Beyond the Veil of Tears

by Rita Bradshaw

  ‘My mama sometimes, when I was a little girl.’ Mama. It reminded him that she was from a different world, but their two worlds were merging and he would make sure she never had cause to doubt him again.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mr Havelock of Havelock & Son, Solicitors, stared at his trusted clerk and the young woman Jack had brought in to see him. She had told an astonishing story, but he didn’t doubt for one moment that it was true, or that the lady in question, who had gone by the name of Grace Cunningham for the last few years but was in fact Mrs Angeline Golding, had been severely ill-used.

  However, he doubted he could say anything to her that would bring her any comfort; and if the situation escalated into a legal battle with the husband, she had absolutely no chance of winning. It wasn’t this that really concerned him, though. He had grown fond of Jack over the years, and admired him for his principles and his determination to succeed, even when he found those same principles and views contrary to his own. The poor had always been poor and would remain so. It was the nature of things. Jack’s desire to change the world and take on the Establishment through legal means was commendable, but misguided. And unpopular within the profession. He hadn’t been at all surprised when, on qualifying as a solicitor, Jack had been unable to find a practice willing to take him on in that capacity. Not with the idealist views he held. Visionaries were all very well in their right place – in the Church as missionaries, for instance – but when it came to making money . . .

  That said, he would hate to see his clerk making a fool of himself over a woman. Jack could lose everything he had worked for, and it could easily happen in this case, if he was linked with scandal. And what a scandal this could be: a wife returning from the grave just as her husband wanted to remarry. He cleared his throat. ‘I trust you are aware, Mrs Golding, that the world in general could well see Mr Golding as innocent in this affair, if he genuinely thought you were dead?’

  ‘Jack – Mr Connor – explained that, Mr Havelock.’

  ‘You say he committed adultery all through your marriage, with a certain lady of your social circle. Can you prove this?’

  Angeline shook her head. However sympathetic to her plight Mirabelle might have been when Myrtle went to see her seven years ago, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that Mirabelle would not admit to adultery with Oswald. It would ruin her husband, for one thing, and the stigma would be too great to bear. ‘No, the only way would be for the lady in question to come forward and say so, but that would mean social suicide.’

  ‘Quite so. The Matrimonial Clauses Act of 1878 facilitates legal separation and maintenance for badly used wives, which is an improvement on anything before that time, but only if the husband has been convicted of physical violence in a court of law. Is this the case?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Likewise, whilst your husband could divorce you for adultery alone, if you had had an affair, for you to divorce him you need to prove adultery combined with desertion, cruelty, incest, bigamy or practising an unnatural vice.’ Mr Havelock sighed. ‘What I am trying to say, Mrs Golding, is that the law favours the man in every regard. Even if you obtained a separation order, which is highly unlikely, you would not be free to remarry and you could find yourself in an untenable position socially. I’m sorry, but I have to make this clear to you, unpleasant though it is.’

  ‘I understand.’ Angeline kept her gaze on the solicitor. ‘But when I inform my husband that I am alive, I know he will want revenge, Mr Havelock. When I married him my fortune, which was considerable, was swallowed up within the estate, and my liberty and well-being came under the dictates of my husband. In a happy marriage, that would not have been a problem to me. But it was not a happy marriage, not from my wedding night onwards. Under the protection of the law, my husband ill-treated me physically and emotionally, ultimately causing the death of the child I was carrying, after which he had me shut away in a lunatic asylum. He is capable of anything. I have to inform him I am alive – I know that – but at the same time I need protection from him until somehow I can find proof of his adultery in the past and of his cruelty.’

  ‘You think you can do that?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I want to apply for a judicial separation at the same time as I inform him I am alive. At the very least I feel it will show him I mean business.’

  ‘Such petitions are not necessarily granted.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And, forgive me, Mrs Golding, but your husband might claim you are still mentally unfit and gain an order to have you recommitted to an asylum.’

  ‘Over my dead body,’ said Jack grimly.

  ‘Mr Havelock, I have paid a thousand times over for my naivety in marrying a man I had a romantic, foolish infatuation for. I don’t intend to go on paying for the rest of my life. I would like this to go to court so that I can have my say, and believe me, I won’t come across as mentally unfit.’

  The solicitor nodded. He could see what it was that had captured his clerk’s heart. ‘If your husband is as ruthless as you say he is, the weeks ahead could be highly unpleasant for you, Mrs Golding. In many ways. Are you prepared for this?’

  ‘I am, and Mr Connor tells me you’re the finest solicitor in the north of England, Mr Havelock, and more than a match for anyone. If you agree to take the case, I am more than happy to put myself in your hands. I don’t want money or financial gain. I want a legal separation, and for the world to hear what Oswald is really like.’

  ‘Revenge?’

  ‘Justice. For myself and my child.’

  ‘My dear, if you speak as well as this in court, we have won the case already.’ He smiled, aiming to boost her morale after all the negativity.

  Angeline smiled back – the first smile since entering Mr Havelock’s office. ‘Does that mean you will represent me?’

  Oh yes, he could certainly see what Jack saw in her. ‘Of course. It won’t be easy, and I regret that I will need to ask you some pertinent questions in preparation, but that will be nothing compared to what you may have to face in court. By the very nature of your . . . ’ he gave a little cough, ‘disappearance for so long and your life under the name of Grace Cunningham, this case will arouse a lot of interest.’

  Angeline nodded. She hadn’t mentioned May’s part in her escape from the asylum, nor did she intend to. There was no need for May to be dragged into this. Howard knew the full facts, but May’s in-laws had no idea of that period in her life. Kind as they were, to the miller and his wife respectability was everything.

  ‘And Jack?’ Mr Havelock turned his gaze on his clerk. ‘I don’t need to tell you that it would complicate matters if Mr Golding got wind of your friendship with Mrs Golding. Until this is settled, discretion is the word.’

  Jack nodded. ‘My sister is Mrs Golding’s close friend. I will only see her in May’s company.’

  ‘Better not at all.’

  Angeline stared at the solicitor. ‘But . . . ’

  ‘No buts, Mrs Golding. You are paying for my services, and I have to advise you as I see fit. Forgive my bluntness, but whilst most folk might privately admit that marriage can be a far-from-perfect institution, any hint of an illicit relationship on the part of the wife is fatal. Men are expected to stray; women are not. It is as simple as that.’

  Angeline’s cheeks were fiery, but as she opened her mouth to protest, Jack said quietly, ‘Mr Havelock is right, Angel.’

  ‘But it’s so wrong.’

  ‘I agree, but he is right.’

  She looked into Jack’s beautiful green eyes and saw that he meant it. ‘It’s so unfair.’

  He smiled the smile that made her weak at the knees. ‘It will only be for a short while, because Mr Havelock will do all he can to bring the case to court as quickly as possible. Isn’t that right, Mr Havelock?’

  Jim Havelock nodded. If this pair managed to follow his advice for more than a week he would be amazed, so time was definitely of the essence, but there were procedures to
follow and regulations to adhere to, and a summer hearing would be the earliest they could hope for. Or maybe late spring. He leaned forward in his chair and opened his notebook. ‘Now, Mrs Golding, let’s start at the beginning . . . ’

  When Angeline left Havelock & Son later that morning she was able to keep herself together until she was out of sight and sound of the office; she felt she owed it to Jack to do that. She had cried on him enough over the last day or so. It was strange, but knowing he loved her made this all the more terrifying. She had so much more to lose now, if everything went against her. Mr Havelock had voiced the fear that plagued her every waking moment: that somehow Oswald would be able to have her locked away again. She kept telling herself it wouldn’t happen – she had managed to make a new life for herself out of nothing, and had a responsible job and a home of her own. How could someone who was mentally infirm do that? Whatever Oswald said, surely the court would see the truth when it was under their nose? But thinking about how the law was weighted on the side of the husband kept doubt alive and well.

  She wasn’t expected back at work until after lunch; she had called in first thing that morning and explained the situation to her boss, who had nearly fallen off his chair in shock that his reliable, reserved secretary was someone else entirely, but he had told her to take as much time as she needed to sort out her affairs and that her job was safe, however things turned out. She had appreciated that.

  As she walked along Northumberland Street, where Havelock & Son had their offices, she realized she was trembling, the threat of tears paramount again. Reliving the tawdry details of her marriage for Mr Havelock, the death of her baby, and not least the nightmare of the asylum had brought emotions to the surface that she normally kept buried. It had stopped snowing, but the sky was heavy with the promise of more, the wind cutting through her like a knife and the faces of passers-by as they hurried about their business preoccupied and scrunched up against the cold. Suddenly she felt very alone again and frightened; frightened of the enormity of what she was doing, of the scandal that would result, of seeing Oswald again and facing his venom. She wanted Jack, she thought desperately. She couldn’t do this on her own. She needed his strength and reassurance.

  She turned so swiftly on the packed snow beneath her feet that she almost went headlong, but for a pair of strong arms catching her. And then she looked up and Jack was there, pulling her against him, careless of the shoppers and the folk around them. ‘Hey, I’ve got you,’ he said softly. ‘You looked upset when you left, and I thought you could do with a warm drink and a sticky bun, and most of all this.’ He kissed her long and hard, as though they weren’t in a busy street in full view of the world and his wife. It was the height of impropriety, but she didn’t care.

  When she could get her breath she said weakly, ‘What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at work. And Mr Havelock said—’

  ‘I know what Mr Havelock said, and it’s good advice. I would say the same to a client in his place, but if you think I can stay away from you for a few days, let alone weeks and months, you’ve got another think coming. Golding hasn’t even got Mr Havelock’s letter yet, and after he has we’ll be discreet – I’ll make sure of that – but we’re seeing this through together. All right?’

  She nodded mistily.

  ‘And don’t worry about Golding. He’s already beaten, he just doesn’t know it yet. Come on, you need a cup of tea.’

  He drew her arm through his and they started walking, but if Jack had thought to reassure her, it had the opposite effect. She wanted to tell him that he had no idea what Oswald was like – just the jaunty way Jack had spoken proved that. Oswald was vicious and immoral and devious, and he had no conscience, and this last made him more dangerous than anything. He believed that, as one of the ruling elite, he was untouchable, and because he believed it without a shadow of a doubt, he made it so. He was capable of anything, and how could a good, decent man like Jack – or Mr Havelock for that matter – get into the mind of someone like that and fight them on an equal footing? They couldn’t, and she realized that was what had frightened her so much this morning. She was frightened for Jack, for the new life they were planning together; and yes, for herself, for who knew what revenge Oswald would take if he was thwarted? She was going to shatter his plans to marry again and was going to ruin his reputation, and even he wouldn’t be able to survive such scandal unscathed.

  So, a little voice in her head said quietly, what are you going to do? Back down, disappear, hide away again? Let him win?

  She glanced up at Jack as they walked and he caught her eye, smiling down at her as he moved her closer into the protection of his body.

  No, she answered, even as her being quivered at the thought. She was going to fight.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Oswald Golding had grown distinctly heavier in the last seven years, but it suited him. Now forty-six years of age, he had a presence that caused heads to turn wherever he went. The slight touch of silver in his fair hair was unnoticeable; his complexion was good, despite his many indulgences; and his handsomeness had a maturity that was very attractive. It was only his eyes which revealed the true nature of the man, and these were gimlet-hard, the grey having taken on the consistency of polished steel.

  Fortune had not smiled on him in recent years, and he could trace the rapid decline back to the incident with Mirabelle at Lord Gray’s Scottish estate. Before that his gambling had never been lucrative, but since that time his lack of success had become legendary. Of course, he should have stopped when he knew Jefferson was out to ruin him, but the gambling was a fever in his blood and he always told himself that things would level out. A few good wins, that was all he needed. But they had never come, and two years ago he’d had to face the fact that he was in danger of losing everything. And then a friend had tipped him off that, when he sat down with certain acquaintances, his drinks were more potent than they should be. He’d heard of that on the continent, of course – drinks being doped so that one would gamble wildly – but he had never dreamed it could happen to him. Not in England. Not among gentlemen.

  He had been to see his accountant and then his bank manager, and with the latter he had used his charm, his name and an introduction to the higher echelons of society to hold back the wolves from the door. He had gained time. He knew exactly what he was going to do; he had done it once before and got himself out of trouble. This time with his marriage would come not only money, but influence and power. Angeline had been a nobody and of little account, which had suited his purposes at the time, but now he would marry a girl whose family could open avenues to unlimited wealth. And so he searched out his prey very carefully and decided on Lady Wilhelmina Argyle, whose father was a lord and whose mother numbered the Prince and Princess of Wales among her close friends.

  It was unfortunate that the mother was a beauty and the daughter was not. Wilhelmina had buck-teeth the size of headstones, and a nose that was large and bony and that dominated her thin face; both of these traits she had inherited from her father. A father who, incidentally, adored his only offspring, and did not consider Oswald Golding a suitable husband for his precious baby. And so had begun a steady, tenacious wooing of Lady Wilhelmina, who had fallen head over heels for Oswald from the start. He rather suspected the mother liked him, too, and when Lord Argyle was being particularly difficult, Oswald had comforted himself with the fact that in the future, once Wilhelmina was his wife, he would have the mother, too. It would be a most satisfactory revenge for the way he had been made to jump through hoops.

  From the moment he had begun his advances to Lady Wilhelmina, Oswald had stopped his gambling and his escapades with the more notorious of his friends. In effect, he became a reformed character, so much so that Lord Argyle could no longer hold out against the combined pressure of his wife and his lovelorn daughter, and reluctantly – very reluctantly – agreed to the match.

  So it was that, one morning in the middle of an icy and snowy Janua
ry, Oswald came down to breakfast feeling very satisfied with himself. The engagement ball before Christmas had been a resounding success, and although Lord Argyle had tried to persuade his precious ewe-lamb to wait a full year before the nuptials, Wilhelmina and her mother had had their way and the wedding was to take place in May.

  ‘Such a beautiful month,’ Wilhelmina’s mother had cooed when they had discussed it a few days before, ‘with the promise of hot days and long, warm evenings to enjoy.’

  He had smiled at the still-lovely woman who was only two years older than himself. ‘And sultry nights,’ he had said softly, his eyes sending a message that was just for her. She had given her tinkling laugh, her cheeks flushing slightly, and Wilhelmina had chattered on, oblivious of his courting of her mother.

  Now Oswald seated himself at the dining table, thinking of the day ahead. He had indulged himself and bought a new hunter after the engagement ball, a handsome beast that had yet to be fully tamed. He would do battle with the stallion today; he always enjoyed mastering a horse until it came at his whistle, although he never used force. That was the way to break a horse’s spirit, and it was never such a noble beast afterwards. He used persuasion and intuition and patience, and it never failed. He stretched his long legs, encased in their leather riding boots, and glanced at the silver tray holding the morning’s post, which the butler had placed to one side of his cutlery. When he was dining alone he didn’t bother with a selection of covered dishes, but ordered his requirements the night before. Now, as Wood placed a plate of devilled kidneys and scrambled eggs in front of him, Oswald slit open the first letter with a silver paper knife.

  For a moment the neat typewritten words didn’t register. What they said was so bizarre, so preposterous, as to be unbelievable. Oswald made a sound deep in his throat, which caused the butler and housemaid who stood waiting at one side of the room to glance nervously at each other.