‘Wind.’
George turned to the doctor, who repeated, ‘Wind. As Mr Leviston says, wait until tomorrow, and there’ll be a lot of surprises all round; even you might get one.’
‘That’ll be the day when anythin’ surprises me, Doctor.’
‘And stranger things have happened, George. Well, I must be off.’ He turned to me and stood looking at me for a moment quietly, before he said, ‘This time tomorrow it’ll be all in the past.’
‘One way or another,’ I said.
‘Yes, as you say, Maisie, one way or another. But don’t forget Hamilton.’
He now nodded towards Nardy, saying, ‘See you sometime tomorrow.’
‘Yes, Doctor.’
George now turned to me and said, ‘Aye, what’s this about this thing called Hamilton? We got in court late, an’ just heard the last bit on it.’ Then changing his tone, George bent over me, saying, ‘I just had to be here, Maisie. We set off last night. It was a hell of a journey. We stopped for three hours on a lay-by, and the bairns were nearly frozen in that van.’
‘Serves you damn well right.’ This was from Gran as, coming from the dining room, she passed us on her way to the kitchen. ‘Whoever thought of packing four bairns into that thing in weather like this?’
‘Well, what did you expect me to do? Leave them there?’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘Aw, Ma.’ He followed her now to the kitchen, saying, ‘I didn’t know how long I was gona be here. And Mary doesn’t like to be left on her own.’
‘Did you ever hear the like?’ The voices faded away as I walked with Nardy into the sitting room, and there he smiled at me, saying, ‘You get your characters dead on. He’s exactly like you portrayed him in the book.’
‘He won’t recognise himself.’ I smiled wearily at him.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I think there’s quite a bit of sense behind that blustery manner, and a very big heart. The children, are they his?’
‘No.’
‘Well, it’s as I said, he’s got a very big heart.’
I looked at Nardy. He was so nice to look at: his eyes were always kind and he had such a nice face. I said, ‘Thank you for coming up.’
‘Don’t be silly. As if I could stay away. And Bernard will be here tomorrow. He’s delighted with the way the book’s going, and that’s before there’s any further publicity. The whole house is really on tiptoe, and when there was an order came in last week for another two hundred and fifty from one store I understand the packers yelled hooray.’
‘They are all very kind.’
‘They are all very fond of you.’
‘Only perhaps because I’m…well’—I smiled deprecatingly at myself—‘because I’m different from the usual type of novelist.’
He was leaning forward as he said slowly, ‘And let me say that in some cases that’s a very good thing, and right through the house, they are not slow to recognise it. As I’ve said before, first novels are often very heady medicine to some people. How’s the second one going?’
‘I’m stuck, and will be until…well, until I know what’s going to happen. Nardy’—I caught hold of his hand now—‘it’s right what George said: Mr Collins didn’t seem to make any impression on anyone, and when he started putting words into Howard’s mouth, like him having compassion for me all these years and being very worried about my mental state, well, I couldn’t…well really, I don’t know what he’s up to.’
He now pressed my hand tightly, saying, ‘Maisie, if we knew what these fellows were up to, there wouldn’t be any cases for defence counsels, the matter would be simple and we would defend ourselves. Some people try, and a few manage to come out on top. But it’s a very tricky business. Counsels such as Mr Collins are devious men. They’ve got to be. They’re actors: in fact, you could say they’re con men because they con those in the stand to make liars of themselves, as you will find out tomorrow. I’m not in the least perturbed that our Mr Collins appeared to be a soft touch. And from what I’ve heard about him, he is a very clever defence counsel, and in this case the right man for the right job. You’ll see, tomorrow. He’ll make your husband eat the words that he has spoken today about his consideration for you; about the facts of his taking up with another woman mainly because you refused him your bed; how he tried to get you interested in outside games such as tennis. Oh my! Maisie’—he pulled a face at me now—‘wait till tomorrow.’
At this point Gran came bursting into the room, saying, ‘Well, there’s a meal ready such as it is in the dining room, lass.’ Then looking at Nardy, she said, ‘It’ll likely be nothin’ what you’re used to, but the parts of you it doesn’t fatten, it’ll fill up. An’ what do you think of that stupid bug…big lump of nothin’ out there?’ She jerked her head towards the door. ‘Bringing his woman and four bairns!’
I stopped her. ‘Don’t call her his woman, Gran, it maddens him, she’s his wife.’
‘Aye, well, here he is landed, as you say, with his wife and her four bairns. And where, may I ask, are they going to sleep the night? In that covered wagon that looks as if it had come out of the films, an’ been half across America an’ through the gold rush an’ all? It’s a wonder those bairns are alive, havin’ slept in that.’
‘Well, Gran’—I was walking towards the door now—‘as you say, they can’t sleep in that tonight. So where do you propose they should sleep?’
‘You tell me where I’m going to put six of ’em. I ask you. He said he and the lads would sleep in the van if her and the lasses can sleep in my place. But there’s only a single bed in that back room. And, anyway, it’s never been used for years.’
‘Gran.’ I caught hold of her arm and endeavoured not to look at Nardy who was standing behind her, his head bowed as he tried to suppress his laughter. He had become very fond of Gran. ‘Gran,’ I said slowly, ‘there are four empty rooms upstairs; they haven’t been put to use for a long time. They can all come here.’
‘You must be up the pole. Once you get them in, you’ll never get them out.’
‘That’ll be nice because I like them, I like them all, especially Betty.’ Betty was fifteen and seemed to have a sweet disposition. ‘And I could do with some company. And, don’t let us forget’—I bent my face down towards hers now—‘the house might need a caretaker for some time from now on.’
‘Aw, lass’—she backed from me, her face trembling—‘don’t say that. Just don’t say it. If that happened it would put the tin hat on everythin’. You’ve knocked the stuffing out of me for enjoyment over the past weeks, but if you went along the line…oh, my God!’ She almost rushed into the hall now, her head wagging, saying, ‘I shouldn’t have this worry, not at my time of life.’
Nardy, his head still bent, took my arm now, saying, ‘Come on, and let us get through that which doesn’t fatten but fills up.’
I let myself be led towards the dining room, thinking as I went. He’s wonderful; he can adapt to anyone and any place. But then, gentlemen usually could. And for a moment a weight lifted from my heart and I thought that, no matter what happened tomorrow, if I did go along the line, as Gran had said, he’d be there when I came out.
Eight
The courtroom was crowded, but from where I sat in the dock I could see the whole court. There below me was my counsel, Mr Collins, and next to him sat Mr Pearson; in a balcony to the left were seated the doctor and Nardy and Mr Houseman, and behind them were George and Gran and Father Mackin; and seated at the end of a row was Mrs Maddison who only that morning had done my face up. That had been Gran’s idea. And vaguely, seated at the back of the public gallery, I took in known faces from the terrace as I’d seen them last night from behind their curtains when I returned home after my counsel had got my bail extended.
The reports in the city papers last night had been relegated to inside pages. One such said: Husband emphatically denies ever being cruel to wife. Another: Patient husband had to recognise that she was mentally unstable when he discovered
she was talking to a horse that wasn’t there, and her instability was emphasised when she attacked him with his precious collection of bottles, cutting his head in several places.
The only report that seemed anywhere near the truth was: The policeman said the accused didn’t actually hit him with a bottle; it bounced off the stone wall and struck his head while he was attending to the prostrate man.
Across the far side of the court sat Howard. He was quietly but sprucely dressed, as always. He had half turned towards me as I entered the dock, brought up from below by a policeman and, at first, his expression, I saw, was one of pained injury. Then, his eyes fully on me, his face underwent such a quick change one could imagine he had been prodded with a pin…or my elbow. And certainly, my appearance must have prodded him, for yesterday I had come into court drably dressed, wearing a grey coat, a grey felt hat, and no make-up. Now, this morning, I had on my London rig-out—this, on the advice of my counsel and a suggestion of Nardy’s, and I knew I had literally turned the heads of those people who had been here yesterday.
When the judge entered we all stood up, and when we were seated his eyes came to rest on me, and I think it was a few seconds before he connected me with the accused who had come before him yesterday.
So the second day began. My heart was beating so rapidly at times that the noise of it seemed to shut out the voices and the legal jargon that was going on to the side of me. And when someone said, ‘Will Mrs Stickle take the stand?’ the policeman had to assist me to rise, and guide me out of the dock and down the side of the court, past Howard and into the witness-box, where I seemed to be standing eye to eye with the judge.
The prosecuting counsel was a huge man. He had a round face and heavy-lidded eyes. He had the habit of moving one lip over the other before asking a question. ‘You are Mrs Maisie Stickle?’ he said.
‘Yes.’ Of course he knew I was Mrs Stickle. It seemed all a waste of time.
‘And you live at 7, Wellenmore Terrace, Fellburn?’
‘Yes.’
‘You have been married to Mr Howard Stickle for thirteen years?’
‘Yes.’
‘How would you describe your married life?’
‘Hell.’
There was a slight rustling in the court; then everything went quiet.
‘Would you deny that your husband swore yesterday, where you are standing now, that he was most kind and considerate towards you?’
‘I would emphatically. He was never . . .’
‘Please answer yes or no. I will repeat the question: Would you deny that yesterday your husband stood where you are standing now and under oath swore that he was most kind and considerate towards you?’
‘No, I wouldn’t deny that he stood here and said that, but I would deny that it was the truth and…’
‘I would be obliged if you would answer yes or no, to my questions.’
‘One could not answer yes or no to the way you phrased that question, sir.’
I heard a lot of clearing of throats from the people sitting in the first two rows now.
Then the judge’s voice broke in, saying, ‘The defendant has a point there, Mr Taggart, if you have time to analyse it.’
And Mr Taggart replied, ‘I’m obliged to your lordship.’ Then he turned towards me again. His expression had altered slightly. I saw him draw in a sharp breath now before he said, ‘Is it true that you are in the habit of addressing a horse?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that you have been doing it for some long while?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you not consider it an odd habit for a grown woman to converse with a horse…an imaginary horse?’
‘Not when the horse is as sensible as Hamilton.’
I felt a stir going through the court, but for some strange reason all fear had left me. Perhaps it was because there he actually was, sitting up on the bench next to the judge, leaning forward, his forefeet crossed in front of him, his whole attitude one of attention.
The counsel now took three steps away from me and picked up some papers from a table to the side, and I recognised them as the discarded sheets that Howard had stuck together and waved in my face. And he looked at me before he began to read, saying, ‘Would you consider this sensible conversation, or at least sensible talk? From what I gather you and the horse are in church and you go on to say here—’ He now began to read: ‘Hamilton left the pew, genuflected deeply, walked up the altar steps and stood by Father Mackin, and before the priest had time to raise his hand, Hamilton gave the blessing, saying, “As it was in the beginning, is not now and never shall be.”’
When the judge’s hammer banged on the bench the laughter faded away and counsel stared up at me as his hand gently waved the patched sheets backward and forward.
Now I knew this was the opening that my counsel said would come and I took it. ‘Oh, that!’ I said airily. ‘That was a funny part of the second book.’
My answer brought counsel’s eyes wide and there was almost a look of triumphant glee on his face. I could almost read his thoughts: I had won his case out of my own mouth.
He leant towards me. ‘You have written a book about the horse?’
‘Yes, about the horse called Hamilton.’
‘Well, now. Well now. Correct me,’ he said, ‘if I’m mistaken. Isn’t there a book already achieving some success with a title of that very name?’
I let a long pause elapse before I said, ‘Yes.’
‘And’—his thick lips moved one over the other before he went on—‘you said you had written a book, a similar book about a similar horse?’
‘No, about the same one.’
‘Now, now, Mrs Stickle.’
‘My name is not only Mrs Stickle, it is Miriam Carter.’
‘Oh. Oh, yes, I remember, that is the name of the author of the book about the horse called Hamilton. And you are Miriam Carter?’
‘Yes, I am Miriam Carter.’
There was a great stir in the court. I kept my eyes on the counsel, but I felt the rustling and the moving of people. Then the counsel left me for a moment and went to the bench and said something to the judge, and the judge looked towards me. Then he spoke to me and there was behind his question another question: Was I or was I not the person I was saying? Because I’m sure he was remembering me from yesterday and today I certainly didn’t look like the Mrs Stickle of yesterday because she possibly could have been a little deranged in her mind. What he said to me was, ‘Have you any authority for that statement, Mrs Stickle, that you are the author of the book Hamilton?’
‘Yes my Lord. My publishers are present, Mr Houseman and Mr Leviston.’
I pointed, and all eyes turned on Mr Houseman and Nardy.
I saw my counsel go up to the bench now, where the prosecuting counsel was still standing, and he spoke to the judge who was leaning forward, and then to the prosecuting counsel, whom I noticed held the palm of his hand to the front of his wig for a moment. Then I saw him talk rapidly to my counsel before returning to me. And now the oily smooth look had gone entirely from his face. It was flushed and his lips were working at speed, and he began, ‘Well, it is established that you have written a book on what appears your pet hobby of talking to a horse, but as I see it, this only goes to prove that you were of a deceitful and unbalanced . . .’
My counsel was protesting strongly now, and the judge, speaking to the prosecuting counsel, said, ‘Objection sustained.’
‘Well, I shall rephrase my question.’ And he did, saying, ‘Was it the action of an ordinary thinking person to make out that she was a null, ill-treated, poor little woman, while at the same time having the intelligence to write a novel that seems set, to use the common term, to become a bestseller?’
‘If, as you say, sir, it takes intelligence to write, then my intelligence goes back to when I was a child because I have always written bits and pieces, and all I did last year with my bits and pieces was to compile them.’
He stared at me i
n hostility for a moment, then said, ‘And when your husband found out what you were doing, you became so enraged that you attacked him, not with your hands but with implements, glass implements, heavy bottles, and occasioned him such bodily harm that he will never again be the man he was.’
‘If that is the case, sir, there can be nothing but improvement.’
‘Madam.’
I turned to the judge who was speaking to me now. His face straight, he said, ‘Kindly endeavour to keep your answers brief.’
The counsel was at me again. ‘Then you admit to attacking your husband?’ he said.
‘Objection.’ My counsel was standing again; and this time the judge said, ‘Objection overruled.’
‘Did you or did you not throw a number of bottles at your husband?’
‘I did.’
‘With the intention of maiming him?’
‘No.’
‘What then?’
Of a sudden my throat was tight, I was seeing back down the years, and my voice came out now as a sort of whimper as I said, ‘In retaliation for years of humiliation and fear, and because he kicked my dog who was ill, dying.’
The counsel stepped back from me. He looked at me almost like Howard used to. I stood with my head bowed as I listened to him speaking to the jury, telling them they had been listening to a devious woman. Could anyone imagine looking at her and listening to her that she had been made null and was browbeaten? Wasn’t the boot on the other foot? Hadn’t they listened to her husband yesterday, a quiet sensitive man? And could they imagine him kicking a dying dog? They must not forget that here was a woman who used her imagination.
I was saying, Oh, my God. Oh, my God, inside myself when the voice of my counsel came to me, ‘Tell me, Mrs Stickle, what were you doing about a quarter to one on the day in question?’
I again swallowed deeply before I said, ‘Typing, in my study.’
‘What were you typing?’
‘I was doing an article for a member of the Writers’ Circle.’
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