The Edge of the Fall (52 page)

Then came Reverend Campson, their vicar when Arthur had been younger. He talked of how Arthur had come to Sunday school, been a godly boy, liked to help at church events. Celia couldn't remember Arthur ever helping at a church event or going
to Sunday school very much. But she was sure he'd
meant
to. Anyway, as Mr Bird had said, it was all just a game they had to play. You needed these external proofs of goodness, the internal ones weren't enough.

Celia watched men from Winter Meats talk of how kind Arthur had been and clients of the company discuss his honesty, how you could always rely on him, how he'd done so much to get the business running after all the failures of the war. Mr Cedric tried and failed to find gaps in what they said, look for inconsistencies, but they were all quite sure. Arthur was a good man! He would never do such a thing to his wife. Celia watched the judge taking notes, the jury paying attention, felt ashamed of herself for judging Mr Bird. She had jumped to conclusions, just as he'd said. Mr Cedric tried to ask about Arthur's failure to go to university and pressed again and again on the point that Arthur didn't fight. A client of the company blinked in confusion. ‘But he was stuck in Paris. He wanted to. He couldn't get out. I know that his heart was broken when he couldn't fight.' Earlier, the vicar had said that Arthur had returned to the church and prayed about how he'd been denied the chance to do his duty. He said he'd wept over the loss of so many of his schoolfriends.

‘It cut him to the heart,' said the vicar. ‘Really it did.'

At one o'clock, the court adjourned for lunch. That day Celia and Emmeline had brought a flask of tea and a bag of chocolate sweets. ‘They will give us spirit, if nothing else,' said Emmeline. ‘Eat them so no one can see.' The night before, she had got back to the flat and her chest had been hard with milk. ‘It's the worry, I suppose,' she'd said, letting Euan clear it by feeding, crying a little as she did.

‘You need to go to the bathroom now,' Celia said. ‘Try and get some of it out.'

‘I can't in there. It's too horrible. I'll wait. Things will be back to normal soon.'

‘Yes.' Celia put a chocolate sweet in her mouth. She'd picked a mint one, never her favourite flavour. It exploded into her teeth, sharp, sour, unpleasant.

*

The next day the gallery was a little reduced.
So there was no scandal for you yesterday
, Celia thought, looking up at the ladies in hats, passing sweets.
Serves you right!
They were like vultures, these people, leaping on misfortune, hungry for more. She took a chocolate from the new bag – strawberry this time, much better – waited for things to begin.

‘Call Mrs McElwell,' said the clerk. Celia looked up. Was that another schoolteacher? A large woman in a cheap dark-blue gown came through, thin mousy hair curled weakly over her head.

‘Could you tell us how you met the defendant, Mrs McElwell?' Mr Cedric asked.

‘He and – well, she wasn't his wife then, was she? – came to stay at my guest house in Weymouth.'

‘And this was?'

She gave the dates. Celia calculated them in her mind. Just after Arthur and Louisa had left London.

‘And just to be sure, can you verify if this man is in the room?'

She looked over at Arthur. ‘It's him,' she said. ‘That one.'

‘Thank you, Mrs McElwell. Now, if you could tell us how long they were with you?'

‘They came to stay for a month. He took a room not good enough for a gentleman like him, if you ask me. She had one a door or so along.'

‘And what kind of guests were they?'

‘Quiet, I suppose. He paid on time.'

‘But they told you that they were married?'

‘Yes, sir. I didn't suspect they weren't. He said he had to sleep separately to take the air, needed the window wide open and all that. I've had a few couples who were doing that. I didn't think they were lying. I was shocked when I heard. I don't keep that type of house!'

‘I'm sure you don't, Mrs McElwell. So you thought that Mr de Witt was married to the then Miss Deerhurst. What kind of husband did he appear to be? Not that he was a husband. He lied to you about that.' He was standing close to her, smiling.
Celia would have almost said that, with his gentle, insinuating tone of voice, he was flirting with her. She wanted to push him away, tell him to stop.

Mrs McElwell coughed. ‘He didn't seem to be much of a husband. I suppose that's why I didn't mistrust that they were married. In my experience, I can tell people who aren't married because they won't stop looking at each other. You can tell they want to – well – touch each other. ‘That's when I turn them away.'

‘So you thought these two were married, Mrs McElwell, because they
could
stop looking at each other?'

‘Him definitely. She was always looking at him. He never wanted to look at her. I was surprised.'

‘Why were you surprised, Mrs McElwell?'

‘She was such a pretty girl. And they weren't that old. It usually takes couples much longer to be so weary of each other. That's what I expect when they've been married a good ten years or so. I thought she was so young, they couldn't have been married more than a year.'

‘Dear me. So it seemed to you that she was fond of him, but not the other way round?'

‘That's right.'

‘Did they spend much of their time together?'

‘Never. I hardly ever saw them together. He went out every day into town, left early, didn't come back until late.'

‘Dear me. That must have been hard for a young girl on her own?' Celia had begun to hate it when Mr Cedric said ‘dear me'.

‘Without a doubt, sir. I've seen the same happen with wives, but they often have things to do. Embroidery, sewing, letters to write. She seemed to have nothing to occupy herself. Too young, I suppose.'

‘Do you think, Mrs McElwell, that she expected to be spending her days with her husband? Or her companion, we should say.'

‘I do think she expected it, yes, sir. It was heartbreaking in the morning, sometimes. She'd come down, all dressed up in one of her white dresses, hair curled, looking so pretty it would melt your soul. And then I'd have to tell her that he'd gone out for the day,
no idea when he'd be back. She'd look crushed then, you know, really crushed.'

‘Poor girl. So he kept breaking her heart.'

‘I'd say so, sir, yes. I thought at the time, she wants to be a proper wife to him and he won't let her. I wondered what it was that had made him so unhappy with her.'

‘I'm sure you did, Mrs McElwell. So Miss Deerhurst was keen to be with Mr de Witt, but he kept her at arm's length. Would you say he left very early in the morning in order to escape her?'

‘I expect he probably did, sir.'

‘Would you even say that he might have told her to come to breakfast at a particular time – only for him to have already gone?'

The judge cleared his throat again. Mr Cedric nodded to him. ‘Perhaps I put that a little too baldly. What I meant was, perhaps he tried to avoid his wife?'

Mrs McElwell pondered. ‘I hadn't thought of that, sir. But now that I do, I think you're right.'

‘How cruel,' said Mr Cedric, shaking his head. ‘How cruel. As we all know now, Miss Deerhurst and Mr de Witt had just fled London. She had felt under threat, as if she were at risk of actual violence, if not worse. You would think that a young lady in such a vulnerable situation would need more friendship, more kindness, would you not, Mrs McElwell?'

‘You would, sir.'

‘Yes, you would expect this older, wiser man to comfort her and support her. But instead, as you say, he was never there. No! Worse than that. He
actively
tried to avoid her.'

Mrs McElwell looked rather dazed, bowled over, Celia supposed, by the wild force of Mr Cedric's argument. She was gripping the side of the box.

‘Yes, sir.'

Mr Cedric shook his head. ‘This is all such a
very
sad picture. So very sad. First this in Weymouth, then goodness knows what, and finally she falls from the cliff in Margate and Mr de Witt flees the country. Not the actions of a loving husband.'

‘I don't think so, sir. I tried to give her ideas of things to do
myself. I sent her off to do a few errands. I once asked her to buy some medals for me from the antiques market in town. I collect medals from Passchendaele, you know. It was where I lost my husband.' She brought her handkerchief up and dabbed her eye.

‘Commiserations, madam. Your husband fought to give us our freedom now. He fought bravely, accepted his fate.'
Unlike Arthur
, Celia knew he wanted people to think.

Mrs McElwell gave a large sniff ‘Yes, sir.' She wiped her eyes again.

‘And do you have any idea where Mr de Witt was during the day? Where he went to so early in the morning and stayed until late at night?'

‘No, sir. But he often came home smelling of alcohol, I can tell you that much. So I would say that at least
some
of it was spent in the public house!'

‘Goodness me. But surely, public houses don't open all day in Weymouth?'

‘No, sir, not since the war.'

‘I have verified this matter for myself and I believe that the public houses open at eleven in the morning, close at two-thirty after the lunchtime rush and reopen at five until the end of the night. So he cannot have been there all day.'

‘No, sir.'

Mr Cedric looked up at the gallery. ‘Well, I wonder where else he might have been?' There was gruff, embarrassed laughter.

‘I really can't say, sir. I don't think I'd like to know.'

‘You are quite right, Mrs McElwell. There are some things that it is best for a lady not to know. Still, we have established important ground, have we not. Mr de Witt seemed to have no fondness for Mrs de Witt—'

‘Yes, sir!' Mrs McElwell broke in. ‘So much so, sir, that . . .'

‘Yes?'

Mrs McElwell dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘She tried to make herself thin, sir.'

‘What did you say, Mrs McElwell? I didn't quite understand.'

‘She tried to make herself thin, sir. I saw it after a week or two.
In the first week she was with me, she ate what you'd expect a young girl to eat, taste for the sweet stuff, you know. Then, she started buying these magazines.'

‘What sort of magazines, Mrs McElwell?'

‘Oh, you know, magazines for women. I never touch them myself. But she had them. And she always left them open at articles about slenderising. Diets that said you should only have two potatoes all day long and an apple. Terrible things. And that's what she started doing. She'd ringed that diet with a pen. Two potatoes and an apple.'

‘Eating two potatoes and an apple for an entire day?' Celia could hear shuffling in the gallery.

‘That's right, sir. I saw her eat nothing else. It was terrible to watch. I'd put her dinner in front of her and she'd find a way of hiding it. She'd put it in her skirts, take it upstairs, then try and throw it down the lavatory. I had to call in the plumber to unblock the pipes more than once. She'd say she'd eaten dinner out and didn't want anything or avoid the breakfast by saying she didn't feel well.'

‘That must have been very hard to see.'

‘It was, sir. In the first week, I suppose, I wondered if she was in the family way. You often lose your appetite.'

‘So I understand. Then you realised it was something else. That she was not eating in order to become thinner.'

‘Yes, sir. She simply grew thinner and thinner. She grew terribly thin! You wouldn't think anyone could get like that in just a few weeks.'

‘Indeed. Well, if one is eating nothing but two potatoes and an apple, one would get very thin. And what was the reaction of Mr de Witt to this? Surely he could not have failed to notice?'

‘I'm sure he did notice, sir. But it didn't make him like her more. In fact, I think he got more offhand with her.'

‘So he became crueller to her?'

The judge leant forward, about to say something. He stopped.

‘You could put it that way.'

‘Crueller. You know, Mrs McElwell, I rather wonder something. Given that Miss Deerhurst was so under the thumb of Mr de
Witt – wouldn't you agree? Well, given this, I even wonder if this slenderising idea might have come from him?'

Celia saw Mr Bird gesture to the judge. The judge nodded.

‘Mr Cedric. Is this line of questioning leading anywhere?'

‘It is, Your Honour. I am establishing the relationship.'

‘Proceed then. But not for too long.'

Mr Cedric resumed. ‘So. My suggestion is that perhaps Mr de Witt himself put the idea into our lady's head. He told her that she might do well to slenderise. Perhaps it was an offhand comment. But it hit home.'

‘I suppose so, sir.'

Mr Cedric looked up at the court. ‘I have looked into these matters. There is much talk that young ladies are introduced into this sort of behaviour by magazines. And yet there are hundreds of ladies who read magazines who never decide to do such things. Why some and not others?' He waved his hand. ‘The answer is that someone that the young lady loves puts it into her head. A little word: “Have you got larger?” “Are you sure you should take another piece of cake?” “Your gown is too tight, you know.” For a sensitive young lady this could create much distress. Would you agree that Mrs de Witt was a sensitive young lady, Mrs McElwell?'

‘I would very much so, sir.'

‘The person who often sets a lady off on this trajectory is the mother. But, of course, we have no mother in this case. Miss Deerhurst was sadly orphaned. And the only person she sees is Mr de Witt. So if anyone planted the seed in her head, it was
him
.' He flourished his hand.