Bewildered, Nell had made a dive for Stan’s table, but Mr Norton had ushered him out, leaving her standing there. She might still be standing there now, had Mr Robbins not taken pity on her.
Stan didn’t want her. Night after night, she had lain awake, picking over the possibilities that lay ahead, but this one had never occurred to her. Stan wanted to take the children and leave her behind. Would Mr Aitcheson permit that?
‘It’s time,’ said Mr Robbins.
Dread pressed her into the chair. From somewhere she found the strength to heave herself up and return to her lonely place in the magistrates’ room. Stan and Mr Norton were already in their seats but didn’t look at her.
‘All rise.’
Mr Aitcheson resumed his place.
‘My other business is concluded. There is just this repugnant matter left. Let’s begin. Not you, Mr Norton. Mr Hibbert, on your feet, if you please. You no longer wish to have your wife returned to you.’ He made her sound like a parcel. ‘Why not?’
‘I’ve tried, sir. I’ve done my best to set things right between us. I’ve corrected my son when he’s been rude to her. I’ve told her how a proper marriage would be best for the children, and I meant it. I even tried to put things right after she accused me of stealing her savings, only we had a bit of a slanging match and I caught her by the arm and she said I was never to touch her again, not ever. It was the way she said it, sir. Until then, I thought she’d come round eventually, but when she said that, I knew she meant it … if you get my meaning.’
‘I see,’ said Mr Aitcheson. ‘You realise you are entitled to your conjugal rights?’
Stan coughed. ‘I don’t want what isn’t freely given.’
‘This is most irregular. From start to finish, Mrs Hibbert, you have caused nothing but trouble. Your husband started the shameful process by consorting with another woman, but since then you’ve blundered through life in a haphazard and disgraceful fashion that beggars belief. Here you had the opportunity to reinstate yourself and your children in a respectable married home, but you have refused to enter into a proper married life with your husband. Therefore, it is my decision—’
‘You can’t,’ cried Nell. ‘I haven’t had a chance to speak.’
‘Are you going to tell me about the stable life you provide for your children?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have your savings been stolen?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you cannot provide security. Not that it would be of any relevance if your savings had not been stolen, since, after the way you lied to your children and pretended their father was dead, you are without question an unnatural mother. My ruling, therefore, is final. Mr Hibbert is awarded—’
The door – a disturbance – ‘Mr Aitcheson!’ Jim! Nell didn’t know whether to be thrilled or furious. He hurried forward, followed by Mr Robbins, who peeled off and went to the clerks at the side.
‘Forgive the intrusion,’ said Jim, ‘but I must be heard.’
‘You’re too late, Mr Franks. You should have been here this morning.’
‘I was travelling here by train, sir. You must hear me out.’
‘On the contrary, I have made my decision and shall not be swayed. Your late arrival does you no credit. Neither does your client: I suggest you choose more wisely in future.’
One of the clerks, watched anxiously by Mr Robbins, came to the magistrate’s side and murmured to him.
‘Great Scott!’ grumbled Mr Aitcheson. ‘I’ve a good mind to withdraw from this and leave it to someone else to mop up. In all my days on the bench, this is the unholiest mess …’
‘Mr Aitcheson.’ Jim spoke firmly. ‘This matter can be settled in a matter of minutes.’
‘It better had be. Proceed.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jim. ‘The facts are simple. When Mrs Hibbert believed herself to be married to a bigamist, she was correct.’
Posy came to her senses to find herself on her feet. Well, not precisely on her feet, more slumped against someone else, against Ma. Ma’s arms were around her and she was saying something, but it was like listening underwater. Her body was sore and smarting. She wanted to crumple to the floor. She started to crumple, but Ma’s arms wouldn’t let her. They tightened round her and pain shot through her ribs. Vomit surged up her gullet. The world swooped around her or was it the inside of her head that was swooping?
One of Ma’s arms let go. There was the sensation of falling, not falling, leaning, being held, feeling crushed, Ma’s arm squashing into her tender body. Then she went blind. Fresh air enveloped her. Ma had opened the door. Not blind – dazzled. Afternoon brightness. Her skin went slick with relief. Not blind. Whatever he had done to her, he hadn’t done that.
Voices, people, commotion. She flinched away from the hands, the concern. The ground vanished as she was scooped up. A man’s arms lifting her. Dad? Reet buggeration. No – someone else’s dad. He carried her up, up. The footsteps on the stairs were loud, ringing. No stair carpet. Not their house, then. They had a strip of carpet up their stairs. Very posh. Not everyone had stair carpet.
Another swoop and she was in a bed. Covers were drawn over her. Voices surrounded her. She wanted to sink away, but she had to finish what she had planned. What had she planned? Her brain was like scrambled eggs.
Voices faded, leaving two voices, urgent and thick with distress. Ma. Mrs Watson. She was next door in Mrs Watson’s house. Was that good? Was it part of the plan?
She heaved her eyes open. ‘Ma …’ Pulling an arm out from under the covers made her muscles roar, but she had to reach out. ‘Ma.’
‘Posy! You’re safe now. Mr Foskett has gone for the doctor.’
‘Dad …’
‘He’s not here. He stormed out.’
‘Ma …’ She couldn’t hang on much longer. ‘Did you see? Did you watch?’
‘Hush, Posy.’
‘Did you see?’
‘Of course I saw. You’re all right now. The doctor’s on his way.’
‘You didn’t …’
Didn’t what? What hadn’t Ma done? Ma hadn’t done something and Posy had put herself through all this to make her do it. What was it?
‘I couldn’t, could I?’ said Ma. ‘He’s so big and strong. I couldn’t have stopped him. Why did you provoke him like that? You know what he’s like.’
‘Nay.’ Mrs Watson now, agitated and determined. ‘Are you saying yon lass asked for it? Shame on you, Hilda Tanner.’
‘No, of course not.’
‘No one deserves a beating like this,’ said Mrs Watson. ‘I’m going next door to fetch Posy’s nightie. She’s stopping here until she’s better and I’ll tell that husband of yours if you haven’t got the guts.’
A bustling sound, a click: she was gone. The room smelt of beeswax and warm wood. Ma held Posy’s hand. Her head was bent. It was always bent. The droopy cowslip, not seeing what was in front of her, because if you didn’t look, it wasn’t your responsibility. Stir the custard, do the darning, anything, anything, rather than look at what was happening.
‘Ma … you lied to the police.’
‘What are you talking about? You’re confused. Does your head hurt?’
‘The policeman asked where Dad was during the burg – burg—’ How did you say it? ‘… burgle-ry. You said he was with you.’
‘He was.’
‘Five minutes behind, you said.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Dad said he were five minutes behind and you said yes.’ A feeling darker and more bitter than any physical pain twisted inside Posy. ‘You lied.’
‘I never—’
Ma looked away. She always looked away. Well, not any more.
‘I followed him, Ma. He weren’t with you. He were up Wilton Lane, stealing Gran’s box.’
‘No, Posy.’
‘I was there. I saw him walk back with it, and Mrs Hibbert’s money. I know what he’s done with them an’ all.’
Ma let go of
Posy’s hand and covered her face. She rocked to and fro. The mattress moved with her, a slight motion but enough to stir up Posy’s nausea. It would serve Ma right if she vomited all over her.
Ma dragged her hands away from her smeared face. ‘I had to say what he wanted.’
‘Did you? Do you still?’
Nell’s thoughts scrambled to take in Jim’s words. Stan was a bigamist after all. Her lungs felt tight; it was hard to breathe. Was it safe to feel relieved? But there had been no trace of a marriage certificate for Stan and Mrs Vicarage Lane. Had one turned up? Did she dare hope?
‘Silence!’ called the clerk.
‘Proceed, Mr Franks,’ said Mr Aitcheson.
‘I applied to the registrar in Annerby for copies of the marriage certificates for Mr and Mrs Hibbert and for Mr Hibbert and the woman from Vicarage Lane. It was my intention to prove Mr Hibbert’s bigamy, but, as we subsequently learnt, he never went through a marriage ceremony with the woman from Vicarage Lane. I was more surprised, however, not to receive a copy of Mr and Mrs Hibbert’s certificate.’ Jim produced a piece of paper. ‘The registrar wrote to me saying that the information provided does not match that on the certificate. Odd wording, I think you’ll agree; but what it means is that the copy couldn’t be issued because the letter requesting it assumed a marriage had taken place.’
Nell couldn’t contain herself. ‘A marriage did take place.’
He turned to her. ‘A ceremony took place and everyone believed it was a legal marriage; except Mr Hibbert, who knew he was already married to someone else.’
Nell’s head jerked back in shock and her pulse ran riot. Married to someone else!
‘Permit me to explain.’ Jim glanced at Mr Aitcheson, but Nell knew his words were for her. ‘At the start of the war, Stanley Hibbert joined up. After his training, he was sent to work in stores in an army base in the south of England for six months, during which time, he met and married – his wife. Never mind her name: she wouldn’t wish it to be made public. He was shipped over to France in 1915. In 1917, on leave in Annerby, he met and married our Mrs Hibbert.’ He indicated Nell. ‘Later, he took up with a third woman, though without benefit of clergy.’
Three wives? Three! Nell was stunned. He was reasonably good-looking and he had a pleasant manner, but – three wives!
‘The real Mrs Hibbert, the lady from down south, tracked down her husband in 1919. Judging by the expression on Mr Hibbert’s face, he was unaware of this. Upon discovering he was “married” to another woman, namely our Mrs Hibbert, and that they had a son, the real Mrs Hibbert decided not to pursue the matter publicly, since it would bring disgrace on her as well as on our Mrs Hibbert and her child. She did, however, inform the registrar, who decided to let the matter lie; but his position required him to place a notification on the certificate that recorded the illegal marriage, which meant that when I requested a copy, it could not be supplied because there is no legal marriage.’
‘Are you saying the registrar knew about this?’ demanded Mr Aitcheson. ‘Disgraceful! This Hibbert fellow has committed a crime.’
‘He has, sir, but the real Mrs Hibbert declined to be involved in a court case and the registrar decided to leave our Mrs Hibbert and her son with their good name intact.’
Mr Aitcheson looked at the clerks. ‘Send for a policeman.’
Stan lurched to his feet. ‘You said yourself, sir, that higher courts have shown leniency.’
‘Yes, to former soldiers who married legally before the war and bigamously after it ended; and the leniency was never intended to condone the practice of bigamy, but to keep the breadwinner out of prison to fulfil his family obligations.’
‘Mr Aitcheson,’ said Jim, ‘will you state for the record that the Hibbert children are to remain with Mrs Hibbert?’
‘Yes, yes, the clerks will make a note. Not that any of them has the right to call themselves Hibbert any more.’
‘What?’ Nell began.
‘Which won’t go well for them when they end up on the parish, as they undoubtedly will, and all the faster now she has had her savings stolen.’
Mr Aitcheson pushed himself to his feet. There was a call of ‘All rise’, but something was happening at the other table.
Jim moved to block Nell’s view. ‘Best if you don’t see.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She moved. ‘Oh.’ She was in time to see Stan being led away.
‘I’ll take you home,’ said Jim.
‘Home. Yes.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s a lot to take in.’
As they walked into the anteroom, Roberta Fairbrother stepped forward and Nell’s heart stopped. Miss Fairbrother was as beautiful as ever in a glorious dress of chiffon with a print of dramatically large flowers. Instead of a fashionable cloche hat, she wore a pretty straw with a scarf tied round the crown.
‘There you are, James. I waited for you.’ Dazzle, dazzle.
‘I didn’t expect you to.’ Jim turned to Nell. ‘On my journey back from Annerby, I had to wait for a connection so I took the opportunity to have a call put through to Mr Fairbrother to keep him abreast of developments.’
Miss Fairbrother took his arm, which just showed what a bold piece she was. ‘Lo and behold, when he arrived, who should be waiting at the station to spirit him straight to court?’
Jim looked uncomfortable. Served him right. ‘Roberta, may I present Mrs Hibbert? Mrs Hibbert – Miss Fairbrother.’
‘No need for introductions, James. Mrs Hibbert and I are old friends.’ Dazzle, dazzle. ‘May we drive you anywhere, Mrs Hibbert? I’ve got the motor waiting. It would be our pleasure, wouldn’t it, James?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Nell. Miss Fairbrother was beautiful and cultivated and she had never felt more ordinary in her life. ‘I’ll catch the tram.’
‘If you’re sure.’ Dazzle, dazzle. ‘James, Mummy made me promise faithfully to bring you home with me. We’ll have tea first, then you can rehash the case with Daddy before dinner.’
‘I’d like to, of course, but I did say I’d see Mrs Hibbert home.’
‘No need,’ Nell said quickly.
‘I think Mrs Hibbert has her own engagement,’ said Miss Fairbrother. She looked past Nell. ‘That woman seems to be waiting for you. You mustn’t let us keep you.’
Nell turned and found herself face-to-face with Olive Hibbert.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jim disliked leaving Nell stranded. She had taken an emotional battering and he wanted to see her home safely. It was the gentlemanly thing to do and the least she deserved. But she was focused on the stranger. It didn’t look like a comfortable meeting. He should go to her side, but Roberta drew him away.
He felt a rush of gratitude. ‘Thanks for meeting me at the station. It made all the difference.’ He couldn’t help glancing at Nell. Should he—?
‘Are you ready, James? Mummy and Daddy are expecting us.’
Roberta attracted admiring looks as they made their way out of the building, making him proud to be her escort. Her kid-gloved fingers rested in the crook of his arm. In his other hand he carried the Gladstone bag with the clobber he had taken on his travels.
‘I haven’t got evening togs to change into,’ he warned her.
‘Mummy won’t mind this once.’
Outside, Mr Fairbrother’s beloved old Austin was waiting. The chauffeur jumped to attention and opened the door. Did he recognise Jim as the window cleaner who had passed the time of day outside Mrs Randall’s a few weeks ago? If he did, he couldn’t afford to show it.
The motor drew away and Jim settled back.
‘I’m proud of you, James. After your telephone call, Daddy said what a remarkable job you’ve done. He’s hoping to lure you back into the firm.’
He laughed. ‘I’m sure you’re not supposed to tell me that.’
‘He’ll ask you this evening. And I want to discuss my scheme for providing clothes for poor children. I hope you’ll provide valuable insights.’
‘After
living among the working class, you mean?’
She looked at him. ‘I won’t pretend that part of your life never existed.’
Good. It was an important part of him.
The motor pulled up and the chauffeur got out to open Roberta’s door, but she preferred to skim across the seat and follow Jim. He gave her his hand and she slid out gracefully, coming to her feet in a fluid rippling of floaty fabric.
Jim opened the garden gate. The fountain tinkled in the centre of the lawn. Large-leaved shrubs cast purple shadows round the edges. Instead of heading up the path, Roberta lingered.
‘Do you remember Mummy sending us out here to make up our differences or declare eternal hatred?’
‘I’m glad you didn’t opt for the latter.’
‘Shall I tell you a secret?’ She danced a few steps along the path, then turned to face him with a provocative little smile. ‘It’s a bit naughty.’
He laughed. ‘Then I definitely want to hear it.’
She walked backwards. Her skirt floated around her. ‘That evening, I said I came home early because my plans were cancelled.’
‘I remember.’
‘That was a teeny little lie. When I was out, I heard about you and Daddy working on a case and I thought Daddy might invite you for dinner.’ A light shrug; a sensuous ripple of material. ‘So I came home.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘Do you mind?’
Leonie rushed for the front door at the first scrape of its opening. Nell! She reached out her arms, expecting her dear adopted niece to collapse into them, but Nell walked straight into the house.
‘Where are the children?’ she asked.
‘With Mrs Clancy. I thought you’d need to have a good cry.’
Nell grasped Leonie’s hands. ‘It’s good news. I’m keeping them.’
A Respectable Woman Page 36