The Trial of Marie Montrecourt (14 page)

Marie stood nervously outside the Kursaal Tea Room, which sat between the magnificent Spa Rooms and the Kursaal Theatre. Strains of music drifted across from the spa as the resident orchestra played a selection of melodies from Edward German’s “Merrie England”.

She was clutching the letter she’d received a week ago from Sir Evelyn Harringdon. This was the second letter he’d written to her since his visit. The first had been to apologise for having called on her so unexpectedly, and to assure her that he would always be as concerned for her future wellbeing as his father had been. She had replied immediately to say it had been a great pleasure to meet him and that everything he had told her about her parents had been precious to her and would remain secret.

The second letter, some weeks later, enquired after her health and mentioned that he would be in the area again, and it would be delightful if they could meet. He was happy to call on her at The Laurels or, if she preferred, they could meet at the Kursaal in Harrogate for afternoon tea, if she thought her husband would have no objection.

Again, she had replied immediately and said it would make her very happy to meet with him, and that the Kursaal sounded very nice. She didn’t show either of his letters to Stanley. To do so would have meant an explanation about the role Sir Gordon had played in her life. Instead, she hid them in her mother’s tin box with the priest’s letter. After Evelyn’s visit, she’d been unable to resist writing to Father Connor in Pretoria to ask him if he could tell her anything further about her parents. She decided there was no need to mention this to Evelyn, as the priest would probably never receive her letter anyway.

She peered through the glass door of the Kursaal. She’d never been inside. Round tables were scattered under a vaulted glass roof and elegant palms flanked the arches. It was quiet at the moment because there was a matinee playing in the theatre, but once the performance was over she was sure the place would be full of people. She caught sight of Evelyn seated at one of the tables in the corner, with his legs stretched out and a silver-topped cane leaning against his chair. He looked up and saw her, and raised a hand in acknowledgement. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and entered.

He stood up to greet her. “Mrs Minton, I’m relieved to see you looking so well.”

She’d dressed with care for their meeting this time. She’d chosen her favourite gown of rose silk voile, with its dropped sleeves trimmed with black taffeta. The Eton jacket was trimmed with tabs of the same black taffeta and the wide-brimmed hat, set slightly to the side of her head, was rimmed with pink roses that exactly matched the colour of her dress.

“Thank you,” she said as he took her jacket and held the chair for her to sit. “I was surprised to hear that you were here in the North again so soon.”

“I’ve allowed myself to be persuaded to stand in a by-election – to represent Fallsworth.”

“How exciting. Fallsworth is near York, isn’t it?”

He placed her jacket on the back of her chair. “I would have preferred another constituency – this one is under the patronage of Lord Renfrew, so I don’t think there’s much doubt I’ll get in. I would have liked to prove myself capable of it without his help.”

“But you
are
in the House of Lords. I read about you in the newspaper.”

“It’s in the Commons that we need to increase our influence. Anyway, it does mean that I’ll be in the area quite frequently over the next few months.” He sat down facing her. “And as I had some time on my hands today, I thought it would be extremely pleasant to look you up again. After all, I feel responsible for you.”

“Responsible?”

“I inherited my father’s estate and with it, I inherited his responsibility for you.”

“No, you mustn’t feel that,” she protested. “It’s very kind of you, but you have far more important things to worry about.”

As the waiter approached, Evelyn said with a charming smile: “Maybe we should order?”

They studied the menu, heads close together and decided, to Marie’s delight, on a champagne afternoon tea: orange pekoe served with a glass of champagne and small squares of smoked salmon sandwiches, followed by iced cakes. The order was given and Evelyn settled back. She saw that he was observing her closely and wondered if her hat was awry.

“Do you lead a very busy life?” he asked suddenly. “I’d like to hear about it – your life. Your husband has a business here in Harrogate, I believe.”

“Yes, The Emporium, and a tea room, though I know very little about them. Stanley doesn’t like me to get involved. He works very hard.”

“So, no outings to the Kursaal for the two of you, then?”

“No outings at all.” Did he think she was complaining? She mustn’t give him that impression. After all, it was his father’s money that had provided this life for her. She quickly added: “But things aren’t dull. I take piano lessons and visit the lending library, and then there are the dogs to care for. They’re St Bernards – Stanley used to show them, but he doesn’t have much time for that anymore. So I take care of them. I’ve grown to love them. Of course, compared to becoming an MP, Sir Evelyn, it must seem very dull.”

“Evelyn. Just call me Evelyn,” he said, pleasantly. “And I shall call you Marie, if I may?” He sat back as the waiter approached. “Ah, here’s tea. Shall you pour or shall I?”

He found it difficult not to watch Marie. She took such delight in everything around her. It was refreshing to see the world through her eyes. So different from the bored young women to whom his mother kept introducing him.

Siggy had asked him the other day if he’d managed to track down Montrecourt’s daughter. He’d lied and said no – he didn’t really know why. Perhaps he wanted to keep the knowledge of her existence to himself, because Siggy would demand to be told the reason for his continued interest in her and advise against it. He didn’t want to have to justify his actions to his friend – nor to himself either.

*

Marie placed yet another of Evelyn’s letters in the tin box under the bed. She’d recently removed it from the drawer of the sideboard in the parlour, having discovered her father-in-law about to open it. He protested that he’d taken it out of the drawer by mistake, but she didn’t believe him. He’d taken to watching her. When she challenged him, he said it was because he wanted to make sure she wasn’t making any more of those foul concoctions.

Evelyn had written to her every week since their meeting in the Kursaal. Wonderful, lighthearted letters that were full of gossip about the by-election, with descriptions of some of the constituents that made her laugh out loud. Gladys always collected the post from the hall before Stanley and his father were up. If she was curious as to why so many letters arrived addressed for Marie only and in the same handwriting, she never commented on it.

Marie always replied instantly, trying to think up amusing anecdotes in reply to his, although there was little amusement to be had at The Laurels these days. Stanley was barely ever home and when he
was
, he locked himself in his bedroom. It was a relief to her, as his mood swung between elation and depression with increasing rapidity. He complained about everything. This week, it was about the weather.

Indeed, today had been unbearably hot, and Marie was sitting near an open window reading, trying to take advantage of what little breeze there was. Her dress was open at the neck and drops of perspiration were forming at her throat. They glistened in the sun like bright beads. She heard the front door close. Stanley was home early. To her surprise, he came into the parlour instead of going straight upstairs as usual. He took off his jacket and flung it onto one of the chairs.

“Travelling by train isn’t fit for a dog,” he muttered. She saw that his shirt was damp with sweat. He looked around. “Where’s Pa?”

She turned her attention back to her book. “He’s gone to the Red Lion with Joe Bottomley.”

“He’s drinking too much – ever since Ma died. He’s becoming impossible to live with.”

She didn’t disagree. Edwin had become extremely petulant just recently, finding fault with everything she did.

Stanley took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “Martin Godson gave in his notice today.”

She looked up in surprise. “Martin? He’s worked with you for years.”

“Wants more money – says he can get better wages elsewhere. I said to him: if you think you can do better somewhere else, then go on, clear out. I don’t want you. He wasn’t so cocky when he left.” He winced and rubbed his stomach. He saw her watching him. “I have this ulcer – McCullough says so.”

There was a time when she would have offered to make him a remedy that would relieve the pain, but Stanley had put an end to all of that. He was particularly on edge tonight. He kept walking around the room, repositioning ornaments on the mantelpiece, straightening cushions, staring out of the window. His restlessness was making her uneasy.

“I need to talk to you,” he said abruptly.

“Oh?” Had he finally noticed the letters she’d been receiving? Or, more likely, had his father noticed and said something?

He cleared his throat. “We’re both going to have to accept a few changes around here. Big changes.” He walked about the room again. There was sweat on his upper lip and on his forehead. “For a start, I’m selling the dogs.”

She stared at him for a moment, not taking it in at first. “The dogs?” She rose to her feet, her book falling unnoticed to the floor. “You can’t do that.”

“I can’t afford not to. I never see them these days, anyway. I don’t show them anymore. Work is taking up all my time, so what’s the point of them?”

Her anger flared. “They’re not some commodity you sell in the shop; they’re a part of the family. I love them. They love me. You can’t mean you’re going to sell them.” Tears were very close. She brushed them aside.

“They’re animals, for heaven’s sake, Marie – just animals. Don’t let’s get sentimental.”

“They’re my companions. This house is where they belong. You can’t get rid of them.”

“Well, this house is going too. There’ll be no room for them where we’ll move to.”

She stared at him. “Move?”

“I’m selling The Emporium and the tea room. I intend to start up a new business in a new town. The Laurels will go on the market. I intend to make a fresh start. Make a new life.”

He’d given her no indication that he was contemplating such a thing. “Why? What’s the reason for all this?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll still have a roof over your head – that’s all that bothers you, isn’t it?”

She stared at him, utterly bewildered. “You can’t just walk in here and tell me our lives are changing so completely. You can’t sell our home just like that. Have you told your father?”

“No, not yet.”

She knew for certain that Edwin wouldn’t stand quietly by while he sold The Laurels. “You can’t turn all our lives inside out like this with no warning.” He must surely have a fever or something. His face looked flushed and his eyes were red-rimmed. Was he ill? Had she been so preoccupied with thoughts of Evelyn that she hadn’t noticed?

“You’d better accept it,” he said brusquely. “There’s no other way out of the mess – and it is a mess.” He threw himself into one of the chairs by the table and ran a shaky hand through thinning hair. “Let a man make one mistake and he’s never forgiven, that’s the truth. I opened the tea room too soon, that’s what all the banks are saying. But it could have worked – the war was over and people had money to spend again. It was the right time to expand the business. I was just unlucky that’s all. That damned tea room has drained me of every penny. The banks are calling in their loans.”

She tried to sound calm. “Is it really that bad?”

“Yes, but then the answer came to me. Build a new Emporium. Start again. This morning I accepted an offer on the shop and the tea room. I’m losing money on the deal, but it’ll clear the debts and pay the damned banks off. I’ll make money out of selling The Laurels – enough to rent somewhere and start a business again.”

“You should have talked to me about it first, and your father.” She meant he shouldn’t have carried the burden alone, but he misunderstood her and took it as a criticism. He turned on her angrily and for a moment she thought he was going to strike her.

“And what good would telling you do, eh? You’d save us, would you, with your ha’penny quackery?”

She was still struggling to make sense of it all. “Has all the money I brought with me gone?”

That incensed him. He grabbed her by the arm and thrust his face close to hers. “I was paid to give you a roof over your head and that’s what I’ve done, isn’t it? And that’s what I’ll go on doing because I don’t have any choice, do I?”

She was frightened, but it was important not to show it. “Let go of my arm, Stanley,” she said quietly.

He glared at her without moving. They heard the front door open. Edwin was back. Stanley let her go.

“You’d better not say anything to Pa about this,” he warned. “I’ll tell him in my own time.” He strode out of the room.

Shaken, she sank down onto the window seat. She heard Edwin cross the hall and managed to compose herself just as he entered the room. He was looking over his shoulder after his son.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Everything’s perfectly all right,” she said with a tight smile.

*

Marie had known that Stanley’s father would not take his son’s news well, and he didn’t. Though she shut herself in her room, she could still hear their raised voices. When she saw Edwin later, he glared at her as if it were all her fault. Meanwhile, Stanley was doing his best to avoid both of them. He spent most of his time travelling to nearby Leeds where he was looking for premises that might be suitable for a reborn Emporium.

It was a grim atmosphere that settled on The Laurels. The dogs were sold and Marie felt as if her heart had been wrenched out of her. She went for a walk when the new owners came to collect them. She would be losing Gladys, too. There was no way
she
could travel to Leeds, which she hated anyway. “Great, dirty place it is,” she said.