Alias Grace (48 page)

They held it against me as well that I was at first calm and in good spirits, with full and clear eyes, which they took for callousness; but if I’d been weeping and crying, they would have said it showed my guilt; for they’d already decided I was guilty, and once people make their minds up that you have done a crime, then anything you do is taken as proof of it; and I don’t think I could have scratched myself or wiped my nose without it being written up in the newspapers, and malicious comment made on it, in high-sounding phrases. And it was at this time that they called me McDermott’s paramour, and also his accomplice; and they wrote also that I must have helped to strangle Nancy, as it would take two to do the job. The newspaper journalists like to believe the worst; they can sell more papers that way, as one of them told me himself; for even upstanding and respectable people dearly love to read ill of others.

The next thing, Sir, was the Inquest, which was held very soon after we were brought back. It was to determine how Nancy and Mr. Kinnear had died, whether by accident or murder; and for that I had to be examined in court. By now I was thoroughly terrified, as I could see that feeling was running very much against me; and the
jailers in Toronto made cruel jokes when they brought in my food, and said they hoped when they hanged me that the scaffold would be high, as that way they would get a good look at my ankles. And one of them tried to take advantages, and said I might as well enjoy it while I had the chance, as where I was going I’d never have no fine brisk lover like himself between my knees; but I told him to keep his filthy self to himself; and it would have come to worse, except that his fellow-jailer came along and said that I hadn’t been tried yet, much less condemned; and if the first one valued his position he should keep away from me. Which he did mostly.

I will tell Dr. Jordan about this, as he likes to hear about such things, and always writes them down.

Well, Sir, I will continue – the day of the Inquest came, and I took care to appear neat and tidy, for I knew how much appearances count, as when you are applying for a new position, and they always look at your wrists and cuffs, to see if you are of clean habits; and they did say in the newspapers that I was decently dressed.

The Inquest was held in the City Hall, with a number of Magistrates present, all staring and frowning; and an immense crowd of spectators, and Press men, pushing and shoving and jostling, so as to be in a better position to see and hear; and these had to be reprimanded several times, for disruption. I didn’t see how they could get any more people into the room, which was stuffed to bursting, but more and more kept trying to thrust themselves forward.

I tried to control my trembling, and to face what was to come with as much courage as I could lay hold of, which by that time, to tell you the truth, Sir, was not very much. McDermott was there, looking as surly as ever, which was the first time I had seen him since we were arrested. The newspapers said he showed
sullen doggedness and reckless defiance
, which was their way of putting it, I suppose. But it was
nothing different from the way he always looked at the breakfast table.

Then they started in to question me about the murders, and I was at a loss. For as you know, Sir, I could not rightly remember the events of that terrible day, and did not feel I had been present at them at all, and had lain unconscious for several parts of it; but I was well aware that if I said this I would be laughed to scorn, since Jefferson the butcher testified that he’d seen me and conversed with me, and said I’d told him we would not be needing any fresh meat; which they made a joke of later, because of the bodies in the cellar, in a broadsheet poem they were hawking about at the time of McDermott’s hanging; and I thought it was very coarse and common, and disrespectful of a fellow-being’s mortal struggle.

So I said that the last time I’d seen Nancy was around dinnertime, when I looked out of the kitchen door and saw her putting the young ducks in; and after that, McDermott said she’d gone into the house, and I said she was not there, and he told me to mind my own business. Then he said she’d gone over to Mrs. Wright’s. I told them I was suspicious, and asked McDermott about her several times, when we were travelling to the States, at which he said she was all right; but I did not positively know of her death, until she was discovered on the Monday morning.

I then told how I heard a shot, and saw Mr. Kinnear’s body lying on the floor; and how I screamed and rushed about, and how McDermott shot at me, and I fainted and fell down. I did remember that part of it. And indeed they found the ball from the gun, in the wood of the summer kitchen door frame, which showed I was not lying.

We were bound over for trial, which was not to take place until November; and so I was three weary months penned up in the Toronto jail, which was worse than being here in the Penitentiary, as I was all by myself in a cell, and people coming on the pretence of
some errand or other, but really to gawk and gape. And I was in a very miserable state.

Outside, the seasons changed, but all I knew of it was the difference in the light that shone through the small barred window, which was too high on the wall for me to see out of it; and the air that would come in, bringing the scents and odours of all I was missing. In August there was the smell of fresh-mown hay, and then the smell of grapes and peaches ripening; and in September the apples, and in October the fallen leaves, and the first cold foretaste of snow. There was nothing for me to do, except sit in my cell, and worry about what was going to happen, and whether indeed I would be hanged, as the jailers told me every day, and I must say they enjoyed every word of death and disaster that came out of their mouths. I don’t know whether you have noticed it, Sir, but there are some that take pleasure in the distress of a fellow-mortal, and most especially if they think that fellow-mortal has committed a sin, which adds an extra relish. But which among us has not sinned, as the Bible tells us? I would be ashamed myself, to take such delight in the sufferings of others.

In October they gave me a lawyer, which was Mr. MacKenzie. He was not very handsome, and had a nose like a bottle. I thought he was very young and untried, as this was his first case; and sometimes his manner was a little too familiar for my taste, as he appeared to wish to be shut up in the cell with me alone, and offered to comfort me, with frequent pattings of the hand; but I was glad to have anyone at all, to plead my case and to put things in as good a light as possible; so I said nothing about it, but did my best to smile and behave gratefully. He wanted me to tell my story in what he called a coherent way, but would often accuse me of wandering, and become annoyed with me; and at last he said that the right thing was, not to tell the story as I truly remembered it, which nobody could be
expected to make any sense of; but to tell a story that would hang together, and that had some chance of being believed. I was to leave out the parts I could not remember, and especially to leave out the fact that I could not remember them. And I should say what must have happened, according to plausibility, rather than what I myself could actually recall. So that is what I attempted to do.

I was by myself a great deal, and spent many a long hour dwelling on my future ordeal; and if I came to be hanged, what it would be like; and how long and lonely the road of death might be, that I could well be forced to travel along; and what awaited me at the other end of it. I prayed to God, but got no answer; and I consoled myself by reflecting that this silence of his was just another of his mysterious ways. I tried to think over all of the things I’d done wrong, so I could repent of them; such as choosing the second-best sheet for my mother, and not staying awake when Mary Whitney was dying. And when I myself came to be buried, it might not be in a sheet at all, but cut up into pieces, and bits and fragments, as they say the doctors did to you if you were hanged. And that was my worst fear.

Then I attempted to cheer myself, by recalling earlier scenes. I remembered Mary Whitney, and how she’d had her marriage and her farmhouse planned out, with the curtains chosen and all, and how it came to nothing, and how she died in agony; and then the last day of October came around, and I remembered the night we’d peeled the apples, and how she’d said I would cross the water three times, and then get married to a man whose name began with a J. All of that seemed now like a childish game, and I no longer had any belief in it. Oh Mary, I would say, how I long to be back in our little cold bedroom at Mrs. Alderman Parkinson’s, with the cracked washbasin and the one chair, instead of here in this dark cell, in danger of my life. And it did seem to me at times that a little comfort came back to
me in return; and once I heard her laughing. But you often imagine things, when you are alone so much.

It was at this time that the red peonies first began growing.

The last time I saw Dr. Jordan, he asked if I recalled Mrs. Susanna Moodie, when she’d come to visit the Penitentiary. That would have been seven years ago, shortly before they put me into the Lunatic Asylum. I said that I did recall her. He asked me what I thought of her, and I said she looked like a beetle.

A beetle? said Dr. Jordan. I saw that I had astonished him.

Yes, a beetle, Sir, I said. Round and fat and dressed in black, and a quick and scuttling sort of walk; and black, shiny eyes too. I do not mean it as an insult, Sir, I added, for he’d given one of his short laughs. It was just the way she looked, in my opinion.

And do you remember the time she visited you, just a short time after that, in the Provincial Asylum?

Not well, Sir, I said. But we had many visitors there.

She describes you as shrieking and running about. You were confined on the violent ward.

That may be, Sir, I said. I do not recall behaving in a violent manner towards others, unless they did so first to me.

And singing, I believe, said he.

I enjoy singing, I said shortly; for I was not pleased by this line of questioning. A good hymn tune or ballad is uplifting to the spirits.

Did you tell Kenneth MacKenzie that you could see the eyes of Nancy Montgomery following you around? he said.

I have read what Mrs. Moodie wrote down about that, Sir, I said. I don’t like to call anyone a liar. But Mr. MacKenzie put a misconstruction upon what I told him.

And what was that?

I said red spots, at first, Sir. And that was true. They looked like red spots.

And after?

And after, when he pressed me for an explanation, I told him what I thought they were. But I did not say eyes.

Yes? Go on! said Dr. Jordan, who was trying to appear calm; he was leaning forward, as if waiting for some great secret. But it was no great secret. I would have told him earlier, if he’d asked me.

I did not say eyes, Sir; I said peonies. But Mr. MacKenzie was always more fond of listening to his own voice than to someone else’s. And I suppose it’s more the usual thing, to have eyes following you around. It is more what is required, under the circumstances, if you follow me, Sir. And I guess that was why Mr. MacKenzie misheard it, and why Mrs. Moodie wrote it down. They wanted to have things done properly. But they were peonies, all the same. Red ones. There is no mistake possible.

I see, said Dr. Jordan. But he looked as puzzled as ever.

Next he will want to know about the trial. It began on the 3rd of November, and so many people crushed into the courthouse that the floor gave way. When I was put into the dock, at first I had to stand, but then they brought me a chair. The air was very close, and there was a constant buzzing of voices, like a swarm of bees. Different people got up, some in my favour, to say I’d never been in trouble before, and was a hard worker, and of good character; and others spoke against me; and there were more of these. I looked around for Jeremiah the peddler, but he was not there. He at least would have understood something of my plight, and would have tried to help me out of it, for he’d said there was a kinship between us. Or so I believed.

Then they brought in Jamie Walsh. I was hoping for some token of sympathy from him, but he gave me a stare filled with such reproach and sorrowful anger, that I saw how it was with him. He felt betrayed in love, because I’d gone off with McDermott; and
from being an angel in his eyes, and fit to be idolized and worshipped, I was transformed to a demon, and he would do all in his power to destroy me. With that my heart sank within me, for of everyone I knew at Richmond Hill, I had been counting on him to say a good word for me; and he looked so young and fresh, and unspoiled and innocent, that a pang went through me, for I valued his good opinion of me, and it was a grief to lose it.

He got up to testify, and was sworn in; and the way he took the oath on the Bible, very solemn but with hard rage in his voice, did not bode me any good. He told about our party the night before, and playing the flute, and how McDermott had refused to dance, and walked him partway home; and how Nancy was alive when he’d left us, and on her way upstairs to bed. And then he told how he’d come over the next afternoon, and seen McDermott with a double-barrelled gun in his hand, which he claimed he’d been using to shoot birds. He said I was standing by the pump with my hands folded, wearing white cotton stockings; and when asked where Nancy was, I laughed in a teasing manner, and said he was always wanting to know things; but that Nancy had gone to Wrights’, where there was someone ill, with a man who’d come to fetch her.

I remember none of this, Sir, but Jamie Walsh gave his testimony in a straightforward manner which it was difficult to doubt.

But then his emotions overcame him, and he pointed at me, and said, “She has got on Nancy’s dress, the ribbons under her bonnet are also Nancy’s, and the tippet she has on, and also the parasol in her hand.”

At that there was a great outcry in the courtroom, like the uprush of voices at the Judgment Day; and I knew I was doomed.

When my turn came, I said what Mr. MacKenzie had told me to say, and my head was all in a turmoil, trying to remember the right answers; and I was pressed to explain why I hadn’t warned Nancy
and Mr. Kinnear, once I knew James McDermott’s intentions. And Mr. MacKenzie said it was for fear of my life, and despite his nose he was very eloquent. He said that I was little more than a child, a poor motherless child and to all intents and purposes an orphan, cast out upon the world with nobody to teach me any better; and I’d had to work hard for my bread, from an early age, and was industry itself; and I was very ignorant and uneducated, and illiterate, and little better than a halfwit; and very soft and pliable, and easily imposed upon.