An Inconvenient Wife (44 page)

“You would not have thought Mrs. Carelton capable of such a thing?”

“Lucy? Goodness no. Not at all.”

“Did you see any sign of distress or anger on Mrs. Carelton’s face?”

“None. Only that distraction, as I told you.”

“Did she seem in possession of her faculties?”

“Certainly. Yes. Yes, she did.”

“She did not seem to you to be a wild beast?”

Julia shook her head. “A wild beast? Oh, goodness no.”

Mr. Scott once again propped his arm on the witness box. “Have you ever observed Mrs. Carelton to act in such a way as to
make you think she was not in her right mind?”

Julia frowned. “No, not at all.”

“Did Mrs. Carelton appear to be in good health?”

“Well, she was frail, and often ill. And she
was
seeing Dr. Seth. She had fits sometimes, where she fainted, and she was often absent with the headache.”

“But nothing evidencing insanity?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

Mr. Scott looked puffed up, self-satisfied. I sat there in a dull fog. I wondered how I had been so unaware of how much Julia
disliked me.

“I’m done with this witness,” Mr. Scott said, and Judge Hammond nodded to Howe, who rose without preamble and went to Julia,
leaning close enough that she sat back in her chair.

“Mrs. Breckenwood, you said that you and Mrs. Carelton were not good friends, isn’t that true?”

“That’s true,” she said quietly.

“Mrs. Carelton did not confide in you?”

“No.”

“Would you say you knew her well enough to know the circumstances in which she lived?”

“Well . . . yes.”

“I see. You stated that she was often ill, that she had headaches. Did she ever confide in you as to why that might be?”

“No.”

“Did she ever confide in you as to her relationship with Dr. Seth?”

“No.” Julia squirmed.

“So when you said that it was obvious Dr. Seth and Mrs. Carelton had an intimate relationship, this was complete speculation
on your part?”

“Not just mine,” she protested. “Others said the same thing.”

“But it wasn’t unusual, was it, for Mrs. Carelton to have male guests at Seaward?”

Julia paused. Her voice was nearly a whisper. “No.”

“Was it unusual for a man like William Carelton to be away from Newport for long periods of time?”

“I suppose not.”

“Most husbands attend to their wives there only during the weekends, isn’t that true?”

Reluctantly, she said, “Yes.”

“Was Mr. Carelton different from the others in that way?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Now let me ask you: Would you think it unusual for a woman such as Mrs. Carelton, a woman you say suffered headaches and
‘fits,’ and who seemed to be improving under a doctor’s care, to have that same doctor attend to her day and night?”

Julia straightened. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Howe stepped back, exaggerated surprise on his face. “
You
wouldn’t know? Didn’t you just say that you and Mrs. Carelton shared a doctor?”

“Yes.”

“And that doctor was Victor Seth?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you seeing Dr. Seth, Mrs. Breckenwood?”

“I don’t care to say,” she said.

“Isn’t it true that he attended to you during a weekend stay at Mrs. Moreton Hadden’s country home in early June?”

She said nothing.

“Isn’t it true, Mrs. Breckenwood?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Were you having an affair with Dr. Seth?”

“No.” She blushed furiously. “No, of course not.”

“What was the purpose for him to accompany you there?”

“He was my
doctor,
” she said. “He was treating me.”

“For what, Mrs. Breckenwood?”

Julia’s full lips thinned. “I don’t understand why that should be important. It’s nothing to do with this business.”

“Please answer the question, Mrs. Breckenwood,” the judge said.

She flushed again. “For my nerves. He was treating me for my nerves.”

Howe nodded. “So, Dr. Seth also attended to you day and night, and you were
not
having intimate relations. The same could be true of Dr. Seth and Mrs. Carelton, couldn’t it?”

Julia frowned. “I . . . I suppose so. But—”

“What exactly did Mr. Carelton tell you about Dr. Seth’s relationship with his wife?”

“Objection,” Scott called out. “Hearsay.”

“You opened the door yourself, Mr. Scott,” said the judge. “I’ll allow it. Please continue, Mrs. Breckenwood.”

Julia bowed her head. Her voice was so soft I had to strain to hear it. “He said that Dr. Seth had made advances toward Lucy.”

“Did he say how Mrs. Carelton reacted to those advances?”

Julia would not look at him. “He said she had rejected him.”

“Do you have reason to believe those words aren’t true?”

“No,” she whispered. “I suppose not.”

“So you have no real knowledge that Mrs. Carelton and Victor Seth were having an affair?”

“No.”

“Now, Mrs. Breckenwood, I have only a few more questions. How long have you known Mrs. Carelton?”

“All my life.”

“And yet you did not know her well.”

“We were never good friends, as I said.”

“But you claim to know her well enough to understand her state of mind as she walked down those stairs to the dining room
the night of October sixth?”

“Well, I—”

“In fact, you don’t know what Mrs. Carelton was thinking, do you, Mrs. Breckenwood?”

“I can assume—”

“But by your own admission you didn’t know Mrs. Carelton well enough to assume. Isn’t that true?”

There was a pause. Julia glanced at me, and her gaze was so hostile it felt like a slap. “Yes,” she said.

“Are you acquainted with the symptoms of insanity, Mrs. Breckenwood?”

She said, “Why, it’s easy enough to tell.”

“Have you spent time in a lunatic asylum?”

”Of course not!”

“Are you a doctor?”

“No, but—”

“You don’t know what a doctor might call insanity, do you, Mrs. Breckenwood?”

She was silent. Howe went on as if she’d spoken. His voice raised dramatically. “In fact, Mrs. Breckenwood, not only do you
have no knowledge of Mrs. Carelton’s illness, you have no knowledge of her life beyond what you’ve seen at the opera and at
parties, do you?”

“No.”

“So you are hardly qualified to judge if Mrs. Carelton was indeed insane the night she shot her husband, isn’t that right?”

Julia sighed. “Yes.”

“And what about Mr. Carelton? When did you meet him?”

“When we all did. About a year before Lucy married him.”

“Do you know where he came from?”

“No.”

“Did you know anything of his history?”

“No.”

“What did you think of Mr. Carelton?”

“What did I think of him?” She looked puzzled.

“Yes.”

“He was . . . We were all surprised when Lucy married him.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, he wasn’t of our class.”

“I see.” Howe smiled indulgently, as he might toward a naughty child who had decided to behave. “Thank you, Mrs. Breckenwood.
You’ve been most enlightening.”

Howe was exultant, but the rest of the day was torture for me. Mr. Scott next called Hiram Grace, a man who certainly had
no love for me. I was not a good wife or a woman who knew her place, he said. He found these things as disquieting as murder.
But as for insanity . . . I’d made foolish decisions. I was perhaps drinking. That was what he thought, and no wonder—any
female who had married so far beneath herself must be unhappy. But I’d brought it on myself.

And what did Hiram Grace think of William? Howe asked. Hiram answered that William was a good stockbroker, that he’d made
Grace some money over the years, but even DeLancey Van Berckel, William’s own father-in-law, had not been able to get William
into the Knickerbocker Club.

“DeLancey sponsored him, but there was something about him. Not quite of our class, you know,” Hiram Grace said. “No one knew
where he came from. Newport, you say, hmmm? No, I didn’t know. No one did.”

T
he next day the district attorney questioned Dr. Moore, who had been so ready to prescribe my laudanum, and who stated with
assurance that my only illness lay in the fact that I coddled my moods like any other woman. After that, Mr. Scott called
Dr. Little to the stand.

The asylum superintendent was dressed in a dark brown suit buttoned so high that his dark satin necktie puffed just beneath
his chin. His thinning hair was shiny with oil, and his glasses were gone, revealing the dull mud of his eyes. He did not
look at me as Mr. Scott called him to the stand, and he sat with an air of noble superciliousness that had reporters muttering.

Howe squeezed my arm and leaned close to whisper, “He’ll play right into our hands.”

I nodded and pulled away, twisting my fingers in my lap. I was almost sick with apprehension, more so than I’d been with any
of the other witnesses.

Dr. Little told the jury of his credentials. Mr. Scott started the testimony by asking, “What is insanity, Dr. Little?”

“That’s a complex question, Mr. Scott,” Dr. Little said. He laid one hand over the other, resting them on his dark-clad knee.
“But I suppose, in layman’s terms, that a person is insane if he cannot control his impulses—and, more importantly, if he
cannot tell right from wrong.”

Mr. Scott smiled. “That’s a precise statement indeed, Doctor. Can you tell us how you know the defendant?”

The doctor paused. Now he looked at me, with a sad, pitying expression. “She was a patient of mine.”

“When did you first see her?”

“She and her husband consulted with me a little over a year ago. She was having hysterical episodes. I made a diagnosis of
uterine monomania.”

“What exactly is uterine monomania?”

“Abnormalities in Mrs. Carelton’s uterus cause a reflex action in the nervous system, subjecting her to extreme mood changes,
which may range from mild depression to intense hysteria.”

“Did you suggest a treatment?”

“I did. I suggested she be placed in an asylum.”

Mr. Scott nodded gravely. “Did Mrs. Carelton follow your advice?”

Dr. Little looked affronted. “She did not.”

“In your opinion, was that a good idea?”

“Absolutely not. I warned her and her husband that she would grow worse.”

“What did Mr. Carelton say to that?”

“That they planned to have a child, and he felt that would solve Mrs. Carelton’s problems. I warned him that a child might
make her problems worse.”

“I see. Did you see Mrs. Carelton again after that visit?”

“Not until a year later. July twentieth, to be exact.”

“Under what circumstance?”

Dr. Little glanced at me again. I bowed my head to study my hands. “Mrs. Carelton was being committed to my care at Beechwood
Grove.”

“What is Beechwood Grove?”

“A private asylum.”

I heard a murmur from the back of the courtroom, the scratching of pencils, loud whispers. I did not dare look at the jury,
but I felt them watching me with pitying curiosity.

“How long was Mrs. Carelton at Beechwood Grove?”

Dr. Little’s voice became clipped. “She was there until October fifth. About two and a half months.”

“Do you know, Dr. Little, what took place the next day, October sixth?”

Dr. Little’s face looked cast from stone. “I understand that she killed her husband.”

“Is this something you could have anticipated, Doctor?”

Little shook his head. “It was most emphatically not. Mrs. Carelton made excellent progress. At Beechwood Grove we pride ourselves
on our exacting care, and Mrs. Carelton received the very best treatments available. Had there been any doubt of her sanity,
she would be there still. I assure you, Mr. Scott, that when Mrs. Carelton left us, she was quite sane, as I told her husband
she would be.”

“Did she have control of her impulses?” Mr. Scott asked.

“Yes. Very much so.”

“Could she tell right from wrong?”

“Oh yes. Certainly.”

“Would you say that she would have understood the consequences of her actions?”

“Mr. Scott, she was as sane as you or I.”

“Could she have been clever enough to fool you?” Mr. Scott asked.

Dr. Little reddened. “I am a highly qualified physician, Mr. Scott, and she is only a woman.”

“Yes, of course. You’re saying there is no possibility at all that she could have been insane when she left Beechwood Grove?”

“None at all. I told you, we made excellent progress. When she left, she was in perfect health. I would stake my reputation
on it.”

“So, in your considered opinion as a doctor who has treated Mrs. Carelton: Would you say she was in her right mind when she
shot her husband?”

Dr. Little stared at me. I felt all the eyes in the jury box following his gaze. “Absolutely. Yes. I believe she knew exactly
what she was doing when she killed her husband.”

I waited for Howe to protest. When he did not, I whispered in his ear, “How can you let him say such a thing?”