Evan Hunter - Lizzie

The stateroom she and Anna were to share on the homeward voyage was the same one they had occupied on the outward journey, a luxurious compartment on the promenade deck, fitted with two bedsteads, wardrobes, armchairs, a writing table and a couch. A stained-glass shutter screened the window, and late October sunshine filtered through it, dappling with oranges, reds, yellows and blues the bed upon which Lizzie sat. Across the cabin Anna was unpacking. When Lizzie burst into sudden tears, she could not for the life of her imagine what the matter was.

“Lizzie?” she said, coming to her. “Are you all right, dear? You’re not taking ill again, are you?”

Lizzie shook her head.

“Then what is it?” Anna asked.

Lizzie choked back a sob, and then dabbed at her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “I wish we weren’t going home so soon,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes again.

“Soon? But Lizzie, we’ve been gone...”

“Oh, Anna,” she said, “I’ve had such a happy summer!”

“Well, we all have, dear. But that’s no reason to...”

“I shall never be so happy again,” Lizzie said.

“Of course, you will. Lizzie, Lizzie...”

“Never,” Lizzie said. “My home shall be such an unhappy one now, I know it! I wish I could stay here forever, I wish I could...” and she burst into fresh tears again. “Such an unhappy home,” she sobbed into her handkerchief, “such an unhappy one.”

Patting her hand, embracing her — but not too closely, for Lord knew what she might be coming down with now — Anna tried to understand what Lizzie had meant. A happy summer? Why, she’d been sick most of the time! And she’d missed most of France, and all of Italy and Germany!

So far as Anna could see, Lizzie had hardly made any journey at all.

“I desire to remind the jury,” Chief Justice Mason said, “that there is still a further word to be said before this cause will be finally committed to them. The charge to the jury will be read by Mr. Justice Dewey.”

The courtroom today was as crowded as it had been yesterday when Lizzie had listened to Robinson argue on her behalf that the state had failed to prove its case. She could not have imagined then that the courtroom could have held a single person more, but today it seemed as though the crowd, should it take in its breath collectively, might cause the walls to swell and collapse into the street below.

Yesterday morning Robinson had begun his closing argument to the jury at nine o’clock, had spoken until the recess and had resumed his argument at two-fifteen in the afternoon. There were some among her supporters who had felt his address was not quite as eloquent as might have been expected of him, but she had been deeply moved when, in conclusion, he had said to the jury, “Gentlemen, with great weariness on your part, but with abundant patience and intelligence and care, you have listened to what I have to offer. So far as you are concerned, it is the last word of the defendant to you. Take it; take good care of her as you have, and give us promptly your verdict ‘Not Guilty’ that she may go home and be Lizzie Andrew Borden of Fall River in that blood-stained and wrecked home where she has passed her life so many years.”

Knowlton had begun his closing argument yesterday afternoon, had spoken through the remainder of the court day, and had concluded this morning with the words, “Rise, gentlemen, rise to the altitude of your duty. Act as you would be reported to act when you stand before the Great White Throne at the last day. What shall be your reward? The ineffable consciousness of duty done. There is no strait so hard, there is no affliction so bitter that is not made light and easy by the consciousness that in times of trial you have done your duty and your whole duty. There is no applause in the world, there is no station of height, there is no seduction of fame that can compensate for the gnawings of an outraged conscience. Only he who hears the voice of his inner consciousness — it is the voice of God himself — saying to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant’, can enter into the reward and lay hold of eternal life.”

It had seemed to Lizzie, soberly listening to him, that the jury was profoundly impressed by his words. He had ended his address at twelve-fifteen this morning, and it was now two o’clock. The jurors, who had returned after recess to hear Chief Justice Mason’s brief opening remark, now turned their full attention to Justice Dewey. He looked uncomfortably hot in his black judicial garments. He consulted the papers before him, looked at the jury once to make certain they were settled and awaiting his words, and then began his charge.

“Mr. Foreman and gentlemen of the jury,” he said, “you have listened with attention to the evidence in this case, and to the arguments for the defendant’s counsel and of the district attorney. It now remains for me, acting in behalf of the Court, to give you such aid toward a proper performance of your duty as I may be able to give, within the limits for judicial action prescribed by law. And to prevent any erroneous impression, it may be well for me to bring to your attention, at the outset, that it is provided by a statute of this state that the Court shall not charge juries with respect to matters of fact, but may state the testimony and the law.

“I may perhaps illustrate this distinction in the course of my remarks. But, speaking comprehensively, I may now say to you that it will be your duty, in considering and deciding the matters of fact necessary to rendering your verdict, not to allow your judgment to be affected by what you may suppose or believe to be the opinion of the Court upon such matters of fact.

“The defendant is being tried before you on a written accusation, termed an indictment, which contains two charges or counts; one count by the use of the usual legal language in substance charges her with the murder of Andrew J. Borden and the other count charges her with the murder of Abby D. Borden in Fall River in this county on August fourth, 1892.

“The Government claims that the killing of Mr. and Mrs. Borden, by whomsoever done, was done with premeditated, deliberate malice aforethought within the meaning of the statute, and it was murder in the first degree. The statute nowhere defines murder itself, and for such definition we must resort to the common law, and according to that law ‘murder is the unlawful killing of a human being with malice aforethought’.

“The second main proposition in the case is that the killing of Mr. and Mrs. Borden was done by the defendant. In considering the evidence with regard to this issue, you will need to have certain legal principles in mind and to use them as guides. One such principle is the presumption of law that the defendant is innocent. This presumption begins with her at the outset of the trial, and continues with her through all its stages until you are compelled by the evidence to divest her of it.

“It is competent for the Government to show that the defendant had motives to commit the crimes with which she is charged, and evidence has been introduced from which you are asked to find that she had unpleasant relations with her stepmother, the deceased, and also that her father, Andrew Jackson Borden, left an estate of the value of from $250,000 to $300,000, and that so far as is known to the defendant, he died without having made a will. If his wife died before him, it is not disputed that he left the defendant and her sister as his only heirs.

“It appears that Mr. Borden was sixty-nine years old, and Mrs. Borden more than sixty years of age at the time of their deaths. Taking the facts now, as you find them to be established by the evidence, and taking the defendant as you find her to be, and judging according to general experience and observation, was the defendant under a real and actually operating motive to kill her father and his wife?