The Trial of Marie Montrecourt (24 page)

“Yes.” Hornby looked at the jury and waited to see if there were any further questions before continuing. “Mrs Minton spent a restless night full of anxiety for her husband. It was around six o’clock in the morning when she saw her husband next. She went into his room to see how he was and it was then that she discovered him…” he consulted his notes “laid out on the bed, were the words she used. She couldn’t see any sign of life. She tried to force a little brandy through her husband’s lips. I told her that this was not a wise thing to have done. Anyway, it was then she realised that he was dead.” There was absolute silence in the hall as he turned the page over. “She called Mrs Gilpin into the room and later she called on me.”

Wallington interrupted. “When you yourself saw the body of Stanley Minton, there was nothing untoward in his appearance?”

“No. Nothing.”

“There’s been a suggestion he may have habitually inhaled chloroform,” Wallington said. “You saw no sign of that? You were not aware of it when you were treating him for an ulcer?”

“I saw no signs and I was not aware of it. I had no reason to look for it. I’ve never come across such a case before. I only saw what I expected to see. He had an ulcer, I knew that. I’d been treating him for an ulcer. It was obvious to me that it had burst.”

“But it hadn’t?”

“At the time I believed it had. I had no reason
not
to believe it had.”

“And Mrs Minton never mentioned to you that her husband used chloroform?”

“No.”

“Did you see any sign of a bottle of chloroform in the room on the morning of his death?”

“I did not.”

“Was there brandy in the glass still?”

“The glass was empty when I saw it. The bottle of brandy was still there.”

“How did the deceased’s wife react to her husband’s death in your opinion?”

“She was distraught,” Hornby said firmly.

“Thank you, Dr Hornby.” Wallington dismissed him with a nod.

It was Mrs Gilpin who now faced the assembly, with pursed lips and folded arms. She’d bought a new bonnet for the occasion and new gloves. The coat, though, was an old one, but she’d only worn it the once, to her mother-in-law’s funeral.

“You live at number fourteen Garibaldi Street?” the coroner asked. “You rented rooms to the deceased and his wife?”

“They came to look at the rooms over a year ago now. They liked them, so they took them.”

“Would you say the deceased was a healthy man?”

“Well, not in my book – and he seemed to get worse. He began to look dreadful.”

Marie glanced at the jury. That’s what she had told them at the beginning of the inquest. Did they remember?

“And Mrs Minton was concerned for him, which is why she called in Dr Hornby?”

“Well, it was me who insisted the doctor be called in. She seemed very unwilling at first. Didn’t seem to think it necessary. I wanted to know what this illness was. Well, you never know what people have picked up, do you? Besides, we couldn’t get any sleep with him being sick every night.”

“It was sickness he had?”

“He collapsed once.”

“Collapsed?”

“I heard this thump one night, not long after they’d moved in. They both came to the door when I knocked. He looked dreadful. He told me he had stomach trouble. That’s one thing that Gilpin hasn’t suffered from. Nearly everything else, but not that.”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs Gilpin,” said Wallington. “Can we keep your husband out of this unless it’s relevant? Let’s just stay with what happened on the actual night he died?”

“The following morning, May 31
st
it was, I was in bed and there was an almighty banging at my door. Gilpin says – I have to mention him now,” she said quickly, seeing that the coroner was about to interrupt her. “It’s relevant.” There was a ripple of amusement around the court, but the humour of it escaped Marie. “Gilpin asked who was at the door. Well, it obviously had to be her, didn’t it?”

“What time would this have been?”

“About six o’clock, I think.”

“Did you hear anything else during the night?”

“Not a thing.”

“Go on.”

“Mrs Minton was in a terrible state. She said her husband had suffered some kind of attack during the night. She didn’t know what to do. Well, I followed her upstairs. Gilpin came too. Gilpin said—”

“Just concentrate on what you said and saw. You said that Mrs Minton was in a terrible state and you followed her into the deceased’s room? What did you see there?”

“The deceased was lying on his back. He was definitely dead, stone cold.”

Marie failed to suppress a shiver. It was a moment she would never forget.

“What did you see in the room, Mrs Gilpin? Apart from the deceased.”

“There was a wine glass by the bed. It smelt of brandy. And there was a small bottle of brandy beside it. She’d brought it in with her the previous day. Said her husband had asked for it.”

“And that’s all you saw?”

“All that I can remember seeing.”

“What happened then?”

“She,” Mrs Gilpin pointed at Marie, “wanted to go for the doctor then and there, but Gilpin said that as Mr Minton was dead she should wait until a more civilised hour as nothing could be done for him now. She went to fetch the doctor about eight o’clock. I offered to go with her, but she ran off before I could.”

“And she was by herself in the room with the deceased until she set off for the doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Would you say Mrs Minton was distressed by her husband’s death?”

“I suppose she was. She seemed to be, yes.”

“Thank you, Mrs Gilpin.”

As Mrs Gilpin passed Marie, she glared at her for bringing shame to a respectable house. Wallington looked at his pocket watch. It had been a long day and he, for one, had heard enough for the moment. He announced his intention to adjourn and said, “I will take further evidence tomorrow. Mrs Minton, you may want to reconsider your decision about remaining silent.”

Marie turned to Pickard, but he shook his head, taking her arm to hurry her out of the courtroom.

“Surely I have to say something now?” She tried to shake herself free.

“Keep your voice down,” he muttered. He continued to push her ahead of him towards the street. “You must say nothing until I tell you to speak.”

They were now outside. They’d almost reached the carriage when suddenly Geoffrey appeared in front of them. He thrust out an arm to block their way, pushing his face close to hers.

“I will see you in hell for what you’ve done to our Stanley,” he said in a low voice.

She opened her mouth to say something but she couldn’t form any words.

Pickard was all too aware that the reporters were not very far away and a group of people loitering on the steps of the building were already beginning to take an interest in what was happening. “Geoffrey, this is not helping your brother.” He put a calming hand on Geoffrey’s arm, but Geoffrey angrily shook it off.

“Nothing can help my brother now, but I won’t see his name dragged through the dirt by a woman like her.” He turned on Marie. “I have lost two brothers because of you. One to America and one to the grave.”

There was nothing she could say because he was right.

Geoffrey turned back to Pickard. “Whatever happened to Stanley, she did it and I’ll make sure she damn well pays for it.”

*

Unexplained Death Of Prominent Yorkshire Businessman
read the headline of
The Illustrated News
, and underneath it:
The shocking facts behind the suspicious death of Stanley Minton.

Evelyn read the article with growing alarm. Pickard had said he would keep him informed of events and he’d heard nothing. He picked up the telephone and dialled the solicitor’s office. Before the man could say anything, Evelyn went straight into the attack.

“Why wasn’t I told anything about the chloroform? Why did I have to read about it in the newspapers?”

Pickard excused himself by saying that events were moving so swiftly, he couldn’t keep up with them.

“For God’s sake man, what kind of a family did you marry her into?” Evelyn said accusingly.

“A respectable one, as far as I could see,” the solicitor protested. “I am as shocked as you are about what has been revealed at the inquest.” Evelyn’s silence made Pickard anxious. “I’m worried about the fact that she kept quiet about Stanley’s addiction. It doesn’t show her in a good light.”

Evelyn’s voice was cold when he replied: “Shame and pride drove her not to discuss it, I would think. I presume you’re not suggesting that Mrs Minton could have harmed her husband?”

“No. No, not at all,” the solicitor hurriedly reassured him. “I think it more than likely that the unhappy man accidentally killed himself, as many of those addicted in this way often do.” Evelyn grunted his agreement. “I hope you approve that I am advising Mrs Minton to say nothing for the moment. She is very highly strung and putting her through the ordeal of being questioned might be very distressing for her. Do you agree?”

“Of course I do, if it will spare her pain. You say the suspicion is that the husband killed himself?”

“Or that it was an accident, yes,” Pickard assured him.

“Very well. I think the course you’ve chosen is probably the wisest.”

Relieved to have Sir Evelyn’s approval, Pickard rang off, and Evelyn proceeded to pour himself a larger than usual whisky. It wasn’t his normal habit to take a drink so early in the day, but this morning he was in need of it.

The room was three quarters full when Betsy Capes and her friends arrived. There was still an hour to go before the inquest was due to start, but they managed to claim the few remaining seats near the front. They saw Geoffrey enter and take his usual place, but he was alone.

Marie’s entrance with her solicitor caused a flurry of interest, but the coroner soon had everything under control. Mr Gilpin made his way to the front.

He mumbled his way through his testimony, regularly breaking off to cough. A glass of water was produced for him as he confirmed his wife’s statement virtually word for word.

“I followed my wife into the deceased’s bedroom,” he said. “I leant over him to make sure he wasn’t breathing. I smelt something and I told her – Mrs Minton – and she said it was brandy. It struck me at the time that it wasn’t brandy I smelt. Now I realise it was chloroform.” There was a murmur from the listeners as Mr Gilpin took a sip of water.

“I looked around the room and I saw the brandy bottle and a wine glass. The glass had the same sweet smell I’d noticed near the body.”

“You’ve described seeing the brandy bottle and the wine glass. Did you see anything else?” the coroner asked.

“I noticed a bottle on the mantelshelf. A medicine bottle; it was blue and it was fluted, like a poison bottle.”

Marie drew in her breath sharply. She could have sworn that Mr Gilpin hadn’t seen the bottle. He’d given no indication.

“A medicine bottle?” Wallington repeated. “Containing what?”

“A medicine bottle. I don’t know what it contained because when I came back into the room after the doctor had arrived, the bottle had gone.”

“Gone?” the coroner repeated.

“Gone,” confirmed Gilpin.

“Might it have contained chloroform?”

“It might have done.”

“But when you returned to the room the bottle had been removed?”

“Yes,” Gilpin said firmly.

Marie struggled to hide her dismay.

“I believe Mr Edwin Minton, the deceased’s father, arrived soon after?”

“Just as Dr Hornby was about to sign the death certificate, yes.”

“What was Mr Edwin Minton’s reaction to this?”

“He was very angry. He said his son was a fit man and this should never have happened. He said that Mrs Minton had got between him and his son. She had thrown him out. She denied it. She also said that it was Dr Hornby’s opinion that the deceased had died of natural causes. This upset the father. He said he didn’t believe his son had died of natural causes. He said he wanted his death looked into. He was insistent that there was reason to doubt the cause of his son’s death. Witnessing this and remembering the strange smell on the body, I said I’d refuse to register the death if the doctor signed the death certificate.”

“Did Mrs Minton know you were the Registrar for Births, Marriages and Deaths?” Wallington asked.

“No, I don’t believe she did. She seemed shocked,” replied Gilpin. Another murmur rippled through the court.

The strain of continually being the target of all eyes was beginning to take its toll on Marie. She made a determined effort to focus her attention on a small mark on the wall just above the coroner’s head. She stared at it until her eyes began to water, hoping she could block out the endless words.

“Ezekiel Jacobs,” Wallington called.

Marie frowned. Who was Ezekiel Jacobs? It transpired that he ran a chemist shop not far from The Emporium, from whom Stanley had once bought a small amount of chloroform – ostensibly to remove some grease from drapes in The Emporium. For which act of kindness to a neighbour, he complained to the coroner, the police were now threatening to prosecute him. He’d volunteered this testimony in the hope of softening their hearts. Marie began to fidget.

“For heaven’s sake,” Pickard muttered, “sit still. You’re as jumpy as a cat with fleas.”

Another name was called: Matthew Flint. It appeared he was another chemist from whom Stanley had acquired a small amount of chloroform, long before he’d moved to Leeds. “He’d spilt grease on a suit,” Flint said, “and as I knew him to be a respectable man, I could see no harm in it.” He swore passionately that he’d never done anything of the kind before or since.

Matthew Flint stepped down. To her relief, neither man had been able to link the chloroform to her. Wallington now addressed the jury. “So, gentlemen, this leaves unanswered the question: if, as Dr Moore suggested, the deceased appears to have frequently inhaled chloroform, what was his source? We can be sure that neither Mr Jacobs, nor Mr Flint, were regular providers.”

Marie was aware that the jury were looking at her, waiting for her to say something. She looked at John Pickard. He shook his head.

Mr Hart, the manager of the Harrogate and Bingley Bank, gave his testimony next. He contradicted Edwin’s statement that Stanley’s business was a great success, revealing, on the contrary, that Stanley was very close to bankruptcy. He was forced not only to sell the business in order to pay off his debts, but his house as well. A reluctant Martin Godson followed and confirmed the bank manager’s statement.

“He was ill with worry,” Martin said. “I hated to leave his employment, but I knew The Emporium was never going to recover and I had my family to consider.”

“And you say you became concerned about the deceased’s state of mind?”

“Yes, I did.”

Dr Morton, who had been prevented from attending the inquest before because of ill health, was the next person to be called by the coroner. He confirmed Dr Sheldon’s findings, disagreeing a little about the amount of chloroform found in the stomach. “But a goodly amount,” he said.

“Any idea how it got there?” asked Wallington.

“Swallowed, but how? Without the resulting effects outlined by Dr Moore, I have no idea.”

“Could he have taken it himself?”

“I suppose he could have done. But why no burning in the throat? Why no vomiting?”

It was a struggle for Marie to remain impassive. If she could pretend this was happening to someone else, she might get through the rest of this ordeal.

John Pickard leant towards her. “It looks as though the conclusion is that Mr Minton may have killed himself,” he murmured. “In which case, you will have been spared the pain of having to speak.”

Marie closed her eyes in relief. “For which I am grateful, and I thank you for your advice.”

Inspector Fowler, the policeman acting for the coroner’s court, was called next. He was the policeman who had inspected the Minton’s rooms once the post-mortem had confirmed that Stanley had died in suspicious circumstances. The impression he gave to the jury was that of a methodical man committed to his profession, a man for whom accuracy was a religion. He confirmed that a bottle of brandy had been found on the table beside the bed, and a glass.

“And was there any sign of the blue bottle on the mantelshelf that Mr Gilpin saw?” asked Wallington.

“None.”

“So between Mr Gilpin’s sighting of it and Dr Hornby’s arrival, the bottle disappeared. Removed from the scene completely, and it wasn’t found anywhere else when you searched the rooms?”

“That is correct.”

“Who could have removed it?”

“Only Mrs Minton.”

Could she not tell them she’d got rid of the bottle to save Stanley’s addiction becoming common knowledge? She looked at John Pickard, but he was listening intently to the evidence and didn’t notice.

“If it wasn’t in the rooms when you searched them, then where did it go?” the coroner was asking.

“It was quite a small bottle. It could have been concealed in a pocket. Mrs Minton went to fetch Dr Hornby. According to Mrs Gilpin she was anxious not to be accompanied.”

“You’re suggesting it could have been disposed of by Mrs Minton at that time?”

“It must have been. And something else in the lodgings caught my notice.”

One of Inspector Fowler’s men was moving forward with a book. Marie recognised it as her copy of
Farnsworth’s Medical Dictionary
. What now? The policeman placed the heavy volume on the table in front of the coroner.

“That book belongs to Mrs Minton,” Fowler said. “As you’ll see, it has her name inscribed on the fly leaf. It’s a medical book, an official list of drugs and directions for their preparation. As we’ve heard, Mrs Minton liked to dabble in such matters. Inside, there is a description of chloroform and the effect it has if inhaled or swallowed. The book fell open naturally at that page, which has a small stain on it.” Wallington opened the book and nodded as he saw the stain the witchhazel had made. “This is a spillage that evidently made the page stick – you can see a small tear where it has been separated from the page opposite, so it’s clear that this page was referred to frequently.”

John Pickard glanced at Marie and saw that she was looking faint. He muttered: “Don’t lose your nerve now. This proves nothing.”

It was now Geoffrey’s turn to be called and Marie’s heart sank. If Edwin had tried to damage her, Geoffrey would surely succeed.

At first, it was evident he was finding it difficult to speak. As he swore his oath on the Bible, he could scarcely be heard. He cleared his throat a great deal and seemed uneasy, but gradually his voice gathered strength. He repeated what his father had told the inquest about how his brother had built up his business from nothing. He departed from his father’s testimony by admitting that the business had been in trouble.

“My brother had been through a difficult time, it’s true, and that is why he sold the shop and the house. But that gave him the money for a new start and he was looking forward to a new beginning, here in Leeds. He was excited, and there’s no doubt in my mind that he would have been successful. The only problem he had was that woman. In my opinion, she didn’t want him to succeed. She didn’t want Pa to live with them. She made my brother’s life a misery. If Stanley looked like a sick man to Martin Godson, it was because she was making him ill.”

“I gather the family didn’t welcome the marriage?” Wallington interrupted dryly.

“We believed she was using Stanley. She didn’t love him. She might try and fool everybody that she did, but she didn’t love him at all.” He looked at Marie, who stared defiantly back at him.

“In what way was she using him?” Wallington asked curiously.

“She brought a bit of money with her to the marriage. She was trying to buy respectability, but her behaviour made that impossible.”

Marie exchanged an uneasy glance with John Pickard. The same thought had struck them both. The introduction of the money could threaten Sir Gordon’s anonymity if it was pursued, but Geoffrey had
her
in his sights, not the money.

“She didn’t just destroy Stanley. She ruined my other brother, too. She had an affair with him, after she was married. That’s why he left home. I had to pay for him to go to America to get him away from her.”

Heads craned to catch a glimpse of the widow. John Pickard studied his nails. Marie clutched her hands together. “It’s not true, it’s not true,” she murmured. This was worse than anything she could have imagined.

“You are under oath…” Wallington reminded Geoffrey.

“I know. She lied about what happened on the night Ma died. She said they were playing the piano. The truth was she tried to seduce Peter, and Ma saw it and the shock killed her.”

Marie was on her feet. “No, none of this is true.”

The hall erupted into chaos, the press scribbled and John Pickard raised his voice above the babble. “This is a disgraceful accusation and my client is greatly distressed by it. Mrs Minton is unwell. She needs water. She needs air.”

“Very well. We’ll take a short break,” Wallington conceded, to the disappointment of all those present.

In a state of collapse, Marie was helped out of the courtroom by Pickard. He took her to the small room put aside for their use. She immediately shook herself free and crossed to the window, pulling the sash down, leaning on the window ledge, closing her eyes, feeling the cold air on her burning cheeks. Pickard remained near the door, leaning with his back against it.

“Is it true?” he asked eventually. “About Peter Minton?”

“No!” She was close to tears.

Seeing her distress, Pickard made a decision – one he realised he should have taken days ago. “I’ll ask for an adjournment and then, when you’ve had time to calm yourself, we’ll hire you someone who can give you better legal advice than I can offer.”

“No. I want this over with now.” She couldn’t face a prolonged ordeal. Outside, the wind was blowing an inn sign. Its creaking was jarring her nerves. “I am going to return to the inquest and speak out.”

She gave him no chance to protest and strode back into the hall, leaving Pickard with no option but to follow.

She was fully aware of the crowd’s excited anticipation as she took her seat. Wallington settled himself behind his desk. “Have you anything else to say, Mr Minton?” he asked of Geoffrey, who shook his head. He seemed to regret having said as much as he had, realising it didn’t reflect well on the family.

Marie struggled to her feet. It was time for her to defend herself. However, the coroner wasn’t looking in her direction and before she could gain his attention, he’d called for Detective Inspector Fowler. Her hesitation had lost her the chance to speak in her defence. “I believe you have some further information, Detective Inspector,” said Wallington.

“Yes, sir.”

The coroner nodded. “If Mr Johnson is here, then bring him forward.”

Marie turned in horror to see the chemist, Johnny Johnson, jauntily enter the courtroom between two policemen. She gave John Pickard a look of despair and sank back onto the bench.

“Mr Johnson,” Wallington said, “I believe you were apprehended by the police two days ago for trading illegal drugs on a regular basis.”

“I was, sir. Yes, sir.” For a man who’d just been arrested, Johnson seemed extremely chipper.

“Tell us your connection with the deceased, if you will.”

“Well, I have – I should say, I had – a little chemist shop in Ilkley. Old Sutton Lane. I had a bit of a… sideline, I suppose you’d call it. I supplied a few regular clients with a little bit of extra stuff if they needed it. Mr Stanley Minton was one of them. His interest was chloroform, so I provided it.”