The second day was employed in trying those common rural cases of poaching, riot, and petty larceny that took precedence upon the docket of the one great trial. These were all disposed of before the adjournment of the court on Tuesday evening.
And thus on Wednesday morning it was confidently expected that, as soon as the court should meet, the case of the “Crown vs. Eudora Leaton,” charged with poisoning, would be called.
The same lawyers’ clerk, whose talents lay rather in drawing comparisons than briefs, declared that if the town at the opening of the assizes resembled Epsom in the race week, it now bore a striking likeness to that famous little village on the Derby-day.
Abbeytown was indeed full to repletion. Every house, every street, every thoroughfare was crowded to suffocation. Every avenue approaching the court-house was blocked up by carriages, horses, and foot-passengers.
Every person seemed to have come with the wild idea of being able to catch a glimpse of the notorious prisoner as she was conveyed from the gaol to the court-house, or even with the mad hope of getting a seat in the halls of justice to witness the trial. Of course most were disappointed; for the narrow court-room could not comfortably accommodate much more than one hundred souls, or, compactly crowded, more than two hundred; though upon this particular occasion nearly three hundred persons were said to have been squeezed between its four walls. The aristocracy, gentry, and yeomanry of the country were represented among the spectators that filled to suffocation that court-room.
In one part of the hall, to the right of the bench, were assembled the whole family from the Anchorage; for not only the Admiral, Sir Ira Brunton, his nephew, the young lieutenant, his grand-daughter, Annella, his guest, the Italian princess, but even his ancestresses, the two ancient dames, were present, drawn thither by the intense interest of the approaching trial.
In the very deepest shadow of a corner behind this group stood apart a tall man, whose form was enveloped in a long, dark cloak, and whose face was shaded by a deep sombrero hat.
At some little distance, sulky, silent and alone, stood Norham Montrose.
And all there were so closely pressed in by the crowd, that they could neither move, converse, nor scarcely breathe. The whole assembly seemed so intensely anxious for the commencement of the trial, that they hardly once removed their eyes from the door by which the prisoner was expected to be brought into court. At half-past nine the judges appeared.
As soon as the Lord Chief Baron Elverton and the associate judges took their seats, the eyes of the whole assembly were directed towards the bench.