“The first time was in a complaint filed by Dirk Fletcher.” Ely paused again, this time to riffle through the stack of parchment. “Here it is,” he said, lifting the sheet close enough to read. “Selah Kilbrid, resident of Hopewell, Pennsylvania, is hereby accused of openly colluding with Captain Harlow to secure the contract of indenture for one Henry Alan.” Ely set the parchment aside. “Does this sound familiar?” he asked me.
It was one thing to be charged for a real crime and another to be blamed for something so completely ridiculous. Squaring my shoulders, I looked right at the magistrate. “I offered thirteen pounds for the contract, which the captain accepted. That’s hardly grounds for collusion.”
Fletcher came to his feet. “She interrupted a legal transaction and bought the servant for one pound less than what I offered.”
“And what of the trap you set on our way back to Hopewell?” I asked, turning on him. “You forgot to mention that in your complaint.”
“The girl’s lying. I was traveling on the same road when we were all set upon by a group of bandits. It was a stroke of luck that any of us survived.”
“You shot Henry in the back!” I cried. “He would be dead if not...” I caught myself just in time. “If you were any kind of marksman.” It was sort of the truth. Two inches to the left and the shot would have gone into Henry’s heart.
Henry leaned closer to me. “Don’t let him upset you,” he whispered, though I noticed his own hand had strayed again toward the dagger. “Keep focused on the magistrates.”
I gritted my teeth, furious at Fletcher’s mendacity, but Henry was right. My intense desire to claw out Fletcher’s eyes would have to wait till later. For now I had to stay focused on the task at hand and not get distracted by his lies.
“Sit down, Fletcher,” Martin Jones instructed, speaking for the first time since the proceedings had started. “Your complaint has already been recorded, unless you wish to elaborate on these other events.”
“There is no need,” Fletcher said, glaring at me. “The matter was settled at the time.” He sat down in a show of great indignation.
“By good fortune,” Ely went on, “I was able to meet with Captain Harlow before he set sail to discuss the merits of this complaint. At my request, the good captain thoroughly recounted the confrontation on the docks that morning. He also mentioned the untimely demise of one particular passenger aboard The Berkshire, and how the subsequent guilt from this death ultimately influenced his decision to sell Henry Alan’s contract to you, Selah, rather than to Dirk Fletcher. As I possess a personal knowledge of the captain’s character, having conducted business with him on numerous occasions, I was duly satisfied with his explanation and dismissed the case.”
Fletcher released a loud, exasperated breath, but otherwise refrained from interrupting.
“Ten days after my conversation with Captain Harlow,” Ely said, looking back at me, “your name was brought to my attention again in a letter written by Nathan Crowley.” He shuffled through the stack of parchment, extracting several sheets this time. “Here it is,” he said, skimming one of the letters, “...Selah Kilbrid has used treacherous methods to ensnare her cousin, Samuel Kilbrid in matrimony...their union is a sham, and I demand it be annulled forthwith.”
I had forgotten about these other letters and glanced quickly over at Nathan. He met my eyes with a look that begged forgiveness.
“Over the course of three weeks, I received a total of five letters from Nathan,” Ely said, thumbing through the various sheets, “each challenging the legality of your marriage. In the final letter, he even goes so far as to accuse you of witchcraft.”
It was Nathan’s turn to come to his feet. “I already told you that I acted in error. Selah is not a witch, and there is no reason to challenge her marriage to Henry Kilbrid.”
“Your revised statement has been noted,” Ely said with an impatient wave of his hand. “Please take your seat.”
I had to remind myself to keep breathing. Nathan sank dejectedly back into his chair.
“Of all the charges,” Ely said, “it was those against your recent nuptials that I found most perplexing. Not two weeks before the first letter arrived from Nathan Crowley, the captain had specifically told me that your cousin and fiancé, Samuel Kilbrid, had died at sea.”
I watched Nathan’s expression change to utter confusion. Next to him, Ben let his head drop from what was coming next.
“Your cousin’s death was easy enough to verify from the documents the captain had filed before leaving the Colonies. It was the marriage contract that I had difficulty finding. You see, one of my fellow magistrates had failed to have it properly recorded.” Ely shot Martin a rather severe look.
“Yes, yes,” Martin agreed. “Terrible mistake. Put it in a desk drawer and completely forgot it was there.”