the record says nothing, only that he was found guilty of simple larceny and transported.”
“So there is a precedent for using Mr. Kinniburgh to communicate her testimony,” Branson suggested.
“Leach’s Cases pertains to English law, if I’m not mistaken,” Hugh observed.
“You yourself suggested that the argument could be made that since the Union of Scotland and England, the precedents can apply. Well, Mr. Hume cites three cases in his Critical Commentaries on Scottish criminal law in which that happens.”
Hugh pondered that for a moment. “So, with this precedent, I can order Mrs. Campbell to stand trial.”
“You can do that,” she agreed. “But Mr. Hume also discusses the range of power exercised by justices in the pretrial hearings.”
Branson nearly leaped from his chair. “You can use Kinniburgh’s testimony that was not available before, find her competent to stand trial . . .”
“And dismiss the case for lack of evidence,” Grace concluded.
“M’lord, not one of the witnesses testified that he actually saw Mrs. Campbell throw the child from the bridge.”
Hugh laid his hand flat on the volume before him. “Branson, I know it’s Sunday, but I need you to note all of the precedents that Miss Grace has searched out, along with her argument.”
The clerk nodded, and his satisfied smile told her the man was not unhappy with the task ahead.
Hugh looked at Grace. “I know how to proceed now, thanks to you. Fine work, indeed.”
“What will you do?” she asked.
“We have a great deal happening this week,” he continued. “It will be best if I ride directly to Edinburgh and call my court into session tomorrow.”
“And what will happen to her?”
“Based on all you and Branson have given me, I’ll not send the case back to the lower courts. I’ll rule from the bench that an impartial jury, upon hearing the additional evidence would find a charge of murder ‘Not Proven,’ if even that. Therefore, to avoid more time and expense being wasted . . .” Hugh took her hand in his. “I’ll dismiss the case for—as you said—lack of sufficient evidence to go to trial. Jean Campbell will be freed.”