The Trial of Marie Montrecourt (17 page)

Mrs Gilpin’s nightcap had slipped over one ear and her grey hair hung in thin strands around her face. “The crash woke Gilpin up as well.” She was peering over Marie’s shoulder and said, “Oh, my lor’, don’t you look dreadful?”

Marie turned quickly to find that Stanley had followed her down. He was leaning against the wall to steady himself. “I have a bad stomach, an ulcer. Sometimes it plays me up. I’m sorry. I passed out. That was the crash you heard. Sorry for the noise.”

“It’s more than playing you up by the looks of you. You’d better call in Dr Hornby first thing. He’s new, just taken over the practice. Very young, a bit green, but he’s better than nothing. I’ll call in on him tomorrow for you, shall I? Get him to come around?”

“I’ll see to it,” Marie said quickly.

“He lives three streets away. Forty-nine, Wellington Road.”

“Thank you.” She closed the door in the landlady’s face before she had finished her sentence. She heard the woman mutter “Ingratitude,” then her footsteps clattered down the stairs to the hall and a distant door closed. Marie turned to face Stanley accusingly.

“It’s like I said, just a bad stomach – an ulcer,” he muttered, but he was unable to meet her eyes.

“I know the truth, Stanley.” She could feel nothing but contempt for him. “I found the bottle days ago and it was nearly full – now it’s empty.” He started to protest but she spoke over him. “How long have you been using it? What in God’s name drove you to use such foul stuff?”

He sank onto the stairs and put his head in his hands. “Mongreve gave me some once, to clean my suit.”

“Mongreve? The dentist?” She was horrified. “You’ve been inhaling it all this time?”

“You don’t understand. It helped me after the baby died. It helped me.” She was shocked to see tears running down the cheeks of this unemotional man. “On one of my visits, he’d stained my suit. He gave me some chloroform to clean it with when I got home – he told me to destroy the rest. But I didn’t. Don’t look at me like that.” He became angry. “I had to find some way to go on. Chloroform was a way out. It gave me sleep and peace. It killed the hurt of the baby’s death. I didn’t worry about money so much. Then things started to get worse with The Emporium and the tea room and I had to take more of the sweet liquid to cope. Last night, the peace left me and the nightmares began. Snakes were crushing Pa, squeezing him to death and he was crying out in agony. I couldn’t reach him.” He shuddered and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

It was painful to see him in such a state. “That’s how it is, Stanley. It’s a false friend. It will destroy you. You have to stop.”

“No, I can’t. All I have to do is inhale more.”

She wanted to shake him. “It will kill you. That’s what it does. It kills people.”

“Some people maybe, but not me. I’m careful, you see. I know what I’m doing. I know just how much to take.”

“No Stanley, you don’t.”

“I do, I have control. Each time I use it I gaze down into the valley of the shadow of death – each time I have pulled myself back from the edge. I know how to cheat death. The sweet liquid holds no terror for me, it gives me strength. As for these stomach pains, this sickness, the fainting – it’s as likely to be caused by the ulcer as the liquid.”

“Only a doctor can tell you that. Let me fetch Dr Hornby.”

“No.”

She was angry with him for risking both their futures. “It’s a degrading, filthy, shameful habit, Stanley – and once it’s taken hold of someone, they lose all reason and will do anything to satisfy their craving for it. Do you want that to happen to you?”

He was on his feet now, towering over her. “You know nothing. You are nothing.”

“I’ll go for the doctor.”

“If you do, I’ll make sure you pay for it. Do you know how? I will point to you and I will say you enticed me into it. And you did. You sent me to that dentist. What do you think would happen to you then? You’d be locked away. I’d make sure of it.”

For a moment, she was too stunned to reply. Then she turned her back on him and ran up the stairs. “I won’t stay here in this house.”

He quickly caught up with her. Before she realised what he was doing, he hit her across the face and slammed her into the door. “You’ll stay where I tell you to stay.” She fell to the floor. She didn’t cry and she didn’t flinch; she was too astonished to feel pain. She just stared up at him stupidly.

“You will say what I tell you to say, woman. You’re my wife.” He grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet, dragging her into his room.

Not knowing what he was going to do, she tried to hit out at him with her free hand. It incensed him even more. He tore at her clothes; she kicked and bit. He twisted her arms and punched her on the side of the face. There were flashes, like lights through her brain.

“No.”

Her cry was cut short, choked in her throat as he pushed his hand over her mouth. No one must hear; no one must know what he was doing. The weight of him on top of her was crushing. She could hear him sobbing. Crying out and sobbing. She couldn’t fight back. She hadn’t the strength. He was pushing her onto the bed, forcing her head down into the pillows. She was suffocating.

He was pulling up his nightshirt. His body was flabby and white. He was pushing inside her, making her head bang, bang, bang against the iron bedpost. He was grunting like a pig, his mouth spewing out words she couldn’t hear because her head was being crushed. He was fighting to reach a climax. Moaning: “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Blindly he hit out, his fist connecting with her shoulder. He hit out again, but this time he pounded the pillow by her head. He rolled off her with a groan, lying on his stomach. He pawed at the counterpane, pulling it over his head.

In the silence that followed, she lay beside him too frightened to move. His assault on her had been shocking, brutal and unexpected. After a while she slowly began to slide off the bed, but her legs wouldn’t support her and she fell onto the floor. She looked up quickly. He hadn’t moved. Terrified that every step she took might reignite his anger, she finally reached the door. She swiftly slipped through it and was down the corridor and into her own room in seconds. She locked the door behind her.

She made no noise and she didn’t cry. She felt too numb for that. She poured water from the jug into the bowl, then took a cloth and, using it like a scrubbing brush between her legs, she washed the smell of him away.

In the study at Carlton Terrace, Siggy leant back in his armchair and viewed his friend through half-closed eyes. “You know you’re beginning to look distressingly like your father. Especially with the shorter hair. I rather liked the way it used to curl up against your collar. You’re obviously taking your new status as MP for Fallsworth far too seriously.”

“Stop it Siggy.” Evelyn was in no mood for his friend’s banter. “It’s about time I took
something
seriously or accepted my responsibilities.”

Responsibility – or duty, as his father would have called it – was pulling him apart. He hadn’t written to Marie since their picnic together. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to, his need to see her was great, but because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to control his emotions. He hoped she would think that work was taking up more of his time. But today he’d received a letter from her that troubled him. She’d written that Stanley had sold everything and that they had moved to Leeds. It had taken him by surprise. It seemed so sudden. She’d given him no reason to believe that anything was wrong, but it worried him nevertheless.

“So, what’s on the political agenda in the near future?” Siggy asked.

“Oh, Renfrew wants me to accompany him to France – some political shindig, rather big – about trade and manufacturing. Strengthening the Entente Cordial we put our names to last year. Very important, it seems, so I’ve said yes.”

“Stop!” Siggy held up a hand in protest. “Enough. I’ll hear no more.”

He crossed over to the drinks cabinet to refill his glass and Evelyn smiled. He knew just how little Siggy could tolerate anything involving politics. His friend held up the decanter and Evelyn nodded. As Siggy poured him another brandy, he came to a decision. He would write to Marie and arrange to meet her, but this time he would make sure it was in a public place. He needed to reassure himself that all was well with her before he left for Paris.

*

Marie felt she was living in an unreal world, as though she were trembling on the brink of some high cliff, not knowing if she would fall into the chasm at her feet. Stanley made no mention of what had happened between them. If he felt any shame for what he had done, he gave no indication of it. On the days he felt strong enough he went to the new shop, and when he felt ill he locked himself in his room. She knew why. He was still inhaling, but she was too frightened of the consequences to confront him about it.

She saw that a letter had been pushed under the door of the apartment. Mrs Gilpin must have collected the post that morning. It was addressed to her. With a stab of pleasure, she recognised Evelyn’s hand. Thankfully, Stanley was still locked in his room, so she carried the letter to hers and quickly opened it.

He began by thanking her for sending him her new address. Then:

I have to go to France soon on political business, but before I do I would very much like for us to meet again. In my capacity as guardian angel, you understand. I want to make sure all is still well with you after your move. If there is anything I can do, please let me know. I am in the north for the next few days. If it is convenient to you, perhaps we could meet outside the Town Hall in Leeds.

She scribbled an immediate reply.

I would so much like for us to meet, and outside the Town Hall sounds very suitable.

She stopped for a moment. Dare she risk seeing Evelyn? He knew her so well. Might he guess she was troubled? She had such a need to see him, though. She would just have to make sure he didn’t suspect anything. Besides, he’d said he was going to France and there was a favour he might be able to do for her. She wouldn’t mention that in her letter.

She continued writing:

My new home in Garibaldi Street is very pleasant.
After a moment, she added:
And Stanley seems to have settled happily into his new business. All is well with us. Yours, as always, Marie.

She heard the sound of vomiting coming from Stanley’s room and wondered how long he could survive if he continued to abuse himself so.

*

“How’s your husband this morning, Mrs Minton?” Mrs Gilpin had caught Marie on her way out to post her reply to Evelyn. “Your husband was sick again last night, wasn’t he? I saw him go out to work earlier this morning and I thought he looked dreadful. Have you called in Dr Hornby to see to him yet?”

Mrs Gilpin was the last person with whom she wanted to have this conversation. “No, there’s no need,” she replied. She hated finding herself in a position where she had to perpetuate Stanley’s lie. “It’s not serious. It’s his ulcer. He has these bad attacks sometimes and then he’s fine again.”

“If your husband keeps being sick like this, then it is serious. Anyway, how can you be sure it’s an ulcer? It might be something else, something catching. I can’t be too careful with Gilpin’s health. If you don’t call the doctor in, then I will.”

Marie nodded and shot out through the door before the landlady could press her for further information. When Stanley came home that afternoon, Marie was waiting for him.

“Stanley.”

“What?” He didn’t pause as he climbed the stairs to his room.

“I bumped into Mrs Gilpin this morning. She was asking questions.”

Stanley stopped and turned. “What questions?”

She repeated their conversation, ending with the landlady’s ultimatum. “If we don’t call in Dr Hornby, she threatens to do it.”

“That damned woman should mind her own business. I won’t see any doctor.”

They both knew that if his addiction was discovered, he would be in trouble with the law and his access to chloroform would end. He was sweating now, just at the thought of it.

“You don’t have any choice.” Marie was trying to sound reasonable. “Perhaps it will be the saving of you.”

He ran down the stairs towards her and she backed away quickly until the wall prevented her from moving back any further. “You’re the one who hasn’t any choice, woman. Everybody knows you fancied yourself as some kind of quack. Pa knows it and McCullough – they know all about these so-called cures of yours. I’ll tell them you tricked me into using it.”

His words astonished her. “Nobody will believe you.”

“Dare you risk that?”

She tried to appeal to him. “Stanley, the matter’s out of my hands. It wasn’t my idea to call in Dr Hornby, but Mrs Gilpin will if we don’t.”

He looked at her slyly, out of the corner of his eye. “This doctor – Mrs Gilpin says he’s green.”

“Yes.”

“Well then, you’d better convince him it’s the ulcer. You’re supposed to know so much about these things. Convince him it’s the ulcer that’s making me ill.”

“How can I?”

“You’d better find a way because if they find out about the chloroform I’ll be ruined, and so will you. We’ll have no money. No home. Convince him or it’ll destroy us both.”

*

As she stood by the side of Dr Hornby, she noticed that his spectacles had a habit of continually sliding down his very thin nose. She was finding it difficult to control her nerves. Everything depended on his willingness to accept her interpretation of the symptoms.

“You say the pain is a dull, gnawing ache, Mrs Minton? In your husband’s side?”

“Yes,” she said, with a conviction she knew was a lie.

“Well, you’ve been very clear about the symptoms. Your husband is very lucky to have such a good nurse attending him. It certainly seems like an ulcer, as you suggested.” She ignored the look of triumph that Stanley shot at her. The doctor turned to Stanley. “And your previous doctor did mention the onset of an ulcer, you say?”

“McCullough? Yes, he did. He was in no doubt about it.” Stanley assured him.

Dr Hornby took Stanley’s pulse again. “It is sluggish,” he murmured. He pressed Stanley’s stomach, which gurgled under the pressure of his fingers. “Here? Is the pain here?” Stanley winced and grunted a yes, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Marie frantically searched her mind for any other symptoms that might lead him to the diagnosis Stanley wanted. “Sometimes, he’s been unable to work with the pain, which usually comes on about two or three hours after he’s eaten.”

“That is certainly symptomatic of an ulcer,” he agreed. At last, to her relief, he appeared to be convinced. “Well, I think an application of leeches to the abdomen is the first step we should take, Mr Minton.”

“I’ll leave you then,” Marie said, desperate to escape from the sick room.

She made her way to her bedroom, closing the door behind her, before collapsing onto the bed exhausted. Her head was throbbing. Didn’t Stanley understand that all they were doing was putting off the moment of discovery?

There was a knock on her door. “Mrs Minton, have you a moment?”

At the sound of Dr Hornby’s voice, Marie quickly arose. “Yes, of course.” She opened the door and he hovered respectfully just inside the room.

“Well, I think I’m fairly certain it
is
an ulcer, but I’m afraid that it might not be possible to keep it under control. I’m thinking of surgery.”

She hadn’t planned for that. “Did you say that to Stanley?”

“Yes, and it seemed to upset him. He became quite aggressive about it, in fact.”

She thought quickly. “You must forgive him. Stanley is very afraid of such things. Don’t you think surgery might be a little too radical at this stage?”

She saw the seeds of doubt beginning to take hold. “Well, of course, I don’t want to cause him unnecessary suffering. Perhaps there are one or two things we can try before that,” he agreed. “I’ll visit again in a few days’ time. If the leeches haven’t helped, then I would suggest a starvation diet for… let’s say… seven days?” He scribbled out a prescription. “Now, have these pills made up, Mrs Minton. They’ll hopefully calm the gut. Absolutely no alcohol. He must rest in bed as much as he can. And take care of yourself. You look worn out.”

“I will. Thank you so much, Dr Hornby. You’ve been very kind.” She just wanted him to go before he had second thoughts about surgery.

Obviously touched by her concern for her husband, he added: “And if his condition takes a turn for the worse, call me at once. Anytime. I’ll see myself out.”

After he’d gone, she looked blankly at the prescription, knowing it would not do any good. All she could do was continue with the lie, wherever it might take her.

*

Whether it
was
the tablets or the relief of not being found out, Stanley began to gain some strength over the next few days. He was able to go to the shop again and Mrs Gilpin, knowing the doctor had visited, seemed content to leave them alone.

Marie was thankful for her husband’s absence because it made it easier for her to slip away to meet Evelyn. She saw with a burst of pleasure that he was waiting for her outside the Town Hall. He hadn’t noticed
her
yet. He seemed changed. His hair was cut shorter and he’d grown a small moustache; he looked less boyish, more distinguished. He looked a little older and a little more serious.

Suddenly he saw her and waved, coming down the steps of the Town Hall to meet her. She found herself unexpectedly self-conscious as she held out her hand for him to shake. He hesitated, and then shook it with an equal formality. The awkwardness hovered in the air as he suggested they take the tram from outside the Town Hall to Roundhay Park where they could walk together. Marie agreed; just being in his company was enough for her. It didn’t matter where they went.

Though cold it was a beautiful day and the park was filled with other couples strolling under the trees, their bare branches making stark patterns against the blue of the winter sky. The hem of Marie’s walking skirt became flecked with mud, but the winter sun was unexpectedly bright and she was grateful she’d thought to bring a parasol with her.

They hadn’t exchanged many words since meeting, but gradually the awkwardness thawed.

“You must tell me more about the work you do,” she said, breaking the silence at last.

He was surprised. “Really? It wouldn’t bore you?”

“No.” She knew it wouldn’t and it would also avoid having to talk about herself.

“I don’t know, Marie,” he said, after a moment’s thought, “sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision when I became involved in the political world. Nothing is straightforward.”

As he began to talk about what he wanted to achieve, she was reminded of Daphne. He had that same passion, that same desire to make a difference to the world. He said he was angry about those who were doing their best to destroy civilised society. People outside the House of Commons, and sometimes people inside it, too – people who used politics for their own ends. She didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. She just liked listening to his voice.

“And the devil of it is, I can’t do anything about it,” he said, with a sharp laugh. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Your work is very important to you, isn’t it?”

He smiled wryly. “It’s taken over my life. Who would have thought it? Certainly not my father.”

“He would be proud of you,” she said. “I’m glad my father saved his life. It makes me proud of
him
.”

Evelyn was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher. Had she brought back sad memories of his father by mentioning the past? She didn’t want to spoil today. Perhaps she shouldn’t risk asking him for the favour she wanted. But then he smiled and she felt reassured.

“I can’t believe it,” he said, in mock horror. “Here I am in the company of a beautiful young woman and all I can do is drone on about politics, when I have much better things to tell you. Let me give you the latest escapade of mother’s pet spaniel, Lady.”

He always knew how to lift her spirits and as the anecdote unfolded, she found herself laughing out loud.

“Then Lady took hold of his trouser leg and wouldn’t let go,” he finished. “The man was running down the drive with Lady clinging on to him for dear life. She was certainly no lady that day.”

“I’m not sure I quite believe that story.” She wiped away a tear of laughter.

“Oh, do, please believe it,” he beseeched.