‘Does that mean I will have to go to court?’ Mabel was hoping to hear that wouldn’t be necessary.
‘I can’t say yet,’ John admitted. ‘You being alive and well more or less cuts the prosecution in half; the defence barrister may say that submitting a testimony from you is enough. But he is equally likely to insist that you attend the trial to support any other evidence he might be submitting. Is there a reason you couldn’t be present?’
Mabel took a deep breath before answering. ‘I’ve made a new life for myself in Dorchester, it could be difficult for me to have all this come to light.’
‘Do I sense a young man?’ he asked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
‘Yes, there is someone, and he knows nothing of this. Furthermore, he is a lawyer, and he comes from a very well-respected family. This would shock everyone.’
‘Yes, I can see that. You have been very brave and forthright in seeking to do the right thing, and it would be incredibly sad to see your life turned upside down by that very courage. But this young man, whatever the outcome, should know about this. You, of all people, must have learned how a big secret can haunt you?’
Mabel knew Mr Baring was right. ‘Easier said than done,’ she said glumly. ‘But I will tell him. It’s just a question of when and how.’
The appointment was over; Mr Baring advised her to stay in Bristol, at least until he had spoken to both the police and the defence barrister in Plymouth.
When Mabel asked him about his fees, he shook his head. ‘I know Mrs Hardy is very fond of you, and I can understand why. I am impressed by your courage and your sense of honour, so there are no fees, Mrs Brook. And I’ll be in touch just as soon as I know something.’
Mabel walked back to Clifton in a daze. On the one hand, she felt a burden had been lifted from her shoulders, with John Baring believing in her and helping her.
But on the other hand, there was Thomas. The thought of having to tell him about all this was too tough – impossible, even. She knew the right thing to do; she should write him a letter tonight and tell him absolutely everything. But although she was certain he’d stand by her, if she had to give evidence at the trial, he would do that because he was noble, and he believed in supporting his friends.
That wasn’t the same as wanting to marry her, though. Or even continuing to see her as his ladyfriend. He would know that he had to end their relationship, or kiss his career goodbye.
John Baring might see her as brave and forthright, and Thomas probably would too, because they were men who understood human frailty. But once word got out around Dorchester that she’d faked her death to get away from a shell-shocked husband, she would be a social leper.
Who could blame people for their reaction? There was scarcely one family in Dorchester who hadn’t been touched by the war. Husbands, fathers, brothers and sons died. Countless more had recently returned with grievous injuries. A great many had shell shock too, and their wives and families buckled down to help and support them. She would never be able to convince people that her reason for fleeing was her evil mother-in-law, especially now she was going to speak up for her in court.
Mabel stopped at the post office to telephone Clara, as Joan didn’t have one at home. As she was worried about the expense, she only told Clara the main details, promising to write fully tonight. She also told her she was in Bristol, with Joan Hardy, and not to tell Thomas anything, but she would write to him.
Joan Hardy embraced Mabel when she got in and let her cry on her shoulder. She was another one who had sympathy for people’s frailties, so she completely understood the dilemma Mabel now found herself in.
‘If you’d done nothing – let that woman hang, and kept it to yourself – sooner or later the truth about you would’ve come out. You would be the villain then. But you made the choice to own up, completely selflessly, because you are a good, honest person. Now dry your eyes and sit down to write that letter to Thomas. If he’s half the man you think he is, he won’t abandon you.’
The letter took many hours to write, and Mabel cried endlessly as she wrote. She started out with just the drama of the storm and how she decided to run away from the village. But then she realized she needed Thomas to understand the full picture of her life in Hallsands, from meeting Martin, their marriage, then her father being lost at sea. It was only as she wrote the letter that she realized Agnes had taken control of her at that point, manipulating, demeaning and making unreasonable demands. But Mabel also saw that she had let it happen, because she was young, and she’d lost both her parents. Perhaps she foolishly thought Agnes would come to love her.
Moving on to her life once Martin had enlisted, she recalled the acceleration in Agnes’s nastiness. Looking back at that time, Mabel wondered why she didn’t think of moving to Kingsbridge, away from her mother-in-law’s influence. She supposed it was the little house, all those happy memories of her parents, and the loving sweetness of her marriage to Martin.
Eventually, she came to the main issue, the discovery that Agnes was in prison, accused of killing both her son and daughter-in-law, and that Mabel felt she had to speak up for the woman and say she would never have killed her son. Finally, she told Thomas about John Baring.
The last paragraph, winding up the letter, was the hardest to write.
I understand completely that this will all come as a terrible shock to you, Thomas. I am obviously not the person you thought I was. I wish now I had been brave enough to tell you about my past before. I will completely understand if you wish to sever all connections with me, and I fervently hope that when this trial begins, the newspaper reports do not reach your family, friends and clients.
She signed off, telling him she loved him and was so sorry.
Once she’d put the letter in an envelope and addressed it to him, she broke down again in tears.
Writing to Clara wasn’t so bad. After all, she knew about the trial. But what was hard to bear was the thought that if Thomas rejected her, she’d have to find a new job too.
20
On Friday afternoon, John Baring telephoned his friend Percy to get a message to Mabel quickly, asking her to meet him at Percy’s house at five o’clock that day.
‘Why doesn’t he ask me to go to his office? What can be so important it couldn’t wait till Monday?’ Mabel asked Joan. Percy had called at the house briefly to deliver the message, then left without further explanation.
‘It must be something important, but I expect he’s in court all day. As he lives near here, he probably wanted to save you and him time. Don’t worry about it, I’ll come over with you.’
Mabel couldn’t help but worry. She spent the rest of the afternoon imagining all sorts of different problems, including the possibility that she might be arrested. But when Joan took her over to Percy’s house just before five, she liked him and his house at first sight, and felt herself starting to relax.
Percy was every inch a true gentleman; he was tall, slender, elegantly dressed with a little goatee beard, fair hair and brilliant, twinkly blue eyes.
His house was in a Georgian terrace looking out on to the Clifton Suspension Bridge and the Avon Gorge. He liked colour in his living room, with a navy-blue sofa, bright yellow walls, and cushions that were vivid splashes of red and green. He had a piano, which Joan said he played very well, and thousands of books lined the walls.
‘Joan and I will retire to the dining room when John gets here,’ he said as he shook Mabel’s hand and said how much he’d been looking forward to meeting her. ‘I hope you didn’t think it presumptuous of me to suggest Baring met you here? With you just a short walk away, and John only living around the corner in the Mall, it seemed ideal.’
‘Not a bit presumptuous. And it’s good to meet you, sir,’ Mabel said.
‘Not so much of the sir, it’s plain Percy to you,’ he said with a smile. ‘Joan speaks of you so often, I’d begun to think of you as family. And now, at last, we meet!’
He went on to tell
her he’d met two of the Bedford girls, at the Home and Colonial.
‘What ghastly women,’ he exclaimed. ‘They are as rude and unpleasant as their father. What a shame his sister left them number six. I’d have sooner left it to charity than that man. The girls were being so obnoxious to the staff at the shop, acting like they were royalty, and everyone else dirt beneath their feet. I have it on good authority that the family isn’t liked by anyone.’
Mabel would have loved to hear more, but John Baring was at the door.
Joan and Percy disappeared immediately after greeting him, and Mabel invited Mr Baring to sit down.
‘Agnes Wellows’s trial begins on Monday,’ he said, ‘hence my need to speak to you quickly. She is being defended by a barrister named Haines. I have to say, when I spoke to him on the telephone this morning, he didn’t seem pleased or relieved that you were alive. Indeed, he reacted as if I was in some way attempting to sabotage his defence. I explained carefully that Agnes Wellows had ill-treated you and that you ran away from her, leaving your incapacitated husband too, because you could no longer bear what she was doing to you.
‘I then told him that, despite your dislike and fear of Agnes, you had come forward voluntarily when you heard she had been charged with both her son’s and your own murder, because you don’t believe the woman capable of killing her son.’
Mabel was shocked to learn that the trial was so soon, but Baring told her Agnes had been arrested more than six weeks ago, and people suspected of murder were usually tried quickly.
‘For your sake, I am glad it will begin on Monday, you don’t want this hanging over you for weeks. But I am concerned for Agnes Wellows. Haines doesn’t sound efficient or experienced in capital charges. At first, he said that a written testimony from you would be enough, but then he changed his mind and said he might want to call you as a witness. To be frank, Mabel, I fear for your mother-in-law if he’s the only person between her and the gallows. I don’t think he will push himself to prove her innocent.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Mabel gasped. As much as she disliked Agnes, everyone deserved someone fighting their corner.
‘A sloppy, inadequate defence is common for poor people who don’t have their own lawyer,’ Baring sighed. ‘They are allocated someone, often only minutes before the trial commences, and the legal representatives are usually inexperienced and poorly trained. I’ve been at trials where the defence doesn’t even remember the name of the person he’s supposed to be representing.’
‘So what do I have to do?’
‘You must be at Plymouth court on Monday morning by nine. Someone at the court will tell you where to wait. Let them know you are a witness for Agnes Wellows. You will, of course, need to use your real name, Betty Wellows.
‘Make yourself known to Haines. I’m hoping that when he meets you face-to-face, it might shame him into trying harder for Agnes. I wish I could come with you, my dear, but I have to represent someone on a serious fraud charge here in Bristol on Monday.’
Mabel did her best to give him a bright smile. ‘I’ll be fine on my own, sir, you’ve already been exceptionally kind and helpful.’
‘Try not to worry about reporters,’ he advised her. ‘With luck on your side, it might only be printed in a local newspaper. Also, they will probably only hear your real name, so there is really no reason for anyone in Dorchester to associate Mabel Brook with this trial. As for your young man, he should be proud of you for doing the right thing.’
Baring had to go, but Percy insisted Joan and Mabel stayed and had supper with him.
‘My housekeeper made me a steak and kidney pie this morning, and it’s huge. If you don’t share it, I’ll be eating it till halfway through next week.’
It was clear to Mabel as the evening progressed that Joan and Percy were far more than just friends. There was a closeness between them, the way Percy smiled at Joan, and laid his hand on her shoulder when he was speaking. Joan barely took her eyes off him, and there was a flirtatious banter between them that made Mabel feel hopeful for them both.
Percy was a widower, but he’d lost his wife while still a young man. Joan had said he was a professor at the university, but he didn’t say anything about his work. He spoke of several charities he supported, and that he was on the board of governors at a school and a mental asylum, so Mabel had the idea he enjoyed inherited wealth, along with his salary from the university.
‘Both the school and the asylum were very badly run until I got involved, twenty years ago now,’ he said. ‘I cannot abide cruelty to the poorest in our society,’ he continued with some passion. ‘Joan feels the same, which pleases me, and we hope we can work together on some projects in the future.’
There was a lovely moment, later in the evening, when Percy played the piano and asked Joan to sing. One of the songs was ‘By the Light of the Silvery Moon’, and it was clear to Mabel that they’d been practising together for some time.
Percy insisted on walking them home later, one on each arm, even though it was no further than five hundred yards and still daylight. At the door he kissed Mabel’s cheek and wished her well for Monday.
‘Speak up clearly, look the judge in the eyes, and don’t let anyone intimidate you,’ he said. ‘But I know you will be fine – you were born a fighter for justice.’
‘Percy is such a good man,’ Mabel said, once they were inside. ‘You should marry him. You look like a happily married couple already.’
She noted how Joan blushed. ‘I suppose I’m scared,’ she admitted. ‘He has asked me, but I said it was too soon.’
‘Scared of what? Going to bed with him?’
Joan hung her head, blushing even more furiously. That told Mabel it was indeed the problem.
‘I can imagine why it scares you, I wouldn’t mind betting you haven’t even kissed a man in years. Am I right?’
Joan nodded.
‘Then practise kissing Percy,’ she suggested. ‘I don’t mean on the cheek, at the front door, either. But when you are alone. If you get the feeling you want more, then it’s only a hop, skip and a jump into bed.’
Joan giggled with embarrassment and scuttled off to the kitchen, no doubt cooling her flaming face with a cold, wet cloth.
Mabel had no idea how long the trial would last. Baring had said it could last a week, if there were a lot of witnesses, but conversely it could be over in just one or two days. To be at Plymouth court by nine on Monday morning, she needed to catch a train there on Sunday. That meant a minimum of two nights in a hotel or boarding house. Fortunately, when leaving Dorchester, she’d had the presence of mind to bring her savings with her, just in case of an emergency.
She was terrified, though. She had only been to Plymouth three or four times and hadn’t much liked the hustle and bustle of the place then. That shouldn’t be a problem now – after all, she’d got used to Bristol, and that was a bigger city. But not only was she nervous of seeing Agnes, she was afraid that some of her old neighbours would come to the court.
There was no doubt in her mind that they’d all be wanting to see Agnes sentenced to death; they certainly wouldn’t want her back in their village. But none of them would be expecting to see Betty Wellows there in the courtroom.
Would they understand why she ran away that night of the storm?
She felt they might think her spineless. Living as her old neighbours did, at the mercy of the sea, they were a tough, blinkered breed who had their own set of rules. To them it was inexcusable to run out on a husband, even if he was a drunk or a wife beater. As for leaving a sick man, that would be considered beyond callous. They would have been more inclined to support her if she’d pushed Agnes off the cliff.
Mabel was very withdrawn on Saturday. She had hoped for a reply to the letter she’d written to Thomas; not knowing his reaction to it was agony. Added to that, her fear of going to Plymouth made it impossible to eat; she was worrying about everything, from where she would stay, to how the prosecution would question her
.
Joan left her alone, getting on with some chores in her home as Mabel sat in a chair staring into space.
In the afternoon, Joan suggested they went across the suspension bridge and had a walk in Leigh Woods.
‘That would be nice,’ Mabel said. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been strange today.’
Joan shrugged. ‘Strange? I think you are behaving perfectly normally under the circumstances. But fresh air and sunshine will do you good. You don’t need to talk, if you don’t want to.’
Mabel remained silent for quite some time as they walked, but gradually the peace of the woods, the dappled sunshine coming through the leaves and the sound of birdsong, all began to make her feel she wanted to communicate with Joan.
Perhaps Joan sensed this, because she reminded Mabel of how, at her interview in Harley Place, she’d said something about catching mackerel.
‘You never mentioned fishing again after you started work at number six,’ she said. ‘Of course, I know why now – any nostalgic anecdotes might have made you say too much. But tell me about growing up in Hallsands now?’
Mabel told her about standing up on the cliff, waiting to spot the shoals of herring, then running like mad down into the village to alert her father and the other fishermen. ‘I was always the fastest,’ she remembered. ‘I loved everything about fishing: the boats, the sea, tough men like my father, the taste of a freshly caught herring or mackerel. I even liked the smell!’ She laughed at that. ‘I think I’ve grown out of that now.’
‘Tell me about your mother?’ Joan said gently.
‘I think I look a lot like her. The same red, curly hair and green eyes. She was always happy. She’d met my father when she was sixteen, married within a year, and I was born the year after. I can remember how she used to take a chair to the door of our cottage and just watch the sea. She told me she used to sit there to feed me when I was a baby, so I suppose that’s why I like the sea so much too. But then she died of blood poisoning after a miscarriage. She’d had another little girl, who died as a baby, before that. I used to hear my father crying in the night, and I tried so hard to fill Ma’s place so he wouldn’t cry. Of course, back then, I didn’t know the love you feel for your wife and the love for a child are different.’
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