The Trial of Marie Montrecourt (25 page)

“How much chloroform did you provide him with?”

“At least three or four ounces a week. Even after he moved to Leeds, he’d visit me. No questions asked, you see.”

“And did you supply him with this quantity this year?”

“Yes, until the last time, when a lady came into the shop.”

“When was that?”

“On May 30th, I think it was. She didn’t give her name. She said she wanted five ounces of chloroform. I didn’t ask any questions. I never do. It was when I saw the drawing of her in the newspaper I realised who she was.”

“And who was she?”

“The lady sitting there. Mrs Minton.” He pointed at Marie.

There was a gasp throughout the courtroom. John Pickard closed his eyes. Marie turned to him. “I can explain.”

Detective Inspector Fowler was now conferring with the coroner as Marie struggled to her feet, but anything she had to say was drowned by the noise from the crowd. The jury didn’t notice her either; they had their heads close together.

“What’s happening?” Marie turned to Pickard again.

“To be blunt, Mrs Minton, if you speak out now you may well hang yourself.”

What followed happened so quickly that Marie was bewildered. She heard the coroner asking the jury if there were any further questions. The foreman shook his head.

“We have heard all the testimonies now,” the coroner said, “and it remains for me to start the difficult task of summing up the proceedings.”

He was brief and to the point. “There appears to be no doubt as to the cause of death. Chloroform. But there are three possible ways it could have been administered: an accidental dose, a deliberate taking of it by the deceased himself, or by some other person.”

He then outlined the facts that the court had heard during the inquest and concluded with the words: “So, gentlemen, accidental death, suicide or murder, which is it? You are not here to prove how it was done, just the circumstances in which, in your opinion, the fatal dose was administered. Do you need to retire to consider?”

The foreman leant across to the others and they conferred in whispers. The foreman stood up. “We have already reached a verdict.”

Marie muttered, “Oh, my God,” and John Pickard took out a handkerchief, which he used to mop his face.

“We believe that the deceased, Stanley James Minton, died from chloroform administered by his wife, Marie Minton, for the purpose of taking his life.”

Geoffrey’s triumphant cry of “Yes” rang out, echoing around the court. Marie slumped forward on the bench.

“This is a verdict of wilful murder against Mrs Marie Minton,” Wallington said, looking towards the back of the hall where Detective Inspector Fowler was waiting. “I will ask to clear the room. Clear the room, please.”

Still arguing over the decision, the crowd was herded through the doors as Fowler moved forward to receive the coroner’s warrant. He turned to Marie, who slowly rose.

“Marie Minton, I arrest you…”

She heard nothing, saw nothing. She felt numb.

*

Evelyn tossed the newspaper aside angrily. Even
The Times
had taken to calling it
The Garibaldi Street Poisoning Case
. It reported the result of the inquest and that the trial had been set for the first Monday in October.

He glared at his mother, who was sitting, ashen-faced, in the armchair facing him. “How could Pickard have allowed it to come to this?” he said furiously. “He was grovelling to me on the telephone this morning, saying he’d made a mistake – that he’d advised her badly. He’s right; he should have let her speak out.”

“I assume he was afraid she would condemn herself.”

He should have known his mother would have no sympathy for Marie. “That’s nonsense. Anyway, I’m going to see her. I can’t let her face this alone.”

His mother quickly rose to her feet in protest. “No, Evie. No, I won’t let you. You’ll destroy everything. Everything I’ve done to protect this family will have been futile.” He made a gesture of dismissal and she caught hold of him by the shoulder. “Look at me – do you think it’s been easy for me all these years? Nursing secrets, protecting your father, protecting you and the family? It’s taken its toll; it’s worn me out. And if you persist in getting involved in this mess, then it will finish me. Is that what you want?”

Alarmed by her agitation, he tried to calm her. “No, of course I don’t want that. Here, sit down, Mama.”

She refused, clutching hold of his hand. “Before you do anything else, talk to Lord Renfrew. Please.”

“Renfrew?” The request took him by surprise. “Why involve him?”

“He’s
already
involved. After your father returned from Africa and I learnt what he had done, I turned to Lord Renfrew for advice. He knows everything. Without his support, I wouldn’t have been able to carry on. Talk to him; listen to what he has to say. This family’s future is in your hands now.”

*

Evelyn hovered in Lord Renfrew’s outer office while his assistant announced him. He heard Renfrew say: “Ah, yes, I’ve been expecting him. Send him in.”

He still had no idea why his mother had insisted he visit Renfrew. Whatever the man had to say, he was determined not to let Marie face this ordeal alone.

“I’ll come straight to the point, Evelyn,” Lord Renfrew said as he entered. “Your mother telephoned me. The Garibaldi Street case, involving this woman Marie Minton—”

Evelyn didn’t let him finish. “She isn’t
this woman
, Lord Renfrew. I think you know the truth about our relationship. She is family and I will stand by her.”

“Very chivalrous,” Renfrew said, and if sarcasm was intended Evelyn didn’t care. He waited for Renfrew to continue which – after a moment – he did. “It might surprise you to know that I was present in the camp on the day that your father returned as if from the dead.”

Evelyn
was
surprised. He wasn’t aware that Renfrew had ever been to Africa.

“I was in the area on, shall we say, unofficial business and I was dining with the Colonel of the Regiment when Gordon, weak from malnutrition and suffering from fever, emerged from the veldt leaning on the shoulder of a young woman.”

“I know this – it was Hortense Montrecourt.” A look from Renfrew silenced Evelyn.

“The doctors gave Gordon morphine to help him fight the fever and I decided to sit by his bedside while he slept. I had nothing else to do with my time. As the fever became worse, your father became delirious. His words were jumbled and chaotic, but gradually I began to make sense of them. What he said was deeply disturbing to me. It seems that during the battle for the ridge on Majuba Hill, after General Colley had been shot, the men had looked to Gordon, as second in command, for orders. He panicked. This was his first battle. He gave no orders because he didn’t know what orders to give. He abandoned his men and fled. He didn’t charge the enemy heroically, he ran away and he was shot in the back for it. He told me this. He clung onto his horse as it carried him through their ranks and away from the battlefield. Some time later, the girl – Hortense – found him.”

Evelyn listened to Renfrew’s story with growing disbelief. He wouldn’t stand by and let his father’s reputation be destroyed. “He was a man in a fever. You can’t believe what he said under those conditions.”

“But by the next morning,” Renfrew corrected him, “your father’s temperature had dropped and the fever had passed, and he repeated the story to me. I was reeling from his revelations, just as you are. If the truth were discovered, then your father would have been shot as a deserter and the consequences for your family, for the Tory Party, for the whole government, would have been catastrophic. The country was already demoralised – if one of its leading figures were tried for cowardice…” Renfrew left the sentence hanging in the air.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe this.” If he accepted it, then nothing would remain of the man he’d tried so hard to emulate.

Lord Renfrew was regarding him sympathetically. “I wouldn’t have told you any of this if I didn’t feel I had to. To continue: I emerged from the hospital tent the next morning wondering how the devil I could salvage anything out of this disaster. Then I discovered that rumours had already begun to circulate about Gordon’s miraculous survival. They were as far removed from the truth as they could be. Some of the few who had survived Majuba said that they’d witnessed their officer charging the Boers single-handedly, brandishing his sword. Someone else said that they’d actually seen him break clear through the enemy line as the bullets bounced off him. Ridiculous, of course, but that is what they said. Word began to spread that for six months he’d trekked through enemy territory alone, living off the land, fighting every step of the way. Who cared about truth when morale needed lifting? His exploits quickly became magnified in the telling, and throughout the camp soldiers’ heads were lifted high again and shoulders squared again as a result. Glasses were raised and toasts drunk to Sir Gordon Harringdon, the man who had made a fool of the Boers. The wretched defeat at Majuba was no longer the humiliation it was first thought to be because of the spirit of one man and his will to survive.”

Evelyn sat with his head bowed, no longer protesting his disbelief.

“I’m sorry, Evelyn. We did try to protect you from this – your mother and I. That afternoon, a newspaper reporter arrived in the camp. He wrote for
The Chronicle
. I hesitate to describe it as a newspaper, but it had a high circulation among the middle classes. It suited my purpose, perfectly. I told him that I’d heard the amazing story of his survival from Sir Gordon Harringdon himself. The exploits the men were boasting about were true, every one of them.”

“So he was no more than a puppet, with you and mother pulling the strings,” Evelyn said, bitterly.

“To be fair to your father, he was an unwilling accomplice in the lie. It was a struggle to persuade him to go along with it at first. The poor wretch said he deserved to be punished, even shot. I told him to think it through. The public outcry would be devastating. It would be like losing the war all over again and the Harringdons would become a spent force in the political arena forever.”

Renfrew poured Evelyn a whisky. He drank it straight down. “Did my father kill Montrecourt?”

“Yes, but it was in defence of Hortense. Your father had just learnt that she was having his baby. He knew it was his because she hadn’t been with another man for months. She was loyal to your father, despite Montrecourt’s beatings. I think she actually loved him. When Montrecourt found out about the baby, he wanted to get rid of it. Gordon saw him punching her in the stomach. He lashed out at him, but he was still weak. When Montrecourt attacked him, he took the rifle that Hortense thrust into his hands and shot him. They buried the body together. He paid for her passage to France where she had the baby.”

“And mother saw to the rest,” murmured Evelyn.

“They were strange times, Evelyn. Strange things happened.”

“Yes, and Marie and I are still paying for them,” Evelyn said quietly.

Renfrew offered Evelyn a cigarette, but his hand was shaking so much he could hardly hold it still enough for Renfrew to light.

“It’s not a very edifying story, is it?” Renfrew took a cigarette, too. “If it becomes known that your family and the Montrecourts are linked, then curiosity will be aroused. Who knows what the gutter press will unearth? Even the smallest hint of what lies hidden will destroy your mother, your sister’s family and you, and leave you in no position to help Marie Montrecourt. She will surely become the first casualty of any scandal.”

“I can’t just walk away from her,” muttered Evelyn stubbornly.

“I’m not suggesting that you do. I have an idea. We can hire the best counsel in the country to defend her. You can pay for it by all means, but let me do the arranging. I presume the young woman knows nothing about her relationship to you?”

Evelyn shook his head. “It shames me to say it, but she still believes her parents saved my father’s life and, out of gratitude, he paid for her education and arranged for her marriage.”

“Let it stay that way. Distance yourself from this business.”

“She will know that I’m paying for her defence. Who else would it be?”

“Will she talk about it?”

“No. She promised she would remain silent about my family’s involvement with her and I know she will keep her word.”

“Let’s hope so. Evelyn, I know this will be hard for you, but you have to finally sever the ties between the Harringdons and the Montrecourts. Let the past be buried forever. It’s in her best interests, too.”

Too overcome to speak, Evelyn simply nodded.

Armley Gaol was a grim, grey stone building, whose crenellated walls could be seen for miles. Built in 1847, its four wings spread out like a cross from a central tower. This was Marie’s home while the case against her was being prepared. Regular journeys to the police court in the Black Maria were her only escape; but now that the magistrate had concluded there was a
prima facie
case for her to answer, even that escape was closed to her.

Her cell was long and narrow, like a horse trough. The window was high up, set close to the ceiling, so that nothing was visible from it. There were no chairs, no tables, just a narrow bench and a small bed, and it was extremely cold. Marie pulled a blanket around her to try to keep herself warm.

She didn’t know what to do. Like an animal caught in a trap, she waited for things to take their course. She didn’t say she was guilty, but she didn’t say she wasn’t guilty either. She repeated she didn’t know what had happened. Maybe it would all go away.

She’d been thinking a great deal about Evelyn during these last days. By now, he would know every detail of the squalid reality of her life with Stanley. The newspapers had made much of it. Would he be shocked? Would he despise her? Would he wish they’d never met?

“You’ve got a visitor.”

A wardress had opened the door of her cell and Marie peered through the gloom. She could only vaguely make out the figure of a man. He towered over the wardress, who stood aside to let him pass. He took off his hat, bending almost double to enter. His mane of white hair ended just above the velvet collar of his grey suit. He wore a bright red waistcoat crisscrossed by a thin black trellis of lines.

“Thank you.” He smiled charmingly at the wardress, who ignored him, clanged the door shut as she left and turned the key. He turned his attention to Marie. “Good morning. My name is Sir Herbert Manners and I may be about to act in your defence.”

Startled, she said: “But I don’t know you.”

“I’ll try not to let that statement offend me.” He looked for somewhere to lay down his hat. He finally gave up the search and decided to keep it on his knee as he sat on the bench beside Marie. After studying her closely, he said, “You appear to have friends in high places.”

She stared at him in astonishment. Surely there was only one person to whom that could refer to – Evelyn? It must mean he hadn’t abandoned her. She leant forward eagerly. “Did
he
send you?”

“I’m sorry, my client doesn’t wish to have their name revealed.”

She sat back. She was being foolish. Of course, his name mustn’t be mentioned. Everything she’d done had been to protect his name. He must remain removed from her. She wouldn’t have it any other way. She became aware of Sir Herbert’s scrutiny, to the point of feeling uncomfortable.

“Yes,” he said, suddenly, “I’m sure we’re going to get along just fine. Now, tell me, what happened on the night your husband died?”

It was the question she’d been dreading the most, though she knew she would have to face it at some point. She thought of Evelyn. He still believed in her and she mustn’t let him down. “I think my husband must have killed himself. I don’t know how.”

Sir Herbert nodded encouragingly. “Just tell me what happened.”

He listened with head bowed and eyes closed as she told him the story that Dr Hornby had repeated at the inquest. It was a story she had gone over and over again in her mind. She had sat with Stanley for part of the night, but then she had gone to bed. When she had called in to see him the next morning, he was dead.

He listened without saying a word. When she’d finished, he sat for at least another five minutes without speaking. Then he nodded, stood up and said pleasantly: “Thank you so much, Mrs Minton.”

She watched in some confusion as he tapped on the door of the cell and left without a further word when it was opened. Was he going straight back to report to Evelyn? Had he believed her or not? Why hadn’t he said anything?

Much later, when a meal of potatoes and gravy was brought to her, the wardress asked: “So is he taking your case, then? Sir Herbert Manners?”

“You know who he is?”

“I’ve heard of him. Who hasn’t?”

“I haven’t and I don’t know what he’s going to do.” Marie pushed the food away, untouched.

“You’d better hope he is. He’s the only chance you have of getting off.”

*

Sir Herbert called on her the next day and the one after that, each time firing questions at her like bullets from a gun.

“What was your relationship with Peter Minton?”

“A friend and companion,” she said.

“Nothing more?”

“Nothing more, I swear.”

He questioned her about her life at The Laurels. She talked about the loneliness; how Stanley’s behavior had changed after the death of their baby and how she realised now it was the effect of the chloroform on him. She talked of his violence towards her.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he asked.

“I was too ashamed.”

And still the questions flowed, so that by the end of the third day she was becoming worn out by the constant bombardment. As he stood up to go, with his usual “Thank you, so much,” she said in exasperation: “That’s all you ever say. You have to tell me if you’re going to take my case or not.”

“Yes, of course I’m going to take your case.” His tone reflected mild surprise. “I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.”

*

Monday 2nd October was a bleak day. It was damp, with the promise of more rain to come, but still the crowds assembled outside the Crown Court. The Garibaldi Street Poisoning trial was about to begin and public interest in it was running high.

Sir Herbert Manners cut something of a flamboyant figure, with his white hair flowing from beneath a silk hat, as he climbed the stone steps to the line of classical columns fronting the baroque façade of the Town Hall.

Manners looked around him. He would have to force his way through the crowds who were waiting for the courtroom doors to open. He had known the case would create some interest, but he hadn’t expected quite so many people to turn up. The whole of Fleet Street must be here.

The Town Hall’s domed vestibule echoed with the footsteps of lawyers, solicitors and barristers scurrying like black beetles across the marble floor, piles of papers and law books clutched under their arms. Sir Herbert spotted one of his junior counsels.

“Mr Lawler.” He crossed the floor to shake his hand. “Everything in order?”

“Indeed, Sir Herbert.”

“Is Mrs Minton here?”

“In the Bridewell downstairs. She was brought in through a side entrance.”

“Good, then let’s go inside and face the opposition.”

Lawler pushed open the double doors of the courtroom and Sir Herbert swept through them into his favourite arena.

*

In contrast to the activity above, the prison in the basement was silent. Marie sat alone in one of its holding cells. She was more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. She found it impossible to keep a limb still. She walked up and down incessantly – as the cell was very small, it didn’t take many steps to cover it. The white flagged floors were damp and the whitewashed walls were icy cold. There was only a slit for a window, so there was very little daylight. Even her cell in Armley Gaol was more comfortable than this.

She stopped, listening to the footsteps echoing along the stone corridor. They were approaching her cell. It must be time. The key turned slowly in the lock. The door of the cell swung open. “You ready?” the wardress asked, her face expressionless. “Come on, they’re waiting for you.”

For a moment, Marie wondered what would happen if she refused to move, if she sat on the floor of the cell and refused to go with her, but she didn’t. Instead, head bowed, she obediently followed her gaoler along the tiled corridor, through the spiked door and up the steps that lead to the dock. As she entered the wooden cubicle in which she would have to sit and listen to the evidence given against her, she caught her first glimpse of the courtroom and was overwhelmed by the huge number of faces, which were all turned towards her. Women stood up at the back of the court to get a better view.

She had dressed carefully, as instructed by Sir Herbert, and was wearing a simple dress of black silk. She looked, as he had hoped she would, too young to be a widow. Her hair was swept up into two wings and on top was perched a small hat. A feather curled over its short brim, but there was no veil.

“I want everyone to see your face,” Sir Herbert had said. “Give no one the opportunity to say you have anything to hide.”

The counsel for the prosecution was Mr Henry Redcar KC, a short, balding man. He had made it known that he believed the case would be over in a few days, as he was convinced there was little doubt as to the accused’s guilt. He said he’d been astonished to learn that Sir Herbert Manners had agreed to act in her defence, but assumed it was the case’s notoriety that had attracted him. It was well known that Sir Herbert would do anything, go anywhere, for publicity and he hoped the man wouldn’t indulge in his usual long-winded rhetoric. Redcar had arranged to take his wife on holiday to Nice the following week. The arrangements had greatly preoccupied him during the run up to this case. It had meant leaving a great deal of the preparatory work to his junior counsel.

Mr Justice Pollard, resplendent in scarlet robes, was in charge of proceedings. He was a courteous man with a reputation for toughness. Once he had taken his seat, he wasted no time in signalling for the proceedings to commence.

The opening formalities were gone through, the jury chosen and Marie was asked to stand. As she rose, she stumbled a little. The wardress sitting beside her put out a hand to steady her. She was asked how she would plead. “Guilty or not guilty of the charge of murder?”

She tried to keep her voice firm as she replied: “Not Guilty.”

A murmur of anticipation ran through the court.

The Prosecuting Counsel gave his long opening speech outlining the grounds for Marie’s arrest. He touched upon the circumstances of her marriage and the events leading up to Stanley’s death. He concluded by saying: “We are not here to discover the cause of death. There can be little doubt that the inquest proved that Stanley Minton died from the effects of chloroform in his stomach. What we are here to discover now is how that chloroform was administered and by whom.”

“There are only three ways that could have been done,” he said, facing the jury. “The deceased took it himself with a view to destroying his life. Why would he do that? You will hear that his difficulties were behind him; he was starting a new life. Why would he take such a painful way out? Swallowing chloroform, even when mixed with brandy, would be painful.”

Marie looked down at the floor as she listened to his description of the events that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

“Was it then an accident? Again, for the reasons already stated, I will show that the chloroform could not have been swallowed accidentally. The only reasonable explanation for how the chloroform found its way into the deceased’s stomach, therefore, is that it was administered by some other person. And we will prove that person was his wife.”

Marie was aware that she was under intense scrutiny from everyone around her. Redcar then warned the jury to keep an open mind, to ignore what they may have read in the newspapers. They must judge the accused by the evidence given in the court alone. When he sat down, all attention swung to Sir Herbert.

“My Lord,” Manners rose languidly to his feet. “I reserve the right to give my opening speech after I have heard the full case for the prosecution.”

There was a murmur of surprise from the assembly and Marie clasped her hands tightly in her lap. Was there to be a repetition of the inquest? After a moment, she asked the wardress for some paper and scribbled a note to Sir Herbert, which was passed down to him by his legal team who were sitting in front of the dock. He opened it and read:
I beg you, please do not abandon me
. To Marie’s alarm, he folded it and pushed it into his waistcoat pocket without turning around.

The first witness called by the counsel for the prosecution was Edwin. Marie watched as he was helped into the witness box by one of the ushers, a chair was provided for him and a glass of water placed close to hand. He would spare her nothing, she knew that. He took the oath in a voice that could scarcely be heard.

Redcar rose to his feet. “Mr Minton, if you would be so kind, please inform the court how you first met the accused.”

Edwin retold the story of Stanley’s marriage and of the distrust that his dead wife had always felt towards the bride. He had a tendency to drift away from the point and it was obvious to everyone in the court that he had been affected greatly by the tragedy of his son’s death. He rambled on at some length about Marie’s “dabbling with unnatural remedies”.

“Edith wouldn’t touch the stuff,” he said. “Who is that woman to tell people what’s wrong with them? She’s not a doctor.”

Gently, Redcar guided Edwin back to the moment he’d discovered that his son was dead. As Edwin relived it, his voice broke and he paused while he wiped his eyes with his handkerchief. “She kept me away. She never told me he was ill. She tried to stop me seeing him even after he was dead. If I hadn’t made a scene, she would have had my son buried without anyone being the wiser.”

Marie saw a look of sympathy on the face of every juror and some angry glances were directed towards her from the galleries.

“Thank you, Mr Minton,” said Redcar, resuming his seat.

Sir Herbert Manners rose. “No questions,” he said.

There was a murmur of surprise in the court and Marie closed her eyes in despair. This was one of the most hostile witnesses and Sir Herbert hadn’t challenged his testimony. She was unaware of his reason for it, which was that he believed putting the old man under pressure would strengthen the jury’s sympathy for him and be of no benefit to her at all.

She knew that the next witness would be equally hostile. Geoffrey Minton swore the oath in a loud, clear voice. He was obviously in a belligerent mood and eager for the questioning to begin.