Griffin asked.
Bartwain had never found whatever thread or string had caused the blue bruising, but the prosecutor would not need that item to make his case. “The coroner’s report and witness testimonials should be enough,” he said.
The younger man nodded cheerfully. “This case is open and shut.”
The Baptist William Kiffin had used the same phrase. Bartwain fought off a surge of irritation. “Be careful. You are new to these situations. They have a way of becoming complicated.”
“They are not complicated. The law is plain and simple. The law asks only if she hid the bastard’s death and if the child was hers. You are the one who taught me that. Did Rachel Lockyer conceal its death?”
“Yes.”
“Was the child hers?”
“Yes. Though she has not come right out and said exactly what happened.”
“What she did or didn’t say doesn’t matter now. This case is effectively closed, wouldn’t you agree, Investigator? It is a fait accompli. I appreciate all of your labors on my behalf. You have worked industriously.”
Bartwain did not care for his tone.
“I’ll take the evidence box with me,” the prosecutor went on. “If nothing else, it will be good for giving the jury a show. Everyone likes a good show.” He snatched the infant’s yellow dress out of the box and laid it against his slender chest, pretending to wear it. He twirled around in a circle.
Bartwain did not like young counselors. He did not like young men, period. When he regarded them—Such white teeth! Such arrogance!—he remembered all the promotions for which he had been passed over.
“Mr. Griffin,” he said brusquely. “I am well aware what the parameters are in this case. I have devoted my professional life to the law and to its upholding. I have investigated over twenty-five bastard cases during my thirty years as investigator. And I am reminding you to be careful.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll take your notes and review them. You’re certain she didn’t tell you anything useful?”
“She said that she had not yet resolved what happened.”
Griffin snorted. “Then it is up to me to resolve it for her—and for the jury.”
“I’m not sure it’s that simple.” What was he saying? It
was
that simple. But Bartwain was in a terrible mood and needed to dispel it. “The statute against bastard murder does allow for one possible escape,” he told the prosecutor. “Surely you know this?”
Griffin’s face remained blank. You are green, Bartwain thought. Green and stupid. The investigator reached for his statute book and flipped through the pages until he landed on the relevant section of the 1624 Act to Prevent the Destroying and Murdering of Bastard Children. “Here it is. Listen.” He cleared his throat. “‘If any Women . . . be delivered of any Issue of her body, Male or Female, which being born alive, should by the Laws of this Realm be a bastard, and that she endeavor privately either by drowning or secret burying thereof, or any other way, either by her self or the procuring of others, so to conceal the death thereof, as that it may not come to light, whether it were born alive or not, but be concealed, In every such case, the said Mother so offending shall suffer Death, as in case of murder—’”
“I know all this.”
“Hold on. I’m getting there.” Why were the young such imbeciles? “‘Except such Mother can make proof by one Witness at the least, that the Child (whose death by her so intended to be concealed) was born dead.’ There. Now you see what I am getting at?”
Griffin scratched his head.
“The defendant needs one witness, one
credible
witness, to come forward and persuade the jury that she—Rachel Lockyer—gave birth in the presence of another person. She needs someone to swear that the child came out of the womb stillborn.”
“I see no cause for concern.”
“I do,” Bartwain told him. “I would not put it past Elizabeth Lilburne.”
“If Mrs. Lilburne
Bartwain had never found whatever thread or string had caused the blue bruising, but the prosecutor would not need that item to make his case. “The coroner’s report and witness testimonials should be enough,” he said.
The younger man nodded cheerfully. “This case is open and shut.”
The Baptist William Kiffin had used the same phrase. Bartwain fought off a surge of irritation. “Be careful. You are new to these situations. They have a way of becoming complicated.”
“They are not complicated. The law is plain and simple. The law asks only if she hid the bastard’s death and if the child was hers. You are the one who taught me that. Did Rachel Lockyer conceal its death?”
“Yes.”
“Was the child hers?”
“Yes. Though she has not come right out and said exactly what happened.”
“What she did or didn’t say doesn’t matter now. This case is effectively closed, wouldn’t you agree, Investigator? It is a fait accompli. I appreciate all of your labors on my behalf. You have worked industriously.”
Bartwain did not care for his tone.
“I’ll take the evidence box with me,” the prosecutor went on. “If nothing else, it will be good for giving the jury a show. Everyone likes a good show.” He snatched the infant’s yellow dress out of the box and laid it against his slender chest, pretending to wear it. He twirled around in a circle.
Bartwain did not like young counselors. He did not like young men, period. When he regarded them—Such white teeth! Such arrogance!—he remembered all the promotions for which he had been passed over.
“Mr. Griffin,” he said brusquely. “I am well aware what the parameters are in this case. I have devoted my professional life to the law and to its upholding. I have investigated over twenty-five bastard cases during my thirty years as investigator. And I am reminding you to be careful.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll take your notes and review them. You’re certain she didn’t tell you anything useful?”
“She said that she had not yet resolved what happened.”
Griffin snorted. “Then it is up to me to resolve it for her—and for the jury.”
“I’m not sure it’s that simple.” What was he saying? It
was
that simple. But Bartwain was in a terrible mood and needed to dispel it. “The statute against bastard murder does allow for one possible escape,” he told the prosecutor. “Surely you know this?”
Griffin’s face remained blank. You are green, Bartwain thought. Green and stupid. The investigator reached for his statute book and flipped through the pages until he landed on the relevant section of the 1624 Act to Prevent the Destroying and Murdering of Bastard Children. “Here it is. Listen.” He cleared his throat. “‘If any Women . . . be delivered of any Issue of her body, Male or Female, which being born alive, should by the Laws of this Realm be a bastard, and that she endeavor privately either by drowning or secret burying thereof, or any other way, either by her self or the procuring of others, so to conceal the death thereof, as that it may not come to light, whether it were born alive or not, but be concealed, In every such case, the said Mother so offending shall suffer Death, as in case of murder—’”
“I know all this.”
“Hold on. I’m getting there.” Why were the young such imbeciles? “‘Except such Mother can make proof by one Witness at the least, that the Child (whose death by her so intended to be concealed) was born dead.’ There. Now you see what I am getting at?”
Griffin scratched his head.
“The defendant needs one witness, one
credible
witness, to come forward and persuade the jury that she—Rachel Lockyer—gave birth in the presence of another person. She needs someone to swear that the child came out of the womb stillborn.”
“I see no cause for concern.”
“I do,” Bartwain told him. “I would not put it past Elizabeth Lilburne.”
“If Mrs. Lilburne
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