Clementine gave a small bow of assent. She walked to the table by the entrance. “I understand, Uncle. You’ve made yourself very clear. Thank you for taking the time to come see us.” She gave Norbert his hat and cane. She handed Simeon his hat and gloves.
There was a moment of awkward silence at the doorway. “A good morning to you,” Norbert said, and headed down the stairwell.
Just outside the window, a fire ladder glided silently downward, and Constable Maxwell stared after the departing coach with a pensive expression. “Do you think,” he said quietly to the deserted street, “that a few more members of the Society will attend the court proceedings?”
Yes.
“Good. I’ll see you then, Sam.”
PART IIIArmor Anchors
Clem: September 9, 1888
Dearest Mother,
I knew that they would act against me somehow, but I hadn’t imagined it would be like this. I am called to court. Commonwealth accuses me of fraud.
And to pour salt in the wound, the Trenches came today—Norbert and Simeon. I would not admit to them—nor to Rosetta—that the outcome could be dire. If Commonwealth is awarded financial damages, they may be significant, and then what would we do?
I am determined that some good must come of this. Something must emerge from the wreckage of this last week that will carry our plan forward. I don’t know what it is, but perhaps an advantage might be wrested from the court case—a morsel of knowledge, a bit of leverage. Things cannot get worse, so they must get better, no?
No help will come from the Trenches. No, all the contrary. I could feel Rosetta’s tokens straining with Simeon’s presence. I hadn’t known this about tokens. I’ve never read it; I’ve never heard of it. Could it be that I am peculiar, and it only happens to me? Whenever he sat very near to Rosetta, I felt the force of his ill will, and I felt the tokens I made for her pushing back, as if we were engaging in a test of strength.
He is a devil. I never told you of the time he locked me in the conservatory on a visit to Clover Hall. Rosie must have been about four. He led us both there, and then he told me to look at a pot of soil, for it was enchanted and would soon begin sprouting. I stared stupidly at the pot of soil, and he took Rosie away. When I finally looked up, I was locked in and Rosie was gone. That wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was that Mariah came after a while and told me that Simeon had pushed Rosie into the pond and that she was gone. For several minutes, I think I knew real despair. And then I had the strangest idea; I thought, in that confused way of a child, that I would bring her back to life. I could picture her, pulled from the pond by the strength of my will, eyes opened, alive once more. I was so fervent in my anguish and delusion that I convinced myself it was true. And then I saw her, through the glass of the conservatory, running along the lawn back toward you and Father and the Trenches. For the longest time, Mother, I thought I had really brought her back to life. It took me some years to realize that it was only Simeon and Mariah’s cruelty, and that they had never pushed her into the pond but only said so to torment me. I was their victim, not Rosie.
Now I am wiser. I know better Simeon’s villainy, and I know better my own ability to thwart it. He will not get to her, Mother. I promise.
There is one bit of good news. I’ve found a way to search for the lead case. It is due to anunexpected generosity, or perhaps it is one kindness in return for another. On Monday, you will be visited by a young lady in a maid’s uniform. Her name is Vera. She will deliver my letters, and you may give her letters for me. It’s likely that Throckmorton will turn her away at first, jealous as he is of that mountain of books and armor, but she is very charming. She will offer to bring meals and clean the office, and if the cleaning holds no allure, I know from what you’ve told me that the meals surely will. And she will find the case. Once we have that, we will only need the location of the Boston portal.
If I am found liable for fraud, so be it. We will at least have you back.
Your loving,
Clementine
Sam: A Verdict
Only women are taken as thews, as is proper, given their more malleable nature. It is true that a woman’s spirit is prone to unfaithfulness and subterfuge, as living women are, and for this reason it is vital to keep a tight rein.
—César Castellanos,Understanding the Realm of Thews
Tuesday, September 11, 1888
The sisters had, by good fortune, avoided the worst. Sunday brought a cordial message from Jane Trench, inviting Rosetta and Clementine not to an extended stay but to dinner on the coming Saturday. Only dinner! An equally cordial—if insincere—reply in the affirmative was sent back. Monday brought a frenzy of activity at the office of Mr. Wilbur Smythe, one of the lawyers at Peterson & Sons and friend to the sisters. He had declared himself very glad to be available on short notice for the daughters of his former Latin tutor.
And Tuesday brought Clementine to court.
Their case was scheduled for ten thirty, and by the time the sisters arrived, the Salem courthouse was packed. I had guided Constable Maxwell there early, and together we had watched the arrival of each member of the public who came through the door. Several Society members were present, but they were outnumbered by Commonwealth students and even some faculty, including Professor Orin Hornsby, who sat in the back alone and regarded the room through narrowed eyes. The sharp glances and whispers gradually rose in volume, and it became apparent that nearly every young man Clementine had met in her first week atCommonwealth had shown up with two or three or seven like-minded friends. The seats were full, more men stood against the walls, and finally the bailiff had to turn away those remaining, who complained loudly at having their entertainment denied them. Simeon was there, of course, relishing his position of authority on everything pertaining to the character and history of the defendant.
Clem ignored them. She sat a few steps down from the judge, to his left, in a section separated from the courtroom floor by a small wooden gate. She wore an indigo-colored shawl, doubtlessly knit by Rosetta, and what was probably her best dress: navy pinstripes with a pleated front.
For the first hour, the proceedings unfolded much as I expected. Mr. Arthur Pombaline, the attorney representing Massachusetts Commonwealth University, seemingly took not professional interest but personal offense at the supposed fraud Clementine had committed. Below formidable whiskers, his lip was permanently curled, as if he were forever trapped in the vicinity of a foul smell. His voice, nasal and at times piercing, carried easily through the crowded courtroom. As he made his argument for the plaintiff, he often turned to Clementine and fixed his contemptuous blue eyes upon her before turning away again in disdain.
“Your Honor,” Mr. Pombaline said, continuing into the final leg of his statement, “Clementine Quinn has presented not only a threat to the revered traditions of the esteemed university, as I have aptly demonstrated, but indeed a threat to the standards of education more generally. If every woman who wishes it can simplylieto gain admittance to one of the best institutions in the country, it is a reflection both on the institution and on the culture and civil society that surround it. Are wesodebased”—he nearly spat this, throwing Clementine another look—“that we do not care any longer to uphold truth at the most basic entry point of education? That of admittance to the institution that provides it?”
There were cheers from the packed seats. “No! No!” came the smattering of replies.
“Silence,” the judge demanded, frowning, as he pounded his gavel.
