An Inconvenient Wife (46 page)

“Why do you suppose that is?”

“Because William asked her to,” she said. “And she was determined to please him.”

“Was this usual for Mrs. Carelton? Did she often attend to her husband’s desires so wholeheartedly?”

Millie hesitated. “In most cases. She did long for William’s approval.”

“Were you at Newport this summer, the same time Mrs. Carelton was there?”

“Yes,” Millie said.

“Did you observe her with Dr. Seth?”

Millie was holding a blue beaded bag. She fidgeted with the clasp. “Yes. I did.”

“Did it seem innocent to you?”

“No.”

“What did you believe was their relationship?”

“In the beginning I assumed they were having an affair.” Millie reddened. “But then I talked to Lucy about it, and she confessed
that he was her doctor and had come to attend her during the summer.”

“Did you believe that?”

“I wanted to.”

“Did you have any evidence otherwise?”

“No,” she said.

“Did you think that Mrs. Carelton was better under Dr. Seth’s care?”

“Yes,” she said. “She seemed much better.”

“Mrs. Wallace, did you think that Mrs. Carelton was happy?”

Millie frowned at him. “Happy?”

“Yes, happy. Was she happy with her husband? With her life?”

Millie looked at me, her eyes expressionless. “I think Lucy tried to be happy,” she said slowly. “But I don’t think she was.
I don’t think she ever was.”

I breathed a sigh of relief when Millie was done, when it seemed that there would be no real surprises after all. The courtroom
was quite warm; I was reaching for a handkerchief to wipe my brow when Howe went to the front of the courtroom. With a flourish
of pure showmanship, he said, “Your Honor, I call Mrs. Wilhelm Brock to the stand.”

I abandoned the handkerchief in sudden wariness. Mrs. Wilhelm Brock? I’d never heard the name before; I had no idea who it
could be.

I turned when the audience did, as the doors at the back of the courtroom opened. A woman clothed in black came inside. She
wore a small hat with a dark veil that hid her face. She was compact—an older woman, I thought, though she walked with steady
purpose. I watched curiously as Howe helped her into the witness chair. I sent him a questioning glance, but he only smiled.
He leaned down, whispering something to the witness, and she reached up and lifted her veil.

I gasped.

I was looking at a woman with William’s face.

S
he stared at me as if trying to memorize me. I felt the jury’s gazes riveted to us.

Howe was still smiling. “Mrs. Brock, do you recognize the defendant?”

Mrs. Brock shook her head. “I don’t.”

“Do you know who she is?”

“I’ve heard of her,” she said. Her voice was light and melodious. “She’s Mrs. William Carelton.”

“How do you know this?”

“You told me who she was,” she said. “And I’ve read the papers.”

“What relationship do you have with Mrs. Carelton, Mrs. Brock?”

She hesitated. I did not know what she would say, or who she was, and I was angry at Howe for surprising me this way.

She looked right at me when she said, “I’m her mother-in-law.”

I felt the blood leave my face. The audience broke into surprised whispers; there was a whoop from a reporter; even the jury
began talking among themselves. Mr. Scott rose from the prosecution table, calling, “Your Honor, please.”

Judge Hammond slammed his gavel. “I will have silence in this courtroom. Mr. Scott, sit down. Mr. Howe, proceed.”

The murmurings died down, though they didn’t completely disappear. Howe was smiling so broadly it seemed his skin stretched
to his ears. I saw him try to rein it in. He bent back to Mrs. Brock, who was still watching me with eyes that were as blue
as William’s.

Howe said, “William Carelton was your son?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “He was my son.”

“You have a different surname, ma’am. Did you remarry?”

“No sir. My son changed his name.” Her eyes watered as she spoke, as if it was still painful for her. “When he was born, we
named him William Guilden Brock. The only thing he kept was the William.”

Howe’s voice became soft, cajoling. “When did he do this, Mrs. Brock?”

“When he was fifteen. Just before he left town.”

“Which town is that, ma’am?”

“Newport, Rhode Island,” she said.

Again I heard the echo of the bail hearing, the oddity of the thing I had not known.
William Stephen Carelton . . . originally of Newport, Rhode Island.

“Why did your son change his name, Mrs. Brock?”

Her tone was resigned. “Because he was ashamed of us. Ashamed of his own father and mother. He was afraid someone might find
out where he came from.”

“Why do you think that was?”

“Because he never wanted anything but to belong to
them
.” She emphasized the audience, me, with a jerk of her chin. “His own father was a lawyer, but that wasn’t good enough.”

“When did you last see your son, Mrs. Brock?”

“I saw him just the other day. In his grave.” Her voice broke again, in sorrow or anger, though I was unsure where it was
directed.

“Before that?”

“About five years ago,” she said. “Before he got married.”

“To Mrs. Carelton?”

“Yes.”

“It was a big society wedding, I understand?”

“Four hundred people,” she said, looking up. “At Saint Thomas. There were tea roses and lilies. The bride wore a Worth gown
in white satin, with appliqués of lilies and a bodice beaded with seed pearls.” She recited it with a sad pride. “I read it
in the paper.”

“You didn’t attend?”

“We weren’t invited. William said he would tell them about us eventually, but he was afraid the great DeLancey Van Berckel
might cancel the wedding if he found out who William really was. He said that these people trusted him, that he had made his
way into high society. He was marrying a society girl, you see—the same girl he’d wanted for years and years. Oh, he used
to watch the Van Berckels, you know, when they came to Seaward. He used to talk about her. Lucy Van Berckel, how she was the
prettiest thing. How one day he was going to marry her.”

I began to feel ill.

“And you accepted that?”

“We had to.” She began to cry. When Howe handed her a handkerchief, she dabbed gracefully at her eyes. “We loved our son,
and William loved his wife. He was afraid he would lose her. I wanted him to be happy.”

“You were his parents,” Howe said gently. “Surely Mrs. Carelton would have accepted you if she truly loved her husband.”

“William wouldn’t allow it.” She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were full of pain. “I loved my son, Mr.
Howe, and I am sorry he’s dead, but I knew what he was. The truth is, as much as William might have loved her, he was ambitious
too. Maybe what William really loved was the thought of her and the things she could bring him. He wanted to be rich and respected.
When I think about it now, I wish we’d left Newport. It would have been easier for William to understand his place. But with
all those cottagers there every summer, having parties, driving their carriages around like they were lords of the town .
. . it changed him. Nothing was ever enough for him.”

“Does it surprise you, ma’am, how your son ended up?”

She shook her head sorrowfully. “I wish I could say it does. But he was too ambitious. He was never going to be happy with
his place. More, more, more, that’s all I heard from him.”

She came up to me later, as I was climbing into the carriage to go home. It was Papa who saw her first, and his hand tightened
on my elbow, stopping my ascent. I turned to see her standing there, looking like an angel in the light snowfall, her small
form haloed by a streetlamp. She was looking at me with hungry eyes. “My, aren’t you pretty,” she said. “Prettier even than
he said you were.”

I straightened and pulled away from my father, who stood back, suddenly perceptive when I wanted him not to be. I was afraid
of her. I spoke quickly, hoping she would understand. “I didn’t know about you. I hope you know that. He wouldn’t talk about
his parents. I thought . . . I thought you were dead.”

She nodded. “I won’t bother you after today. I just wanted to see you one time. To talk to you one time. It always seemed
strange to have a daughter-in-law I didn’t know.”

I said again, because I could think of nothing else, “I never knew.”

“I just want you to tell me,” she said, “why you killed my son.”

“Because I wanted to be free,” I whispered, because she was his mother and she deserved to know, and to despise me for it.
It was the only thing I could give her.

She sighed, and then she smiled weakly and took my hand. “It was nice to meet you,” she said, then released me, turning away
as if I were a stranger she never expected to see again. But of course, that was what I was.

I
woke long before the sun rose and lay nervous and still. There had been a sound from somewhere, a crash, the dismay of a
servant, but that was not what had awakened me. It was the knowledge of what would happen today that had me tossing and turning
and staring blankly into the darkness. Today was the day Howe would call Victor to the stand.

The courtroom was as full as any other day, and the whispers when I came in and sat down were the same, the scribbling of
the reporters no different. Howe was smiling when he saw me and leaned down to whisper, “Word is we’re winning.” Before I
could ask him how he knew, the judge was sitting, and Howe went to the front of the courtroom and called out in a large, expansive
voice: “Please bring Dr. Victor Seth to the stand.”

I froze in my seat, afraid to look when I heard the doors open, the sudden rush of talk, and his step. I had never been aware
of hearing it before, I had always thought he moved too quietly to hear, but I realized now that I knew it. His stride was
self- assured, almost too confident. I heard the talk die to whispers as he came down the hall, and I knew they were struck—as
I had been, as William had been—by his bearing.

It was not until they swore him in and he took his seat that I looked up.

He had changed little since the last time I’d seen him. He was still beardless, but his hair was longer, just brushing his
collar, which was stiff and white, and he wore a suit I’d never seen, of a fine dark wool with a matching vest. His watch
chain was gold, but those charms still hung from it, and I had the panicked thought that I had never found out what those
charms were. It seemed absurd that I had not. Perhaps I didn’t know him as well as I’d thought.

He glanced at me, and I calmed, and then Howe was speaking.

“Dr. Seth, could you state your qualifications, please.”

Victor said, “I’m a neurologist. I studied at the University of Leipzig, and then with Jean-Martin Charcot at the Salpêtrière
until I went to Nancy. There I studied with Hippolyte Bernheim.”

“A neurologist,” Howe said. “I’m not familiar with that term, sir.”

“Neurologists study the brain and the nervous system,” Victor said easily. “We specialize in organic disorders, especially
as they apply to illnesses that most people think of as nervous conditions.”

“Such as insanity?”

Victor nodded. “Among other things. Neurologists tend to treat those who are still functioning outside of institutions.”

“I see. So you are a physician?”

Contemptuously, Victor said, “I am a physician, but I hardly assume ancient medical knowledge has validity. I’m a scientist
first and foremost. Medical knowledge is increasing day by day. The brain and nervous system have been unknown continents
before now. In time science will solve every puzzle of human behavior. We will be able to cure anything.”

Howe raised a brow. “Even madness?”

“Especially madness,” Victor said.

“How truly extraordinary,” Howe said. “How then, sir, would you characterize insanity?”

“Insanity can be measured only by comparison with a person’s normal behavior.”