Lizzie

12: New Bedford — 1893

“Your name?”

“James E. Winwood.”

“You are an undertaker?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you have charge of the funeral of Andrew J. Borden and his wife?”

“I did.”

“While you were preparing Mr. Borden’s body for the grave, did you observe whether or not he had any ring upon his finger?”

“I cannot remember positively now. I cannot remember positively.”

“Did you see him have any ring upon his finger while you were having anything to do with him?”

“I cannot remember so long ago.”

Ah, but Lizzie could remember longer ago than that, could recall in vivid detail that summer of 1890 when in Alison’s beautifully cluttered drawing room they had taken tea and laughed away the lengthening shadows of dusk. She had told her about the ring then, how she had returned it to her beau, and how it had come back in the mail not three days later.

“Did you return the ring yet another time?” Alison had asked.

“No.”

“You certainly didn’t throw it away, did you? Gold?”

“I gave it to my father. He still wears it.”

“Dr. Bowen, I wish to know if — after you had given Miss Borden the bromo caffeine on Thursday — you had occasion to prescribe for her on account of mental distress and nervous excitement?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When was it?”

“Friday.”

“The next day?”

“Friday night. At bedtime.”

“Was the prescription of medicine the same as the other?”

“It was different.”

“What was it?”

“Sulfate of morphine.”

“Well, what is commonly called morphine?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You directed morphine to be taken?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In what doses?”

“One-eighth of a gram.”

Lizzie watched as Marianna Holmes entered the witness box and was sworn in. She had known the woman for the better part of her life, and had gone to the same school as her daughters. At the Central Congregational Church, she and Mrs. Holmes were both members of the Christian Endeavor Society, and though they were not engaged together in many church activities — Mrs. Holmes was a member of the Sunday school Bible class, whereas Lizzie taught in the Chinese department — they nonetheless served on the same board at Fall River’s Good Samaritan Hospital. She was fond of the older woman, and seeing her now recalled for Lizzie a happier, less complicated time. Mrs. Holmes took her hand from the Bible, sat and then turned her attention to Jennings, who asked the preliminary questions that identified her to the jury.

“Now, tell us, Mrs. Holmes,” he said, “anything you can about Lizzie’s conduct at the funeral, more particularly in relation to the dead body of her father.”

“I pray Your Honors’ judgment,” Knowlton said.

“I will withdraw the question,” Jennings said. “Mrs. Holmes, were you there on the day of the funeral?”

“I was.”

“What day was it?”

“On Saturday, August the sixth.”

“Forenoon or afternoon?”

“Forenoon.”

“About what time?”

“Eleven, I think.”

“Before the funeral began, did Miss Lizzie go down to see her father’s remains?”

“Wait a minute,” Knowlton said. “I pray Your Honors’ judgment.”

“Assuming the question to be preliminary only,” Mason said, “it may be answered.”

“Please state your question again.”

“Before the funeral began, did Miss Lizzie go down to see her father’s remains?”

“She did.”

“Where were they?”

“In the sitting room.”

“Were they in the casket?”

“They were.”

“Prepared for burial?”

“They were.”

“Both bodies in the same room?”

“They were.”

“What did Miss Lizzie do after she went down into the room?”

“Pray Your Honors’ judgment,” Knowlton said.

“Exclude the question,” Mason said.

“Now, Mrs. Holmes,” Jennings said, “just pay attention to the question which I ask you, and do not attempt to answer anything else except that particular question. On the Saturday morning two days after the murder, did Lizzie Borden come downstairs into the room where her father’s body was lying prepared for burial?”

“She did.”

“And did she go to the casket?”

“She did.”

“In your presence?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When she was viewing her father, did she shed tears?”

“She did.”

“Did she kiss her father?”

“She did.”

On Saturday, I doubled the dose of sulfate of morphine to one-quarter of a gram...

“Miss Russell, how long did you remain at the Borden house after the day of the murder — homicide?”

“I went there when I was called, and I came away the next Monday morning. I occupied what was Mr. and Mrs. Borden’s room Thursday and Friday nights. Saturday and Sunday nights, I occupied Miss Emma’s room.”

“Were you there on Saturday, August sixth, when the officers went all over that house, over and over again?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was there any part of it they didn’t examine?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t go round with the officers.”

“How long were they there on that business?”

“They were to come at three. I don’t know what time they got through.”

“Didn’t they come just as soon as the funeral party went from the house?”

“There were some came.”

“What hour was the funeral?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Wasn’t the funeral in the forenoon?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Eleven o’clock or so?”

“I think so. I’m not sure. Eleven or twelve.”

“You know the location of the cemetery where Mr. and Mrs. Borden were buried?”

“Yes, sir.”

“About how far is that from the house?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you go to the cemetery?”

“No, sir.”

“You remained in the house?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who else remained there?”

“Well, I think the undertaker’s assistants and Mrs. Holmes.”

“Miss Lizzie went to the cemetery?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, didn’t the officers come right into the house as quick as the funeral party went, and search everything about the house in her absence?”

“No, sir.”

“Didn’t they come in during that time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And they made searches.”

“They made a search, but they didn’t search everywhere. They went into her room, I think one of the officers took the keys that lay on the bureau after Miss Lizzie had left, and unlocked one or two drawers in her bureau, and didn’t search any further there. I think they opened what she called her toilet room, pulled the portiere to one side, just looked there a little. I don’t know how much they searched. I don’t think very much. And they went into Miss Emma’s room and looked around, and opened the cupboard door in her room, and I remember one of the officers pressing against a bundle after he shut it, some pillow or blanket, something of that kind. And the bed was taken to pieces. That’s all that I saw.”

And now, Lizzie knew, they would go on and on about her dresses. Trying to determine which dress she was wearing on the morning of August 4, when all was confusion following the murders. Trying to determine whether or not there had been blood on any of the clothing in her possession. Whether, too, there had been paint stains on one of those dresses.

The paint stains were important.

She watched as Assistant Marshal Fleet came to the stand again, dressed in civilian clothing as he’d been last August, he of the sloping brow and sparse hair, narrow eyes that appeared on the verge of tears, though certainly they were not, an unkempt shaggy mustache that hid his mouth almost entirely, a high collar and simple dark neck scarf. Robinson had once mentioned to her that a good lawyer never asked a question to which he did not already know the answer — though he himself had been surprised earlier by Officer Mullaly’s testimony about yet another part of the disputed hatchet handle. She herself did not expect any surprises from Fleet now. Her mind wandered as he testified that he’d arrived at the house on that Saturday, August 6, just after the funeral procession had left...

The two hearses and eleven hacks made their way slowly toward the Oak Grove cemetery, an ivy wreath on her father’s bier, a bouquet of white roses and fern leaves bound with a white satin ribbon on her stepmother’s. Inside the house, they had lain within their caskets as if entirely at peace, the mutilated portions of their heads turned so that the cuts could not be noticed.

“Did you examine all the dresses that you found there?”

“We looked at them, yes, sir.”

Immense crowds of people lined the streets. As the procession moved slowly along North Main in the hot August sun, Lizzie — sitting with her sister in the first hack behind the hearses — saw many of her father’s friends and associates raising their hats in respect.

“Did you see, either in that closet or in any other closet in the house, or anywhere in the house, a dress with marks of paint upon it?”

“No, sir.”

Several hundred people stood about the cemetery grounds, awaiting the burial. A dozen policemen kept the crowds back. No one in the funeral party left the carriages during the ceremonies save for the pallbearers, her Uncle John and the officiating clergy.

“Did you find any blood upon any dress? Did you find anything that looked like blood or any discoloration of any kind?”

“No, sir.”

Fleet rose ponderously and stepped down from the witness box. She heard State Police Officer Seaver called. She watched him approaching the stand. She watched him as he placed his hand on the Bible.

At the cemetery, Reverend Buck opened his Bible and began reading. “ ‘I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?’ She said to him, ‘Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, he who is coming into the world.’ ”

“I commenced on the hooks and took each dress,” Seaver was saying, “with the exception of two or three in the corner, and passed them to Captain Fleet — he being near the window — and he examined them as well as myself, he more thoroughly than myself.”

“... went and called her sister Mary, saying quietly, ‘The Teacher is here and is calling for you.’ And when she heard it, she rose quickly and went to him...”

“I did not discover anything upon any of those dresses.”

“When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled; and he said, ‘Where have you laid him? ’ ”

“I did not see a light blue dress, diamond spots upon it, and paint around the bottom of the dress and on its front.”

And now Captain Desmond was on the stand, telling of his part in the search of the house that Saturday, and in her mind’s eye she saw the Reverend Dr. Adams standing beside the graves and praying for the spiritual guidance of all, and the inclination of all to submit to divine control, praying that justice would overtake the wrong that had been done and that those who were seeking to serve the ends of justice might be delivered from mistake, be helped to possess all mercifulness, as well as all righteousness, and praying at last that all might be delivered from the dominion of evil.

“Did you see anything that attracted your attention with reference to any dress?”

“No, sir,” Desmond answered.

“Did you see any dress that was soiled with paint or with spots of any sort?”

“No, sir.”

On that day of the funeral a telegram from Boston informed the police that they should not allow the bodies to be buried. Following instructions they returned both caskets to the hearses and then moved them into a receiving tomb.

Her sister Emma was dressed entirely in black.

There was a buzz of excitement in the courtroom as she walked toward the witness box, took off her glove and placed her hand on the extended Bible. Her face appeared tranquil, her pale white complexion only faintly tinged with a pink blush as she took the oath in a low, firm voice, and then replaced the glove on her left hand. There was a look of sadness, almost resignation, Lizzie thought, in her large brown eyes.

That her sister would stand by her, she had not the slightest doubt. Watching her she felt an all but irresistible urge to cross to where she was sitting, take her in her arms and hold her close, comfort her as she herself had been comforted by Emma after the death of their mother all those years ago. It was Emma who’d told her that on her deathbed, their mother had extracted a promise that she would always watch over Baby Lizzie, as she’d called her. Emma, as part of that obligation, had insisted on paying half the costs of the trial, a heavy burden she need not have assumed.

She was saying now that she was Emma L. Borden, that she was the sister of Miss Lizzie Borden. She was saying she had lived at the house on Second Street for twenty-one years at the time of the murders. She and her sister had always lived there with their father and Mrs. Borden. She told how she had been in Fairhaven when she received Dr. Bowen’s telegram, and had come home, of course, as soon as she could, arriving on that Thursday of the murders at about five o’clock.

She said that she had made a search for the note her stepmother was said to have received that day.

“I looked in a little bag that she carried downstreet with her sometimes, and in her little workbasket,” she said. “I didn’t find it.”

She told how she had caused a search to be made for the supposed writer of the note.

“I think there was an advertisement put into the paper by my authority. In the News. The News is a newspaper of large circulation in Fall River. It was there for some time, I think several days, perhaps. It requested the one that carried it,” she said. “I think it referred to the messenger. I don’t know. I didn’t see the advertisement.”

And then Jennings asked her about the ring.

“My father wore a ring upon his finger,” she said. “It was the only article of jewelry he ever wore. He received the ring from my sister Lizzie... I should think ten or fifteen years before his death, I can’t tell you accurately.”

Their eyes met. Emma’s brown and appearing moist now. Lizzie’s gray and blinking to hold back tears.

“Previous to his wearing it, she had worn it,” Emma said. “After it was given to him, he wore it always.” She paused. “It was upon his finger at the time he was buried.”

The courtroom was utterly still.

“Have you an inventory, Miss Emma,” Jennings asked, “of the clothes that were in the clothes closet on Saturday afternoon, the time of the search?”

“I have of the dresses.”

“Of the dresses, very well,” Jennings said. “You were there on the afternoon of the search?”

“I was.”

“Did you or Miss Lizzie at any time during that search Saturday afternoon, furnish any assistance to the officers?”

“We both together went to the attic to assist them about opening a trunk.”

“Did you or Miss Lizzie, so far as you know, at any time make any objection whatever to the searching of any part of that house?”

“Not the slightest.”

“Or of anything in it?”

“Not the slightest objection.”

“Did you assist them in any way you could?”

“By telling them to come as often as they pleased and search as thorough as they could.”

“Now, then, Miss Emma, do you know how many dresses were in there that afternoon?”

“I do. Somewhere about eighteen or nineteen.”

“And whose were those dresses?”

“All of them belonged to my sister and I except one that belonged to Mrs. Borden.”

“How many of those dresses were blue dresses or dresses in which blue was a marked color?”

“Ten.”

“To whom did these belong?”

“Two of them to me and eight to my sister.”

“Now, without telling me what I said, did I communicate to you or to your sister, Miss Lizzie, what Marshal Hilliard said in regard to the search of the upper portions of the house, as to whether it was completed or not?”

“You did, Mr. Jennings.”

“And when was that?”

“Saturday afternoon.”

“Then I will ask you to state what it was I said to Miss Lizzie and yourself about the completeness of the search in the upper part of the house.”

“You said everything had been examined, every box and bag.”

“Was any exception made?”

“No, sir.”

“Was that after Marshal Hilliard had taken the dress away or had been given the dress?”

“Yes, sir.”

I had asked Mr. Jennings where the dress was that Lizzie Borden wore that day, the day of the homicide. I was then in the room where Mrs. Borden was found upstairs. He went out into the hallway and came back into the room with a dress. I saw the prisoner soon after that in what is called Miss Emma’s room, just inside the door, standing and talking with somebody else. By that time I had passed the dress to Dr. Dolan after it was handed to me — the dress, skirt and waist which were presented to me by Mr. Jennings.

The dress was rolled up, and the white skirt was rolled up. I rolled up the dress skirt, underskirt and dress waist with what I call a lounge cover that was taken from the dining room. A green-striped cover. I rolled them up, rolled them in a paper, and tied them up, and Mr. Jennings brought them down onto Main Street. I met him at the corner of the Granite Block, and he passed them over to me. The same bundle I gave to him. After I got possession again, I carried them to my office and passed them over to Dr. Dolan.

“Professor Wood, what was the next thing that you had to do with this matter?”

I received at the police station in Fall River, from Dr. Dolan, a trunk containing a large number of substances — including the white skirt, which is there, and the blue dress skirt and blue dress waist. I later received in Boston from City Marshal Hilliard a box which I have here. It contained this pair of low shoes or ties, and this pair of black stockings.

The bottom of the shoe has certain stains which, so far as you could see from inspection, might have been blood stains. But they proved not to be.

And the stockings had no suspicious stains, either.

The blue dress skirt has near the pocket, if I can get it — yes, I have it here, that inner pocket here — a brownish smooch with a part of it I have cut out, and underneath which I have placed a pin in order to note the position of it. It is situated about three inches from the corner of the top of the pocket. In color, that simply resembled or might have been blood.

But upon holding the cloth up to the light it could easily be seen that it did not clog the meshes of the cloth in any way, and probably was not therefore a bloodstain.

But, to be sure, the portion was removed and thoroughly tested and soaked out in order to remove any blood pigment, and found not to be blood.

There was another spot similar to that lower down in the skirt. That was also tested and no blood was detected on it whatever.

Those were the only possible suspicious stains on the whole skirt. I did not determine what those stains were. I simply tested them for blood and found that they were not blood, and went no further. The dress waist was thoroughly examined, and there is not even a suspicion of a blood stain on it.

The white skirt, this one, contains a small blood spot on a line — it is sixteen inches to the left of this line from the placket hole to the bottom of the skirt, and six inches from the bottom of the skirt.

It is this stain here, a portion of which I have cut out, but I have left there about one-quarter or one-third of the complete stain, and it can only be seen by careful inspection. I had to make a larger hole in the cloth in order to avoid removing the whole of the blood spot, it was so small.

This blood spot was about one-sixteenth of an inch in diameter, about the size of the diameter of the head of a small pin — not a large pin nor a medium-size pin, but a small pin — and it appeared to me to be a little bit more extensive and plainer on the outside of the skirt than on the inside. I don’t know as that could be detected now because it has been rubbed so much, but at that time it was perceptible, when the stain was whole.

I examined that, and found it to be a bloodstain.

And the blood corpuscles when examined with a high power of the microscope averaged in measurement 1/3243 of an inch. That is the average measurement within the limits of human blood, and it is therefore consistent with its being a human bloodstain.

“Professor Wood... assuming that the placket hole of the skirt had been worn behind, where would that bring the spot of blood?”

“A little to the left of the back.”

“When you saw it, it was dried blood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And is the examination of the corpuscle of dried blood satisfactory in determining whether it is human blood or the blood of some other animal?”

“If it is satisfactory at all, it is.”

“Yes, if it is satisfactory at all. Are you able to say that this was not a spot of blood which might have gotten on from the menstrual flow of the woman?”

“No, sir, I am not.”

“It would be entirely consistent with that, would it?”

“Yes, sir, it may have been menstrual blood, or may not, so far as I can determine.”

“But it may be consistent with that?”

“Yes, sir.”

My full name is John W. Coughlin. I am a physician and surgeon in Fall River. In 1892 I was the mayor of that city, as I am now. On the Saturday evening following the homicide I went to the Borden house with City Marshal Hilliard. As we approached, I saw a large number of people congregated about the house. The sidewalk on the east side some little distance down, both north and to the south, was crowded with people. The middle of the street — there were a large number of people gathered there, and, in fact, it was with great difficulty that we were able to drive through without running some of them down. I notified the marshal that they should be removed. We drove to a police box, he got out of the carriage, and pulled in the box, calling the officers. After coming back from the corner of Fourth and Rodman Streets, we went into the house.

The first person that I saw was Miss Emma Borden. I later talked to Miss Lizzie, Miss Emma, and Mr. Morse in the parlor. Upon taking my seat, as near as I can recall, I said to the family, “I have a request to make of the family, and that is that you remain in the house for a few days, and I believe it would be better for all concerned if you did so.”

There was a question arose — I think Miss Lizzie, to the best of my recollection, Miss Lizzie asked me, “Why? Is there anybody in this house suspected?”

“Spoke up earnestly and promptly, did she?” Jennings asked.

“She made that statement,” Coughlin said.

“Will you answer my question?”

“He may answer,” Mason said.

“She spoke up somewhat excitedly, I should say.”

“She did?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What was the next thing?”

“Lizzie said, ‘I want to know the truth.’ ”

“Lizzie said so?”

“Yes, sir. And she repeated it, if I remember rightly.”

“Before you answered?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, ‘I regret, Miss Borden, but I must answer yes, you are suspected.’ ”

“What did she say?”

“She said, as I now recall it, ‘I am ready to go now.’ ”

“ ‘Or any time’, didn’t she?”

“I cannot recall that. She may have said it.”

“Spoke up earnestly and promptly then, didn’t she?”

“It would depend altogether by what you mean ‘earnestly and promptly’.”

“I mean what the words mean.”

“She replied in a manner you can call earnestly and promptly. There was no hesitation about it.”

“That is promptly — no hesitation, isn’t it? You understand that, don’t you?”

“I do, yes, sir.”

“Now did she speak earnestly? ”

“Well, I would not say she didn’t speak earnestly.”

“What’s that?”

“I should say I would not say she didn’t speak earnestly.”

“I know you say so. Did she speak earnestly?”

“Well, I should say yes. She spoke earnestly so far as the promptness of the question goes.”

“Do you know any difference between promptness and earnestness?”

“There is a difference between promptness and earnestness.”

“Keeping that distinction in mind, you say she answered you, did she — earnestly?”

“She did, as far as I—”

“What’s that?”

“As far as I would be able to determine by her action, she was earnest.”

“That’s what I asked you — prompt and earnest. What was then said?”

“Miss Emma Borden said, ‘Well, we’ve tried to keep it from her as long as we could.’ I then asked Miss Lizzie where she went after leaving her father. She said that she went to the barn for some lead for sinkers. I asked her how long she remained in the barn. She said about twenty minutes. I believe I then said that if the people annoyed them in any way, that they should notify the officer in the yard and instruct him to tell the marshal. On leaving, I think Miss Emma Borden made the statement, ‘We want to do everything we can in this matter.’ And on leaving, I stated that I would return on Sunday, but I did not, on account of my mother being taken ill. She was out at Stone Bridge, and I was summoned to see her very early in the morning, and didn’t get back till late that night.”

Sitting there listening as the next witness testified, Lizzie suddenly wondered how the jury could possibly keep track of all this, how these simple country people could possibly hope to understand where all of it was leading.

In the past several hours they had heard more testimony about dresses than any but a dressmaker’s assistant had any right to hear, the search for the dresses themselves, the search for blood or paint stains on the dresses, the expert testimony that there had been discovered only a minuscule drop of blood on any of the garments, and that possibly menstrual blood — her ears had burned when she’d heard Professor Wood’s testimony in so public a place as this. Yet what of all this was the jury retaining?

When it came time for them to deliberate, would they wonder why they had listened, as they did now, to a man named John W. Grouard, who said he was a housepainter, and who further said he had painted the house of Andrew J. Borden at 92 Second Street in May of last year, three months before the murders? Would these twelve men be able to remember the significance of the fact that she herself had been about the premises where the paint was, had indeed supervised the mixing of the paint, looking on to see that it was done properly? Or that she had been standing there beside him when he tried a color sample on the corner of the house near the back steps?

Would these farmers know and understand why John W. Grouard the housepainter had been called by her attorneys to testify?

“I painted the steps and everything connected with the house,” he said. “The well house and fence, everything.”

My name is Mary A. Raymond. I am a dressmaker. I live at 31 Franklin Street, in Fall River. I have done dressmaking for Miss Lizzie Borden for a number of years. Ten years at the house, and before that at my own home. I also worked for Mrs. Borden — not for Miss Emma — for Mrs. Borden during that time. I worked for her in the same room that I did Miss Lizzie’s dresses. At the same time. Both of them were in there at the same time.

A year ago this spring I made some dresses for Miss Lizzie. This was the first week in May. I was there three weeks. One of the dresses was a Bedford cord. I made that the first one. She needed it, needed it to wear, and had it made first. I couldn’t tell how long it took to make it, couldn’t tell the exact time, but I should think three days.

The dress was a light blue with a dark figure. Quite a light blue. I can’t remember the shape of the figure. It was a dark figure, I can’t say how large. The dress was made with a blouse waist, and a full skirt, straight widths. The sleeves were full sleeves, large sleeves. The length was longer than she usually had them, I should certainly say a finger longer, two inches longer. I also made a pink wrapper for her at that time. I should think the Bedford cord was longer than the pink wrapper.

“Now what was the material of which this Bedford cord was made?”

“Why, it was a Bedford cord! That was the name of the material.”

“Well, I meant as to whether it was cotton or woolen or cheap goods.”

“It was cotton, a cheap cotton dress.”

“Was it trimmed at all?”

“Trimmed with a ruffle around the bottom.”

“A ruffle of what?”

“Of the same.”

“Do you know whether or not, at that time you were there, they were painting the house or did paint the house?”

“They did paint the house at the time, yes, sir.”

“Do you know anything about whether at that time there was any paint got upon the dress?”

“There was.”

“How soon after it was made did Miss Lizzie begin to wear it?”

“Just as soon as it was finished.”

“And how soon was it after that, as you recollect, that she got the paint upon it?”

“I can’t tell you that. I don’t remember.”

“Was it while you were there?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“Was anything said about it by you at the time? To her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where was the paint, if you recollect?”

“It was on the front of the dress and around the bottom of the dress. Around the ruffle. On the underneath part of the hem.”

“Did she wear the dress most or all the time you were there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you remember anything about the wearing of it?”

“Well, it either faded or the color wore off, I can’t tell you which. It changed color.”

“At that time, did she have an old wrapper which this was being made to take the place of?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you remember what she did with the old wrapper?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did she do with it?”

“Wait a minute!” Moody said. “If she knows of her own knowledge. I object anyhow.”

“The witness is only asked with reference to her own knowledge,” Mason said.

“My objection, however, is general. I meant to have put it so.”

“She may answer,” Mason said.

“Do you know what she did with the old wrapper that this took the place of?”

“She cut some pieces out of it and said she should burn the rest.”

Was it beginning to fall into place for them? Lizzie wondered. Was all this testimony about dresses and dressmakers, painters and paint stains, beginning to assume a decipherable form reasoned out by her attorneys well in advance and presented now in a progression of facts so precise that even the dullest farmer might understand them? Or would it all have to wait until the events of that Sunday morning, August the seventh, were related in detail?

Her sister now, her sister again.

“Now, then, Miss Emma, I will ask you if you know of a Bedford cord dress which your sister had at that time.”

“I do.”

“Won’t you describe the dress, tell what kind of a dress it was?”

“It was a blue cotton Bedford cord, very light blue ground with a darker figure about an inch long and, I think, about three-quarters of an inch wide.”

“And do you know when she had that dress made?”

“She had it made the first week in May.”

“Who made it?”

“Mrs. Raymond, the dressmaker.”

“Now where was that dress, if you know, on Saturday, August sixth, the day of the search?”

“I saw it hanging in the clothespress over the front entry.”

“At what time?”

“I don’t know exactly. I think about nine o’clock in the evening. After Mayor Coughlin and Marshal Hilliard had left.”

“How came you to see it at that time?”

“I went in to hang up the dress that I had been wearing during the day, and there was no vacant nail, and I searched round to find a nail, and I noticed the dress.”

“Did you say anything to your sister about that dress in consequence of your not finding a nail to hang your dress on?”

“I said, ‘You haven’t destroyed that old dress yet? Why don’t you?’ ”

“Did she say anything in reply?”

“I don’t remember.”

“What was the condition of that dress at that time?”

“It was very dirty, very much soiled, and badly faded.”

“Were you with her Friday and Saturday when she had it on?”

“Almost constantly.”

“When did you next see that Bedford cord dress?”

“Sunday morning, I think. About nine o’clock.”

Jennings nodded. The nod was almost imperceptible, certainly lost on the jury whose attention was focused entirely on Emma. But it was not lost on Lizzie. The nod told her that all the careful preparation would now come to fruition, the mystery of the dresses revealed as if by a magician pulling a paint-stained rabbit out of a torn top hat.

She almost smiled.

“Now will you tell the Court and the jury all that you saw or heard that Sunday morning, August the seventh, in the kitchen?”

“I was washing dishes,” Emma said, “and I heard my sister’s voice, and I turned round and saw she was standing at the foot of the stove, between the foot of the stove and the dining-room door. This dress was hanging on her arm, and she said, ‘I think I shall burn this old dress up.’ Do you wish me to go on?”

“Go right along.”

“I said, ‘Why don’t you?’ or ‘You had better’, or ‘I would if I were you’, or something like that — I can’t tell the exact words, but it meant ‘Do it.’ And I turned back and continued washing the dishes, and did not see her burn it, and did not pay any more attention to her at that time.”

“Had you been to breakfast before this happened?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who was there at breakfast?”

“Mr. Morse, Miss Russell, my sister and I.”

“Do you know where Mr. Morse was at that time?”

“I do not.”

“Was Miss Russell there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you remember the breakfast on Sunday morning, Miss Russell?”

“No, I do not.”

“Who got the breakfast Sunday morning?”

“I got the breakfast.”

“After the breakfast had been got and the dishes had been cleared away, did you leave the lower part of the house at all?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Afterwards, did you return?”

“Yes, sir.”

“About what time in the morning was it when you returned?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it before noon?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Will you state what you saw after you returned?”

I went into the kitchen, and I saw Miss Lizzie at the other end of the stove. I saw Miss Emma at the sink. Miss Lizzie was at the stove, and she had a skirt in her hand, and her sister turned and said, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to burn this old thing up,” Lizzie said. “It’s covered with paint.”

I don’t know whether she said “covered in paint” or “covered with paint”. The dress was a cheap cotton Bedford cord. Light blue ground with a dark figure — small figure. I’m not sure when she got it. In the early spring, I think, that same year. The first time I saw it, she told me that she had got her Bedford cord, and she had a dressmaker there, and I went there one evening, and she had it on, in the very early part of the dressmaker’s visit, and she called my attention to it, and I said, “Oh, you have got your new Bedford cord.”

“Is that what we call a calico?” Jennings asked.

“No, sir.”

“Quite different from a calico?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And is it a cambric?”

“No, sir.”

“So it is neither a calico nor a cambric.”

“No, sir.”

“Very different material, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are certain about that. Neither a calico nor a cambric. No doubt about it, is there?”

“I didn’t take hold of it to see and I didn’t examine it.”

“But you know what it was.”

“I know I suppose it was that same dress that I have reference to her having made in the spring.”

“And that was the Bedford cord.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No doubt about that. And any woman knows or ought to know the difference between the two, doesn’t she?”

“I don’t know as they do.”

“Well, you do. Did you see any blood on that dress?”

“No, sir.”

“Not a drop?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you see that it was a soiled dress?”

“The edge of it was soiled as she held it up. The edge she held toward me, like this, was soiled.”

“As she stood there holding it, you could see the soil on the dress, could you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you actually see it put into the stove?”

“No, sir. I’m quite sure I left the room. When I came into the room again, Miss Lizzie was standing at the cupboard door. The cupboard door was open, and she appeared to be either ripping something down or tearing part of this garment. I don’t know what part for sure. It was a small part. I said to her, ‘I wouldn’t let anybody see me do that, Lizzie’.”

“Did she do anything when you said that?”

“She stepped just one step farther back up toward the cupboard door.”

“Now, Miss Emma,” Knowlton said, “do you recall the first thing you said when Miss Lizzie was standing by the stove with the dress?”

“Yes, sir. I said, ‘You might as well’, or ‘Why don’t you’, something like that. That is what it meant. I can’t tell you the exact words.”

“Wasn’t ‘Lizzie, what are you going to do with that dress?’ the first thing said by anybody?”

“No, sir, I don’t remember it so.”

“Do you understand Miss Russell to so testify?”

“I think she did.”

“Do you remember whether that was so or not?”

“It doesn’t seem so to me. I don’t remember it so.”

“Why doesn’t it seem so to you, if I may ask you?”

“Why, because the first I knew about it, my sister spoke to me.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say. Now, you don’t recall that the first thing you said to her, the first thing that was said by anybody was, ‘What are you going to do with that dress, Lizzie?’ ”

“No, sir. I don’t remember saying it.”

“Do you remember that you did not say it?”

“I am sure I did not.”

“You swear that you didn’t say so?”

“I swear that I didn’t say it.”

“Did you see your sister burn the dress?”

“I did not.”

“Did you see Miss Russell come back again the second time?”

“I don’t remember. I think she was wiping the dishes and came back and forth, and I didn’t pay attention.”

“Did you hear Miss Russell say to her, ‘I wouldn’t let anybody see me do that, Lizzie?’ ”

“I did not.”

“And did you notice that for any reason your sister Lizzie stepped away after something was said by Miss Russell?”

“I didn’t see my sister at all after she left the stove.”

“Miss Russell,” Moody said, “you testified before the inquest, did you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You testified at the preliminary hearing?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you testified once and then again before the grand jury?”

“Yes, sir.”

“At either of the three previous times — at the inquest, at the preliminary, or at the first testimony before the grand jury — did you say anything about the burning of the dress?”

“No, sir.”

“Wait a moment,” Robinson said. “I don’t see how that’s at all material. The government isn’t trying to fortify this witness, I hope.”

“Well, I won’t press it,” Moody said. “If you don’t want it, I don’t care to put it in.”

“Oh, it’s not what I want,” Robinson said. “You’re trying the Government’s case. I’m objecting.”

“I waive the question,” Moody said.

“I think it should be stricken out,” Robinson said.

“I agree that it may be stricken out,” Moody said.

“Miss Emma... who was Mr. Hanscomb?”

“A detective of the Pinkerton Agency in Boston.”

“Employed by whom?”

“By us.”

“ ‘Us’ means whom?”

“Why, my sister and I.”

“Miss Russell, do you know Mr. Hanscomb?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you see him at the Borden house on Monday morning, August the eighth?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I do not ask what he said to you or you to him, but did you have some conversation with him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In what room?”

“The parlor.”

“In consequence of that conversation, what did you do? What did you do after the conversation with Mr. Hanscomb? Did you see anyone after that conversation?”

“I saw Miss Lizzie and Miss Emma.”

Miss Russell came to us in the dining room and said Mr. Hanscomb had asked her if all the dresses were there that had been there on the day of the tragedy, and she’d told him yes. “And of course, Emma,” she said, “that was a false...”

No, I’m ahead of my story.

She came and said she had told Mr. Hanscomb a falsehood.

And I asked her what there was to tell a falsehood about.

And then she said that Mr. Hanscomb had asked her if all the dresses were there that had been there on the day of the tragedy, and she had told him yes.

There was other conversation, but I don’t know what it was. That frightened me so thoroughly, I cannot recall it.

I know the carriage was waiting for her to go on some errand, and when she came back we had some conversation with her, and it was decided to have her go and tell Mr. Hanscomb that she had told a falsehood. She went into the parlor and told him, and in a few minutes she returned from the parlor and said she had told him.

We asked why she had told the falsehood to begin with, and she said, “The burning of the dress was the worst thing Lizzie could have done.”

And my sister said to her, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me do it?”

“Dr. Bowen,” Robinson said, “I asked you about the morphine that you were giving Miss Lizzie, and you told me on Friday you gave one-eighth of a grain — which is the ordinary dose, I understand, mild dose — and on Saturday you doubled it, gave it, sent it. Did you continue the dose on Sunday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you continue it Monday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did she also have it on Tuesday, August ninth?”

“She continued to have it.”

“She had been given for several days this double dose of morphine?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I suppose physicians well understand the effect of morphine on the mind and on the recollection, don’t they?”

“Supposed to, yes, sir.”

“Is there any question about it?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know whether she had ever had occasion before to have morphine prescribed for her, as far as you know?”

“I don’t remember that she had.”

“Does not morphine given in double doses somewhat affect the memory, and change and alter the view of things, and give people hallucinations?”

“Yes, sir.”

As Annie White took the stand, Lizzie recalled again the inquest in Fall River last August. Knowlton waiting to question her in the near-empty courtroom. The crowds outside as she approached in the hack, the driver cracking his whip to clear a path through the spectators. She had been aware of Knowlton standing at the upstairs window, looking down into the street as she got out of the carriage, but she had not so much as glanced up at him.

All the while they talked, Annie White took stenographic notes.

Annie White was now the Government’s prelude to admission of the inquest testimony.

Lizzie leaned forward.

In front of her, and slightly to her right, she saw Robinson lean forward as well, as though coiled to spring.

“What is your full name?” Moody asked.

“Annie M. White.”

“You are the official stenographer for Bristol County, are you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were you present at a proceeding at Fall River sometime in August of last year?”

“Yes.”

“Do you recall the date of it?”

“The inquest was August ninth.”

“Did you see Lizzie Borden? I am referring now to Tuesday, August the ninth.”

“I did.”

“And Mr. Knowlton, the district attorney?”

“Yes.”

“In what room were you present?”

“In the District Courtroom in Fall River.”

“Who was there beside those whom you have named?”

“Judge Blaisdell and Mr. Leonard, the clerk of the court. And Dr. Dolan. And Mr. Seaver was there part of the time. And Marshal Hilliard was there all of the time. And there was one or two persons came in there I didn’t know. Strangers.”

“Did they stay, or come in and go out?”

“No, I think they were there only one forenoon. One gentlemen, or two, that I was not acquainted with.”

“Now was there some conversation between Mr. Knowlton and Miss Borden at that time?”

“Yes.”

“Wait right there,” Robinson said, rising. “This, may it please Your Honors, brings us to an important consideration which must be addressed to the Court, and I take it that Your Honors will desire to hear us in the absence of the jury, as is usual in matters of this importance. Now the Court, I have no doubt, have anticipated this question, which was likely to arise. It cannot have been otherwise. I am perfectly willing to make my statement but I wish to do it with some care. I ask that the further hearing of this witness be suspended at this point.”