Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave - Stephanie Barron [128]
“The Jurors for our Lord the King upon their oaths present that the most noble lady Isobel Amelie Collins Payne, Countess of Scargrave, a peeress of the realm, on the twelfth day of December in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and two, in the Parish of Scargrave, did kill and murder Frederick William Payne, seventh Earl of Scargrave. We further find that the most noble Fitzroy Gerald Payne, Viscount Payne, Earl of Scargrave, a peer of the realm, on the twenty-fourth day of December in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and two, in the Parish of Scargrave, did kill and murder one Marguerite Dumas, maidservant, native of the Barbadoes.”
At that point, following the proclamation by the Serjeant at Arms, the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod brought in first the Countess, and then the Earl, and escorted them severally to the Bar, where they knelt until the Lord High Steward allowed them to rise.
Isobel's face was pale, and her once-lovely eyes had lost their lustre; some of the dirt and stench of Newgate had been washed from her person, but the freshness of her twenty-two years was yet overlaid with a haggard-ness that bespoke great turmoil of mind. The marks of her ordeal could not disguise her beauty, though they added something of romantic interest to her aspect. I had learned, upon my arrival that day, that her conveyance from Newgate was stoned by a mob, and that she was jeered as murderess and whore; the public had passed swift sentence upon my friend, without benefit of a hearing.
Lord Scargrave retained his accustomed command of countenance, evidencing only a deeper gravity in the tightness of his jaw and the unwavering aspect of his gaze. He was led with Isobel to stools placed within the Bar; where the pair should be confined for the duration of the proceedings, and the charges against them were read. The Clerk of the Parliaments then arraigned them, and asked whether they were Guilty or Not Guilty, to which they severally replied, Not Guilty—Isobel in the merest whisper, her hand to her throat, while Fitzroy Payne's voice rang through the chamber. His glance was haughty, his silver head held high; and though, from knowing him a little, I judged this the result of a struggle for composure, I well knew how it should be judged. Proud and cold, he would be proclaimed; and his very effort at self-control play against him.
Sir William Reynolds now rose, and the weight of my duty fell full upon me at the sight of his benign old face. He was a friend, and she was a friend; and between them they had made a mockery of my better feeling.
The magistrate looked very fine, indeed, in a dark grey tail coat of excellent wool, arrayed with a double row of gold buttons; and at his neck, the highest of white cravats I had ever seen—the collar tips reaching nearly to his ears. Thrown over all was a black silk robe; the awful weight of the Law he bore upon his aged countenance; and his bewigged head might almost be that of Jehovah, come to divide the guilty from the innocent. I quailed when his hard brown eyes fell upon myself, though I fancied they softened at the sight of my pale face; and understood of a sudden why the name Sir William Reynolds was everywhere greeted with trepidation and respect, among his adversaries at the Bar.
Sir William was prohibited from calling Isobel as a witness; and the only other persons capable of asserting that she had been alone with her husband on the evening of his death were themselves dead. On this point, the magistrate could merely expostulate to the assembled lords, having permission to read the relevant testimony from the written record of the inquest. That only the Countess had survived the night, he said, should make his case. He then called Dr. Pettigrew.
The poor young man was sworn; stated his true name and place of birth, and was duly noted to be a physician who had attended the seventh Earl some three years, and at his death bed. Dr. Pettigrew gave his evidence