Truth or Deceit

The trial of Ms. Jones began in a stifling courtroom on a sweltering June afternoon in the year of 1856. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting sharp beams onto the worn wooden floors. The room buzzed with quiet whispers as the townspeople crowded in to witness the outcome of the most scandalous case they’d ever seen. At the center of it all sat Ms. Jones—poised, unmoved, and remarkably serene. Across from her, Mr. Edward, a sharp-eyed attorney, looked ready to tear her apart.  

“Ms. Jones, let us begin,” Mr. Edward’s voice sliced through the murmur. “Tell us, if you would, about your time at Hearthstone Homestead.” 

Ms. Jones blinked slowly, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Of course,” she said, her voice smooth, controlled. “I was employed as a governess by the Harts. Hearthstone Homestead was a… quaint little farm.” 

Her mind drifted briefly, back to the rolling hills surrounding the homestead, the smell of dew-covered grass in the early morning, the soft coo of doves in the distance; But she quickly suppressed the memory. This was not the time for sentiment. 

“Quaint?” Mr. Edward echoed. His voice was thick with skepticism as he approached the witness stand, circling like a predator sizing up its prey. “Some might say ‘quaint’ is an understatement for one of the wealthiest estates in the region.” 

Ms. Jones tilted her head. “Wealth doesn’t always equate to beauty, Mr. Edward. And Hearthstone’s beauty, well, it was far more modest than one might expect.” 

The attorney narrowed his eyes, sensing her evasion but not yet sure how to unravel it. “Tell us about your relationship with Lady Hart.” 

Lady Hart. The flash of perfume, the sound of the soft clicking of her heels on the grand staircase, the loving way she would look at Ms. Jones rather than at her husband.  

Ms. Jones met Mr. Edward’s gaze evenly. “She was my employer. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

“And yet, the rumors suggest otherwise,” Mr. Edward leaned forward, his voice dropping for effect. “You manipulated her, did you not? You wormed your way into her trust.” The words dripped from his lips, poison that threatened to take away her very life.  

“I served her. I followed orders. Anything beyond that is speculation,” Ms. Jones said smoothly, but a flicker of irritation flashed in her chest. Lady Hart had been weak, malleable—someone who could be easily bent, if one knew how; and she did. The courtroom buzzed again, the gallery shifting restlessly, intrigued by the dance between the two. The judge banged his gavel, calling for order. 

“Ms. Jones,” Mr. Edward pressed on, “you played both Lady and Master Hart against each other, did you not?” 

This time, Ms. Jones allowed a small, knowing smile to break her careful composure. “Played? I simply did my job, Mr. Edward. Whatever transpired between Lady Hart and her husband is their business, not mine.” Ms. Jones quickly learned in the first few days of her employment that the couple mostly spoke in arguments and riddles laced with ill intentions. The attorney’s eyes flickered with frustration. She wasn’t going to give him what he wanted easily, but he’d come prepared for this.  

“And what of the night Master Hart died?” Mr. Edward asked, his voice dropping into an accusing tone. “Were you not the last person to see him alive?” 

Ms. Jones clasped her hands in her lap, her face an unreadable mask. She could feel all the eyes in the courtroom on her—waiting. Their judgments weighed on her, as if none of them had stuffed their own dirty laundry down to the bottom of their linen baskets, where it would never be found. The Harts were fools—trusting too easily, seeing only what they wanted to see. 

“I was merely doing my duty as a servant,” she said finally. “I had no part in his death.” 

Mr. Edward stepped closer, his voice tightening with impatience. “Is that so? Because witnesses say otherwise. You were seen leaving his study moments before the body was discovered.” 

“And?” Ms. Jones raised an eyebrow, daring him to push harder. “As governess to the Harts, I had access to all parts of the house. It wasn’t unusual for me to be there. Besides, you have failed to mention the body was not found in his study.” Silence.  

“You are most correct, madam. I did overlook that one detail. But what was most unusual,” Mr. Edward continued, “is the fact that Mr. Thompson said he saw you and the Lady Hart kissing, most passionately, in Master Hart’s study that very evening.” He looked out over the crowd, gasps reverberating off the walls of the courtroom. She had forgotten about Mr. Thompson. He could very well be the thread that unraveled her entire plan. She was sure he was nowhere near the house that day. 

“Such is not a crime, that I am aware of.” Ms. Jones replied. 

“No, but it is a deathly sin.” Mr. Edward continued.  

“A sin it may be, but that is for God to judge. Not the courts of the great United States. I am the only one who must answer for my sins, but let it be before God on the day of my judgment.” The courtroom fell silent at her sudden outburst, the tension thick enough to cut. Mr. Edward paused, sensing an opening but unsure how to press it. Ms. Jones had always been difficult to pin down, her calm demeanor betraying nothing, even as the walls closed in around her. 

“And yet,” Mr. Edward said, his voice lowering again, “Mr. Thompson has also testified to witnessing you kissing the Master Hart as well, on the same night.” He paused, she knew it was for dramatic effect. Court cases were little more than a theatrical performance for the citizens to make them feel like something was being done about the crimes. “It seems both Lady and Master Hart trusted you far more than they trusted each other. How is that possible, Ms. Jones?” 

Ms. Jones leaned back in her chair, her smile returning. She played it up. She knew kissing a woman-let alone a woman and her husband would scarcely offer her anything but a happy future in this town, even this state. People of this time were so backward and closed minded.  

“Perhaps they simply found me more… reliable.” The jury shifted in their seats, some glancing at each other, unsure what to make of her answer. The gallery, too, was abuzz with conversation. 

“Reliable?” Mr. Edward repeated, his frustration now more than visible. “Or perhaps, Ms. Jones, you were simply more devious. Let us not forget, you know as well as I, that the crime we are here with today: cold-blooded murder. Mr. Thompson has testified to the court that he witnessed countless conversations between the late Lady and Master Hart, pitting them against one another.”  

She smiled again, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Devious.” The word rolled off her tongue. “Is that not what a good governess must be?” 

What Mr. Edwards didn’t reveal was how she’d ended up at Hearthstone Homestead. Her mother was dying, her father long dead, and with two younger siblings to support, she was desperate. When a church acquaintance mentioned the wealthy Hart family needed a housemaid, she seized the chance, fleeing the stench of decay spilling from her mother’s body, caught between life and death. The fresh air at Hearthstone was a reprieve, but the darker parts of Ms. Jones found another relief in escaping her former life. 

As a child, she had always been quiet, obedient—submissive. Perhaps that’s why being a maid suited her; it required little more than following orders. But beneath her soft, freckled skin, anger and resentment simmered. As she sat in the courtroom, memories of Hearthstone swirled, and she remembered how that anger had begun to unravel her. 

At first, it was small observations. Master Hart’s wandering eyes, Lady Hart’s cutting demands. They vented their frustrations on her daily, reducing her to little more than a tool. But soon, Ms. Jones realized her power. Master Hart was easy—just a glance, a smile, and he was hers. Lady Hart, though, was another matter, testing Ms. Jones' endurance with cruel tasks. Yet even Lady Hart could be broken, Ms. Jones knew. 

For a time, Ms. Jones considered leaving. She could have walked away, taken the money she had saved and returned to her family to truly provide for them. Every evening, as the sun dipped behind the hills, she would sit on the stone wall at the edge of the property, staring out over the fields, imagining a simpler life far from Hearthstone's temptations. She could forget about the way Master Hart’s eyes lingered or how easily she could pull him closer with nothing but a smile. She could stop entertaining the delicious thought of controlling them both, bending them to her will. But as soon as she returned to the manor, the weight of their wealth, their power, pressed against her skin like a fever. She didn't want to be free of it—she wanted to possess it. It had a hold on her, she couldn't resist the temptaions anymore.

It became a game, each of them her playthings. She shared secrets, encouraged affairs, and even seduced Lady Hart herself. And when they were thoroughly entangled in her web, she whispered the same deadly suggestion to both: poison the other, and they could live together, free. 

By the end of that night, just shy of a year at Hearthstone, Ms. Jones had each of them begging to kill for her. She could have chosen to walk away, but her own ambitions, her hunger for power, tethered her to Hearthstone. Money can make some people do what they never imagined. Others, like Ms. Jones, will do everything they have always dreamed of.  

“Ms. Jones” Mr. Edward’s voice came ringing into her ears, disrupting her perfect vacation into the past. “I asked if you had any communication with Mr. Thompson prior to the murders of Master and Lady Hart?” She looked into his cold, dark eyes, searching for any tiny amount of humanity left after law school ripped his soul apart like wolves ripping flesh from bone.  

“Mr. Edwards, why don't you ask me the questions you really want to ask?” She smiled. His face ran pale.  

“I don’t think such questions would be-”  

“Ask me.” She interrupted, her voice raised. He hesitated for a moment.  

“Alright, I’ll ask the question every soul in this courtroom wishes to know. You’re accused of murder. Simply put, did you commit the murders of both Master and Lady Hart?” He tossed the papers that were in his hand down on the table and shoved both hands in his pockets. He was getting more upset as the day went on. 

She could almost see it, the path not taken. She might have married a merchant’s son, lived in some quiet town, never knowing the taste of manipulation. She might have been honest. Good. She closed her eyes and heard the steady rhythm of her own voice echoing in her mind. "He doesn’t love you anymore," Ms. Jones had whispered once to Lady Hart, the night she’d set everything in motion. And the thrill of watching Lady Hart’s face fall, of knowing she’d won, that she would succeed, had been more satisfying than any peaceful life could ever be. 

She used to be good. She remembered what it felt like. But that woman, the one who cared... she was gone now.

“No.” She answered loudly, clear as a bell.  

“You did not put poison in both of their wine cups that you served to them at dinner?” he asked, albeit accusingly.  

“No, I did not.” That was not a lie, her hand had not held a bottle of poison that night, but there were two hands that did. She had convinced both Master and Lady Hart to poison each other themselves. Her hands were idle in the whole thing. Only her tongue wagged in persuasion.  

Mr. Edward knew he was losing ground. The more he pushed, the more cunning Ms. Jones became. He could feel the jury slipping through his fingers, and with them, the case. 

“If that is the truth, then we should end this whole trial right now this instant, for this woman has been grossly, falsely accused.” He turned to the gallery. “That, however, is not the truth.” He turned back toward Ms. Jones. “You purchased the poison, did you not, Ms. Jones?”  

“For Lady Hart, I did. It is not uncommon for a maid to run errands for her Lady.”  

“Your tongue was pressed to their ears, evil snake! This is the unforgiving road of the Devil, ladies and gentlemen.” He held out his hand as if to show the Devil’s bride to the court. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes.  

“Church and state are to be separated, sir.” She interjected, but it was no matter. As the courtroom's uproar rose to a fever pitch, the judge banged his gavel furiously.  

"Order! ORDER in this courtroom!" The gallery’s whispers dimmed into a murmur, eyes darting between her and Mr. Edward, their faces etched with horror, some with intrigue. 

She smoothed down her dress, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips. She had them exactly where she wanted them. 

"Ms. Jones," the judge began, eyes narrowing, "this is your last chance. Did you, or did you not, orchestrate the murders of Lady and Master Hart?" 

She let the silence stretch, long enough for the tension to tighten like a noose around the room. The jury leaned forward, waiting, hungry for her answer. 

"No, Your Honor. I did no such thing," she said softly, the truth slipping easily from her lips. Her eyes flicked to the jury—some faces showed doubt, others fear. But all she needed was the smallest crack in the foundation of their belief. She could feel the power in that moment, in the way she had made them all question everything they thought they knew about right and wrong. 

The judge turned to the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come for you to deliberate. You are charged with determining the fate of Ms. Jones. Was she the mastermind behind the deaths of Lady and Master Hart, or is she, too, just a victim?" 

The jury stood and left the room in a slow, deliberate file. The gallery resumed its hushed conversations, and Ms. Jones sat back, her hands still folded in her lap. Whatever their verdict would be, she had already won, she had succeeded. If they believed her, she would walk free, and if they found her guilty, her story would live on forever. 

The courtroom felt stifling as the jury shuffled back in, their faces unreadable. Ms. Jones folded her hands in her lap, outwardly composed, but her heart raced. 

One juror, a woman in the back row, avoided her gaze. Another man twisted his wedding ring nervously. Were they convinced? Had her words taken root, or had Mr. Edward’s relentless pursuit of truth begun to unravel her carefully laid plans? 

As the foreman stood, Ms. Jones caught a glimpse of the judge’s face—a slight frown, a furrow of his brow. Was that a bad sign? Ms. Jones' mind wandered, her pulse deafening in her ears. What if it wasn’t enough? she thought, the first seed of doubt planted in her mind. 

"The jury finds the defendant—" The foreman’s words cut through her reverie like a knife. Ms. Jones barely heard them. She was too focused on the juror at the back, who, just for a moment, had looked up; her lips trembling in the slightest hint of a smile. 

Ms. Jones held her breath, her heart hammering in her chest, but she kept her face calm. No matter what, her name would be remembered. 

"—not guilty." 

A wave of gasps swept through the room. Some were outraged, others were in disbelief. None of it mattered to her. She turned to Mr. Edward, his face ashen, his mouth a tight line of fury. 

"How unfortunate, Mr. Edward," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. "Perhaps you'll be better prepared next time." His jaw clenched, but she stood before he could reply, offering a final, demure smile. 

As she stepped out of the courthouse, she thought of Hearthstone Homestead. She thought of the fortune that would soon be hers, the will and farm deed she had forged just after the Hart’s deaths sat in her pocketbook, waiting for her to redeem. Justice, after all, was never blind. It just wore glasses, the result depended on who gazed through them.  

She adjusted her gloves and prepared to leave, a shadow passed over her, a familiar face caught her eye—someone from the distant past, someone who knew more than they should.  

There would be time to deal with that later. 

For now, she had other plans.