Becoming Belle

by Nuala O'Connor

  “Yes.”

  “Presumably this ‘larger house’ would have been neither as ample nor as luxurious as Avenue Road?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Miss Bilton, did you habitually see Mr. Wertheimer in the morning, did you habitually see him in the evening, and did he accompany you home from the theater at night?”

  “No.”

  Mr. Russell sighed. “You saw him, however, nearly every day?”

  “Yes.”

  He returned to his notes and began, once again to go over Mr. Clarke’s sightings. He outlined date after date when she and Wertheimer had met and Belle confirmed each one.

  “Is there one single incident deposed to by Mr. Clarke, excepting that one occasion about the window, which you can swear was not correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is it?”

  “He has sworn that I was often alone with Mr. Wertheimer. I was not. The page boy, Jacob, and the maid, Rosina, were present. If not them, then my sister was in the house with me.”

  “When you went to Manchester, was there one week out of the thirteen weeks you played there that Mr. Wertheimer was not present?”

  “He came three times to Manchester.”

  “Why did he come?”

  “He came to see me perform. As friends often do.”

  Mr. Russell shifted on his feet. “Miss Bilton, were your letters to Lord Dunlo candid?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you tell him Mr. Wertheimer came to see you in Manchester?”

  “No.”

  Mr. Russell nodded grimly as if satisfied he had heard in that moment exactly what he had come to hear. “No further questions, your lordship,” he said.

  Belle unhooked her hands from each other; her fingers ached from being squeezed. She looked around to find Flo, and her sister nodded and patted the seat beside her. The judge told her to step down, and Belle returned to Flo.

  Wertheimer looked almost tranquil as he took the stand. He had clearly given himself an early night, for his skin did not have its customary pearlescent sheen; the red carnation in his lapel caused a radiance in his cheek. He came across as a man contained and checked, disciplined in a way that Belle admired.

  Mr. Gill—Wertheimer’s solicitor—examined him first and he went through how Isidor and Belle had met, how he supported her when Weston was at the Old Bailey et cetera. There followed a lesson in London geography while Mr. Gill named Belle’s various addresses and if and when Isidor had visited her at these places.

  “During this time, Mr. Wertheimer,” said Mr. Gill, “you conceived great admiration for Miss Bilton, did you not? You were greatly attached to her?”

  “I think admiration is the correct term.”

  “You had asked her to marry you?”

  “Yes, on several occasions.”

  “Have you always treated her with respect?”

  “Yes, I have always done so.”

  “When you took the house at Avenue Road, did you retain a bedroom there?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you stayed there from time to time?”

  “I sometimes changed from morning into evening dress there.”

  “And there was no impropriety between you and Lady Dunlo, as she then was?”

  “Absolutely none.”

  “Why did you threaten to go away?” Mr. Gill consulted his notes. “To America, I believe?”

  “There were many things—a quarrel with my father over my grandfather’s property, chiefly.”

  “Around that time, did you cable a marriage proposal to the lady?”

  “Yes. I remember almost the exact words.”

  “Which were?”

  “I said: ‘Come away with me and marry me. We will both be free!’”

  “She replied, refusing you again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Although she again and again refused you, you hoped that someday she would marry you?”

  “Yes.” Wertheimer dipped his head. “I thought that we would get along all right.”

  Belle felt as if she were listening to a stranger. Yes, Isidor had offered her marriage but it was in jest, one of his giddy jokes. The bats in the barn knew that!

  “Did you ever give her money?”

  “No, never.”

  Mr. Gill talked on about the comings and goings at Avenue Road. Was he ever alone with Belle? How often did he go upstairs?

  “Is there any truth in the statement by Clarke that you were at her bedroom window? A window that overlooked Norfolk Road?”

  “Not an atom. It is an absolute lie.”

  “Have you ever put your arm around her waist when driving with her?”

  Wertheimer paused, plumped for no, though he knew many who would contradict him. Including Belle.

  “Have you ever kissed her?”

  Oh, what is this? thought Belle. Are Isidor and I not firm friends? Are friends to keep the length of a barge pole between them? How she wished to upturn the rigid norms of society where affection—even that born of ardent friendship—was for private rooms only. How freeing it would be to embrace and hug and laugh in the street. Had Wertheimer kissed her? Why, yes, he had.

  “I kissed her on one occasion—at Maidenhead, before her marriage. She was distressed about her child and I comforted her. And perhaps once more, in the Corinthian Club, when I thought I might go away; a brief, farewell kiss.”

  There had been a hundred more kisses than that, certainly, of the type friends share, but none perhaps as lingering as the one at Maidenhead after the baby was born. Hadn’t everyone been in an exhausted muddle that day? Mr. Gill plowed on, through Manchester and Christmas, through Belle’s return to London for Mr. Harris’s Venus.

  “Up to the present time, has there ever been any familiarity between you and Lady Dunlo?”

  “Never. On any occasion.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that you were placing her in a position that people would suppose her to be your mistress?”

  “Well, there is this to be said. I knew her former life had not been unimpeachable. I would have married Belle if she had desired that and it would have been our own affair. I knew I should not insult her and that was more than could be said for Lord Dunlo and his so-called friends.”

  “You knew Lord Dunlo’s friends objected to the marriage?”

  “No, nothing of the sort.”

  “Did it not cross your mind that it might compromise her in the eyes of Lord Dunlo’s family if you were about with her so much?”

  “Lord Dunlo’s family did not enter into my consideration. I do not live my life according to the decrees of the aristocracy; I make my own way. You see, I merely wanted to help a friend in distress; I did not need to think how it might affect the sensibilities of everyone else in London.”

  “Did your own family know where you were, all the hours you spent with Miss Bilton?”

  “No, they never had the impertinence to ask. I am beyond the age of tutelage.”

  “Why did you spend so much time at Avenue Road?”

  “The fact is number sixty-three is a beautiful house and I like it there. Further it has a fine garden and I enjoy its air. And nothing gave me so much pleasure as to be in Lady Dunlo’s society. Nothing in the world. On Sundays we often drove about together—nearly the whole day.”

  “So, you went to Avenue Road for society and fresh air?”

  “Yes.”

  “I shall ask you again, did you enter the lady’s bedchamber, as Mr. Clarke has reported?”

  “It’s an infamous lie.”

  “Have you ever said to her that Lord Dunlo wanted brains and other things?”

  Wertheimer winced. “On one occasion, I think I did so; I was angry with him. It seemed to me that he did not treat Lady Dunlo as well
as she deserved.”

  Mr. Gill turned to Judge Hannen. “Nothing further, Your Honor.”

  * * *

  —

  Flo squeezed Belle’s hand and stood.

  “I shan’t be long,” Flo said.

  She was right. Mr. Russell did not squander time rehashing old details.

  “From first to last,” he said, “Mr. Wertheimer was wanting to marry your sister?”

  “Yes. I made a bet with him about it.”

  “You made a bet? What was that? When was it?”

  “Oh, it was about a year or so before she married William. Lord Dunlo. It was when we first knew Wertheimer.”

  “What was the bet?”

  “I bet him that he would never marry my sister.”

  “Did your sister know of this bet?”

  Flo flicked her eyes in Belle’s direction. “She did not.”

  “And is the bet still running?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would you make such a bet?”

  “I knew my sister would marry only for love. Wertheimer is a good fellow, a wonderful friend and support, but she doesn’t love him, not in the marrying way.”

  “Did you not think it wrong that your sister should live at Mr. Wertheimer’s house at Avenue Road?”

  “No, he was a loyal friend to her through her difficulties. And I was often there and my husband, too. And the servants have always been very visible in that house, very present.”

  “Were you aware that your sister received valuable gifts from Mr. Wertheimer?”

  “I know they exchange gifts—they have a strong friendship.”

  “Mrs. Seymour, have you ever seen any objectionable relationship between your sister and Mr. Wertheimer?”

  “Never.”

  A SUMMING-UP

  Judge Hannen sat and waited for absolute silence before he embarked on his summing-up. He put Belle in mind of the brown bear at the zoological gardens. In truth, he had no ursine qualities, but the quizzical way he lifted his head to study people reminded her of Hector, the bun-scoffing bear. The animal watched patiently and swung his head from side to side, when he thought more goodies might come to his waiting mouth. Judge Hannen was watchful in a similar way, but his movements were subtler than Hector’s. He was quietly fearsome like the bear, though not as contained, for his pit was the bench and his zoo the courtroom.

  The court went still. Judge Hannen tilted his head and began.

  “This suit, we must remind ourselves, was instituted not by Lord Dunlo but by his father, the Earl of Clancarty.” He addressed the jury directly in a solemn tone. “The suit was prepared and prosecuted by Lord Clancarty.”

  Belle listened to Judge Hannen’s words and felt her anticipation swell: everything might turn out right. She shifted in her seat and inclined toward the judge to better apprehend his meaning.

  “Lady Dunlo,” he continued, “has been on the stage from an early age. I need not enlarge on the dangers of that profession—the present case illustrates them. We have heard in detail the evidence as to the relations between the co-respondents, Mr. Wertheimer and Lady Dunlo. Gentlemen, under ordinary circumstances the evidence is such that you might be justified in believing these parties were living together. The difficulty and danger, however, is that we are dealing with an entirely different life from that of ordinary people. We are dealing with actors and antique dealers, gentlemen. Young bohemians, you understand, and their rules are not necessarily our rules. Miss Bilton—or Lady Dunlo, if you prefer—would not have governed her actions in precisely the same way as ordinary persons. Do not do the lady an injustice by applying ordinary views to matters so different.

  “I think it extremely unlikely that Mr. Marmaduke Wood, for example, is the best or most competent judge of a woman’s character or life. His view would not be the correct one to take. Do not believe, gentlemen, that everyone on the music hall stage is immoral. Neither can every woman who has given birth to an illegitimate child be purchased. You know these things, do you not?”

  He paused; the jury foreman nodded his head, a servant on behalf of his fellows. Belle puffed up, elated. The judge was appealing to the jury’s sense and to their better natures; they might listen to him. Even if they were against her, it intoxicated her to think that the old bear Hannen was with her. He was gloriously on her side!

  “Remember that Mr. Gill has told you that his client, Mr. Wertheimer, has nothing to gain from this case one way or another. Gentlemen, you must decide if the relations between Mr. Wertheimer and Lady Dunlo were improper after the marriage. It is not—not—the time anterior to the marriage of Lady Dunlo you have to consider. Excepting this: how the lady’s conduct then would bear on her conduct after her marriage. If she were Wertheimer’s mistress before her marriage, it would be more reasonable to suppose they resumed their relations after it.

  “But ponder this also: it is a very serious thing for a woman to be deprived of the protection of her husband. Lord Dunlo married this lady, then promptly absented himself from her life. The letters Lady Dunlo wrote to her husband while he was abroad were a credit to her—they were affectionate, not coarse. To my mind it is despicable that Lord Dunlo signed the divorce petition while writing to her, his wife, that he did not believe any statements against her. He showed an utter want of appreciation of an oath on his part. The case, however, does not depend on what Lord Dunlo said or thought or did. He was a mere cipher, a puppet in the hand of his father and the men employed by him. The case must depend not on Lord Dunlo’s conduct but on the impression which you, the jury, have of the evidence.”

  Judge Hannen nodded and the jurymen were accompanied out of the courtroom to consider their verdict. Belle and Flo sat still in their seats, hands clasped; Wertheimer came and sat by them. Sweat steamed under Belle’s clothes and her breath came short. She reached for William with her eyes, but he kept his head hanging down and stared into his lap. Belle willed him to lift his chin and seek her out, but he did not. Soon she would know if she was to be exonerated. Soon, too, she would know if William meant to be the husband he should be.

  “How long will it take?” Belle whispered.

  “It could take hours,” Wertheimer said.

  But just fifteen minutes after they retired, the jury filed back in and took their places. When Judge Hannen was seated and silence reigned, he turned to the foreman.

  “What say you?”

  “Your Honor, we find that the respondent and co-respondent are not guilty of the charge of adultery.”

  An excited “halloo” broke from the public gallery, followed by applause and more shouts of triumph. Flo embraced Belle and they laughed. Oh, the hallowed relief.

  “Felicitations, Belle,” Flo said and kissed her sister’s cheeks over and over. “Well done, my darling.”

  Wertheimer and Belle shook hands warmly and laughed. “Jolly good,” Wertheimer said.

  The noise from the gallery rose; there was foot stamping and clapping, people shouted Belle’s name.

  “Silence!” Judge Hannen banged his gavel. “The petition is dismissed.”

  Belle strained to see William through the crowd that milled before her. He was still seated, but he looked over and smiled. She pulled the gold heart from inside her collar and kissed it; William put his hand to his breast and tapped. Belle’s tears streamed freely and she lost sight of William as she was whirled from the courtroom in a mill of bodies.

  When she emerged onto the Strand, a scrimmage began: people rushed forward to greet and congratulate her. Cries of “Brava, Belle!” and “Well done, Flo!” went up. The sisters shook hands with their well-wishers and signed cabinet cards that some had brought with them. Every few moments Belle looked around for William but could not see him. A gray-clad figure stood to one side and Belle apprehended that it was her mother. She thanked the people gathered around her for their sup
port and broke free.

  “Mother.” She stood before her, the glee of the win subdued by her mother’s taut expression.

  “So you triumphed, Isabel,” Mrs. Bilton said.

  “It would appear so.” Belle’s stomach felt as though it was lodged in her windpipe and she longed for a nip of gin to wash it back down into her belly.

  “You will be a lifelong bread-and-honey eater, Isabel. I always knew it would be so.”

  “I’m not sure I take your meaning, Mother.”

  “Things always go the way of people like you, in the end,” Mrs. Bilton turtled her lips and leaned in. “There was ever something grasping about you. From an infant you wanted more than anyone could provide.”

  “Certainly more than you could, Mother.” Mrs. Bilton’s marmoreal exterior remained—she was cold to the core, despite the apparent thaw of their last meeting. “Good-bye, Mother. I shall embalm you in my memory, for I doubt we’ll meet again.”

  Flo came and their mother made a show of ignoring her. Flo hooked her arm through her sister’s and pulled her back. “Come now, Belle. Our cab is waiting.”

  Belle allowed Flo to lead her to the hackney. The driver helped them both in, then got up onto his seat and drove on.

  Flo turned to Belle. “What did Mother have to say?”

  “She wanted to chide me, of course.”

  “What else could she want?” Flo tucked herself into Belle’s side. “Do you love him?”

  “William?”

  “Wertheimer.”

  “Isidor? No!”

  “Funny, I thought every woman loved the man who saved her.”

  Belle put her hand on her sister’s arm. “But I do love my savior, Flo. His love saved me. And mine for him. I love William.”

  * * *

  —

  Even before Flo took to the stage at the Royal Trocadero, everyone in the shilling balcony and the sixpenny pit vied with each other to welcome her with a gust of appreciation. They stamped, clapped and yelped when Flo’s name was announced as the next act. But many eyes turned upward to Belle once they realized she occupied a box. The clamor increased and the men waved hats and the women their handkerchiefs. Belle bowed and waved back, pleased with the ovation. When Flo finally walked on to do her turn, it took several minutes for the din to die down. Flo curtsied deeply before beginning her song and threw her arm upward to indicate Belle, in case anyone might have missed that Lady Dunlo was present, though the courtroom door had shut only hours previously on her victory. The crowd whooped again and Flo began to sing, chaste and large-eyed: