Beyond the Veil of Tears

by Rita Bradshaw

  The next person to speak was Mrs Gibson, Oswald’s housekeeper and, unlike Robert Taylor, she seemed reluctant. With the barrister prompting her, she related what had happened the night before the morning Mrs Golding was taken to the asylum. ‘And you saw Mrs Golding attack her husband, leaving him with severe lacerations to the face and throat?’ the barrister intoned solemnly.

  There was a pause, and Mrs Gibson’s eyes moved from the barrister to Oswald and then back to the barrister.

  ‘Mrs Gibson?’ Justice Cook spoke gently and firmly. ‘I’m sure this is an ordeal for you, but please answer the question.’

  ‘I . . . ’ Mrs Gibson was twisting her hands together and then, as though she had made up her mind about something, she straightened. ‘I did not see it, no.’

  ‘You did not?’

  ‘No.’ Seemingly undeterred by the barrister’s tone, Mrs Gibson went on, ‘When I came into the room, Mrs Golding was lying across the bed. The master was shouting and carrying on, but I didn’t actually see her attack him.’

  ‘Let me phrase my question differently. When you came into the room, was Mr Golding’s face scratched and bleeding?’

  ‘Aye. Aye, it was.’

  ‘And was there anyone else in the room besides Mrs Golding?’

  ‘No, it was her bedroom.’ Mrs Gibson sounded faintly scandalized at the question. ‘And she’d been very poorly. None of us expected her to pull through and—’

  ‘Quite. And had Mrs Golding been unpredictable and emotional for some time before this violent assault on her husband?’

  Mrs Gibson stared at the highfalutin London barrister with the pompous voice. She stared at him for some moments. Then she said, ‘The mistress was seven months gone when her baby, a little lassie, was stillborn, and after that she was out of it for a good month and not expected to recover. When she came to herself, we had to tell her the baby was gone. Yes, sir, she was emotional.’

  ‘That is not what I meant.’

  Mrs Gibson made no reply to this, but her chin went up a notch.

  ‘Thank you, that is all.’

  Oswald had been staring at his housekeeper, and he continued to stare at her as she nodded at the barrister and resumed her seat, but she did not glance his way.

  The barrister continued to speak for some minutes more, contriving to paint a picture of a loving, desperate husband trying to cope with his demented wife. Angeline didn’t recognize any of the characters in the fairy story he was telling so persuasively, but she was sick with fear. One of Jack’s most bitter criticisms of the upper classes was that they had the money and power to make black into white, and it was happening here in front of her. The barrister was good, very good, and if she had been sitting in the court listening to him and didn’t know any better, she would be feeling sorry for the poor man who had been hoodwinked into marrying a deranged madwoman.

  She felt Jack’s eyes on her more than once, but she didn’t dare reach out for the comfort he was trying to give soundlessly. If she met his eyes she would break down, she knew it, and she must not. Mr Havelock had stressed that she must not give way, but must maintain a dignified silence, and she could see why.

  At last the London barrister came to the end of his summing up, and Mr Havelock stood up. He did not cut such a commanding figure as his adversary, who looked every inch a polished man of the world, but from his first sentence he had the attention of everyone in the room.

  ‘“What a twisted web we weave, when we first practise to deceive.” I don’t know who said that, but never has it been more true than in the case of my client’s husband, Mr Oswald Golding. He has told my learned colleague who is representing him a pack of lies – lies that are grievous and wicked in nature. Grievous, because it is sad to see how far one human being will go in pursuit of his own ends; and wicked because, should his lies succeed, they will commit an innocent woman once again to the horrors of a lunatic asylum. And I say “once again” advisedly because – and let me stress this – Mrs Angeline Golding is not, and never has been, mentally infirm. What she was, and she admits this herself, was foolish and young when she met Oswald Golding, naive and ingenuous, a true innocent in every sense of the word.’

  Mr Havelock turned, looking straight at Oswald. ‘It has been said Mrs Golding led a very sheltered life before her parents were tragically killed in a coach accident, and this is true, but not for the reason my learned friend implied. She was simply the only, treasured child of loving parents – parents who were aware of the beauty in the child that we now see in the woman, and who feared for her in this fallen world in which we live. They protected her, as any parent worth their salt protects their children, but there never was, or has been, the slightest suspicion of insanity. With Justice Cook’s permission, I would like to challenge every point Mr Golding has made. And with that in mind I would ask Miss Selina Robson to take the stand.’

  Miss Robson proved to be a calm, unruffled speaker who stated categorically that the young Angeline Stewart had been intelligent, biddable and enjoyable to teach, and was, she emphasized, as sane a girl as anyone could wish to meet. Furthermore her uncle, Mr Hector Stewart, was very happy to become her guardian and take her into his home, and it was only Mr Golding’s insistence on marrying Angeline at the earliest opportunity that rushed the marriage into being.

  Mr Havelock then called Dr Owen, but spent little time on him, beyond establishing that his position as family doctor to Oswald Golding was a lucrative one. The London doctor was a different kettle of fish, and from the first Mr Havelock went on the attack. Where did he examine Mrs Golding, and how many consultations were there? Six examinations took place at the Golding estate? Now that was strange, because none of the servants could remember even one such visit by the good doctor. Oh, they might have taken place in London? And there were records detailing this? Records are only kept for five years? Surely not! In fact, impossible to believe. And so on. Mr Havelock savaged the man – there was no other word for it. Angeline was in awe of Jack’s employer.

  By the time the doctor stood down, he was sweating and red in the face. Mr Havelock was as fresh as a daisy. As the Harley Street consultant whom Angeline had recently seen came to the stand, Angeline tugged on Mr Havelock’s sleeve. ‘How did you manage to talk to the staff at the house, without Oswald knowing?’

  ‘I didn’t.’ Mr Havelock was pleased with himself. ‘But you were sure you hadn’t seen him, so I thought I’d try a bluff.’

  He then proceeded to verify from the Harley Street consultant that Mrs Golding was mentally sound and in possession of all her faculties, which the good doctor was only too happy to elaborate on, with Mr Havelock encouraging him.

  Nurse Ramshaw was called next. She described in harrowing detail how desperately ill her patient had been, and how very detached Mr Golding had seemed, both with regard to his wife’s condition and to the loss of his daughter. She also repeated Mrs Golding’s accusation that her husband was responsible for the tragic miscarriage.

  ‘Did she say what had happened?’ asked Mr Havelock.

  Nurse Ramshaw shook her head. ‘Not exactly, but Mrs Golding had sustained a broken nose, equivalent to being punched in the face by a man’s fist.’

  Objections from Oswald’s barrister followed.

  ‘Did your patient exhibit any symptoms of madness during this period?’ Mr Havelock asked, when the furore in court had subsided. The reply was a definite No. Grief, pain, distress aplenty, along with extreme physical weakness, but that was all.

  Mr Havelock thanked the nurse and pretended not to notice the argument Oswald was having with his barrister, who was trying to calm his client down. Clearing his throat, Mr Havelock looked across the court. ‘At this point I would like to make it clear that Mrs Golding was wrongfully incarcerated in Earlswood Asylum on the orders of her husband, and state that the fire which proved so devastating was not – and could not have been – started by her. In fact an inquiry sometime after the event suggested that another patient, o
ne Lady Lindsay, who had run amok that same day, was probably responsible. Also, my client was only twice locked in a padded cell: once on the day of admission, when she was naturally terrified and horrified to find herself in such a place, and again after a visit by her husband sometime later, when he proved most objectionable. Yes, she escaped on the night of the fire, but may I ask: wouldn’t each one of us take such an opportunity, if we were wrongfully imprisoned with no hope of appeal?’

  The court was perfectly quiet, with most eyes on Angeline’s pale but composed face.

  ‘And this supposed madwoman then not only survived, on finding herself thrust into a hostile environment, penniless and reduced to pauper level, but over the last seven years has risen to the point where she holds down a responsible job and has a comfortable home of her own. Why, you may ask, did she not make herself known to Mr Golding before now? Again, I ask you: would you have done so, knowing with absolute certainty that he would attempt to have you forcibly locked away again? It was only when my client discovered her husband was planning to marry again that she knew she couldn’t remain silent any longer, because if she had allowed him to commit bigamy, she would not have been able to live with her conscience. She would not wish another woman to live through the hell she has been through at the hands of this man – a violent, cruel and totally unprincipled man who married her simply for the fortune that came with her. Yes,’ Havelock said, as a stir swept through the room, ‘I have it on good authority that, due to his profligate and dissolute lifestyle, Mr Golding needed an injection of money into his estate, and needed it fast.’

  This time the objections from Oswald’s barrister came thick and fast, with Justice Cook adding his weight as he asked if Mr Havelock could prove such accusations.

  For answer, and with drama worthy of anything seen at the theatre, Mr Havelock said in ringing tones, ‘Would Mrs Mirabelle Jefferson please take the stand?’

  Angeline had known nothing of this, and now she half-rose in her seat, while Jack leaned round Mr Havelock to say, ‘Sit down, and say not a word. He knows what he’s doing.’

  Mirabelle here? Angeline stared at the other woman, who had swept in with such dignity and aplomb. Mirabelle was looking every inch the noble lady, perfectly coiffured and dressed, as only unlimited wealth and good taste could produce. For an instant – just a moment – the emerald-green eyes met hers, but Mirabelle’s lovely face showed no expression beyond a haughty expressionlessness, which continued as Mr Havelock began his questioning.

  Angeline’s gaze searched the room for Marmaduke, and there he sat, at the very back of the court, his eyes fixed on his wife. Even from that distance it was clear how much he adored her, and Angeline was amazed he had agreed that Mirabelle should come here today.

  Oswald was now sitting up straight, his back rigid and his face as dark as thunder, and Angeline noticed that the father of his fiancée was leaning forward in his seat, his gaze locked on Mirabelle.

  And what Mirabelle said was damning. With no prompting by Mr Havelock, after stating her name and address, she said in a voice that easily reached the back of the room, ‘I was not asked to come here today to speak for Mrs Golding, but when I found out about this case, I contacted her solicitor and asked if I might do so. My husband and I have known Mr Oswald Golding for some years – longer, in fact, than we have known his wife. At the time of his marriage to her, he told my husband and me that he was in a fix financially and needed a great deal of money. He gambles,’ Mirabelle paused before adding, ‘among other pursuits. He was quite candid that he was marrying Angeline for the fortune she had inherited from her parents, and spoke about her with little feeling. Coldly, in fact.’

  Angeline found her eyes going to Marmaduke again. Oswald might well have confided in his mistress at the time of her marriage, but in Marmaduke? Never. Nevertheless, he was nodding slightly as she spoke and was clearly supporting her story.

  ‘From the time he married her he was obnoxious and cruel, and although he was our friend at that point, his behaviour to a young innocent whom he had coaxed to fall in love with him both disgusted and appalled us. Furthermore, to his shame he displayed no pangs of conscience about his treatment of her, which was abominable – so much so that my husband and I were forced to take him to task several times when he was physically abusive, and that in our presence. What she had to cope with when they were alone, I dare not imagine.’

  Angeline’s eyes were wide and she couldn’t believe her ears. Mirabelle was lying, or at the very least stretching the truth to breaking point.

  ‘He was not discreet about his other women; in fact one could say he seemed to take delight in taunting her in that regard. And what really sickened my husband and I, and persuaded us to end our friendship with him for good, was that in front of certain members of our group he would behave like a devoted husband, all the while laughing behind his hand. It was too, too distressing.’

  ‘Thank you for that background history, Mrs Jefferson. May I ask if you and your husband were aware of the circumstances in which Mrs Golding was forcibly locked away in Earlswood Asylum?’

  ‘Not when it first happened, no. We knew of course that Mrs Golding had sadly lost the child she was carrying, and was ill unto the point of death. A great many of her friends were praying for her at that time. Lord Gray’ – Mirabelle paused for a second, to let the name sink in with Justice Cook, knowing that such an illustrious and influential connection would do Angeline no harm – ‘was particularly concerned, having suspected for some time that Mr Golding was not the husband that Mrs Golding deserved. Once Mr Golding had his wife locked away, he kept up the pretence she was at home and too ill to see anyone. It was only Mrs Golding’s personal maid – or ex-maid, I should say – who had married and was living in this area who discovered the truth. She came to see me in London, knowing my husband and I had been friends of the Goldings, and at that point my husband knew he had to do something about such a grave injustice. One does not like to interfere between man and wife, but we realized that by adhering to that thinking we, along with the rest of Mrs Golding’s friends, had been as guilty as Pilate was in washing his hands, so to speak. Unfortunately the fire that has been spoken of today occurred, and we were too late.’

  ‘I see. Thank you, Mrs Jefferson.’

  ‘May I just add something more?’ Mirabelle turned with queenly grandeur to Justice Cook. ‘As we speak, Mr Golding has huge debts. My husband knows this for a fact. And again he’s set to marry a woman who has unlimited wealth . . . ’

  Justice Cook hastily forbade Mirabelle from saying any more, but she had said enough. There was heated muttering between Oswald and his barrister, and after a few moments the barrister stood to his feet. Angeline, along with everyone else present probably, had been wondering if Oswald would challenge Mirabelle’s description of his character. To do so could possibly dig a deeper hole for him, but not to do so would be tantamount to admitting she was telling the truth.

  ‘Mrs Jefferson, have you ever heard the expression “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”?’

  Mirabelle’s beautiful face did not move a muscle; her eyes, staring at the barrister, did not blink. After a moment she said disdainfully, ‘Of course.’

  ‘Is it not true that you were, in fact, the mistress of Oswald Golding before his marriage to Mrs Golding and that, when you were discarded, you vowed to make him pay for his treatment of you?’

  Mirabelle allowed herself a cuttingly contemptuous glance at Oswald, which was more effective than any ranting or raving. ‘How utterly ridiculous and insulting that suggestion is. I have never been Mr Golding’s mistress, and it shows the worth of the man that he can claim such a thing in order to discredit me and, ultimately, the truth about his poor wife. My husband and I were friends of Mr Golding, as I have explained, and our group of friends spent a great deal of time in each other’s company. A “falling-out” such as you have insinuated would not have been tenable. Any number of people can confirm this.’
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  ‘Not if the “falling-out” occurred at the same time as Mrs Golding’s pregnancy and miscarriage. Obviously everything changed at that point, and Mr Golding claims he has been somewhat ostracized in later years.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Mirabelle’s voice was as sharp as a scalpel. ‘Are you telling me that Mr Golding claims this imaginary relationship was happening at the time he was married to Mrs Golding? That he was committing adultery?’

  The barrister, who had clearly been unhappy at being instructed to go down this line, cleared his throat. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let me make one thing perfectly clear.’ Mirabelle’s eyes were flashing, but her voice was controlled and clear. ‘My husband and I are deeply in love and have been from the day we met. This ostracism by Mr Golding’s group of friends, which he speaks of, might well be true, but it is due purely to the nature of the man himself. He is a womanizer, a gambler and a drunkard. It is well known that he ill-treats his servants, is violent and is possessed of a fiendish temper, but when this abusive behaviour was seen to include his wife, even his friends could not stomach it.’

  Again Mirabelle paused, drawing herself up, and with her voice holding an unmistakable ring of truth she declared, ‘Mr Oswald Golding is not a gentleman – not in any sense of the word. This has never been more obvious than in this courtroom. I came here today because of a great injustice, even though I was warned Mr Golding might well react like a savage dog does when it is cornered. Well, an animal might have the excuse of being led by primal instinct and not knowing any better, but a man with Mr Golding’s education and breeding has no excuse whatsoever. Mr Golding is guilty of adultery, but not with me.’

  ‘Damn you to hell, Mirabelle! You and the rest of those mealy-mouthed cretins!’

  The barrister was now physically restraining Oswald as he fought to reach Mirabelle, a clerk of the court rushing to help, as the enraged man lashed out and caught the barrister with a resounding slap on the face, which echoed around the court.