The Trial of Marie Montrecourt (12 page)

Alone again in the front parlour, Marie sank onto the chair that Stanley had just vacated. She heard her husband’s bedroom door close with a dull thud. She then heard the creak of Geoffrey’s footsteps returning down the stairs. She watched him close the door of the parlour quietly behind him.

He looked at her for a moment without speaking, then said: “Our Stanley’s been badly shaken up by Ma’s death.”

“I know.” She looked down at the pile of dirty plates in front of her. “Stanley said Gladys would clear all this away tomorrow, but I think I should make a start.”

“So you and Peter were in the front parlour because you wanted to practice the piano and he was turning the pages for you. And Ma came down because the noise had woken her.”

She fiddled with the dirty plates. “As Peter told you, yes.”

“Only, you see, when I took Pa upstairs earlier, he said nobody had played the piano because the cover was still on it.”

Marie felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Then maybe I covered up the piano after I knew your mother was dead? I don’t remember.”

“For pity’s sake, woman, do you even know what honesty is?”

His words were expressed with such force that they shocked her into silence for a moment. Then, she felt a flood of relief. “Has Peter told you the truth? I thank God for that.”

“He told me and it disgusts me.” Why was Geoffrey’s anger being levelled at her? “You couldn’t keep away from him, could you? Peter’s always had a weakness for women and you played on that. Keeping company with him every day, throwing yourself at him. That’s what Ma saw when she walked into the parlour that day. You, half naked, throwing yourself at him – the shock of it killed her. ”

“What?” She felt sick. “Is that what Peter told you? Is that what he said?”

“It’s what he confessed. I’m not saying Peter is blameless – he’s weak and he’s a fool – but you led him on. You are his brother’s wife.”

“No. It’s not true,” she protested.

“Was the story about playing the piano true?”

“No.” She knew that would condemn her, but she wanted to blow away the lies. “Bring him here, now. Ask Peter to confess. He attempted to make love to me and I tried to stop him. Let him come here and deny it in front of me.”

Geoffrey viewed her with disgust. “Peter is well out of your reach by now. I’ve sent him away. The story I’ll tell everyone is that mother was disturbed by the piano, as Peter said, and that he was so overcome with grief by her death that he didn’t want to stay in the country.”

“He’s gone abroad?”

“He was offered a job in New York. All he needed was the money for a passage. Well, now he’s got it. I gave it to him, on condition that he never comes back and never communicates with you again. He’ll be half way to Liverpool by now, and in a few hours time he’ll be on board ship.”

“You paid for him to go to New York?” The irony of the situation overcame all other emotions. He’d got what he wanted after all. She began to shake and then she began to laugh, and she couldn’t control either the shaking or the laughter.

Geoffrey was looking at her as though she was mad. “If it wasn’t that my family’s suffered enough,” he said angrily, “I would tell them the truth about how Ma died. Stanley would have you out on the street where you belong and everyone would know you for what you are, but I’ll spare our Stanley that humiliation by keeping quiet.” He leant forward and she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Do you understand me? You will keep quiet, too. Do you realise what the alternative would mean?”

She felt numb. She nodded. She understood.

*

She had no idea how long she’d been sitting after Geoffrey left, but a faint light had begun to filter through the curtains in the parlour so it must almost be dawn.

Wearily, she dragged herself up the stairs to bed. She was about to enter her room when she heard a noise from Stanley’s. He was still awake then? There it was again – the noise. She knocked on the door and, not waiting for his response, she turned the handle and entered. The paraffin lamp was lit and, by its light, she saw Stanley, seated on the edge of his bed in his night shirt, tears running down his cheeks. She felt nothing but compassion. He looked so lost.

“Oh, Stanley.” She moved over to the bed and sat beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders. “I am so sorry.”

He tried to brush the tears away but he couldn’t control his shaking. “I miss her, Marie. She’s always been there for me.”

“I know.” She understood such loneliness. “You have me, Stanley. I know I can’t take her place, but I can try to be a wife to you if you’ll let me.” She gently eased him back against the pillows. “Perhaps you might want your wife beside you tonight; if not, turn me away. I’ll understand.” He looked up at her, his mouth hanging open, tears streaking his face. His breath smelt rancid. “Do you want me to go? Tell me if you’d rather I went. ”

“No.” He clutched at her. “I… no… don’t go away. Stay.”

She lay down beside him and could feel his heart beating rapidly. She held him as she would a baby.

“I feel so alone without Ma,” he whispered.

“I know. I know.”

Awkwardly, she started to stroke his head. She saw the moon reflected in the glass cases that lined all the walls. The wings of the butterflies pinned to the velvet were opalescent. She looked away from them.

“I think we’re both feeling alone just now,” she murmured, “but we have each other, don’t we?”

That seemed to calm him. After a moment, he murmured: “Marie… if I haven’t been all a husband should be, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. That’s all right. Everything will be all right now. You’ll see.”

As he rolled on top of her, she closed her eyes. Perhaps this was the real beginning of a new life.

*

Marie delivered Damson and Major back to their pens. The dogs were tired. They were getting older, while Marie’s walks were getting longer. She patted them absentmindedly and closed the gate.

Since his mother’s death, she’d continued to sleep in Stanley’s bed. He seemed to find some comfort in that and she was grateful to be wanted. Occasionally, they made love. It was always brief, never satisfying – although it seemed to satisfy Stanley well enough. They were actually growing a little closer. He even, occasionally, tried to talk to her about his business. She learnt that trade was not good at The Emporium and that the tea room wasn’t providing the solution he’d expected.

Would he be happy or unhappy about the news she had to tell him? For some weeks she’d kept it to herself, wanting to be certain of her facts before she mentioned it, but today she was sure. Today, he had to be told. She hadn’t wanted to tell him before he left for work so she’d stayed out, waiting for him to leave.

She was thrown, however, to find that he was still at home. Usually, he was on the train to Harrogate by seven o’clock. She glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was now ten o’clock. He saw her glance.

“I had a bad night. Thought I’d go in later. Martin will open The Emporium.”

She knew he’d spent a bad night because his restlessness had kept her awake for most of it.

Stanley was rubbing his jaw. “It’s this wretched toothache. It’s been a week now since I had a decent night’s sleep.”

She knew that, too, having suffered the same fate by his side. He did look dreadful. “You should see a dentist. I have told you that.”

“I know. I know. I mean to, but then I remember the pain a dentist inflicted on me years ago and I can’t face it. Even the memory of it makes me break into a sweat.”

“Well, you can’t go on as you are.” The practical side of Marie took over. “Which is worse? The pain you’ve got now or the pain from the dentist, which will be over in a matter of days? Things have changed. They’re using different methods now. There’s a man in Leeds who uses chloroform. I saw an advertisement for him in
The Mercury
. His name is Mongreve, I think. It sends you to sleep. You don’t feel a thing.”

Stanley rubbed at his jaw again, trying to ease the pain. “That’s what McCullough said when I went to see him. I asked if there was anything he could give me to help it and he told me to see a dentist. He said my teeth were poisoning me.”

“He’s right. Your gums are blistered and some of your teeth have rotted. You’ll lose all of them if you’re not careful. You must go to the dentist.” She searched through the newspapers on the chair beside her. “Look.” She passed the copy of
The Mercury
over to him. “You’ll find his name in there. It says he uses chloroform and it puts you to sleep and when you wake up it’s all over.”

Stanley grunted. “Seems too good to be true to me” – but she saw that he had noted the name and address.

She hesitated – perhaps this wasn’t the best moment to break her news to him, but then he had to be told sometime. “Stanley, I’ve something to tell to you.” There was no other way than to say it directly. “I’m having a baby.”

He stared at her. “What?” After a moment he stood up, then he sat down again. “A baby?”

“Yes.” She was nervous, but it was the baby that mattered now. She had to make Stanley see what a blessing this was.

“When…? How long have you known? When did you see Dr McCullough?”

“I haven’t seen Dr McCullough yet. I know enough about things to know when I’m having a baby.” She didn’t like McCullough. He’d heard about the remedies she supplied to Gladys and her friends, and he’d made it plain to her that he didn’t approve.

Stanley was obviously struggling with his feelings. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do… what to say.”

“Stanley, just say it pleases you.”

“Pleases me?” He began to laugh. His reaction was so surprising that Marie was thrown for a moment. He shook his head as if in disbelief. “Yes… it pleases me. It pleases me.” He continued to shake his head in amazement. “A son?”

Marie didn’t care which gender the baby would be; only that Stanley was pleased. For the moment, that was all that mattered. He shook his head in amazement again.

“A son!” He struck the table with his fist, making her jump. “I’ll make sure he has something to inherit. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Of course you will,” she said encouragingly. “And the baby will be loved and cared for like no other that’s ever been born.”

He began pacing. “People want to take all this away from me.” He indicated the room with his arm. “Everything I’ve worked for. There have been problems ever since I opened that damned tea room. People only too eager to tell me I’ve over reached myself. Banks putting pressure on me for repayments. I’ll show them, Marie. They can’t write me off that easily.”

“No, of course not.” She suddenly felt drained of energy. Her lack of sleep plus the tension of telling Stanley were having their effect. “I’m sorry, Stanley. I need to lie down.”

He looked concerned. “Are you ill?”

“No, just tired”

She’d been sick that morning. Gladys had been there and Marie was sure she’d guessed the reason for it, but Gladys knew Stanley hadn’t been told yet and had made no comment. Marie had made herself an infusion of horehound and that had eased the spasms that followed.

Stanley was still absorbing the news. “Where’s Pa? I want to tell him.”

“He’s staying with Joe Bottomley until tomorrow. Do you mind, Stanley, if I go upstairs to rest?”

“No, no, you go,” he said, still preoccupied with the news.

She hesitated. “And it might be better if I stay in my old room until after the baby is born. Would you mind?” She needed to be able to sleep.

He waved a hand to show he had no objection. “I’ll send a telegram to Geoffrey and Isabelle,” he called after her.

She had just reached her bedroom when a sharp stab of pain caused her to collapse onto the bed. She curled up on the counterpane for comfort, drawing her knees up to her stomach. Whatever the pain, whatever the discomfort, she told herself fiercely, this was a child of hers and it was truly wanted.

In the months to come, Evelyn found he had very little time to spend on his search for the man called John Pickard. Renfrew kept him so busy that he was barely able to sleep. The country was unsettled, accusations of corruption and profiteering during the war were flung at the Tories, and Renfrew had him producing figures and statistics until he was sickened by them. At the moment, however, things seemed to have calmed down and he was at last able to return to Ardington to search for the account book he’d tossed aside so casually just after his father’s death.

He found it and it made strange reading. Page after page contained the same entry in his father’s neat and precise handwriting: “Paid to JP the sum of Twenty pounds” – a sizable sum. The money had been paid on the same day each month for eighteen years. Then, nothing. The first payment was dated 1882, which was the year after Majuba. Everything always came back to Majuba.

Surreptitiously, he began making enquiries around town about a solicitor or a lawyer called John Pickard, but to his frustration no one at the Inns of Court had heard of him. Perhaps Harlik had been wrong; perhaps this man Pickard didn’t work in the law at all. He was seriously tempted to confront his mother with the account book and ask her if she knew this John Pickard, but she was still frail after a minor stroke and he knew it would distress her to discover that he was still delving into affairs she had told him to forget.

As always when he was at a loss what to do with himself, he joined Siggy for an evening’s drinking at White’s. He found his friend in a good humour and full of plans for his coming trip to the hot springs of Baden-Baden, which was as well because Evelyn was proving a silent companion.

“All right,” Siggy said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I give in. What’s troubling you? Because something is.”

“Sorry,” Evelyn downed his brandy and signalled to the waiter for a refill. “I just… it’s this Montrecourt business.”

“Good God! Not that again? Thought you’d dropped it long ago.”

“I’ve never quite shaken it off.” Evelyn wearily ran a hand through his hair. “I might be able to if I can find some mysterious legal gentleman called John Pickard, who doesn’t seem to exist.”

Siggy frowned. “Where have you been looking? I know the name. He’s a solicitor. I think he practices in the north of England. Harrogate, I think. I’m sure your man Renfrew used him to handle some business to do with his estates near York.”

Evelyn was frustrated to discover that the information had been so close at hand all this time. “You’re sure of this?”

“Pretty sure, but ask Renfrew. I’m sure you’ll be seeing him in the next few days.” It was said wryly. Evelyn seemed to spend his life at the beck and call of his lordship. “You’re like a dog with a bone over this Montrecourt nonsense, Evie. Going to tell me why?”

“Someday, maybe, when I have all the answers,” Evelyn replied.

*

The first thing he did when he returned to the Lords was to approach Renfrew. He wasted no time and asked him directly about John Pickard. Did he know him?

“Haven’t you two met?” Renfrew looked surprised. “Yes, I’ve used him. John has acted for me on Radlett business and was very efficient. I recommended him to your father, too. He has offices in Harrogate. I’m quite happy to commend him to you, Evelyn. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a busy morning.”

“I’d be grateful to have his address,” Evelyn pressed.

“Of course.”

Renfrew was true to his word and the next morning Evelyn found a note of it on his desk. With more time on his hands, he saw no reason to delay following up the lead. He would drive to Harrogate first thing in the morning.

*

He discovered that John Pickard’s office was on the first floor of a building that formed a half crescent. It was flanked on one side by the busy Leeds Road and on the other by the quieter Fellows Street. Evelyn climbed the stairs and walked straight into the inner sanctum. A surprised John Pickard half rose from behind his desk.

“I do apologise for turning up at your office unannounced like this, Mr Pickard.” Evelyn’s manner was polite but firm. “I took advantage of the fact that I was in the North to call on you on Lord Renfrew’s recommendation. I believe you knew my father, Sir Gordon Harringdon?” Evelyn paused. He’d seen this man before – a child’s representation of a man, with a round head on a round body? Then, he remembered. He’d been at Ardington on the day his father died.

“Yes, indeed. How good to meet you.” The solicitor shook Evelyn by the hand, indicating the paper-strewn desk. “Excuse the mess, but, as you say, I wasn’t expecting you.” He held up a decanter of brandy. “May I pour you one?”

“No, thank you – a little early for me. Don’t let me stop you, though. I had business in the North,” he said, settling himself on the chair facing the solicitor, “and there’s a letter I need to deliver – and I think you can help me. It’s to a lady I think you know. Marie Montrecourt – daughter of Hortense Montrecourt?” He noticed the solicitor add a little more brandy to the glass. “You do know who I mean?”

“Yes. Yes, indeed I do.”

At last, he sensed he was close to the heart of the matter.

“Although Miss Montrecourt is Mrs Minton now,” said Pickard. “You have a letter for her, you say?”

“It was enclosed in a letter that arrived recently addressed to my father – from someone called Father Connor. Do you know him, too?”

“I’m afraid not, no.” Pickard looked suitably regretful. “The writer didn’t realise your father had passed away?”

“The priest had known him in Africa, apparently. He asked for a letter to be forwarded to Miss Mont… I’m sorry, Mrs Minton.”

“Oh, if that’s all, I’ll certainly do that for you.” The solicitor held out his hand to take the letter.

“I’d rather deliver it myself,” Evelyn said pleasantly. “There’s a great deal I’d like to ask her.”

The hand dropped. “I really don’t think it would be wise to call on Mrs Minton at the moment, Sir Evelyn. She is apparently expecting her first child. She would probably prefer not to receive visitors at the moment.”

“Perhaps I won’t need to trouble her if you can introduce me to the mother, Hortense.”

“Sadly she died some time ago.”

That was a blow. “How long ago?”

“A long time ago. Is it something I can help you with?”

Perhaps you could
, thought Evelyn. “In my father’s accounts, he noted a series of payments to you – the same sum at the same time every month for eighteen years. Can you tell me what those payments were for?”

John Pickard carefully straightened some papers on his desk. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss a client’s business dealings with anyone.”

“Not even his son?” Pickard looked even more regretful. “Not even when the client is now dead?”

“Forgive me, but if your father wanted his business to remain private, even from his family, then I can’t ignore those instructions. Please be aware that I am merely a solicitor, Sir Evelyn. I simply do what I’m told and nobody tells me anything I don’t need to know, and I prefer it that way.”

Evelyn made no effort to hide his irritation. “I won’t let the matter rest, Mr Pickard. If you can’t help me, then I suggest you give me Mrs Marie Minton’s address.”

“I promise you, she knows nothing, Sir Evelyn. It would be so much better if you’d just let matters rest.”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me, but they can never tell me why. Her address please,” Evelyn said, with quiet determination. Determination won.

“Very well. It’s out of my hands now,” the solicitor muttered as he wrote down the address.

The address for Marie Minton was in Ilkley, which was a blow because he had business in London later that afternoon and he didn’t have time to make a detour. It was frustrating to be so close to a resolution and yet be unable to conclude it. Or was he really looking for an excuse to delay the meeting, for fear of what he might discover? A little longer wouldn’t make much difference, he told himself.