Chapter 26: Day one of the trial

I suppose there are people in remote villages and the farthest coast of Martinique who haven’t heard about my trial. But that’s little comfort when I look around the packed courthouse. Like the baying mob who witnessed the executions in Paris forty years ago, the crowd sense a bloody festival is in the offing, with the judge being my own personal guillotine.

Edward arrived back in Saint Pierre late yesterday, and he has been busy since then. Consequently I haven’t been able to say more than a few words to him since his return. I look around the court for friendly faces. There’s Samantha and Angelique sat close by me. Mama is sat in the gallery where the ‘fine ladies’ traditionally sit to avoid rubbing shoulders with the unwashed masses. Indeed, the smell in the courtroom is quite powerful, and the court official orders the windows and doors to be opened wide.

I continue to search around the room for faces I know. There’s Henri, of course, sat next to the man I presume is his lawyer. I’m just about to give up looking for friendly faces when I see a face I wasn’t expecting ... Captain Richard Allen. I had seen the English navy ship in the bay this morning, but I thought no more about it. Visiting navy ships are not uncommon, and Richard had mentioned that there’s currently a combined venture by the English, French and American navies to crush pirate activity in this region once and for all. Richard notices my attention and he politely tips his hat in my direction.

“This court is in session,” booms the court official, silencing the murmuring of the gathered crowd.

“Are the plaintiff and defendant present?” asks the judge for the record, since he would need to be blind not to see us.

What follows for the next ten minutes is a lot of paper shuffling and legal mumbo-jumbo as the written submissions from both sides are formally entered as affidavits into the hearing’s records.

“Are their witnesses who can verify the accuracy of the statements made in the affidavits?” asks the judge of both lawyers.

“The plaintiff has one witness,” replies Henri’s lawyer. “The slave overseer on the Ladybird plantation can verify the records in the plantation’s slave register.”

“Is the register not presented as evidence?” queries the judge. “Your client’s case relies on the contents of the register. The defendant claims the entry relating to her birth was added at a much later date by an unknown hand. In the circumstances I would expect your client to present the register to the court so that we can see for ourselves.”

“Um ... Sorry your honour,” mumbles the lawyer. “My client interpreted the law saying that plantations must keep a register of slaves on the plantation as meaning the register should not be removed.”

“In situations like this, then I think the register should be presented to the court. How long will it take to bring it here?”

“Um ... We can have it here by the day after tomorrow, your honour,” says the lawyer after consulting with Henri.

“Very well, this hearing is adjourned until ten o’clock the day after tomorrow,” orders the judge.

“One moment, your honour,” interrupts Henri’s lawyer as the judge is about to lower his gavel to signal the adjournment. “The law requires the defendant to be detained in custody for the duration of the hearing.”

“Hmm. That’s true. But the jail is still unfit for use following the slave riots last year. I don’t consider there to be any risk of Mademoiselle Thibert fleeing in the meantime, so I have no problem with continuing her bail.”

“Even so, your honour,” persists the lawyer. “The law is the law. She must be confined.”