During the recess, Fanny had chattered on like the lawyer about the threat of trying to integrate a group of people who clearly didn’t understand the difference between right and wrong. As she talked, he’d contemplated his own situation. Isaac may need direction, but he was plenty smart. And he knew right from wrong. When he found the boy, would the courts in California expect him to go before a judge and convince them that his own slave—his son—belonged to him? Were there others here who might assist runaways, like the abolitionists on the East Coast?
Perhaps he needed to be more secretive about his venture for now, keeping the sketches to himself while he searched. Mr.Kirtland had seen Isaac someplace, and he intended to find out where. No one would deter him from finding the boy.
“Do you have representation?” the judge asked Miss Labrie.
The room quieted as the woman spoke, her voice refined by a European accent. “I have decided to represent myself.”
“That’s an interesting choice,” Judge Snyder said.
“One I feel entirely capable in making.”
“Then tell us your perspective on what happened early this morning.”
“Certainly,” Miss Labrie said, seemingly oblivious to the murmuring around her. “I had a guest arrive at my hotel before daylight. A woman badly beaten by a man claiming to be her owner.”
“I am her owner,” Mr.Webb howled from his table.
The judge slammed his gavel. “You’ve already given testimony, Mr.Webb, and a whole lot of nonsense on top of it.”
The crowd laughed.
“She pretends to be French, but she’s really from Baltimore,” Fanny whispered.
He almost snorted at Fanny’s critique. She may like to talk about her childhood adventures in the city of New York, but she was clearly raised someplace in the South.
“Continue your story, Miss Labrie,” the judge said.
“My guest needed care for her wounds, but she also had a man chasing her. I was afraid for her life, so I instructed my steward to secure her in a safe place until I could determine who had injured her and why.”
The attorney spoke next. “Were you not suspect when you saw her dark skin?”
Victor strained his ears to listen above the rustling.
“My steward is a freed black. I thought this woman might be free as well.”
“You asked your steward to hide her from the sheriff?”
“I didn’t know at the time that Rodney was knocking on my door.”
The attorney snickered at her response before he continued to badger her. “There are rumors around town that you intended to marry an already married man.”
“I don’t know what that has to do with—”
“It tells us what type of woman you are,” he stated, playing to the audience. “What type of decisions you make.”
“My past decisions are not relevant to this case,” the woman replied.
“But I think they are, Miss Labrie. I think your choices speak to your character as a person who isn’t as trustworthy as your fine gowns and demeanor might display. In fact, I suspect that you’re hiding more than just a slave.”
As he waited for the woman’s response, Victor glanced across the heads of the men in front of him. Were they as fascinated by this Miss Labrie as he was? By her confident speech? He wished he could see her face. He imagined her appearance was as exotic as her voice. And a challenge to all the men in town.
“What exactly do you think I’m hiding, Mr.Martin?”
“Probably many things, but let’s start with the truth about this morning.”
“I’ve already explained to you what happened.”
Mr.Martin paced beside the table. “You lied to the sheriff.”
