Moody looked up from the typewritten sheet.
“Then follows merely the identification of the prisoner by Mr. Bence,” he said. “I don’t know in what way Your Honors desire to hear the discussion.”
“Perhaps we’d better hear the objection,” Mason said.
Robinson, sitting at the defense table with his co-counsels, did not rise for a moment. Lizzie looked at him expectantly, wondering why on earth he didn’t immediately spring up. Jennings, on his left, who had been her father’s attorney at the time of the murders, and who had been called into the case from virtually the very beginning, handed Robinson a sheet of paper, which he glanced at and then nodded.
Sitting on Robinson’s right, Melvin Ohio Adams leaned over to whisper something in his ear. Adams might have been considered handsome, Lizzie thought, were it not for his ridiculous waxed mustache. He was forty-two years old, a graduate of Dartmouth College who’d met Jennings at Boston University while both men were studying law there. A resident of Boston, Adams had been district attorney for that city until seven years ago, and both her other attorneys had assured her he would be a valuable asset in their cause.
He seemed to whisper for an eternity. Robinson listened, nodded again and — still not rising from his chair — turned to Moody and said, “I understand that the offer doesn’t include facts to show that there was any sale.”
“No, sir,” Moody said.
“And — we perhaps may anticipate — but I believe it may be fair to ask whether there is any evidence of any sale to this defendant?”
“No, sir.”
“In any other place?”
“No, sir. It would be fair to say we have evidence to show some attempt to purchase prussic acid in another place, with the same negative result.”
“You propose to bring evidence upon attempts, but no success.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well,” Robinson said, and rose at last to approach the bench. “It appears that the stomachs of the deceased persons showed no traces of any poison whatever. Certainly not any prussic acid. So there is shown no connection as assailing the lives of those two persons. Lizzie Borden is charged in the indictment with slaying or killing those two people with a sharp instrument; committing the murder with an ax, for instance. Nothing else. Now here, if it has any force at all, suppose it were carried away up to its legitimate result? It is an attempt to charge her with an act causing death by a wholly different means — for which, of course, she is not now on trial. It must be shown, I maintain, that any act which is to be put in evidence on the part of this defendant must have some natural tendency to show that she has committed the act for which she stands on trial.
“To my mind, it does not show that. It is an attempt to buy an article which is used for other purposes. It is said that it is an article that is not used in the arts, but it is an article which a person may legitimately buy. Its sale is provided for under the statute, and it is not to be said that because a person may wrongfully use, in a distinct transaction, an article which he purchases, therefore its purchase has a tendency to show that he has committed some other crime for which he is indicted. Does it have any tendency at all to show that this defendant killed those two persons with an ax? I maintain it does not. I must say I have said all the Court desires to hear, and I have made my meaning, I trust, plain.”
“Mr. Moody,” Mason said, “the Court desires to have restated the limitations or purpose for which the testimony is offered.”
“There is no purpose of offering this testimony for any other use than as bearing upon the state of mind of the defendant prior to the homicide — the intent, the deliberation, and preparation. And for that, or any part of it which Your Honors may suggest it has a natural tendency to prove... we offer it.”
“We will withdraw for consultation,” Mason said.
Robinson smiled.
Lizzie saw the smile and read it to mean that her attorney felt confident about the judges’ eventual ruling; Eli Bence, the druggist, would not be allowed to continue with his testimony.
Idly she plucked a withering pansy from the cluster she held in her lap.
Her face showed no expression whatever.
My name is Alice M. Russell, and I live in Fall River. I don’t know how long I’ve lived here. A good many years. I’m unmarried, used to live in the house now occupied by Dr. Kelly, lived there just eleven years. During all that time, the Bordens occupied the house just north. I was well acquainted with all of the family — Mr. Borden, Mrs. Borden, Miss Emma Borden and Miss Lizzie Borden. I occasionally had calls from Lizzie, and I went to her house as well. Whenever I called at her house, she received me upstairs, in what’s called the guest room, used it for a sitting room while I was there.
On Wednesday night, August third, of last year, Lizzie Borden came to visit me. I’m not sure what time it was, I think about seven. Sometime in the evening. She came alone, as far as I saw, stayed with me until nine, or five minutes after, as near as I know. We talked together about various subjects. I think when she came in she said, “I’ve taken your advice, and I’ve written to Marion that I’ll come.” I don’t know what came in between, I don’t know as this followed that, but I said, “I’m glad you’re going,” as I’d urged her to go before...
“Be kind enough to speak a little louder, if you can,” Robinson said.
“Shall I repeat that?”
“If you please. Because I didn’t hear it.”
... I said, “I’m glad you’re going.” I’d urged her before to go, and I didn’t know she’d decided to go. I said, “I’m glad you’re going.” And I don’t know just what followed, but I said something about her having a good time, and she said, “Well, I don’t know, I feel depressed. I feel as if something was hanging over me that I can’t throw off, and it comes over me at times, no matter where I am.” And she said, “When I was at the table the other day, when I was at Marion, the girls were laughing and talking and having a good time, and this feeling came over me, and one of them spoke and said, ‘Lizzie, why don’t you talk?’ ”
I don’t remember of any more conversation about Marion. Whether there was or not, I don’t remember. The conversation went on, I suppose it followed right on after that. When she spoke again, she said, “I don’t know, father has so much trouble.” Oh, wait, I’m a little ahead of the story. She said, “Mr. and Mrs. Borden were awfully sick last night.”
And I said, “Why? What’s the matter? Something they’ve eaten?”
She said, “We were all sick. All but Maggie.”
“Something you think you’ve eaten?”
“We don’t know. We had some baker’s bread, and all ate of it but Maggie, and Maggie wasn’t sick.”
“Well, it couldn’t have been the bread,” I said. “If it had been baker’s bread, and all ate of it but Maggie, and Maggie wasn’t sick. If it had been baker’s bread, I should suppose other people would be sick, and I haven’t heard of anybody.”
And she said, “That’s so.” And she said, “Sometimes I think our milk might be poisoned.”