A Broken Vessel by Kate Ross

the hands of a just God, and redeemed by his Son’s grace?—even so, I would like to think it was not impiety that prompted her desperate deed, but a burden of guilt so great that it turned her mind. Gentlemen, I hope that in reaching your verdict, you will take into account her mental imbalance, and deal gently with her memory, as you would wish to be judged yourselves.”
    The women spectators sniffed. One of them buried her face in her handkerchief. The jury lowered their eyes, humbled and moved, as if they were in church.
    Julian marvelled at Harcourt. He had turned Mary’s death while under his care into a source of acclaim for himself and the refuge. No one dreamed of asking how he could have let such a thing happen. No one cared about the facts anymore, but only about the lovely, tragic tale he had woven around them. To Julian, the evidence was full of holes—some of them large enough to drive a coach-and-four through. But anyone attempting to point that out here would be a voice crying in the wilderness.
    “Just a few last questions, Mr. Harcourt.” The coroner was practically purring. “Mere formalities, nothing more. I am sure none of us wishes to distract you any longer from your valuable work.”
    Harcourt inclined his head graciously. Julian wondered if the coroner would become the newest subscriber to the Reclamation Society. Perhaps the jury would all join as well.
    “Was there any evidence of forcible entry into the refuge after the deceased was found dead?”
    “No. There were no broken windows, and no locks had been tampered with.”
    “Have you any idea how the deceased might have obtained laudanum?”
    “There, I blame myself.” (Protests and shaking of heads among the jury and the spectators.) “Yes, I feel the fault is primarily mine. These young women are self-indulgent by nature, and skilled in evading the law. They are not permitted to leave the refuge during their rehabilitation, or to have contact with anyone from outside except under close supervision, but even so, Mary may have been clever enough to smuggle in the laudanum without our knowledge. I fear I have been too trusting with the inmates, believing that their desire to reform is sincere, and that they can therefore slough off the deceitful habits inculcated over many years. I can only assure you all that I will redouble my watchfulness over them, and do everything in my power to guard them against the treacherous promptings of their own natures.”
    Julian gazed at Harcourt almost in wonder. The man was grotesque but fascinating, like a figure at Mme. Tussaud’s— which, with his white, waxen skin, he rather resembled. Julian felt sure he was a fraud; there was nothing behind his rhetoric but vanity and ambition. Yet there was no denying he was eloquent. And once again he had completely diverted attention from the facts. Instead of thinking about how Mary had gotten the laudanum, the coroner and jury were caught up in his personal dismay and regret, and his resolve to surmount this misfortune and persevere in his cause.
    Julian knew the time had come for him and Sally to produce the letter. He also knew he had no intention of doing so, if he could think of any justification for keeping it back. He did not believe anyone here would give it serious attention. Harcourt would dismiss it as further proof of poor Mary’s stubborn pride—for why should she be so secretive, if she were truly humbled and repentant? The coroner and jury would sigh sympathetically, and that would be the end of the matter. Julian looked around the room, but there did not seem to be one person immune from Harcourt’s spell, who could take a cold, unsentimental look at the facts.
    All at once his eyes fell on Samuel Digby. He was leaning back with his gouty foot propped on a chair, his arms folded, and an expression of cynical amusement on his face. Thank God, thought Julian, I’m not mad, I’m not alone—here’s someone else who sees Harcourt for