Page 77 of A Madness So Discreet

When Lizzie returned the hush came with her, the courtroom falling silent in respect as if the corpse had arrived at the wake. Mr. Atkinson glanced at his notes while Elizabeth situated herself on the stand again, leaving them behind on the table as he approached to question her.

“Hello, Miss Martin.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Hello, Mr. . . . Lawyer.” Grace noticed a few jury members covering their smiles.

“That was a terrible tale you just shared.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any man who did that to a girl as sweet as you ought to be hanged, whether another’s murder came into it or not.”

Lizzie watched him warily. “That’s not for me to say, sir. I’m supposed to just tell what happened. That’s it and that’s all.”

“Right, right,” he said, his smile taking on an edge. “But the thing is, I’m not so sure it happened.”

Lizzie’s brow came together in confusion. “It did, though, sir.”

“That’s the thing, Miss Martin. It’s your word against my client’s, just as it has been with all the other women who walked through here today. They’re easily dismissed, with scores to settle or imaginary slights to return. But you’re playing a dangerous game, little girl. You’ve added the detail that makes this a federal case, and one with the death penalty attached. I hardly need to remind you—or the jury—that if what you say isn’t true, then there’s no reason to believe Senator Mae had anything whatsoever to do with Jenny Cantor’s death. The only reason we’re even here today is because of you, little Elizabeth Martin. You claim that Senator Mae raped you and during the course of raping you confided that he’d done the same to Jenny Cantor, asphyxiating her in the process. A man’s life hangs on the question of whether or not you are lying.”

“I know that, sir,” Elizabeth said. “And I’m not.”

“Where is it that you live again?” Atkinson asked, brow knit in mock confusion.

“I live up at the insane asylum, sir.”

“Ah, up at the insane asylum. Thank you for repeating that. Now, why, may I ask, do you live there?”

Elizabeth’s lips thinned. “I suppose I live there because I am insane.”

“A simple enough assumption,” Atkinson agreed. “Yet somehow we’re still here today, listening to you slander a well-respected man. I can’t help but wonder if you’re saying these things not because they happened but because you were told to say them.”

“Objection. Unless the defense would like to actually ask a question to the witness?” Pickering said from his seat.

“Sustained,” the judge said.

“Very well,” Atkinson said. “Miss Martin, did Senator Mae rape you?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, nodding her head along with the word.

“Did Senator Mae imply to you that he had raped and killed Jenny Cantor?”

“Yes,” she said again, seeming almost pleased that the questions were so easy.

“And why should the jury believe the word of an insane girl?”

“Because String would never let me tell a lie, sir,” Elizabeth said quickly, invoking the most powerful reference she knew.

A bewildered hum swept through the courtroom, and Grace’s heart fell as a blackness that was not her veil seeped into the edges of her vision.

“String?” Atkinson asked. “Who might that be?”

“Objection,” Pickering said, rising to his feet.

“Surely he can’t object to my questioning the sanity of an insane asylum inmate?” Atkinson said, eyes never leaving Elizabeth’s bewildered ones.

“Sustained,” the judge said. “You’ll have to answer the question, Miss Martin.”

Grace leaned against Adelaide, the hollowness that she’d invited willingly inside of her being burned away by the rage Falsteed had smelled out long ago, the familiar crush of helplessness and defeat following close behind.