"Slaves are generally expected to sing as well as to work." Frederick Douglass

**TW - mentions of SA and CSA**

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XXX.

Belle imagined herself to be quite in a hellish trance as Jean related his story to the jury, painting her as an insane runaway determined to maim her innocent husband.

She could hardly focus on anything. She could barely construct a coherent sentence in her head to muster up a defence to any one of his outlandish and utterly untrue statements. Luckily that was not her job.

"I rescued this woman," Jean declared to the jury in his very heavily accented English. Belle had never known that Jean spoke the language. "She was owned by my father and I rescued her, I made her my wife. I took a negro like her and put her on a pedestal. I gave her the life of a white woman, and this is how she behaves? She is obviously unhinged and could have very well taken my life. She practically has already."

Belle's hands were shaking so violently that she hid them in her lap. She could not look anywhere but at the table, where she counted the grains in the wood to keep her mind from doing exactly what Jean was accusing it of. She did not want to lose her sanity. She did not want to cry in this makeshift courtroom. No matter how broken she was, she wouldn't cry in front of Jean.

She felt Peter's eyes on her, but she did not turn to look at him. Belle had seen him out of the corner of her eye when she had entered the hall and seeing Peter and Jean in the same room together filled her with such a level of disgust and shame that she had never felt before.

To have the epitome of good look upon the epitome of evil and know what he'd done to her made Belle feel entirely filthy.

Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine ...

Belle continued to count the grains to occupy her racing mind.

She was unsure of for how long Jean spoke. It might have been hours. But one small glance at the jury as Mr Webb stood for her defence told Belle all she needed to know. She looked upon the faces of twelve men who were convinced of her guilt.

Mr Webb cleared his throat as he stepped out in front of the jury. "What a fairy tale you have just heard, gentlemen," he quipped. "And I do say fairy tale, as it is utterly fictitious in every sense of the word as Mr Leclerc would have you believe that he is a victim of Miss Desjardins. I will have you all know that it is quite the opposite. Miss Desjardins has suffered grievously at the hands of this man," he pointed a firm finger at Jean, who had returned to his seat, "culminating in a final act of self-defence to save her own life. Mr Leclerc would have you convinced that he is the husband of Miss Desjardins. Tell me, which of you would allow your daughters to marry at the age of fourteen? For that is the age in which my client was forced to marry this man. But his abuse started long before this sham of a marriage took place. I was disturbed and seriously grieved to hear that Jean Leclerc, a grown man in a position of power, first violated Miss Desjardins when we she was but five years old."

Belle's eyes closed as all blood drained from her body and she became as cold as ice. Of course, she knew that this would be spoken of. She knew that Mr Webb would use this in her defence. But to hear it, to see it in her head, to have everyone there know, made her feel so ashamed.

"For such an accusation, there must be unmitigated proof," Justice Steele said firmly.

"My client will testify, Your Honour," replied Mr Webb, "and I have a witness to prove her claims."

Belle's eyes were still closed, but she could hear the shocked whispers inside the hall. Her mind could not help her distinguish what anyone was saying, but it made her feel sick to her stomach to know that they were no doubt speaking of the very worst thing that had ever happened to her.

"Jean Leclerc's years of abusing Miss Desjardins when she was but a child culminated in an illegal marriage. The marriage of a slave is not recognised, and so Jean Leclerc has no legal marital claim over my client."

Mr Webb had a confident and commanding voice in that hall, and he told Belle's story to the jury, as well as assuring the judge of its relevance, with an impassioned theatre. Belle soon found herself seated beside the judge, in full view of the jury, preparing to be questioned.

Belle had tearfully confessed when she had been discussing her case with Mr Webb at the magistrate's office that she wasn't certain of her ability to speak without breaking. Mr Webb has promised to lead her. But she could also clearly recall their last conversation. Despite his talent as a solicitor, he was not confident in their success.

"Miss Desjardins, can you please enlighten the jury as to how you first escaped from your enslavement in Saint-Martin."

Belle took a breath. She willed herself not to cry. "There was a hurricane." Her voice was barely audible.

"Louder please," ordered the judge.

"There was a hurricane," Belle said again, her voice a little stronger. "I used it as my opportunity to escape. I stowed away on a ship to take me ... anywhere. Anywhere that wasn't Saint-Martin. Somewhere far away from ... from him."

"Up until that brave escape, for how long had Mr Leclerc kept you as his illegal wife?"

"Four years." Belle's voice shook. She looked directly at Mr Webb, and nowhere else.

"And during that time, can you confirm for the jury that the abuse continued? Can you confirm that Mr Leclerc committed heinous acts of rape against you?"

Belle would not cry. She forbade herself from crying. Her hands began to shake uncontrollably as she clapped them together, setting them in her lap in an attempt to stop them. She felt weak, and so, so afraid. She had felt this way so many times before, for years at a time.

Her mind suddenly took her back to Alex and Susanna's wedding, to the first time that she had spoken about any of the terrible things that had happened to her, and how she had told them to Peter. She had felt weak and afraid then, too. She had so wished to be brave.

"You are brave," he had told her. "You are a survivor, a fighter. I can see it in you."

Belle was alive. Despite everything, she was alive, and she was here. She had survived everything that had happened to her, everything that Jean could ever do to her, and she was here.

"The shame is not mine," she realised aloud. "It is his." Belle took in a deep breath as she looked up and found Jean's cold glare upon her. "Yes," she said in answer to Mr Webb's question. Her eyes then moved away from the empty wasteland that were Jean's eyes, and instead moved to the ocean blue irises of Peter. He was seated rigidly, his hands gripping the pew in front as he watched her with anxious concern. When their eyes met, he gave her all he could in that moment, a look of reassurance, and a word.

He mouthed what could only be combat. Fight, he willed her, and he had said it in French.

Belle answered every one of Mr Webb's questions about Jean's abuse, and she fought through the pain of every one of the answers, until finally came the questions surrounding her kidnapping and journey to Plymouth.

"I will once again remind the jury that Mr Leclerc is not the legal husband of Miss Desjardins, and so the abduction of forced removal from her home in Ashwood, Hertfordshire, was entirely illegal. Miss Desjardins, did Mr Leclerc bring you to Plymouth with the intention to return you to Saint-Martin as a slave?"

"Yes," Belle confirmed.

"Not only has Mr Leclerc committed heinous crimes against my client, but Britain's laws on the illegality of the slave trade. Kidnapping persons with the intention of keeping them or trading as slaves is illegal," Mr Webb declared to the jury. "My client was brought to this port against her will by a villain who had wielded his power over her since the tender age of five. In a final act to save herself from further unthinkable abuse, my client used whatever weapon was nearest to defend herself and to save her own life."

Belle was finally excused from testifying, and Mr Webb called on their witness, a man whose hands Belle would have never thought to place her life. When Claude was brought before the judge, he was accompanied by a man Belle did not recognise, but who was quickly introduced as the translator of Claude's testimony.

When Claude emerged, Belle caught sight of the blood draining from Jean's face. Until then, they'd had no way to prove their claims against Jean. It was her word against his without a witness.

But with the promise of one year of penal servitude instead of seven year's transportation, Claude was prepared to testify on Belle's behalf.

She prayed this would save her. She prayed that Claude would put right one of his countless sins and save her.

Once Claude was sworn in, Mr Webb began listing every one of the heinous accusations that had been brought against Jean, and he confirmed everything.

"He liked the little ones," Claude had said in response to the accusation of Belle's abuse as a child. "They don't fight."

When the translator told the jury what Claude had said in response to this charge, they were visibly shocked and disgusted. As was everyone in the hall.

"He treated her the worst of any of them. What he did to her ... she was no better than a beaten dog. But his dogs ate better. His dogs slept better. He enjoyed her pain. He loved her pain. You should see her back. It's a mess."

Belle had already confirmed the fact that she had been lashed on several occasions, and hearing Claude state, in such a blasé fashion, that Jean had loved her pain sickened her.

But to hear someone describe her as a mess wounded her. The accuracy wounded her. It also hurt to know that Peter heard that.

Mr Webb continued to ask Claude to confirm every point that he had made during Belle's testimony, and he did, right down to Jean's intention to smuggle Belle out of the country. He did this, of course, without further incriminating himself.

The moment Mr Webb's questioning concluded, Jean was given the right to cross-examine Claude. He struggled to his feet in an almost dramatic fashion.

But gone was Jean's nasty, confident demeanour. He was pale and almost appeared in shock. He had not cried out an objection throughout the testimony and had sat in stunned silence at what had unfolded before him. He had witnessed his own downfall.

"You're lying," Jean accused in French, before the judge reminded him sternly to speak in English. Jean was reaching for anything that would help him in that moment. Jean repeated his accusation again in English, his voice shaking.

Belle had never heard Jean sound like this. She had never before seen him weakened, not even in the state that she had left him in when she had run from the small cottage, leaving him wounded.

"Mr Leclerc, do you have any evidence to offer that disproves Mr Laurent's testimony?" asked Justice Steele.

Jean looked between Claude and the judge with such a helpless expression. Belle's breath caught in her throat. She didn't know what to make of it all. She didn't know how to feel. But she wanted to hope.

She was brave. She was a survivor. She was a fighter. And she wanted to hope.

"He's lying!" Jean cried to the judge. "She's lying!" he accused, rounding on Belle. "You all know what she did to me!"

"And now we all know what you did to Miss Desjardins, Mr Leclerc!" retorted Mr Webb.

Jean glowered at Belle, his hands balled into fists at his sides, his chest puffing as he sucked in angry breaths. In two strides, his enormous frame was suddenly towering over her, and he wrenched the table out of his way, flicking the wooden piece of furniture across the room as though it weighed nothing.

Jean's quick actions sent the hall into chaos. Belle jumped so violently that she fell backwards in her chair, and as her head fell back, she saw Peter leap out from his seat and run towards her, crying out. Peter's voice was drowned out by the cries from the jury, and the banging of the gavel as Justice Steele tried to regain order.

Jean managed to clench one of his large hands around Belle's neck moments before Mr Ennis at the judge's constables pulled him away. Belle had been deprived of air for only a few seconds, but she sucked in lungful after lungful in shock as she heard the sounds of handcuffs being secured.

Peter fell to the floor beside Belle, crouching over her protectively as he pulled her into his arms. Belle melted into his embrace and covered her neck with her own hand as she shielded her face in Peter's chest.

Jean was secured to his chair and his ankles were subsequently bound in chains.

Peter helped Belle to her feet as the judge began to summarise the evidence according to his notes. Belle was in a haze as she listened to Justice Steele repeat the evidence in his view and opinion to the jury. She heard words like "abuse", "heinous assault" and "grievous mistreatment". Were she able to concentrate, it would have almost sounded like the judge was instructing the jury to agree with the defence.

She vaguely remembered Mr Webb explaining this part of a trial to her before it began. The judge would take notes throughout the presentation of evidence and would summarise a case for the jury at the conclusion, often giving their opinion as to the verdict. The jury would then depart to decide on the defendant's innocence or guilt.

And no sooner had the thought entered her mind, the judge dismissed the jury to deliberate, and the twelve men rose and exited the hall.

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Hope you enjoyed it!

What a week! I am so exhausted. It's currently 2am, so it's four hours past my bedtime. I've felt like a zombie all this week. Work has just been so exhausting. I'm doing my absolute best to establish routines and make school fun, but we're a very emotional cohort! But one of my kids did tell me on Friday that I was her favourite teacher in the whole world - cutie!

I think I'm getting sick, too. My throat is killing me. I did a covid test and it was negative thankfully, but it's not helping with my energy levels lol. 

Okay, that's enough complaining sorry! 

The exhaustion can also be blamed on the Olympics as I've been staying up watching haha. Every four years I become an expert figure skating judge if you didn't know :P

Okay, bed time. I hope you all have a wonderful week!

Vote and comment xx