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“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?