Becoming Belle

by Nuala O'Connor

  Rosina came in with a tea tray with plates piled with cake and biscuits.

  “You always have the best eatables, Wertheimer,” Flo said.

  “Isidor keeps me in Pearl biscuits and every other delicacy I wish for.”

  Flo turned to Wertheimer. “You spoil her, you know. She’ll remain a child forever under your guidance, if you don’t take care.”

  “Nonsense, Belle’s the most capable woman of my acquaintance. Like your mother said, she has a gift for fortitude. I do believe she could survive anything.”

  Belle listened to them discuss her and let the hot tea warm her gullet; it was restorative after the long first day in court. She picked a piece of candied lemon peel from her slice of plum cake; she thought about giving it to Pritchard, so charmingly did its color match his feathers, but she feared he would choke on it.

  “I so wish I could hold and pet you,” Belle said, peering in at the bird.

  “Why can’t you?” Flo asked. “My pal Iris takes her budgerigar out on walks.”

  “Pritchard is a canary, Flo. They are not as brash as budgerigars.” She wiggled a finger through the cage bars. “I should like you to sleep on my pillow at night, darling Pritchy.”

  “You’re daft when it comes to that bird,” Flo said.

  “It was unexpected, I daresay, your mother turning up like that.” Wertheimer puffed on his cigar. “But a ruddy fine thing for her to do.” Both sisters turned to look at him; Flo cast her eyes heavenward. “What? What have I said?”

  “Have you understood nothing of what I’ve related to you about our mother, Isidor?” Belle said.

  “I only mean she didn’t seem harsh, when she spoke to you outside, Belle. Rather, she gave you some useful advice.”

  Flo sipped her tea. “She came to gather ammunition against Belle for future use. There’s no doubt about that.”

  “She has plenty now, to be sure,” Belle said. She thought of her mother’s words to her outside the Courts of Justice: Be plain. Be truthful. Belle intended, of course, to be both those things in court, but Wertheimer was right. Though it was unlike her mother to be cordial, she had offered guidance. There was decency in that, for sure.

  Pritchard frenzied at his seed bowl as if starved—he sent seeds scattering about and Belle could already hear Rosina muttering darkly about waste and uncleanliness. The bird took a short flight around the cage and stopped to admire his mirror image. The canary had a sweet life, no doubt about it, Belle thought. He burbled and sang blithely to himself.

  “Oh to be as innocent and free as my darling Pritchy, so unaffected by life’s tribulations. Why is my life so tangled?” Belle looked away from her pet to her sister. “All my days—ever since I met Alden Weston—have been days of adversity. Everything disintegrated the moment he began to pursue me. I swear I haven’t known a peaceful twenty-four hours since that time.”

  “Every long lane has a turning,” Wertheimer said.

  “I’m blessed if I ever heard such nonsense, Belle,” Flo said. “Do you mean to let Weston color your life? I will remind you that since you met him you have acquired a dear friend in Isidor, a son, and a husband. You have danced and delighted people. Weston is a person of no consequence. A criminal. He’s nothing, forget him. You must gather your courage, Belle. Never allow yourself to be a misery merchant.”

  “I have both acquired a husband and lost one. You didn’t mention that.”

  Flo slapped her hand on the arm of her chair. “Stop it. Nothing’s decided. Your William has acted like a true fool, but it’s not over yet. You must retain a stout heart, Belle. That’s vital.”

  Belle nodded, glad for the balm of Flo’s optimistic pragmatism. She sat back into her chair and fingered the gold heart at her throat.

  Wertheimer sipped his tea and looked from Belle to Flo. “I so often feel like Christ between the thieves when I’m with you two.”

  The sisters burst into laughter and turned to him.

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Flo said.

  “One never knows what mad subject you will latch on to next. I feel I hover in the center of you and learn much.”

  “Christ between the two thieves. From you, Isidor!” Flo said. “Well, I never.”

  Belle looked from her sister to Wertheimer. “What on earth would become of me if I did not have you both?”

  A WITNESS

  Belle ate a few scraps of cold pork before court; she chewed and stared at the jig of dust motes by the window. Rosina had tried to tempt her with hot rolls and kippers, but hunger seemed a thing of the past. The boom of thunder had woken Belle that morning and the rotten-egg smell it left still hung in the air; a huge downpour would break any second she was sure.

  Flo came to her side of the table. “Open your beak,” she said, and spooned in a measure of Pepper’s Tonic.

  Belle swallowed it and stuck out her tongue. “Ugh, it tastes as if I had licked a fire iron.”

  “Don’t be juvenile,” Flo said. “It helps.”

  “I know it does, thank you.” She put her arms around her sister and placed her head against her stomach. “Seymour must miss you terribly at home.”

  “He gets along fine. Come now, Belle. Our hansom will be here soon, Jacob is outside hailing one.”

  * * *

  —

  The July sun burnished the front of the courthouse and Belle thought how pleasant it would be to take the hansom past the building and on up the Strand to the heart of the city or back to Covent Garden. Anything but to have to go inside and listen to further assaults on her character.

  When all were settled in their places, Judge Hannen emerged, dapper even under his periwig. Mr. Russell, William’s solicitor, looked like a weary owl, myopic and harmless, in comparison. It wasn’t until he began to speak that one understood Russell’s somnolence was illusory; the man was spear sharp.

  “I call Mr. Jacob Baltimore,” said Mr. Russell.

  Belle turned to Flo. “Jacob? Whatever for?” She sought out Wertheimer and mouthed Did you know? whereupon he shook his head.

  Jacob sauntered to the stand and took his oath. He wore his lavender gloves and Belle thought how fearless he looked, how jaunty and at ease.

  “You were first employed in this country, Mr. Baltimore, as a program distributor for the Bohee brothers, whoever they may be. Were you not?”

  “No, sir. I was a corner man.”

  The public gallery erupted in titters and Jacob looked their way and smiled.

  “He is having a rare old time,” Flo whispered to Belle.

  “And who was your employer after that?”

  “Mr. Isidor Wertheimer, sir. I was his stable boy until he wrongly accused me of stealing a coat and I left him after that, sir.”

  “And who is your employer now, Mr. Baltimore?”

  “Mr. Wertheimer, sir. I am his page boy.”

  “At Sixty-three Avenue Road, the address of Miss Bilton?”

  “Correct, sir.”

  “Does Mr. Wertheimer live at that address also?”

  “He comes and goes, sir. He passes the night at his hotel in town. But he and Miss Bilton dine alone together there. In Avenue Road, I mean.”

  “Not in the company of the respondent’s sister and her husband, Mr. Seymour?”

  “Sometimes, sir, but more often alone. Together, that is, on their own in Avenue Road.”

  “So they dine and servants come and go. I see.” Mr. Russell looked bored. “Do they, Mr. Baltimore, frequent other rooms in the house?”

  “They favor the smoking room, sir. Though they like to play pianoforte together in the parlor, too; they lay their heads on each other’s shoulders when they do so. One time, when they had left that room, I observed that the key was on the inside of the door. Another time, while Miss Bilton was in her bedroom, I saw Mr. Wertheimer go up the sta
irs.”

  Mr. Russell did not seem satisfied with Jacob’s testimony and he left way for Mr. Lockwood to step in.

  “You were discharged by Mr. Wertheimer for stealing a coat, but you are employed by him again. Correct?”

  “No, sir. I was wrongly accused of stealing and I left. But now I’m back again.”

  “I see. So Mr. Wertheimer employs you out of pity.” He held up a hand to indicate to Jacob that he did not require an answer. “Now, as to the occasion when Mr. Wertheimer went upstairs. You recollect it well?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jacob, a swagger to his certainty.

  “What time of day was it?”

  “In the middle of the day. I daresay Mr. Wertheimer might have been going out; he might have gone up to his bedroom to fetch a hat. Or a coat.”

  “And where was Lady Dunlo?”

  Jacob bit his lip. “She may have been in the parlor.”

  “You say Mr. Wertheimer might have gone up to his bedroom to fetch a hat. Or was it a coat? And you say Lady Dunlo may have been in the parlor. Yet, Mr. Baltimore, you told Sir Charles Russell and this court, mere moments ago, that she was upstairs. No further questions.”

  Jacob stood and rucked his forehead; he looked to Wertheimer, shrugged and left the stand.

  Flo squeezed Belle’s arm and whispered, “Mr. Russell is sorry he summoned the fellow now. He doesn’t know his head from a hole in a bucket.”

  “Mr. George Clarke, private inquiry agent, is called to give evidence, your lordship.”

  Belle watched the burgundy-clad sentry take the stand; she listened to him tell the court that he was employed to follow and observe her and Wertheimer from July 1889. She was annoyed that Mr. Russell did not immediately ask whom he was employed by.

  “‘On the nineteenth of July, respondent met co-respondent outside the Empire Theatre,’” Clarke read from a notebook. “‘I tracked them that night to Conduit Street, where the lady had lodgings. They walked up and down the street for some time, then Miss Bilton went inside and Mr. Wertheimer left the scene.’” He turned a page. “‘Another night they seemed to be larking by the window.’”

  “Larking? Do you mean they embraced?”

  “They may have.”

  “Did they or did they not, Mr. Clarke?”

  “It’s hard to say. I was seventy feet from the house.”

  Report after report from his notebook took this form: Miss Bilton and Mr. Wertheimer were seen leaving the Café Royal together at midnight on August the third. Miss Bilton and Mr. Wertheimer on the eighth of August dined at the Continental Hotel with another gentleman. On the twenty-ninth of August Miss Bilton went to live at Sixty-three Avenue Road; Mr. Wertheimer left the house at half past one that morning. Clarke saw them go shopping together at the bazaars. He witnessed the pair smoking cigarettes by the window in Avenue Road. On the sixteenth of September they were in Miss Bilton’s bedroom together, by the window, overlooking Norfolk Road. (Gasps in the courtroom.) And on and on until Belle felt ill with hearing her own life being played out like scenes on a zoetrope, she and Isidor whirring round and round, animated shadows.

  “It will be over soon,” Flo murmured.

  Mr. Russell left Clarke to Mr. Lockwood.

  “Mr. Clarke, what was it that struck you as most important in all of what you say you saw take place between the respondent and the co-respondent?”

  “Him caressing her. He pulled her to him inside the window. They kissed.”

  Mr. Lockwood raised both eyebrows and looked to the jury, then back at Mr. Clarke. “There is nothing of this in the book.”

  “These points I always carry in my memory.”

  Several hoots of laughter from the gallery and Lord Hannen lifted one hand. “I will not have an atmosphere of feeling created on one side or another.”

  Mr. Lockwood resumed. “Mr. Clarke, is this book you have been quoting from the original notebook?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, it is not. Where is that first book, the real one?”

  Clarke looked at the floor. “I destroyed it.”

  Judge Hannen roared across the court, making everyone jump. “This examination has proceeded under the impression that the notebook you hold is the original!”

  “That was my understanding,” said Mr. Lockwood.

  Mr. Russell stood. “And mine.”

  “Why, Mr. Clarke, did you destroy your firsthand reports?” asked Mr. Lockwood.

  “The book contained other entries about other cases. I had what I needed. When my notebooks are full, I always burn them.”

  Judge Hannen turned to the jury. “I am obliged to tell you, gentlemen, that the notebook which Mr. Clarke holds is no corroboration. He has deliberately destroyed that which would have been corroboration. And he substituted it with nothing of the sort. You will disregard his litany of sightings.”

  Mr. Lockwood asked two more questions of Clarke. “Did you know, sir, that your inquiries were made on behalf of the Earl of Clancarty; that you were in fact acting on his behalf?”

  “I did not.”

  “From whom did you take instruction?”

  “Misters Lewis and Lewis.”

  “No further questions, my lord.”

  Clarke stood down, pushed one hand through his hair and avoided looking at anyone. Belle watched him walk to his seat and felt a small spurt of hope. Clarke said he didn’t know the earl was behind his surveillance. Then, there was the burned evidence and inconsistencies in his reports.

  Flo nudged her sister and leaned in to whisper, “None of this looks good for Clancarty.”

  Belle nodded and pressed Flo’s hand. Indeed it did not look promising for the earl. And for a man for whom appearances were all? Well.

  Mr. Russell rose once again. “I request the swearing in of Richard Somerset Le Poer Trench, fourth Earl of Clancarty, my lord. The earl is not well and wishes to proceed now, though he attends this court against medical advice.”

  Judge Hannen nodded and Belle watched the earl try to correct a stoop as he took the stand. He was a shade of the man who had bellowed at her upstairs in the Corinthian Club: thinner, less regal, but still somewhat noble because of his height, she had to own. Her heart contracted when she looked at him. He was a man of power and he wished to crush her. Sitting so close to him and, now, looking straight at him, made her feel dizzy. Belle’s breath came fast and she had to swallow spit over and over, so dry was her mouth.

  The earl confirmed that the petitioner was his eldest son and that he intended him for the army. William had failed to pass the examination for Oxford, he said.

  “I obtained a position for him with the Herefordshire Militia but that was distasteful to the boy, so I looked out for—and found—a person to accompany him abroad. This was with my son’s full approval, you understand. I engaged Mr. Godley Robinson on the fourth of July.”

  “And when,” asked Mr. Russell, “did you book two berths to Australia?”

  “The twelfth of July.”

  “And when did you first know of the marriage of Lord Dunlo to Miss Bilton, which took place, we remember, on the tenth of July?”

  “I read it in the Pall Mall Gazette on the thirteenth.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I summoned my son and told him he must go abroad until he attained his majority and then he would be free to act for himself.”

  “When did you first engage the services of Misters Lewis and Lewis?”

  “The twentieth of July.”

  “Are you aware your son is in debt?”

  “I believe he is.”

  “Is it true you undertook to pay his debts if he agreed to sign the petition in this case?”

  “There is not one word of truth in that statement.”

  “My lord,” said Mr. Russell and he sat.

  Had
not Mr. Robinson led William to believe that that was the case, that the earl would relieve him of his debts if he signed? The earl was lying and Belle found herself glad that he was. He would be found out and Mr. Russell would rue the very hour he agreed to represent him.

  Belle’s Mr. Lockwood stood and faced the jury; he indicated Lord Clancarty. “Be aware that this man did not tell his son that if he went away and returned when he was of age, that he could live with his wife at that point. He did not believe in the marriage that had taken place.” He turned to the earl. “Is it true that you told your son that if he stayed in London with his wife, and refused to go abroad, that you would have nothing more to do with him?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Did you think that Miss Bilton might go wrong if left by her husband?”

  “No.”

  “Will you swear to that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you expect that Miss Bilton would go wrong?”

  “Well, now you put it in my mind, I think it extremely probable.”

  “Well, did you care if she went wrong?”

  “Not much. I did not believe the marriage a valid one and I did not trouble my head about it.”

  “Did you answer a letter from Miss Bilton begging for an interview in order that she might refute certain rumors? Did you ever give her a chance of meeting the charges against her?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Did you approach the lady with a view to making some arrangement as to what she was to do?”

  The earl sighed. “No.”

  “It did not occur to you that it would be a chivalrous and generous thing to see your son’s wife?”

  “I was under the impression that the marriage would not be valid until he turned twenty-one.”

  Mr. Lockwood paused. “When did you first determine to have Miss Bilton watched?”

  “The twenty-second of July.”

  “Was this because you had discovered that the marriage was, in fact, a valid one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it your opinion that your son was anxious to have his marriage annulled?”