The Trial of Marie Montrecourt (9 page)

An excited Evelyn called into Whites on the way home, where, as expected, he found Siggy. They celebrated his appointment with two bottles of best Burgundy, although Siggy had mixed feelings about the news.

“I’m glad if you’re glad, but does that mean we won’t be seeing as much of you around the old haunts?”

“Afraid so, but it’s what I need, Siggy. Stop me succumbing to a life of vice.”

“I’ll just have to succumb on my own then,” Siggy said, with a grin. “More importantly, though, it’ll stop this obsession you’ve developed with delving into the past.”

“Let’s hope so,” Evelyn replied.

When he finally got back to Carlton Terrace, he was feeling distinctly the worse for wear. There was a letter waiting for him on the hall table. It seemed to have been delivered by hand. He opened it. It read:
Thought you might find this of interest. I got it from a reliable source.
It was signed J. Harlik. Inside that was a letter to the River Valley Mining Company, bearing his father’s signature, asking them to accept his resignation from the board. It was dated just after his father’s return from Africa.

Immediately sobered, Evelyn carried both documents through to his study. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply as he studied his father’s letter to the mining company. There was no doubt that it was his handwriting. Lord Renfrew had lied to him – or was this another of Harlik’s little tricks?

“Why the hell can’t the man just leave me alone?” he muttered. He threw both letters into the fire and watched them burn.

She wanted to please Stanley – she wanted to please everyone at The Laurels – but perhaps she was trying too hard because it was having the opposite effect. Any offer of help around the house was rejected; any suggestion for changing the decor was dismissed. Stanley remained a stranger to her and his parents remained distant. Isabelle was the only Minton who seemed willing to accept her as one of the family, and she rarely visited The Laurels. It was on one of those occasions that Marie felt tempted to share her concern.

“I see so little of him. When I do, I try to please him, Isabelle, but he barely seems to notice me.”

Isabelle patted her hand comfortingly. “You’re very young, Marie, and you must learn to be patient. These things take time. Truthfully, the Mintons aren’t the easiest family to get on with
.
”

“No.” She could agree with that wholeheartedly. “And Stanley doesn’t discuss his work, and that’s where he spends most of his time. His mother knows more about The Emporium than I do.”

“Edith’s always played a large part in Stanley’s life,” Isabelle said. “I’m afraid that will never change.”

“Yes, but I thought there would be moments – when we were alone in our room together – when we could talk. We’ve never yet lain together as husband and wife. Our relationship is in name only and I don’t know what to do.” She broke off, aware that Isabelle was looking uncomfortable, obviously embarrassed by such intimate revelations.

“Goodness, is that the time?” her sister-in-law stood up hastily. “You must forgive me, Marie, but I really must return home. Geoffrey is expecting me.” She turned at the door and smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, everything will work out. I’m certain it will.”

With that platitude she was gone, and Marie was left to face the realisation that there was no one she could turn to for help. There was no one in whom she could confide, except the dogs. She wandered across to the window, which looked out over the back garden. Damson and Major were pacing up and down in their pens. Stanley was neglecting
them,
too.

She went outside to join them and was rewarded by the warmth of their reception. “Well,” she said, ruffling Major’s fur, “I can either allow myself to dwindle into a nonexistent being or I can set about making a life of my own. Do you agree?”

Damson pushed a damp nose against her free hand. “You’re right,” she said, addressing the other dog, “I didn’t make a stand at the convent to allow that to happen.” Major barked in obvious agreement.

“So, what do we do?” The dogs sank down on their haunches, as if considering the problem, and she sank down on the grass beside them. “I can’t get involved in chapel.” That’s where Edith ruled supreme and where she herself was viewed as a curiosity. She was the foreigner; the child bride whom Stanley had incomprehensibly married. “I could join the lending library and I could try to persuade Stanley to pay for piano lessons.” Damson wagged her tail encouragingly. “And we three will all go for long walks together.” Both dogs obviously understood the word walks because they stood up immediately and barked. “And I can treat any illnesses you have with remedies from Sister Grace’s notebook. There, that should keep me busy.”

By the time she left the dogs, her world had become full of endless possibilities. She still hadn’t turned her back on improving relations with her husband, though.

*

She called at The Emporium a few days later with Isabelle, hoping that a show of interest in Stanley’s work might bring them closer together. She was greatly surprised by what she saw. The interior was unexpectedly elegant, with etched glass and polished wooden floors, all lit by crystal chandeliers. The shelves were piled high with boxes of herbs and spices, their exotic perfumes mingling with the rich aroma of roasted coffee beans. Lacquered canisters of tea and jars of candied fruit spilled out onto the counter. On closer inspection, she realised that the grandeur was beginning to fade. The chandeliers had crystals missing and the walls showed signs of damp, while the wooden floor was badly stained in places.

It seemed that Stanley was adding a tea room to the shop, having purchased Appleyards next door. He was in the process of having the adjoining wall knocked down, so there was a layer of dust everywhere. She was surprised to discover that Isabelle knew all about it and that Edith had helped Stanley to plan it. Only she, it seemed, had been kept in ignorance. Although Stanley seemed pleased by her visit, it didn’t succeed in drawing them any closer together.

Apart from the dogs, Marie had made one other friend at The Laurels. It was Gladys, the Minton’s daily maid. She was a hard-working woman with a family of five boys, and a husband who was unemployed. When Edith was out of the house and Edwin had gone fishing with his friend and Stanley was at work, Marie was always sure of a warm welcome in the kitchen. Luckily, she was there when Gladys scalded her arm badly on a boiler containing hot water, and she made up a cream for her to calm the burn and prevent scarring. To Gladys’s astonishment, it worked. After that, there was always a special treat waiting for her when she visited the kitchen – a tray of her favourite biscuits or a slice of Madeira cake fresh out of the oven. It was an unspoken agreement between them that they would keep their friendship a secret from the Mintons. They both knew it wouldn’t be approved of.

One day, Gladys came to work with a badly bruised face and Marie was shocked to discover the cause. Gladys had been beaten by her husband.

“Can’t you do something about it? Tell someone?” Marie said angrily, immediately treating the bruising with arnica.

“No. No one wants to know what happens between a husband and a wife when the front door closes. It’s just the way things are. You know, Mrs Minton, you could earn a bit of money for yourself out of these remedies by treating me and my neighbours. You could charge a half penny for it, Mrs Minton. It’s cheaper than them going to a doctor. It would give you a bit of money of your own an’ all.”

“Stanley wouldn’t allow it.” Marie was as resigned to the inevitable as Gladys.

“Well, he doesn’t have to know, does he? I’m not suggesting you tell any lies, but he’s not often here, is he? What the eye don’t see and all that? Be less to ask him for if you have a bit of money of your own.”

Marie was surprised at how much Gladys noticed. “I’ll think about it.” she said, and over the next few days she did. Gradually, it began to seem a possibility
.
If she limited herself to only one or two remedies a week, the Mintons wouldn’t notice. Perhaps, one day, when they were more comfortable with one another, she could tell Stanley and he might even be proud of her. She told Gladys she would do it. “Our secret,” she said, and Gladys nodded.

*

She was upstairs putting the finishing touches to a cure for someone’s bad chest when Gladys called up to her. “Mrs Godson is here, Mrs Minton.”

There had been another change to her life just recently. Jenny Godson, the wife of Martin, Stanley’s assistant, had taken to calling on her every Thursday to accompany her on a walk with Damson and Major. She was grateful to have the company of someone her own age for a change, although they had little in common. Jenny’s interests ranged from her new curtains in the parlour, to Martin’s sudden liking for her homemade rhubarb jam, and – most importantly – the joys of being a mother. It was a joy that Marie was beginning to believe she would never experience.

“Tell her I’m coming. I’ll just collect the dogs,” she called back. Carefully covering over the fever cure, she turned off the Bunsen burner.

The weather was cold today and the moors were covered in snow, but the two women kept to their usual route – up Spring Bridge Road and onto the moors when the road ended. They circled the Tarn, then walked along the rock-strewn ledge that ended back at Spring Bridge Road again.

Jenny dominated the conversation as usual, chattering on without seeming to take a breath. Today, it was mostly about the baby. Ralph was their first child and to the despair of his parents he’d been born with a club foot. They were too ashamed to admit it to their respective families. They were hoping some miracle cure could be found for him before it became too obvious to others. Marie was the only person in whom Jenny had confided. Marie realised it was the reason she’d sought out her company in the first place. She had a need to share her fears with someone. Marie understood that need only too well.

“I hope you don’t mind my confiding in you like this?” Jenny asked suddenly.

“Of course not,” Marie assured her.

“It’s such a comfort being able to talk to you about him, Marie. I am trying not to worry, like you say. He is the perfect baby in every other way.” She glanced at her companion, seeking permission to continue. Marie nodded encouragement. “Martin gets really upset if I bring the subject up with him and we’re too ashamed to let anyone else know. We wanted him to be so perfect.”

Sometimes Marie felt like shaking Jenny. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of him, Jenny. At least you have a healthy child in every other respect.”

“I know. I know. But when you have a baby, you’ll understand how I feel,” Jenny rattled on, blissfully unaware of the impact of the comment on her companion.

Marie allowed her thoughts to drift. Why had Stanley married her? From what she could gather, her husband had had little previous experience with women. Work had been his full-time occupation. She was beginning to wonder if his lack of experience was creating the gulf between them.

During her exploration of Ilkley, she’d discovered a second-hand bookshop. The sale of her remedies had allowed her to make the occasional, small purchase without having to ask Stanley’s permission. The shop wasn’t to the standard of Daphne’s but it was cheap, and there were a few books on the shelves that she found interesting. There was the odd medical book for sale and she’d discovered one called
Esoteric Anthropology
. It had a chapter on conception, written clinically and concisely. There were diagrams, too. She’d bought it, ignoring the leer from shopkeeper. She wondered if she would ever find the courage to show it to Stanley.

“Shall I give you the recipe for the rhubarb jam, Marie? Marie?”

She realised that Jenny was asking her a question. “Oh yes, yes, that would be very nice,” she murmured in reply.

Back at the house, she put the dogs in their pen and was crossing the hallway when she heard raised voices from the kitchen. It was Gladys’s day off and no one else was usually home at this time. Glancing through the door she saw Edith sitting at the kitchen table, her face buried in her apron, obviously in tears. Stanley was standing beside her, looking shocked.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

She glanced past her husband and saw Peter, Stanley’s brother, facing them. He raised a limp hand in greeting. She looked back at Stanley.

“No, nothing’s wrong. Just something that needs sorting out,” Stanley said, “a family matter.” He strode over to the door and slammed it shut.

“Then it’s obviously nothing to do with me, is it?” she muttered under her breath.

As she walked up the stairs to her room, she could hear voices being raised again, but they weren’t distinct enough for her to hear what was being said.

*

The next morning, Marie, her coat covered by a large linen apron, went about her early morning task of grooming the dogs. They made their usual fuss of her.

“Come on, boy,” she patted her knees and Major ambled over, tail wagging. She took the brush and started to do battle with the tangles in his fur. She was so engrossed that she wasn’t aware of Peter’s approach until a snow ball hit the wire of the dog cage and showered her with snow.

“So this is how you pass your time, is it? I saw you through the window,” he said.

She brushed the snow off her coat as Peter pushed his fingers through the wire pen to rub Major’s nose.

“Am I distracting you?” he asked.

“No, of course not.”

“Good. Oh, you did remember to walk backwards downstairs this morning, didn’t you?”

She stopped brushing the dog. “Why on earth should I do that?”

“It’s the first of the month today, didn’t you know that? Brings you good luck if you walk backwards down the stairs on the first day of the month. It’s a well-known fact.” She laughed. “Ah, a smile at last.”

She was curious. She couldn’t help wondering what all the fuss had been about yesterday. No one had told her. “How long are you staying? I thought your work was in Bradford?” He shrugged noncommittally. “What was all the shouting about yesterday? Dinner was grim. Hardly anyone spoke.”

“Stanley’s in a foul mood. Apparently they’ve found subsidence under Appleyards and all work has had to be stopped until it’s sorted out. It seems the place is haemorrhaging money, which is why Stanley needs to get it up and running as quickly as possible.”

“Oh?” She viewed him quizzically. “Stanley said it was a family matter – that sounds more like a business matter to me.”

Peter shrugged again and changed the subject. “Gladys tells me you haven’t had breakfast yet?”

“I have it when I’ve finished grooming the dogs. I prefer to eat later.”

“You mean alone – after Ma has headed out to clean the chapel, Stanley has gone to work and Pa has disappeared to wherever it is he goes?”

She smiled but decided not to reply. She didn’t want to get drawn into a discussion about her life at The Laurels. He didn’t take the hint.

“So, you’re an old married woman now. How does being a wife suit you?”

“I have no complaints.” She moved around to the other side of the dog.

“Ilkley must be a strange place to find yourself in. Nothing like France, I shouldn’t think? When did you leave France? Your English is very good – just a faint hint of something in there. Very mysterious.”

“So many questions? Am I under arrest?” She said it lightly, but he was beginning to irritate her.

“Sorry. Sorry. Nothing better to do with my time than to be nosy.”

She faced him, hands on hips. “Then I’ll use the same excuse. I thought you lived in Bradford? Why have you come home?”