Page 65

March 31, 1800

“Hang him!”

“Hanging’s too good for him! Crucify him!”

There hadn’t been such a mob around Federal Hall since President Washington’s inauguration ten years ago, when New York was still the nation’s capital and the building around which the crowds were thronging the seat of government. The crowd, however, was in far less sanguine a mood than they had been that day.

In fact, thought Cadwallader Colden, rather than sanguine, they were sanguinary. It was a clever turn of phrase; he would have to remember it to repeat to Maria later, that evening, once Levi Weeks had been pronounced guilty.

“What is the matter? Why have we stopped?” Catherine Ring leaned forward, trying to see out the window.

Cadwallader had taken the precaution of fetching the Rings and Hope Sands in his own carriage. It had been a strange atmosphere in the Ring house that morning, everyone in their Sunday best, some coming to be called by the prosecution, some the defense.

Of Richard Croucher there had been no sign. He had married his widow the day before, and left his room at Mrs. Ring’s to spend his wedding night with his bride before coming to beguile his honeymoon testifying against Levi Weeks. Cadwallader hoped he made it to the court in a timely fashion, although he would have to fight his way through the press of spectators to get there.

Elias Ring stuck his head out the window. “They’re clearing the street.”

Constables with sticks were pushing the people back, making way for a phalanx of city militia and volunteer guards. In the center, closely guarded all around, marched Levi Weeks, back straight, head up, staring straight ahead.

“Murderer!” The crowd had sighted him and surged forward again. “Devil!”

“For Elma!” Someone lobbed a clod of dirt—or possibly something other than dirt—at Levi, hitting one of his guards instead.

From his high position in the carriage, Cadwallader saw Levi flinch, but his head never turned.

“Stone him!” One enterprising soul was attempting to pry a cobble from the street, and was overborne by members of the volunteer guard—paid by Ezra Weeks, Cadwallader had no doubt.

“It’s the people, raising their voice in your cause,” said Cadwallader, trying to keep the excitement from his voice.

Surely thousands of New Yorkers couldn’t be wrong? The jury would be made from New Yorkers such as these.

Hope Sands lifted her chin. “Good for them. Levi Weeks is a positive villain and it’s only fit the whole world knows it.”

“I only want it to be over,” said Mrs. Ring faintly. “The children . . . I don’t like to leave them.”

Her sister reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. “Mr. Colden’s maid has them well in hand. They won’t miss thee for the one day.”

No neighbors had been found who were willing to mind the Rings’ four children while all the family and the boarders were at court. No one wanted to miss the trial. They were all going as either witnesses or spectators. So Cadwallader had brought with him one of his own housemaids, with strict instructions to stay at the Ring house as long as was needed.

That had been Maria’s idea, of course.

“Polly will mind them as if they were her own,” said Cadwallader heartily, although in truth Polly was only thirteen. But she could at least be trusted to change the baby’s clouts and make sure the little boy didn’t burn down the boardinghouse.

The carriage rattled into motion again. “Make way for Mr. Colden!” his coachman bellowed. “Make way for the attorney general!”

A cheer rose from the crowd, from a thousand throats, shouting his name. Admittedly, interspersed with cries of “Hang Levi!” and “Justice for Elma!” but his name all the same, with a grand huzzah such as he’d never thought to hear.

The steps clunked down and the coachman opened the door, grinning broadly. Dazedly, Cadwallader stepped out, and the cheering rose to a crescendo.

“Huzzah for the attorney general! Hang Levi!”

Cadwallader bowed to the crowd. He rather hoped Maria could hear. Was she in the courthouse? She’d said she meant to attend with Josiah.

A light cough from the interior of the carriage reminded him of his duties. Cadwallader handed down Catherine Ring, her gloved hand cold in his. He’d never seen her in gloves before, always with bare hands, engaged in a domestic task—and then Hope Sands, who stepped lightly from the carriage like a lady born.

Elias Ring clambered down by himself, his broad hat and baggy trousers drawing some guffaws from the crowd. It was not the best start, Cadwallader thought, as he hurried them under the grand arched loggia into Federal Hall. Cadwallader had meant to call Elias directly after his wife, but now that he thought about it, perhaps it might be better to call Hope Sands second, and push Elias Ring back to third. He wasn’t needed for much, anyway. His primary purpose was to testify to the relationship between Elma and Levi while Mrs. Ring was in the country, and to confirm Mrs. Ring’s account of Elma’s mental state on the day she disappeared.

Catherine Ring and Hope Sands, on the other hand, in their Quaker brown and gray, made just the impression Cadwallader desired. Mrs. Ring’s nervousness was only what one would expect of a common person confronted with the grand workings of the law. An honest woman, a good wife and mother.