The Trial of Marie Montrecourt (16 page)

Geoffrey called to collect Edwin the day before the move to Garibaldi Street. He was furious at having his father ‘foisted on him’ as he put it and Edwin refused to speak to either Stanley or Marie, so it was a huge relief to Marie when they finally left.

By contrast, it had been greatly distressing to say goodbye to Gladys. She promised to call on her whenever she could, but Gladys said she better not. She said her husband was a difficult man and didn’t like visitors. On the morning she and Stanley left, Marie hugged her tightly, unwilling to let her go. They were both tearful. Finally, Marie walked away and didn’t look back.

The landlady at Garibaldi Street had been out on the front doorstep all morning watching the removal men do their work. Marie was doing her best to ignore her.

“Don’t scratch that paint,” Mrs Gilpin shouted after them as they staggered up the stairs with yet another crate. “All damages will have to be paid for, Mrs Minton. What’s in them boxes anyway?”

The crates were numbered and Marie was crossing them off her list as they were taken into the house. “In the first six crates? They’re mostly books.”

“Books?” Mrs Gilpin pursed her lips. “Well, I hope the floor will stand their weight. I hope you’re not planning to run a lending library up there, because no business can be carried out on these premises.”

“No, they all belong to me.” Marie crossed off yet another crate.

“It doesn’t seem natural to have that many books,” she heard the landlady mutter. Then, to her obvious horror, she saw the piano. “Great, noisy thing, that is,” she complained. “Gilpin needs his sleep. He doesn’t want disturbing by some piano pounding out through the house every hour of the day and night”

Marie tried not to show her irritation.”I’m sure I can practice at a time that will suit us all.”

“So, your husband’s bought the old ironmonger’s shop in Briggate, has he?” Mrs Gilpin followed her into the house, wanting to gossip. “Turning it into a grocers? Needs a lot of work doing to it, if he’s going to do that. Is that where he is now?”

“Yes. If you’ll excuse me, I have a great deal to see to as well,” Marie said, following the removal men up the stairs to the apartment. “I mustn’t keep you,” she called over her shoulder, leaving Mrs Gilpin with no option but to end the conversation.

When the removal men had gone, Marie wandered into her bedroom. It was much bigger than the box room she’d had at The Laurels. There was plenty of space for the large wardrobe and the chest of drawers that she’d salvaged from Peter’s room. Unfortunately, her window looked straight into the window of the house opposite, but she would make lace curtains to give her some privacy. She ought to start unpacking. She wouldn’t touch Stanley’s things. He’d made it clear he wanted the crates containing his belongings left in his room unopened.

The first thing she unpacked was the tin box containing her few treasures. She sat on the bed and took out the last letter Evelyn had sent her some months ago – the one inviting her to the picnic. He hadn’t written since and she missed not hearing from him. He was thinking about her, of that she was certain. She would write to him tomorrow. She had a good excuse now. She had to tell him about the move and give him her new address. She knew he would want to know. She put his letter back and placed the box in a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe.

She returned to her unpacking. She emptied three crates containing her clothes and then turned to the crates of books. There were no shelves yet for them, so she began piling them up on the floor of her room. She came across
Farnsworth’s Medical Dictionary
– the book that Daphne had sent her after the fire. She idly turned the pages and memories of their time together came flooding back.

It
was
Daphne she’d seen from the tram that day. She’d read about the demonstration in the Yorkshire Clarion.
Women like Daphne Senior, banned from demonstrating in London, come up here to create their mischief instead,
the reporter had written.
It was a cheering sight to see that woman and her cronies marched onto the London train by our fine police officers. Let their husbands and fathers keep them out of our way, locked up at home where they belong.
Did Daphne still live with her father, she wondered? She must hate that.

She put the book aside and took the Bunsen burner and Sister Grace’s notes out of the crate. The only two things left to remind her of her time in the convent. They were of little use now. She sighed wearily. There was one crate of her clothes left to unpack, but she was tired. She would leave that until tomorrow.

*

When Stanley returned from the ironmongers that evening, she immediately knew he was in one of his darker moods. His face looked drawn and he said he wanted nothing to eat. He’d been on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor all day, he said, because the woman he’d hired to do it hadn’t turned up.

“The place is filthy – a pigsty.”

Was he beginning to regret the move? Well, there was no going back now. The Laurels had been sold. For a moment, she felt sorry for him. “Do you want me to unpack your things for you tomorrow?” If he was tired, then unpacking was probably the last thing he wanted to do.

“No.” She was surprised by his vehemence. “Keep your nose out of my things. I’ll do it tonight if it bothers you.”

She was going to say that she was only trying to help, but he’d disappeared into his room before she could. Soon after, she retired to hers. She lay awake for the rest of the night listening to him moving around – presumably unpacking. It wasn’t until dawn was breaking that the house fell silent. She suspected that she would be receiving a complaint from Mrs Gilpin the next morning.

After Stanley had left for work, Marie sat down and wrote to Evelyn. It was a difficult letter to write. She didn’t want it to sound as though she were asking for a reply, so she tried to keep it businesslike.

Dear Evelyn, I hope you are well and not working too hard,
she began. After thinking for a moment, she added:
I am very well and I am simply writing to tell you that Stanley and I have moved to Leeds, to the address at the top of this letter. Stanley decided to sell The Emporium and The Laurels and make a new start, which is very exciting for us. I am only troubling you with this as I feel I should keep you informed. Please do not worry about replying. Yours, Marie.

She re-read it three times before sealing it. She put on a coat and opened the door of the apartment just as Mrs Gilpin was raising her hand to knock on it. The landlady peered over her lodger’s shoulder. “I see you’ve unpacked. No doubt that’s what kept me awake all night? Backwards and forwards, tap, tap, tapping – all night long.”

“I’m sorry it disturbed you. It won’t happen again.” She saw Mrs Gilpin eyeing the letter she was carrying and slipped it into her pocket before the landlady could read the name on it.

“I can post that letter for you, if you like,” Mrs Gilpin volunteered.

“No, thank you.” Marie smiled politely. “There’s no need. I want to take the air.” She made an attempt to push past the landlady, who didn’t move.

“Oh, and something I should mention,” Mrs Gilpin added. “If you need any cleaning, or any laundry doing, just let me know. It’s in the rent.” Marie still made no move. “So, do you need anything doing now or not?”

“No, thank you.” She’d rather have her tongue torn out before she called on Mrs Gilpin for help.

The landlady grudgingly accepted defeat. “Right, well, I’ll be off then. Gilpin’s due back from work soon and he always likes his meal on the table waiting for him. Knock on my door if you want anything. I’m usually in. Let’s hope tonight’s a bit more peaceful, shall we?”

Once outside, Marie set off at a brisk pace down Garibaldi Street and found a pillar box three streets away. Her letter safely posted, she decided to explore a little further. She continued past the Theatre Royal and crossed Leeds Bridge. She stopped for a moment to stare down at the muddy waters of the River Aire. A branch of a tree was trapped in a grey circle created by an unseen current. It tugged at the branch from below, trying to drag it under.

She walked on. A tram rattled past on silver rails, blue sparks spitting above it, and an omnibus, full of laughing, chattering people, rushed past pulled by four horses. It swayed unsteadily as it bounced across the rails. A motor car exhaust exploded making the horses jump, and the omnibus swayed even more violently. Gladys was right; it was a noisy, dirty city.

On her return to the house, she stood in the middle of her bedroom and surveyed the last crate to be unpacked. It contained clothes and some of her piano music. Gladys had packed this one for her. She could tell because it was much neater than the crates she’d packed herself.

She was removing the last few dresses when she discovered that Gladys must have mistakenly packed some of Stanley’s clothes with hers. There were three jackets and a pair of tweed trousers. She carried them into his room and laid them on a chair. He could put them away himself later.

She hadn’t been in Stanley’s room since that first visit to Garibaldi Street. It was a larger room than hers and cheerless, with brown-and-white striped wallpaper and a dark oak wooden floor. His bed was in the centre and he’d put his desk along one wall, his wardrobe along another and a bookcase just beside it. The cases of dead butterflies were already hung on the walls. That must have been the tap, tap, tapping Mrs Gilmour had heard during the night. Just looking at them made her feel sad.

As she turned to go, she accidentally kicked something lying on the floor near the bed. She bent down and picked it up. It was a bottle; a small, blue bottle, a medicine bottle. It was labelled
Chloroform
–
Poison
. Puzzled, Marie stared at it. It must contain at least five or six ounces. Had Stanley’s teeth been troubling him again? He hadn’t mentioned it. But no dentist would have sanctioned him to administer it to himself, as it was far too dangerous. Perhaps the pain from the ulcer he’d mentioned was worse than he’d admitted? But, then again, no doctor would prescribe his patient such a dangerous substance either.

She dropped the bottle back onto the floor where she’d found it, staring at it for a moment before hurrying back to her room. She found
Farnsworth’s Medical Dictionary
and quickly turned to the section covering chloroform. She stood a bottle of witch hazel on the page to keep it flat as she read.

Chloroform is very similar to ether in its effect and, like ether, it can become addictive if misused. It is a colourless or water white liquid with a sweet, non-irritating odour. Its effect when used as an anaesthetic is beneficial if administered by a trained practitioner, but skill is needed to prevent it proving lethal. It can be used in industry in various solvents such as cleaning agents, but great care should be taken when handling it. Signs of inhalation are continual sickness, bursts of irrational anger, and a haggard and worn look. A mere teaspoon, if ingested, can kill even a strong man.

Marie fell back on her heels, knocking over the bottle of witch hazel as she did so. The stopper was loose and the liquid stained the page, but she didn’t notice. Was Stanley inhaling chloroform? She’d read about such things. It would explain his changing moods and the time he spent in his room with the door locked. It would explain everything. Marie remembered an article she’d read about it. The reporter had published a letter left by a man to his family:

I cannot abstain from the folly of chloroform, though I have tried,
he wrote
. I know the danger of the wine cup is nothing to that of the chloroform bottle. It has ruined me but still I cannot turn my back on it.

The room began to spin and she had to lean against the bed to steady herself.

*

Two days passed and still Marie hadn’t confronted Stanley with her discovery. She didn’t know how to begin. It began to dawn on her that it might be the reason he hadn’t wanted his father around. He was afraid the old man might nose out his secret.

The Mintons would surely disown him if it became known. Marie had no doubt about that. For a moment, she wondered if she should turn to John Pickard for advice, but he would say Stanley had committed a crime and might feel it his duty to denounce him. Having Stanley in prison wouldn’t resolve anything.

The one person she didn’t even consider turning to was Evelyn. He must never learn the sordid truth about her marriage. He mustn’t become involved. His good name must be protected.

She was making herself sick with worry. She couldn’t sleep, and it was during one of those long, endless nights that she heard Stanley scream. She leapt out of bed and was in the middle of throwing on her robe when she heard a crash. She ran down the corridor and into his bedroom. She stumbled over his body on the floor. She saw a flicker of movement; there was a groan and then Stanley began to haul himself slowly to his feet using the bedpost for support.

“I’m sorry.” His body was trembling – the fall had obviously shaken him badly. “Stomach pain. Nothing to worry about.” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. She realised he must have caught himself as he fell because she could see blood. “I’m all right, it’s the ulcer,” he insisted.

She saw the bottle of chloroform at the foot of the bed and picked it up. It was empty. “Oh, God. No.”

“Medicine for my stomach,” he said quickly.

She turned on him angrily. “I’m not a fool, Stanley. I know what it is and it will kill you if you keep using it.”

Just then, there was a hammering at the front door. It was Mrs Gilpin. “Everything all right up there, Mr Minton? Mrs Minton? I heard a crash.”

Stanley, with unexpected strength, grabbed hold of Marie’s arm. “It’s my ulcer. Do you hear me? Tell her it’s my ulcer or you’ll ruin us both. Tell her that.”

Marie shook herself free and ran swiftly down the stairs. She composed herself before opening the front door. “I’m sorry if we’ve disturbed you, Mrs Gilpin. Everything’s perfectly all right. My husband was ill, that’s all.”