The Medea Complex (15 page)

Beatrix

April 23
^rd
, 1886

Asquith House

Dinner is stifled and awkward as Mr Stanbury steadily drinks
himself towards a state of drunkenness and debauchery. Having dismissed both
the footman and butler earlier in the evening in a bid for privacy, he talks to
Anne but gains little in return. 

Anne sits still and mute throughout, merely picking at her
food and barely engaging in his conversation. From the clandestine position I
have taken in the kitchen, I am able to observe their interactions through a
high up window: balancing somewhat precariously upon a wooden worktop, and
offer Anne a mediocrum of support. She knows I am here, minding her; though it
cost me a hairpin. The cook is rather ruthless in her negotiations when it
comes to anyone other than herself entering her personal dominium. I don’t
mind. We all take what we can get in life.

Standing on the tips of my toes once again, alarm strikes
me. Mr Stanbury’s glass is now emptying with increasing rapidity, and short,
sharp bursts of utter nonsense spills from his mouth towards Anne, “Filth,
blue-blood whore, kil1er.”To her credit, Anne is bearing up tolerably well,
though her hand’s shake in her lap.

“You hid the pregnancy from me until I found you out; when
you were five months gone already! What were you planning to do, conceal it
until he was born? Was you purpose to do away with John all along? You're a
selfish mother who killed your own child.”

It is time to intervene.

Jumping down from the worktop, my foot knocks off a copper
pot. The sound it makes is terrifyingly loud in the empty kitchen, and I
freeze: most surely Edgar would have heard it. If he comes to investigate, how
can I possibly explain my presence here at such an hour?

Back-tracking quickly through the kitchen, I run down a
series of corridors that take me back and around to the formal entrance of the
dining area. The large manor house was constructed in such a manner as to have
means for the servants to go about their daily work without being neither ‘seen
nor heard’ by the family of the residence. Though this structure offensively
equates the help to rats, it serves a purpose when needed. I’ve also been told
the family do not like to have the smell of food permeating the dining area;
and an eighth of a mile corridor separates the two rooms. I don't know how true
those statements are.

On this evening, he distance that normally provides a service
is now an inconvenience.

By the time I come to the entrance, out of breath, I fear I
am too late. As I take a moment to compose myself, their voices carry through
the door.

“Your first duty now is to have another child, and it must
be a son.”

“But Edgar...the doctor said...”

“We will get you in the family way, Anne. This is not up for
discussion. Should we start right away, tonight?”

“No, my love, I can’t...”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

Taking a moment, I knock politely and wait a few seconds. Then
I enter unbidden.

 “My Lady, Sir,” I say, dropping a curtsey when I near the
table.

“Beatrix,” Anne says, looking trapped. The smell of whiskey
radiates from Mr Stanbury across the length of the room, and I am instantly
nauseous.

“Uneducated filly!” Mr Stanbury shouts at Anne. “Why do you
not address the servants as they should be addressed? Beatrix is Miss Fortier.”
He turns to me and smiles. “Is that not so, Miss Fortier?”

“It can well be, Sir,” I say. “Though I believe that a
ladies maid can be addressed by her surname, or, should her mistress so choose,
by her Christian name. At least, that is according to ‘Cassell's Household
Guide.”

“The who, what?”

“Cassell’s Household gu-”

“Yes, yes, I heard you. Unfortunately. Are servants not
supposed to be both unseen and unheard? Anne, my love, do you not now see the
ill-mannered and uneducated standard of your servants? To read such drivel as
of such I have never heard, and dare to speak to me, at that!”

My cheeks burn. I thought Dr Savage was a brute, but Mr
Stanbury is even worse.

Every time I feel slightly sorry for the man, he forces me
to reassess my empathy. He is a detriment to himself.

“I can’t help but wonder why you haven’t sacked the lot of
them,” he continues. “In fact, we should import all of our help from Greece.
Yes, Greece.”

What has Greece got to do with the price of fish? The man is
clearly drunk out of his wits.

“There is no reason you should have heard of this book, my
love,” says Anne, answering his first question. “It is of no consequence to a
man, it is a guide of how to run a home...”

“Why do you insist of answering me back so insolently? And
what would you know of the servant’s books?” He takes a gulp of his whiskey,
slamming it back on the table. "Oh, of course. You like to read. Dr Savage
told me what reading does to women’s minds: sends them insane. You've
experienced that first hand though, haven't you, my love? It is your preference
to read as opposed to make love with your own damned husband that killed my
child!" He stands up and roars, throwing his chair back with a crash.

“I dare not, my love, I simply feel...”

Mr Stanbury holds a hand to his forehead, and lowers his
face. Calmer, he says, “Oh, be-gone with you. Both of you. I’d like to enjoy my
drink, if you please. Women. All a bunch of greedy, dirty, insolent liars.” He
picks his chair up, and sits.

“Please accept my humblest apologies, Sir, for I never meant
to offend you so nor speak out of turn, I...” I tentatively say.

Mr Stanbury looks at me, leans forward, and fills his glass
up slowly and deliberately. Leaning back, he burps and quite soberly, says:
“Miss Fortier, I advise you well to take leave whilst you are still somewhat
ahead. Do your duty, and take this dirty whore of a murderess away from me lest
I lay my hands around her throat.”

Perhaps he is not as drunk as I thought; though his mind
must be somewhat fogged as he has not enquired as to the reason for my
interruption.

Anne pales even further.

“Sir.”

It’s best to make a quick exit, in case he asks me the
reason I am here. I can hardly tell him that I fear for his wife’s safety – at
his hands, no less, can I? Another curtsey quickly executed, I grab Anne by her
hand and lead her out into the main corridor.

My hands shake just as Anne’s did, but not with fear. With rage,
and resentment. Our bodies hum with joint anxiousness.

“What a spiteful creature he is!” I splutter to Anne when we
are out of his earshot. “Of all the malicious, spiteful, wicked things to say
to you!”

“He is grieving, Beatrix.”

“Well, I should love to give him a what for; mind you, I’m a
little anxious to do so whilst he staggers under the influence of sorrow and
alcohol. God knows, the two should never mix! He even burped in front of us!”

I would wager a year’s wage that he has never done that in
social company.

“Did he drink whilst I was away?” Anne asks, concerned.

“Not that I saw. He certainly had his fits of anger, and as
I told you, set the cot on fire out in one of the gardens; made a fair tower
out of the wood, he did. I also heard him crying quite regularly at night, and
he was rather mean-spirited towards all of the servants...but that is hardly
new behaviour.” I pull Anne by her sleeve, turning her to me. “You know what he
is like, Anne; you know what he wants from you. Or have you forgotten?”

“No, Beatrix, I have not forgotten. How could I possibly
forget such a thing?”

“Well, you do well to remember. I saw you wilting underneath
his gaze, squirming away from his accusations.”

“He has never been a drinker. Probably that caused him to
speak so terribly out of turn to me.”

“In all probability. But is that an excuse to speak in such
a manner? It is obvious that tonight he is drinking because he is still angry
at you: and that concerns me greatly. What happens if he continues to drink?
What if he hurts you?”

“He has already hurt me Beatrix. In ways you well know.”

“Yes, I know that more than anyone. But Anne, you know a
most learned man once said that the essence of a gentleman is one that is
perfectly bred. Failing that, for not all of us are born into the aristocracy;
even a poor man can be gentle, and sympathetic with a kind disposition, hence
making himself a gentleman. Till now we all knew that your husband failed on
the former description and after tonight’s antics, I’d like to declare he has
disappointed on both counts.  ”

Silence descends upon us as we make our way to the
apartments assigned to Anne and myself. I can’t tell if Anne is insulted by my
affront of her husband, but I dare say she won’t care too much anyway. Glancing
at a clock in the corridor, I mentally scold myself. It shows two and thirty,
which it most certainly is not. Every clock in the house has shown this hour
since the day John died.

Pulling my pocket watch out from under my skirts and
flicking it open, it shows one and twenty. Plenty of time left in the night.

Entering Anne’s chamber, I light the oil lamp atop of her
beside bureau, close the heavy curtains, assist her out of her finery, and put
her into her bed clothes. I take care to handle her gently. I don't know how
she was treated in the mad-house, and though I have it on good authority she
was well, I still wish to make her feel extra safe tonight. She sits at her
dressing table, looking numbly at the covered mirror whilst I brush her long,
wavy hair.

“When can we take these black sheets down?” Anne says.

“When Mr Stanbury deems fit, I suppose.”

Anne just sits and stares.

Sighing, I turn and commence the folding of the days
clothes. Her black dress is covered with grease. I put it aside for the morrow.

I can’t help but worry about Anne. She appears drained of
all energy, and I fear what state of mind she is in.

“Anne...”

“Yes?”

“Will you be alright?”

“Perfectly, Beatrix. So long as you are with me, I will
always be alright. You have looked after me so well, and over and above your
duty as a ladies-maid.”

I smile, put the clothes aside, and hold her hands in mine,
pulling her up and leading her over and into her bed.

“You are going to worry me into an early grave, my Lady,” I
say. “You are like my very own daughter.”

“Yes, our friendship is strong,” she says, pulling the
covers on top of her. “You have never judged me.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I vouch: “I dare say I know
you better than anyone, even your father.”

“Indeed you do. Even when I was mad.” She smiles up at me.

“You were never mad, and you never will be mad.”

“In love, mad...it is all the same, no?”

“I say some would think so, Anne.”

“I love John; I love my baby so much.”

“And he will always be with you Anne, even though you are
not with him. He is borne of your body, of your heart, and that bond will never
break. No matter what. One day, you will be re-united.”

“In heaven?”

“Or near as damn it, excuse my French!” I swat her hand.

Anne laughs.

“Well, only if I don’t go to hell first!”

Changing tact, she says: “I missed our conversations. I was
so worried I might forget everything you taught me.”

I enfold her in my arms.

“Je ne pourrai ja mais laisser cela se produire, Anne. And,
I promise you: if I ever have reason to hike on down to the good old fiery pit
and bargain with the Devil himself to get you out, I will pay whatever price he
demands of me.”

“Oh, I love you, Beatrix.”

“And I, you. I want for nothing except your happiness. Now
sleep, and sleep well. I shan’t imagine you will be disturbed tonight, for
surely Edgar will be in an alcoholic faint within the hour. But I shall stay
next door, and keep an ear out just the same.”

“Goodnight, Beatrix. And thank you.”

“Goodnight, Anne. And you are ever so welcome.” I say,
kissing her forehead. I press into her hand my pocket watch, and she squeezes
it tight.

Picking up the dress, I blow out the lamp and leave my Lady
bundled underneath layers of fur amongst numerous cushions. A comfort she has
needed for far too long. She never deserved any of this. Picking my way through
the darkness to my room, I can’t help but wonder what is going to happen to us
all. I put my hand in my pocket, feeling the cold smoothness of the ring which
I took from Mr Stanbury’s desk earlier in the evening, and the curve of an empty
glass bottle. I pull it out, holding it to the light.

CHLORAL.DO NOT MIX WITH ALCOHOL.

I just hope I put enough in his whiskey. The bottle is now
empty, so I assume I did.

A storm is coming.

And I don’t refer to the weather.

Edgar

April 24
^th
, 1886

Asquith House

Tap tap tap tap! The water rains down the side of the
church, droplets casting off and landing on my head. Tap tap tap tap! A large,
black raven dives, landing beside me, and starts pecking the gravestone in
front of me. Tap tap tap tap! The Epitaph reads:

Lady Anne Stanbury – 03/08/1857 – 10/04/1888

Darling daughter, wife, and murderer of your child, how
we miss you, none but God alone can tell, but in heaven we will meet you, until
then, farewell

The raven pecks harder and faster and louder, with
mounting aggression, fixing me with red eyes ablaze with fire.

Tap tap tap TAP!

“Sir!” An urgent voice cuts through my dream. The tapping
increases in sound, and I realise I am in my bed; the tapping of the raven’s
beak a knocking at my chamber door.

“Mr Stanbury, Sir!” The male voice calls again, practically
beating the door down.

What emergency could justify this impertinence?

I sit up and my head reels. I think I’m going to vomit.

Jumping out of bed, I realise in hindsight what a bad idea
this was. My stomach rolls, bursting to give up its contents and I am sick
where I stand. The liquid stench gushes over the silk linen in a great,
heaving, copious steam of bile.

I think I can see a few carrots.

Sweet Jesus.

My nose hurts, too. Why? Did I walk into a door?

“Sir!” The hammering on the door is unrelenting, matching
the throbbing in my head.

 I am quite embarrassed to have any servant view me in such
a state... but how am I to clean up the mess? The smell alone makes me gag. I can’t
possibly clear this up.

“Who wakes me at such an hour?” I shout.

“James, Sir.”

“Come in James, though I fear I am most unwell.”

He practically bolts through the door dressed in his finest
footman livery, pausing when he sees the bed. A question mark practically glows
above his head, yet he remains respectfully silent.

Standing before me, he bows slightly and waits; the brass
buttons on his outfit twinkling. I realise for the first time how small he is.
Isn’t a footman supposed to be at least six foot two?

“Where is Newman?” I ask him. Perhaps the butler is sick
too, which would explain James’ presence.

“Sir, Newman is out looking for...oh, forgive my most
insolent intrusion, but I have grave news.”

“Well, spit it out boy, can you not see I am unwell?”

“Sir...I fear Lady Stanbury is missing.”

A laugh splutters out of me before I can halt it.

“Missing? James, she has been missing in her head for some
time now. What do you mean, boy, ‘missing’?”

“As in…gone, Sir. We cannot find her, though we tried our best
to do so prior to alerting you, in case it was a false concern.”

I vague sense of unease creeps over my skin.

“Gone?” I repeat. “Gone to where?”

“Well,” James stutters, his cheeks turning red. “Excuse me
for saying so, Sir, but that is the point. We don’t know where. If we did, she
wouldn’t be missing, would she?”

Do all of these servants speak out of turn to me? I think
they do, though I can’t imagine why. Do I not put a roof over their heads, food
in their stomachs, and clothes on their back?

No, you don’t. You don’t have a penny to your name, and
that’s why you lord it over these people as if you were their true master. You
are nothing but a dirty, filthy imposter.

“Is it not feasible she is simply parading the grounds? She
certainly mentioned something yesterday about intending to spend some time in
the rose garden.”

“We checked there already, Sir.”

 I sigh.

“Look James, I really think you are panicking far too much.
My wife has been apart from us for, let’s see: six months, or thereabouts? Do
you not imagine she is simply taking her time to re-adjust, and re-visit all
that she has missed? She is probably overwhelmed with everything, and no doubt,
and quite understandably: wishes to spend time alone. Now surely, my boy, this
makes more sense than her being ‘missing’? What, do you imagine that she has
absconded?”

“No Sir, I...”

“Vanished?”

“No, Sir...”

“Killed herself?”

James looks to the floor.

Perhaps that was in poor taste.

I hope she hasn't.

She can give me a child, and then kill herself.

That’s if I don’t kill her first.

Lots of mothers die in childbirth, don’t they?

“Look, James boy: she is in all probability, knowing Anne:
which, incidentally, I do; doubtlessly she has taken it upon her pretty little
head to go for an early morning wander, and neglected to tell anyone. I feel
that is understandable, given the circumstance of recent months, don’t you?
That she might be a little forgetful?”

“Yes Sir, No Sir, I...” He wrings his hands. "Sir, we
found blood.”

“Where?”

“On her bed-sheets, Sir.”

“Look James, really,” I am disgusted. “I think that is for
the women-folk to discuss, not men, and certainly not such an underling as
yourself.” Turning my back on him, I move towards the window. “Kindly see to my
bath; as you can see, I am filthy. I wish to clean myself up before I follow
this ridiculous notion of Anne being ‘missing’ any further. Do I make myself
clear?”

“But Sir, I was supposed...”

My temper flares, and I shout.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND YOUR ROLE, BOY?”

“Yes, Sir.” Meekly.

“Then be quick about it, and see that one of the maid's
attends to this messy business of my bed at once.”

“Yes, Sir.”